Five Cent Wide Awake Library (vol. 1) (1879 08 23)
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wets wut Ve) INIGYY CURA TUR DAoh BY ALL NEWSslbALeks, THEFIVE CENT ; mo? ‘ Entered according to Aot of Congress, in the year 1819.by FRANK TOUSEY. ¢n the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. ©. ’ t ~ Entered at the Post Office at New York, Fee Y., as Second Class Matter. as d = - Ne —,_ FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 18 Rosz Srreet, N. ¥. PRICE } Vol. I { tee fsa t August 23, 1879, Subscription Price $2.50 per year, { 5 CENTS, { No. 15 Ly] , | East River pier upon which he had been standing, to- “Now they’re out from beneath, and I can take my 6 a t e 1 = oster ward the string-piece at the upper side. last dive,” said Jack. a r 5 j Jack Brandon, as he placed his foot upon the string- Again he stretched out his arms, oR, piece, paused and looked down into the inky blackness “They'll find my hat and they’11——” 4 I h M ] beneath. At that moment, when he was once more about to e€ urder on the Pier alt 8 only to take a ‘header’ and——” take the fatal spring, a hand was laid heavily upon his — s— shoulder, BY COL, ROBERT LENNOX, The sudden dropping of an oar in a Joat directly be- : of se ‘se led Ta ; ‘ Hello, my covey, what’s the row. Where the devil - Author of *' Nero, the Humchback,’’ etc., etc. tp es at the side ot the pier startle: ck from his avo you going tw Bat are you up saat eh sha a. “ Tt’s boat i thi , , Jack in the darkness could just see that the person CHAPTER I. apa a pial aaa tle imi 2 Ss, before him and whose hand was still upon his shoulder MIDNIGHT ON THE EAST RIVER PIER—THE MURDER AND} Ho heard tho men grasping tho piles of the pier, {| Was not much older than himself, judging by his voice, ROBBERY—THE RIVER-THIEVES—RED LEARY—“ JACK | and pulling the boat along toward the shore line. but seemed he to have the strength of an athlete. BRANDON LIVES, WHOEVER ELSE MAY GO DOWN IN THE} « Hasy, now,” he heard one of the boatman mutter, | ‘‘ Lot mo loose,” cried Jack. “Who are you?” | sDARK WATERS. hoarsely; ‘don’t let her strike. If there’s an infernal “Me? Oh, I’m nobody, I’ye got a doren names. “T’vr been cuffed and kicked enough. What’s the|cop or watchman within a block of here they’ll hear | Which ’ll youhave? Your broadcloth chaps call mea mse of standing it any more? I’m nothin’ but a raga-| it. Sh——” vagabond; the police, aloafer, and my chummies on imufin anyhow, and nobody cares whether I'm up and Then another voice—that of a younger man: the piers know me as Red Leary.” , 4 NM Wo 2) ere DS i ATMA Hi WH i t | as “Drink it or I strike!” said Red Leary. as with upraised club he stood before the trembling wretch. “Red Leary vr af # “That's it, my covey. Now come away back hap where I can throw a little light on you—ch ** No, no, I won't; leave me to my fate.” “Why not take the swag to the kitchen—there we can run it in safe, eh ?”’ There was no answer to this. The men continued pulling the boat toward the intended landing-place. movin’ or down and dyin’. I’ve a notion to—yes I wili—lll drown myself, As he.caid this he threw off his alnost rimless felt hat, and through the gloom of the December midnight rushed from the center of the
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Jack turned suddenly and leaping from the string- piece, grappled with his new found acquaintance. *“‘ Good,” exclaimed Red Leary. ‘You've got pluck. But you're not enough for me. I’ve hada dinner"to day, and you haven't.” The struggle between the two was brief. Red Loa hy was by far the stronger,and he succeeded in forcing Jack away from the edge of the string-piece, and back toward the centre of the pier. ae Stop,” said Jack, weak, and almost breathless, « ['11 give up.” “What, trying to get the best of me or of your idea of jumping off the dock?” “Both.” “ Good boy, come here.” Jack walked with him unresistingly to the pile of chains. Save the faint sound of their footsteps, the silence on the pier was as profound as the darkness that sur- Phew Brought his lant t Re ary broug is lantern out from behi place where he had left it. nd) ths “You see, my jolly waterman,” said Leary, “isn’t this snug? I hidit here because when I came just here, I heard a boat oar drop, and I knew the boys were coming in from a forage on the river.” “Yes, I heard them—thieves that they are,”’ “P’raps, but that ain’t what they calls themselves,” said Red Leary. “But takea drink out of this bottle. If it hadn't been for that oar dropping, you’d have been down amon the sculpins, agoin’ out with the tide. Hark!” The sound of voices came faintly to their hearing. “Tt’s the river thieves,” said Jack, * Berquiet. “Listen!” The sound came from the head of the pier—nearly Opposite where they were sitting. They could hear distinctly the noise of the boat mmbing against the spiles beneath the pier. “They're going to land. They’ve madea haul. Vl investigate their little game. You stay here—while I creep over toward that corner. Maybe it'll turn up something good for me—for us, water bird,”’ whispered Red Leary, andin a moment he had crept away in the darkness, and Jack was free to drown himself or not as he liked. But for the time, the idea of rushing to his death had left his mina, “Red Leary canlive and be jolly in his ‘poverty. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve tried honesty and starvation: now TN—I’l do anything that will give me food and strength and clothes. If I shorten my life, it shall be by placing it in the keeping of the hang- man. Yes, yes, hencetorth woe, woe, not for me, but for all others.” He stood out from behind the chains and listened. “Tll take Red Leary’s light with me. It’s worth something, Hal’ There were footsteps vi amt hdl as the man was, he was coming straight down the pier. “It may be Leary,” thought Jack, “If it isn’t, per- alan luck has brought a customerin my way for me to egin on.’’ earer, nearer came the sound of the footsteps. “Tt’s a bad fate that leads him towards me if he is— be frm my heart; be quick my arm ; to hesitate a mo- ment is to lose.” Jacek, reckless of the result, prepared to spring upon tho strange intruder upon the deserted pier. To make sure of his prey he lifted the slide of the lantern. The man was nearhim. Ho carried in his hand a small satchel. At this moment Jack, by the light of the lantern, caught might of a stick lying directly in front of him. As yet the stranger had not seen Jack. He only saw tthe open lantern and in the darkness behind it mistook Jack for one of the posts of the pier. That mistake was fatal to him, ,Ror.at that instant Jack grasped the stick and with 1 a a certainty of aim struck the man upon the The blow was murderous, yet it did not silence the victim, He staggered, dropped upon his knees, and then fell back upon the frozen ground of the pier. “Oh villain! help! murder! thieves! Help! help! Police !"’ “Shut up or I’ll murder you!” cried Jack, makixy a desperate clutch at the satchel which the man hel in his hands with a death grip. She man, notwithstanding the fearful blow he had @nd with the blood streaming over his face, to the satchel with one hand, while with the he vainly tried to defend himself. ~ Murder! help! police |” 7 Another awful blow of the stick stretched him out onles# and silent. he hand relaxed its hold upon the satchel CHAPTER II, A BATTLE IN THE DARKNESS—THE TERRIBLE DEATH OF REDMOND, THE POLICEMAN—THA’S TWO OF US. ' TxHm blow was scarcely given, and Jack’s hand had but just grasped the satchel, when Red Leary, as if he had risen from the ground, confronted him. “Hello; what game is this by the light of my lan- tern and—and with my stick too? Ah, scoundrel! It's arobber whomT saved from the fishes, in order that he might commit another murder, eh? Help ! help!” cried Red Leary, rushing at Jack. ‘Silence, fool. Silence if you cling to life!’ ex- claimed Jack, i - | “Help—help!*? repeated Red Leary, still attempting to grasp Jacks. » ; . iF Suddenly stepping aside Jack swung the stick around and aimed.a murderous blow at Leary. ie meter os ) RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. A “Somebody's being murdered!” These exclamations came to the ears of Jack. “Quick! I’ve no time to lose or my new life will end where it begins—it is the police.” Taking up the satchel, and giving the lantern a kick, he hurried away up the pier. Luckily for him those who heard the cries for help had in the darkness mistaken the pier, so that the way for his escapo was clear. Running along close to the pier beads for a few min- utes, he suddenly darted across the street, and then paused under a lamp upon the sidewalk, There was no sign of pursuit. He hastily forced the satchel open and searched it, From it he drew forth a package of bank notes. ~ «“ Hundred dollar bills—a thousand dollar bill. luck.” He thrust the bills back into the satchel. ‘ Henceforth I live. Jack Brandon lives, whoever else may godown to death in the river.” Then with one parting glance intothe darkness through which he had come, he turned up the nearest street and was gone. Meanwhile Red Leary speedily recoveredfrom the effects of the blow he had so unexpectedly received, and regained his feet. “That blow would haye killed anybody but a Leary,’? he muttered ‘As it is I don’t feel very com- fortable about the head. He took it up. “What a wretch, he’s broken my lantern too. the man is alive.” The victim upon the ground partly raised one of his arms. It fell again nerveless. Red Leary stooped beside him‘and held the light of the battered lantern up to his tace. “My—brother—my home—I—I am dying !’’ he faint- ly gasped. . ae fe ; Tay poor man, tell me yOyrmame.?” “ In—the—the—righit pocketbook,” carts from the tremhlingy pallid lips: il ~ zs Gently, bus'qnickly, Red Leary made the search and found the pocketbook, “In that pocketbook—give it —~,” the man's ut- terance ceased. A shudder of tho frame, a contraction of the limbs and all was over. Red Leary started up. “The wretch has killed him. I’ve taken tie trouble to hinder a scoundrel from drowning himself that he might kill an honest man. Hark! I hear yoices—the police ; always too late. I'll be off. There’s no good to be had in company of the dead. But if ever Irun afoul of that whart-rat again, 1’11 ——” A sudden gust of wind blew out the lantern. Thrusting the dead man’s pocket-book into his pocket, he hurried off up the pier. As he left the head of the pier three or four policemen passed in upon it from the street. As they did so, in the darkness, these were gliding like specters from the foot or end of the pier, as one by one they climbed over the string-piece—four men, “Tread like cats,” whispered one of them to the others, “ or we'll be in a trap we won't get out of.” * We’re in it now,’’ was the reply. ‘‘ The police boat er tras us, and there’s the police coming down the pier.”’ “Sh! They ll not see us, for they’re not after us, Danger behind us is worse than danger in front.’ “ CussedifLkeer fer havin’ it anywhere near moe,” growled the leader. On they crept, hugging close to the side, while towards hem, down theseentoer of tlie pier, came the policeman, “Tl swear thé nois@ wagon this pier.” ‘*Maybe ’twas some of theniimiern:! pirates having it out in a (uiet Way” q “ah, ha!” cried one Othe officers, here’s the Here’s Oh, there’s my lantern,” Ha— feebly “Open that glim, quick!” “It's a minder.” The policomamstood beside the dead man, « Knocked on the head with aclub. Ses, stick. Hold that glim here.’ One of the policeman held the light as ordered. «They've cleaned him out, gone plumb through him.” “ And here’s a lantern, the candle wick still soft.” “One of you run to the station. Take the club and the lantern with you, tell the sergeant to send a stretcher.” The policeman who took the lantern and stick started swiftly up the pier toward the street. The four river thieves passed the little group of officers without discovery, but at the head of the pier, they were suddenly discovered by the returning policeman. . The moment he saw them he gave the alarm. The next instant, before ho could utter a second cry, they were upon him. Four to one was an unequal fight at the best. “You infernal murdering scoundrels,” muttered the officer, struggling to free himself from the ruffians. «Help! help!’ «That yelp is your last !’” Ahand~as of iron grasped him by the throat, and pressed him backward. “His pals are coming,” cried one of the men, Pling him into the river.” “That won't do, Give him a twister and drop him.” The policeman’s companions were now but a little distance off. They were guided towards him solely by the sound of his yoice when he uttered his last ery for help, / True to his intent it fell crashing upon his face, knocking him down beside the already senseless stranger. “The noise is down on that pier!’’ — “Scoop him—they’re upon us?” cried four men, “Into the river, Dan.” “Knock him on the head.” “I'll heave him overboard,’ said one of the Bh A fians. i, DSS anced for an instant, from’ his lips as he struck the water. They were within a few feet of the edge of the | With a powerful effort, the man who held ‘i cer hurled him forward toward the edge. 1 Ff He fell across the string-piece, his body evenly) With a wicked push of his foot, the ruffian ed the balance, arid the dazed officer fell with @ splash into the dark waters. i ae Acry of mortal agony rang out upon thd nifit® ficers came up, only in time to heur the splagy ery, and the sound of the flying feet of tho ruffiarg appearing in the darkness. They stood looking down into the blackness he GW. No sound came to them from their lost comrade. The cold December wind blew colder and the enw” seemed to hang lower and heavier and press the) ness down closer and thicker over and aroun group of officers, oyer the body of the murdere and over the black waters to crush out all sense of or life. Then it was that his companions, the remaini§ fe dis-' ye “ Poor Redmond—he’s gone |” said one of the pélices f men. i ¥ “The ruffians |” ue! Be “ Hark | don’t you heaPWspinch—tuat's inet’? ‘ am “No, it’s oars, It’s Ahoat, Sh! Tt is not oe ie in either. It’s going out. More thanenue paimo? 4 and Reet e going fast too. Teisn’t the police “No.” Just then, as he spoke a lightsuddenly gleamed Gay not five hundred yards ht upon the river. es ; ‘The light was in a boat: fs Itshone across the dark waters only for an instant’ Then it disappeared. ca - | ciate «River rats, by all that’s wie? i said one or _ olicemen. weft 4 “Poor Redmond,’ said one of them. ‘He's ~ nn second of our et that’s lost his life on this And he'll not be the last one I’m ‘thitikins . 4 that gatty of cui-throats are hung upin the ‘Romberg, fornal death trap of » pier.” yard.” = ‘ “ sites ‘ya sworn that the next of@Oailiose wretches comes wisuin the reach of my clilieedivdae with crushed head lawn 20 Tw. Ni 80 conversing, and with one sero <5" a lest frenitleee glance over the edge of the pier into the darkness Wy low, they turned sorrowfully away to fulfiltheir duty, CHAPTER IIT. . , RED LEARY MEETS THE BROTHER OF THR MURDERED MAN-—THE REVELATION—THE ACOUSATION—THE POCKETS BOOK—“ 1’LL KEEP Iv,” “ Wei, I might as well give up and go under, Noth» ing pays me, and as for that 1 pay nothing. Tf I was a pickpocket or a sneak thief or one of them river pirates I’d get along famously, The chap that rides honesty rides a - ing hoss as’ll die under the saddle and leave his ridk in the ditch. Let me see—it’s three months—sincé saved that murdering rascal’s life on the pier from drowning only that he might rob and kill a man ame git away with his plunder. I wonder if he got am thing. Ah, of course he did,” - The speaker was Red Leary, and it was himself only to whom he was talking. : He was sitting at a rickety table in the gargyt whith, he called his home, in James Street. é On the table were @ few broken dishes, part df a loaf of bread and two or three clay pipes. The ceiling was low and like the walls, cracked darkened with the smoke and grim of years. A li aquare window admitted a doubtful light, while ee e battened door with its rusty 1r0n.ho) feu of 8106 rsatch comprised the only mea ecress, sn ‘an. ‘hoe far corner of this cram: the be a tly concealed by an old which hungimjro<' of it. The only and i heat of the place camo fr skeivton stove, upon Wille, a pmened and steam battered tea-Kovtl® i pe, “T wonder what came of foaF : 1) said Leary, still conversing will sm" pipeas he did so. “He mug lays dist ly asI did. Left the city possiblys kis. haul. But what could the fellow he head have been doing on the pier at that Tate hi with money or vallybles dbouthim? [0s a miysts and | don’t b’lieve I'll have any beitcr mek at gin on the inside track of mysteries than Ihave anyi else. His name—hang it—I never can keep itin m1 head. It’s well I’ve gotit in the pocket-book, whic he gave me as he died, and which I’ve carried @y since. Let me see—let me see—when I’m alone Tm always thinking of it—let me see,” He took the pocketbook from his pocket, and op it. From among the papers in it he worn bit of card. “Tye worn it out with handling,” say Leary. “Didier, Joe Didier, that’s the nam Poor fe! it ain’t of use to him now. He’s safe en@igh in Po} Field. This pocketbook, all its Leeper eT ¥ lead tosomething. There goes my pipe, ; ; There came a knock at the door. 1 Z : Leary arose from the stool upon which Le wy sitting. “Who in Saten’s name is that, I wouder ? in,” f out
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The door onened as Leary drew back the bolt. “Come in. Hello! well, yongive a big knock for so _ small a kid.” » “Ofcourse,” said thenew comer, looking up. ‘ Why shouldn’t 1? Are you the Leary ?”” “The Leary? Now that is rich; of course I am, ‘specially when there’s no Leary about. What d’ye want, youngster ?”” «You post bills, eh ?’”” “Yes, I post bills eh, and I’m ready for any other ‘ “ &t of job that’s likely to turn up in am honest way.” »>-daYary reseated himself and lighted a fresh pipe. H * PGFo on with your fairy tale,”’ he added. ithyen I will give you my message. The man I work dowry, Garouse, sent me to you. He wants you— a ao the bill-poster.” ~ “Garouse, the rich man—banker, noband high swell - in the avenue. You work for him, kid ?” «Yes, of course,” “Run errands ?’” “ Yes,” The new comer, the boy, not over sixteen but look- g much older now stood near Leary so that the full ‘ht of the little square window fell upon his face, eary glanced at the boy, and started back so sud- denly that his pipe dropped from his fingers. _. “That face—almost the very.;counterpart of — boy,” cried Leary, “ who are you ?” _ The boy shrank back for the moment. ~ Don’t be afraid, my kid, but, your face, as vou stand there is the face of oneI saw only once, and then it was in the darkness of midnight, and dying.” _ “Tt wasn’t me. It might have been my brother— but he wasn’t dying I guess. He ran away from his bosses’ store, merchants they were, with a big pile of money—at least that’s what they say—but I aon’t be- ‘lieve a word of it.” * They say—eh ?’”’ Leary was silent a momentin thought. ‘Run away, eh? What’s their names?” «Poland, Brown & Co., overin Burling Slip. secretary for them.” “One afternoon last December.” ** Yes, yes !’” Mr. Poland sent him with ten thousand dollars to deliver it to Captain Seaweed Reefer on board the ship Harlem. ** Yes—well—he never came back ?” “He has never been seen since,” said the boy sadly. “ What time did he leaye Poland’s store ?” “Af five o’clock; he hadthe money in a satchel.’ “And at midnight he was murdered on the pier next _ to that at which the Harlem was lying.” The boy’s cheek blanched. «?*Twasn’t my brother.” “Did he ever reach the vessel ?” “No. The captain expected a messenger from Mr. Poland, but none came.” « Where did your brother live ?” “He and [ had a room together. We were alone in the world. He got me my place with Mr. Garouse.’”’ “Your brother's name was Joseph Didier ?”” _The boy uttered a cry of astonishment. Leary placed “his hand wpon his shoulder. “Your name is Didier?” added Leary. “Yos, yes, Charles Didier.” _ Then briefly, but clearly, Leary told the boy the story ‘ofthe murder on the pier, and all the little he knew concerning the assassin and robber. The boy covered his face with his hands and cried eas if his heart would break. In a few moments he lifted up his head. There were no more tears falling from his eyes. There had come over his face in that brief time acold, stony look—the look of a mask. “Tt must have been my brother,” said Charles Didier, “and he is dead. When I came into this garret to see you I was a boy with a boy’s mind. I go from it still a boy, but with a man’s will to hunt down the Murderer of my brother. I'll avenge his death as _ Surely as I am here |” «“Pshaw, my boy—nonsense ! anything.” “TLeary, you will help me in this, won’t you?” “TfTcan, but my luck is always agin’me. But I’ keep an eye out for you. See here.” ~ ‘Leary took out the pogketbook. “Thatiwas my broth I can tell you —_” _* What was in it, you wanted to say. I'll keep this, “my boy. It may be useful to me.” Charles Didier looked at him suspiciously. “ Give it to me,” he said. “Oh, no—that wouldn’t do.” ‘Why not? It isn’t yours. rother.” - “And belongs to you now, but I prefer to keep it, and its contents.” on ause you perhaps had a hand in my poor er’s murder,”’ cried the boy with asudden burst of “I see now—you—you.”” ct like a lunatic, my kid,” said Leary, coolly, the pocketbook, and you'll thank me for it , in, Bh ld He was I’m sorry I told you y Didier’s mind hadat that moment but one It came upon him like a flash. pay given him the pocketbook he would never ertained it. saree like a tempest. ive ithe murderer of my brother !” he cried, and se ave swords he made asudden rush at Leary 1 the poc nd grasped it, but Leary caught his wrist in a 6 that of a vise. Wish boy !”’ said Leary. ‘‘ If] were a murderer I dash your brains out as easily as the assassin tr poor brother’s. Now, then, behave yourself. to Garouse, tell him I will see him in an hour Do yon come here again this time to-morrow, It belonged to my }. RED LEARY THE BILL POSTER ee Rg Re Land we'll maybe strike upon a plan to work ont the de- tection of this murder.” The calmness of Leary had its effect. Charley Didier after one more appeal for the pocket- book assented to Leary’s proposal. “ Butremember,"’ said Charley, as he left, “ wherever my brother’s murderer is, I will bring him to the hang- man eyen though I do not kill him as I would a dog myself.” “Right, my boy. Stick to it.” And Leary was again alone, He lit his pipe. “A brave solid boy that, I like him. He will give himself no rest till he ferrets out that wretch. He still thinks 1 am the murderer. I read it in his aye, as he went out.”” He refilled his pipe and lit it. “Joseph Didier left Poland’s store at five o’clock for theship. He was murdered ‘on the pier at midnight, Now, where’was he all the long seven hours between five and twelve o’clock? That’s a riddle which only the dead brother brought back to life can solve. I can’t, that’s certain. Ten thousand dollars. Phew! what a stake. It's toomuch to think of. I'll goto Garouse’s, and see what his job is.” In a few moments Leary had fastened his garret door with the padlock on the outside and was on his way to Garouse’s, CHAATER IV. FROM GAROUSE’S TO THE “DEATH SLIP ’’—THE ROUGH MAN AT THE DOOR—THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE—THE DIAMOND PARCEL—‘ PULL OUT.’” Tuer job at Garouse’s house lasted Red Leary three or four days. Tt was inside work, and consisted of helping to move some heavy furniture from one part of the house to the other, and to take up and put down a few carpets in the smaller rooms of the rich banker’s mansion. Meanwhile he had seen Charley Didier but once. Then the scarcely spoke tohim, but passed him on the stair§ almost as if he had never met him. « There's trouble brewing in that boy’s mind, and it means me,” was Leary's thought. It did mean him, But whatever his suspicions, it was evident Charley did not, or had not revealed them. But there was no mistaking one fact. Theboy was terriblyjin earnest, and had begun his task as a detective—but only for himself. He had firmly resolved to work’ out the mystery alone, and through his own ingenuity. On the evening of the second day of the appear- ance of Leary in the house of the Banker Garouse, Charley Didier was sent by the banker on a special er- rand. ; To his surprise it was to a shipping-office directly facing the pier upon which Leary had told him his brother was murdered, Not only that—but to remind him of that terrible night the more forcibly, Garouse gave him a satchel to carry. “Take this satchel, Charley,’ said Garouse, “to the Trans Atlantic and general transportation shipping- office, opposite pier seventy-five. It contains some papers and discounts of importance to the firm. They have a key which will openit. They will give you a small parcel which you will bring to me. You will have to wait some time, perhaps, but as soon as you can—return. You will find me in the library.” The raw March wind blew savagely through the street, but the boy bravely faced it, and he hurried on until he reached the corner of the street, facing the pier. ’ Ashe glanced toward the rough, darkening waters, that even there he could hear sobbing and swashing against the piers and the shipping, he shuddered “What a fate was Joe’s,” he murmured. “ And that was the pier—there in the darknessand cold of that awful night he fell, slain by a merciless wretch, while I, whom he loved so dearly, was sleeping peacefully and safely.” As he murmured this half audibly, a policeman sud denly appeared before him from a doorway. “ Looking for any place?” saidhe. “ Bad night to stop in this neighborhood, my boy.” *“T won’tstop long—I was looking at the river. How roughit is.” «It's rougher for them as works on it or fall into it.” The policeman bent slightly forward and gave him a sharp look. “ *« What's wrong about me ?’’ said Charley. *“Ohnothin’. “Round here, I want’sto know who’s who. You know the name of that pier—our name for it 2”? “Yes,” said Charley shivering. “ Death Slip!” answered the policeman. “‘ Inside of four months two of our men ani a stranger were killed on it by the river rats.”’ “« Rats.” “ Well, thieves, pirates, if you like them names better. So, but—you’d better skip along or if a stray one of them seeing you with that satchel in your hand happens along he'd like no better fun than to tap you on the head and heave you overboard.” “ Poor Joe,” said Charley,as he hurried around the corner. Afew steps brought him to the shipping office. He delivered the satchel. “Wait haifan hour,” said the. member of the firm who received him, “in fhe outer office.” As he passed in at the front door he saw a stout, rough- looking man standing near it on the outside. ‘ He resembled a sailor rather than a shore-man, by the light from the office windows. i fle apparently took no notice of the boy. The half hour passed. ‘ ® » /! Pi pon, 7 3 “Here fs the parcel which you are to give Mr. Ga rouse,” said the clerk, coming out of the inner offics, “Don't lose it.” “What is in it—money !”” “It’s valuable, that’s all,” was the curt reply. “What is the time, sir?’ said Charley, as he turned to go uot. “Nine o’clock.” “Nine.”’ “ Yes, and we ought to nave closed up two hours ago. Tell Mr. Garouse he made us keep late hours to-night,’’ added the clerk, laughing. “TJ will,” said Charley, as he passed out into the darkness, and pulling his coat around him pushed ahead to get around into the better lighted street. He had almost reached the corner. He was directly opposite the ‘‘ Death Slip ”’ pier. “What a night this is for mur——” The thought was choked in the utterance. A cloth was suddenly thrown over his face and drawn tightly around his throat so that the cry of terror that arose to his lips was unheard. % “Silence, or I’ll strangle you!” muttered a hoarse voice, In an instant the parcel was torn from his grasp and he was lifted from his feet and borne rapidly on by two men, He struggled but he might as well have fought against the wind. Presently his captors came to a halt. “Quit, Jim,” said one of the men. “The cops’ll hear us. Their ears are sharp—here on Death Slip.” “Now, then easy—and if the kid gits wild chuck him overboard, first knockin’ ’im on the head so he can diye better.” “Why not do it now.” “Tt won’t do. There's been too much of that work now, in this region. Beside he ain’t worth killin’ till we're ’bliged to. Now, then, let him down.” Charley felt himself going down. He knew that he was placed in a boat,in which two other men were seated. “Didn’t I tell you right,” said the one in the boat to the other. “Bob made no mistake. He’s bin watch~ in’ old Garouse two days for it.” * And Bob’s got the swag!” said the one referred to, as he lowered himself into the boat. ‘Got it here. It’s worth more than a bag full of greenbacks.” . Are you sure ?” “Yes—for it’s diamonds.” “Pull out. Jim, watch the kid.” Pushing outfrom the pier,a moment later the boat shotswiftly out into the darkness of the river. CHAPTER VY. “THE FIRST SOUND THAT COMES FROM YOUR LIPS WILL BE YOUR LAST.’’-— OVERBOARD TO DEATH, THrovcH the darkness swiftly sped the boat im which were the ruffians with their captive, toward their appointed landing-place. : Around Charley’s head the cloth was still tightly bound, and he lay at their feet in the bottom of the boat, helplessly shivering with cold, and his mind filled with dread as to his fate. Not a word was uttered by the men after they had pushed out from the pier until they had almost reach- ed their intended destination. Every inch of the river was as familiar to these mem in the darkness as in the light. When the sound of the splash and dip of distant oars came to their ears, they waited with lifted oars for the moment to catch the direction whence the sounds’ came. Then, satisfied once again, the oars in their strong grasp, did their work bravely. In half an hour, it seemed hours to Charley, he knew by the motion of the oars that they were veering toward the landing. Which side of the river, or whether up or down the stream, he could not guess. “Now, then—easy—on a line with that corner light —there—so !"’ whispered one of the men, “ Catch the cops outside of ashelter such anight as this—not much,” said another. “They wouldn't come down to the end of a pier notif they knew they’d bag. the whole kit of us.” “ Wouldn’t they? Don’t you take too much stock in that, old Blazer.’ “ Now then, slow up there—curse it—do you want to stave her bow agin that spile—now.” The boat was at the pier. Carefully the man, reach- ing out inthe darkness catching at the spiles of the piers pulled the boat toward the wharf. “Once in the kitchen, satan himself will give us @ wide berth. Bill, you climb up there, on the pier and see if all’s clear over-head. Better sure there’s no prying eyes playing cat and mouse with us.” © All right.” Bill, catching at a spilein the corner of the pier nearest the wharf, went up with the agility of aman used to that sort of athletic exercise. “Are you up?” “*Yos,’” All right?” , “*S far as I can see, yes; but, considering I can’t see ayard away from my nose, you'd better wait till £ skirmish my way up the pier a bit.’’ ; “Go ahead,” (i This man being out.of the boat, left but two in it. These two, one at the stern and the other seated to- wards the bow, wers not particularly inclined to waste time or cool their breath in conversation. Bani _ They sat as grim and almost as motionless as wooden a eon tb Ke | hands— ig cut _ For pity’s sake loosen my han the rope’s cut- ting into the flesh! I feel them bleeding! i wor't——" came from the lips of Gharley. Wieck ae : ae aed SP ee ae, in eee ty ++
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and all will be over.’ The utterance, though low and muffled by the cloth drawn so tightly over his head, was plainly understood by the man at the stern. “Shet up! Is’pose you want to jump overboard, er somethin’ wus, maybe.’’ **Pshaw! Blazer. What harm canthe kid do? We’ve got him foulnow. Give the chap a chance for com- tort,’’ answered the other. “A chance to yell out and bring the whole army of cops down on us, eh?” “T won't cry out. I promise I won’t speak a word,” was the muffled appeal. “Damn it!’? said Blazer. “I'll take the chance of it.” He reached over, and in a moment his hands were at the knots of the cords which were about the cloth, and held it down over his head. “Kinder cosy nightcap, isn’t it?” said the ruffian. *“‘Now, mind, the first sound that comes from your lips will be your last. D’ye understand?” “Yes, yes; but my hands ?” “T’'ll tend to that. Now, none vf your tricks.’’ Suddenly the cloth was drawn off, and Charley Didier’s head was free. Then, with some little trouble and swearing over the knot, the ruffian succeeded in releasing his cap- tive’s hands. “ There now, sit up and air yourself,’ said Blazer. Charley arose stiffly from the bottom of the boat. His limbs were numbed by the cold and the cramp- ed position into which they had been forced. His first thought was how to escape. There were but two men on the boat, but in any struggle, either one of them would be a match for three or four of his strength. And even admitting that he had the ghost of a chance in such an uneven conflict of freeing himself, there was still another on the pier whom the noise would bring to their aid. “There is one desperate chance,” he said to himself, ‘and I have half a mind to try it.” As his eyes became familiar to the gloomy surround- ings, and he looked about him, he noticed that the oars were lying each side of him. Blazer, the elder ruffian, was directly behind him, while ‘upon the forward seat sat, with his elbows upon his knees and his head partly resting in his hands, his com- papion. Blazer was the nearer of the two, but evidently the more watchful. The boat lay low in the water, the gunwale not being over four or five inches at midships from the black watersin which it swayed to and fro, as they washed against the pier. Presently a step was heard overhead. “ Lay quiet, there’s a couple of’em coming down be- hind me. Don’t make a move ’till you hear me squeak. Then shoot her round into the kitchen.” “ Right,” was the reply trom the boat, so low that only he whomit was intended could have heard it. Lhe head of the man oni the pier disappeared. The sound of men ene heavily, walking without any display of caution, was heard. “ Now, now,” said Charley to himself. “If I only hadthe chance. The police so near—I dare not cry out—what else can I do?” Nearer, nearer came the sound of the footsteps. One desperate effort, and relief might come. “Don’t you move yer lips, youngster,” whispered Blazer, « or this black-jack of mine ‘ll flatten you out ‘on the instant.” . Charley shuddered, then braced himself wp. “Tl try it. If it fails, I’11 follow my brother.” One glance forward and then at Blazer, and his plan was determined. Blazer was sitting upon the stern, his hands appar- ently resting on his knees. ; Suddenly rising and turning, Charley threw himselt upon and against Blazer with his whole weight. The act was so unexpected by the ruffian that the force of the onslaught caused him to lose his bal- ‘ance. Before he could regain it, before he had time to fairly grapple with his assailant, Charley struck him in Asi throat with his fist as only a desperate boy can strike. The blow was succeeded by a push, and the moment- ary careening of the boat did the rest, And with a vain clutch at the gunwale the ruffian tumbled over in the water. All this struggle lasted but a moment. In that moment the man sitting forward seeing Charley’s attempt, and at once divining his purpose, sprang up to the assistance of his comrade. CHAPTER VI. FREE AT LAST—THE ROPE’S END. Bur he was too late. Before he could, in the two steps it took, reach the stern, Blazer had fallen with a dul) splash into the ‘river, and Charley had turned and was facing him. As Blazer toppled over the black-j ack—a loaded short club which he had threatened to use upon his -victim dropped into the boat. Charley felt it strike at his feet. As he faced the remaining ruffian, he stooped for it. Fortunately his hand touched it, and grasping it, he “felt that there was a bare possibility of overcoming the man before him, As he neryed himself, and at the instant the ruffian was within reach, Charley saw that he had drawn a _ knife. : Even in the darkness his eye caught the gleam of its murderous blade. ' “God help me,” he said, “ one thrust of that knife, if RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. “You young devil !”” hissed the man, as heraised the knife and with the other made a clutch at Charley. Charley shrank back. As he did so a pair of hands grabbed the side of the boat; the hands of Blazer from the water, trying to saise himself into the boat. The weight careened the boat and saved Charley from the thrust aimed at him with the knife. Charley turned and struck Blazer’s hand a blow with the black-jack. Blazer uttered a howl of pain, loosened his hold, and dropped back into the water. On the instant Charley sprang forward, and before tne man with the knife {could recover himself suffi- ciently Charley leaped upon him, and staking every- thing upon the chance of a single blow struck the ruffian full upon the temple with the black jack. The man dropped upon his knees—stunned. Charley at once pushed him over on the bottom of the boat. #°St 1" “What's the noise about ?” It was the man, Bill, who had once more returned. Charley made no reply, but grasped the oars. « What was that splash ? anythin’ overboard, eh ?”’ Still the man, Bill, received no answer. “Blast it, air you all struck dumb. What’s up? The coast’s clear—cops air gone. If they wasn’t you’d ahad’em on you hot and heavy. Say, Blazer, what’s that splashin’ over there ?” Charley thrust one of the bars against the pier and pushed the boat out from it. The ruffian still lay insensible—dead, for all Charley knew, at the bottom of the boat. “ What in Satan’s name is up ?” cried the man on the pier. Charley seated himself and fixed the oars, “It’s my only hope,’’ he said, “and if I can’t row, the tide will carry me out.” A few pulls at the oars convinced him that his strength was not equal to the task. | Behind him he heard the splashing in‘the water ot Blazer, who, despite the terrible pain in his hand, con- tinued to keep up. ‘Help! help !’”’ cried Blazer. This cry, and the moving out of the boat satisfied the man on the pier that by some means the captive, Char- ley, must have effected his rescue, and was escaping. He ran to the end of the pier upon which stood a little outhouse. He burst open the fraily-locked door, and entering, came out with a coil of rope. “Hold on, Blazer; give a yell, so 1can know zactly where you are, and I'll throw this rope to you.” “Here!” cried Blazer trom the water, ‘‘ quick, quick— I—I'm g oing—quick !"’ Charley heard all this distinctly. When he ceased rowing—and he had pulled but a few strokes—the boat drifted back toward the shore, for the tide, instead of going out, was coming in. Between the boat and the pier, and in a direct line, he heard Blazer still struggling in the water. “Now, then,” cried the ruffian on the pier, “Blazer, it’s your last chance. Listen when it strikes and catch it if you can.” “ Quick—quick !’’ was the only reply. Swinging the coil to give it momentum, he ew it out into the darkness, in the direction of the sound ot Blazer's yoice. The arm of the ruffian was strong, and the coil flew swiftly through the air. Strangely enough the end which was knotted struck in the boat, or rather across ié directly in front of Charley. Beneath the sway of the rope, ten yards back of the stern of the boat, Blazer was beneath it, and as it drooped and touched the water he grasped at it. Again he was doomed to disappointment. For when the end of the rope fell in front of him Charley caught it up and pulled it partly taut. Thus for the moment, the escaping victim and one ot the ruffians was at either end of the rope. 1 Hold on a minute,” cried Charley, ‘don’t pull it yet.” “Damme, it isn’t Blazer, it’s the kid that’s in the water,” exclaimed the ruffian on the pier. “Well, I’m blowed if I can make head or tail of it.’”’ b He was puzzled. Still he heard the splashing and struggle in the water. But for the darkness he would have known all. ** Hold on till I fasten it,” repeated Charley. As speedily as possible he fastened the rope around the waist of the insensible ruffian at the bottom of the boat. Haying tied it effectually, by the utmost exertion of his strength and very nearly capsizing the boat in do- ing it, he succeeded in lifting the man over the gun wale and dropping him into the water. «I'm all right; haul away !”’ cried Charley. The ruffian on the pier, puzzled, as he was neverthe- less, began hauling in, dragging, as he little imagined toward him, neither Blazer nor his late victim. “There,” cried Charley, ‘‘I’ve the boat to myself, and the chances are all mine !”” “Help! help ! damn——” gasped Blazer, and with this last despairing cry he sank beneath the dark sur- tace of the waters into the darker mystery of death. The ruffian hauled away at the rope hand over hand. “The kid’s a heavy one—if it’s him. I'd give a year’s swag for an inch or two of clear daylight, just to see what all this is about anyhow.” At last the rope was in at the end, and only it’s length from the top of the pier to the waters edge in- teryened between the one above and the one below. “Can't you help yourself !’’ cried the ruffian, as he paused to rest amoment. ‘Maybe he’s drowned.” In his attention to his task he had not noticed two came from above. ‘men who had approached him and, as he uttered these words, were standing on either side, t a : res Sa «* What're you up to, owl ?” He uttered a cry of surprise and started back. A hand grasped each shoulder, ' “None of that. Kinder caught you napping, eh? What ‘re you fishin’ for at this time of night.”’ id “‘Me—I—I—heard a boy crying for help in the water and I—I thre w him a rope and——” 4 LaF “ He's at the end of it, eh ? Well, here, Alex, catch hold, now pull—he’ll help haul in whileI keep an we on you.” The policeman opened his dark lantern and fi the light down into the water. “‘A boy—oh, ho! But it happens to be aman dead one,” said the officer. “Pull away.” When the body was drawn up and laid on t the captured ruffiian was more in the dark than eve “Ull swear I heard Blazer calling for help; and I'll” swear I heard the kid, and now it’s neither one nor the other. There’s some devil’s work in this, surely.” “Yes, and you’re one of his imps; so we'll just take — youin till we get hold of the old man.” aF * Charley, in the boat, heard distinctly enough what was transpiring on the pier to convince him that he could cry for help with safety. He did se. “This is anight of merickels,”’ exclaimed the ruf- fian, when he heard Charley’s cry, just as one of the officers was putting on his wrists a pair of “wrislets,”” — The tide had floated the boat in still closer to the pier. ow “ Throw me the rope,” he cried. a They did so, and a few moments he ‘was rescued from _ the boat and hauled up on shore. Sper The first thing he thought of was the package. “It is lost—lost—lost,’’ he cried. fs The great peril through which he had passed was forgotten for the moment. ME “You must accompany us,” said one of the officers. *Oub, where is Blazer ?” said the ruffian. by “Under the water, where he ought to be, and you, — oo,” answered Charley. ‘You know where that package is ?”” L. aea “IfI do I'll never tell you,” he replied witha grin. Briefly Charley explained his capture, the robbery of se package and the events of his escape, to the of- — cers. ee “That sounds straight, but come you, and tell it te the cap’n. I guess you’re all right, and sois that.one — lying there—more right than any of us now—for he’s where he can neyer do wrong again.” sate CHAPTER VII. JACK BRANDON ALIAS KENWARD DIOKS, IS ONCE MORE FACE TO FACE WITH RED LEARY. “ THAT FACE—r HAVE SEEN IT BEFORE—BUT WHERE? : “So, Leary, you’ve finished for the day, have iad said Garousa, as the bill-poster presented himeeit ps the door of the banker’s library. ‘ “For the day, yes; for good, yes, too,” A en rie “* Why there’s more for you to do, my man,’’ sane “I’m no man's man. I belong to myself, Mr. Ga rouse. So pay me and let me go.” Bets “ You knew this young Didier—eh ?” is 2 “ Somewhat, yes.”” “Umph. His brother strangely disappeared some months ago ?” ie oa ‘¢Yes.” “And now he has disappeared in the same way.” : “ No—no—I hope not. It’sonly last night he went away.” Vga “Tsent him away on an errand tothe shipping of. fice. From the time of his leaving there with that — package all trace of him is lost.” Re: “But that was only last night at nine o'clock. Now itis but ten in the morning. There are a hundred way to account for his disappearance. He is honest,” — “So was his brother, but he has not yet come back.” — Leary made no reply to this. bsigane tet He had a purpose im not revealing to Garouse hia knowledge of the fate of Charles Didier’s brother, « Was that package so very valuable ??? afr) “Yes. If he has lost it——” ‘ aa iy. ‘It will be found,” interrupted Leary, = ee “Nonsense. Nothing lost is ever found in #hig great city. fits ‘ At this instant a servant camer lair “Mr. Garouse, a messenger from police headqut ters wishes to see you personally.” “ «T will see him of course.” The messenger was shown in. “ Well, sir, your business,” said Garouse. «A boy of sixteen—rescned last night from a bi Hinder peculiar circumstances, at one of the East Ri piers—— : “* Well, his name—never mind details now.” py ‘He says his name is Charles Didier.” Pt 4 “ Didier ?”" eee “Something like that, sir.” ‘ aig x Haare: is he 2?” PASS iT “Detained at headquarters sir. You are uired there to identify him,” veal ® ie Was there a valuable package found in his posses- sion ? ee “No, sir. He says he wasrobbedand——"” “That will do. Say that Mr. Garouse will be at the” headquarters within half an hour.” eo ae: “Yes, sir.” ' nee The messenger retired. nhs “You see,” said Leary, “ the boy is not lost.” F “But the Package is, and thatis worth more to me than a dozen boys.” ; j Pent ae" “Brute!” muttered Leary to himself. __ cod? ae “Come to me this evening, and I will pay you.” _ “As you please. I’m never particular. Le Like a, me has no right to be, I s’pose. ShallI go?” _ “Yes, anytime this evening you cancall,” “At six?” a M F ; a
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Yes.” “At six be it. Iwas born at six in the evening. At six years of age I was left in the streets by my parents, whoever they were; at six o’clock, too, and every- thing’s been at sixes and sevens with me ever since.” “Well, well, go now—l’ll pay you liberally—liberal- ly. Me Liberally’s a good high-soundin’ old word, but now- » .-days it don’t mean much. It’s like givin’ soup to > poor, and them that come first don’t git any.” ith this parting bit of philosophy Leary went out down the stairs. y fas needn’t go out the basement way,” said a ser- x in the hall. ‘“They’re a upsettin’ the floor and an go out by the front.” A Lhankee for your condescension—that’s another big word.” Whe bell rang. Whose that, I wonder,” said theservant. ‘‘ Well, I can let you out while I let whoever it is that rang in.” “And kill two birds, of-~a feather maybe, with one stone,” added Leary. 3 The servant opened the inner and then the outer ‘oor. A man dressed in the height of fashion was standing on the steps. Leary passed out, and the servant stoodin the open doorway. _ As he passed out the new-comer looked him full in the face. Their glances met. The stvanger’s face remained calm and unmoyable. sj But Leary started back as if he had suddenly dis ' ©overed a serpent in his path, “That face—that face !’’ murmured Leary; “I haye Been it before—before ——” “Ts Mr. Garouse at home ?”? « What name, sir ?”’ “There is my card. I think he will be in—to me!” The stranger was as calm beneath the stare of Leary, as unmoved by its strange intensity as if the man had been amile away. **Kenward Dicks,’ read the servant. ‘1’ll not for- get that!” _ “Well, sir, [hope you will know me the next time you see me,” said Kenward Dicks. - Twill,” slowly replied Leary, “unless you should keep me from seeing you again.” “«T—preyent you? What do you mean, sir ?’’ “ Nothing — only—I—was — thinkin — you—might— take—a notion—rather than see me again—to jump off the dock !” said Leary, slowly, his gaze still fixed upon Dicks. Kenward Dicks never changed color, but turned his - glance from Leary for the moment. _ * Whoever you are, your ignorance is an excuse for your impudence,’’ said Dicks, after a pause. é There was a quivering in the lia of his eye, that, ‘slight as it was, did not escape Leary’s notice. “If{I were only certain I’d—but, no—it wouldn’t do here, now. I'll wait,’’ said Leary to himself. “Mr. Garouse will see you, sir,” said the servant, ap- pearing at the door. “Ah, I thought so,” and Dicks placed his foot upon the threshold of the door. As he did’ so he turned and looked down at Leary, ‘whose gaze was still upon him, ‘Like a flash, the certain recognition of the man be- fore him. came to Leary. 2 “Ttishe! Isee through his chanye of appearance. Isee it is the murderer of Joe Didier on that terrible night—months ago,” he said to himself. _- Then to Dicks he said, but ina tone the servant could not hear: “Shall I save you from the hangman as I once seyed _ you from suicide in order that you might murder Jo- _ beph Didier ?” { Leary reached out his hand to place it on the man’s shoulder, Tt only touched the door—closed in his face by Ken- ward Dicks himself. U3 luck!’ said Leary. “But itis he, now I know it. He is the murderer, living in clover, while I—I, the - beggarly bill-poster, must post bills through the darkness of night to get my bite of bread and sup of toffee. The wretch! But he’s in the toils now, and _ PV hound him—haunt him to his doom. He knows Garouse, eh? Strange that I should meet him here, m the very steps of the house where the brothers of the man he has murdered has his home. I wonder if it isn’t just as likely that this scoundrel had a hand in making away with Charley Didier, too. That package ah! he may haye known of Garouse’s business with eshipping house; he or his pals laid in wait for Jharley, and | see it all now—all—all !” _ Leary rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Ha, ha,my good Leary, this is better than bill- posting. This is work that’s before me. Now, my fine suicidal bantam we'll see how soon you'll lose your fine feathers. I'll pluck ’em out one by one, even as the life blood of the dying man on that desolate pier hed away drop by drop. The wretch! It is he, call himself Kenward Dicks, or whatever else he pleases. He shut the door in my face,eh? He defy me—he laugh atme. He——” Leary descended the steps. “TTL wait. I can stand the cold. He won’t stay there long. Of that I’m sure.” _ _ He crossed the street, and walked rapidly a dozen doors further down the street. - Here he partly concealed himself behind the heavy stone balustrade of a high stoop. ‘He had not long to wait. From an opposite direction, Garouse’s carriage came -rumbiing up and halted at the door. : oment or two after Garouse and Kenward Dicks game down the steps together, and entering the eatriage were driven away rapidly. nee petit: ‘Done—this time,’’ exclaimed Leary, angrily looking Nee RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER ° after them as they were rolled away from his sight. ‘* Tsee—Garouse is going to the police headquarters. That's were I’]] go. Certainly that miscreant wouldn’t dare go there with him ? But why shouldn’t he? Who knows of his crime but I? Of course he would. He must be rich, or Garouse and he wouldn’t be friends. T’ll go there ” And he started for headquarters. CHAPTER VIII. THE FIGHT IN THE SALOON—THE MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE— A PASTE BUCKEY REVEALS A CLUE—FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, WHEN Leary reached headquarters, he was again dis- appointed. Garouse had been there, and after aninterview with the superintendent, returned as he said, homewards. Alone? Oh, no. He took with him one of the parties ar- rested the night before—a “ young lad ‘’ named Charley Didier. Was there anyone else with him? No. Mr. Garouse came in his carriage alone. *“There’s my luck again. Sixes and sevens as usual. That suicidal friend of the midnight bludgeon, was left on the way somewhere. Why wasn’t I born under a lucky star? I don’t believe I was born under any star at all. I don’t b’leive there was any bad luck in the world tillI got into it. When I go out of it, the fad luck’ll go out with me. I'll wait until six to- night, and—then Garouse—perhaps, I may get some- thing more out of you than the shillings you owe me —rich as you are, sharp and high-toned as you are.” As luck would have it, on his way to his quiet home he entered a saloon to refresh himself with a mug of beer, and to take home with him a paste bucket and brush, which he had left there days before. There were only two customers at a table conversing. Otherwise the place was deserted save by the landlord, and a great shaggy dog that lay curled up and sleep- ing with one bloodshot eye half open near the stove. The two men were conversing in a low tone together over their beer. Neither one looked particularly respectable or as if they were blessed with a superfluity of money. Leary having swallowed his beer at the table next to theirs, went to the closet and brought out his paste bucket and brush. For the moment he sat it down at the end of his table—and asked for another glass. The two men were evidently disputing; upon the table between them was a small package—a paper parcel. “You are a liar’! suddenly exclaimed one of them, rising, hot and furious with suddenly aroused rage. “It was you who——” “Fool,” cried the other, ‘f you don’t know what you are saying, I tell you it'was not me, Sam. It was Blazer |” Both men were on their feet. The landlord ran out to quiet the disturbance. Leary sat quietly watching the pair. “Itisn’t my quarrel,’”’ he said to himself. The one called Sam suddenly caught up his empty beer glass and with the other hand made a grasp at the package. “You're aliar, I say. It’s mine and I’ll have it— Blazer or no Blazer.” The other man at the same time grasped at the package. As he did so he threw up his hand as if to get hold of the upraised beer glass. If that was his motive he was too late. His antagonist brought it down upon his head with terrible force, and ina second his face was streaming with blood. He staggered back, then recovering himself, though half blinded by the blood that gushed from the gash in his forehead, he rushed at his foe and grappled him by the throat. As they closed in they turned and were close to the corner of Leary’s table. “Nice party ; but they'd better not crowd in on me ifthey know what's good for their peace of mind,” said Leary. ‘‘Confound them, they’ll get into my buc- ket next. I'll move it.” The landlord ran to the door to call for a police- man. As the men turned, and were struggling between the stove and Leary’s table, the package fell from the larger man’s hand and dropped into the bucket, just as Leary was pulling it away. ‘Then occurred a strange episode. The great shaggy dog, which had been winking and blinking through his heated sleep with his blood- shot eye, aroused by the noise of this desperate struggle, arose to his feet and stood glaring at the men. Then, with never a bark or a growl, he leaped upon the man nearest him and fastened his teeth in his throat, and the weight and force of bis spring bore them both to the floor. The landlord stood trembling and speechless in the door-way. Leary took up his bucket and went to the door. “T'll call an officer,” he said. “Oh—oh mein Gott in himmel dish, is awful—das is nicht—bring mit you zwi—tri fere bolice !’’ “Yes, yes,” and Leary left the combatants, and the landlord. ‘ “Tll stop in to-morrow,”’ he said, as he hurried on; “and see which got the best of it, the dog or the man. This package—ah—well, if it’s theirs or anybody else's they'll advertise it. I'll get the reward and return the money like an honest man asIam. That'll be better than staying in there to be bagged by the police.” _,Once in his garret, he examined the package. at ET Ree Oe ] $$$ $e F CHAPTER IX, | CHARLEY DIDIER—“ YOU AND I TOGETHER WILL JOIN HANDS IN HUNTING DOWN THE MURDERER OF M¥ BRO- THER.’’—THE APPOINTMENT AT TEN. : “‘ Here's a boodle,”’ said Leary, as be opened the package. a in the paper wrapping—lay a pile of crisp bank notes, “Phew! What a bonanza!” He counted them. « One—two—three—” and one after another he count- ed up to five thousand dollars. “Ten five hundred dollar bills—I don’t wonder those fellows fought forit. Ifit hadn’t been for my bucket the landlord’ud bave gathered it in, or fhe police.” A knock at lis door. Hastily gathering up the bills and thrusting them into his pocket, he cried out; * Comein.” It was Charley Didier. “Ah, my boy, you’re safe; I’m glad of it;” Leary nearly shook his hands off. ‘Now tell me all about it—where you were and what happened.” Charley sat down by the old table and told him all, andthen added, “ Here is the money—your pay which Mr. Garouse has sent you, to save you the trouble of calling for it at six.’ “Trouble? sixes and sevens again. Just when I wanted the trouble of going there, he stops me off by sending it. My boy, do you know if he has a friend & ree, eas visitor by the name of Kenward Dicks ?” s<'Yes. “Do you know the man’s history—that is, his busi- ness—his ways of living ?”’ “Only what I’ve heard Mr. Garouse say, and that is that he came here from another city, that he drew a big prize in the lottery sometime ago.and seems to be avery nice man. He has taken quite a notion to me.” es i To you? Oh, ho, that’s the way the cat jumps, is ee you see him to-day—this man ?” “No.” «* Where does he live?” *« Live ?”” “Yes, live; where does he live ?” bs “In one of those big stylish houses in east Thirty- fourth Street near Fifth Avenue.” “Umph! He won’t live there long ifIcan help it,” muttered Leary. “So, so. The river pirates came near sending you after your brother, eh?’ “ The black-jack saved me.” “Yes—with your pluck. Now, my boy, answer me one question, and then leave me to myself. I haye work to do.” “What is the question 2?” “Do you have any thought that I had anything to do with the murder of your brother, more than what Ihave told you? Speak it out if you have.’ Charley hesitated. Then he looked up and held out his hayd- “T had. I haven’t now. I will never have again. You and I, together, will join hands in hunting down to his death the murderer of my brother.” Leary took the extended hand. “Right! We will hunt him down. Not only that, hin what he has robbed others of shall be restored to em.” Charley looked up surprised. ; “Yes; I have said it. I meanit, Now, go. Come to me to-morrow morning at ten.” “ At ten?”? “Yes, at ten. Ask no questions but come. I may want you. I haye some bills to post to-night, and in the morning I will sleép late.” Charley went out. Leary was alone again, and once more he examined the package of bank bills. CHAPTER X. “FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD !|”—NANCE GRIP, THR HAG, REVEALS A SECRET—‘‘I AM ABOUT TO DO YOU A GOOD TURN, KENWARD DICKS, AM I NOT ?” Ix the morning, as Leary sat at his breakfast, he read the Herald “ Lost and Found ”’ advertisements. tee. There it was sure enough. “Five hundred dollars reward.” : The advertisement described the bills, and singularly enough even gave their numbers. “The above reward will be paid and no questions asked. Mrs. Nancy Grip, No. —— Delancy St.” “Grip. Nice name that. So, so. Five hundred dollars,eh? Itis now eight o’clock. Atten I can be back here, and meet Charley. I think this lost money may by some strange means lead to something beside the reward. Ill try an experiment.” Hastily throwing on his coat and locking the door, he started for Delancy Street. : He easily found the number, «The owld hag lives in the rear, sir.’? “Old hag—that sounds good. Old hags don’t usually have five thousand Aollars lying about loose enough to be lost.” ** What Aoor ?”” : “ On the first flure sur—in the rare, yese “ll find the ; ould faymale—bad cess to ber.” Leary went across the narrow court-yard and entered the narrow dark foul smelling narrow passageway. He made his way to the last door and knoeked. “ Come in,” rasped a yoice within, Leary entered. The room was dimly lighted by j couple of grimy windows, ornamented by a couple of torn and patched old window shades. “The floor was carpeted with the dirt of weeks of neglect. An opem grate, from which the upper bars were broken away, He gave asudden start and upset his tin cup of cof _
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————————— ae the only cheerfulness in the room—a bright coal The room was as hot as the stern of a steamboat kitchen. Near one ot the windows stood a weird old woman stooping with age, and clad in a faded calico wrapper that seemed like a mass of rags. Thin, sharp-faced, and with sunken eyes and short, tangled gray hair, she seemed a witch. **You are Nancy Grip ?” said Leary. “Oh, she said, in a rasping, cracked voice. have come to—to—— “Do you a favor.” “Ha, then it’s the money, the dear, good money—you have found it, eh? Give it to me; it is mine.” Her gray eyes gleamed out like a serpent’s. **Stop a moment.” , “Eh, you have it all in notes ?” eed: «Oh, how glad Tam. Let me see them.” He took them out of the package. ** Yes, yes,all mine, Hand them to me.” “Don’t you be in a hurry.” “J—I earned them all. I—but I see you want the yeward.”” “ Which I hope to get.” “ Certainly—yes. And she twisted ‘her long, bony fingers out toward the notes. ' “First answer me, I want to know how a poverty- stricken old woman like you got this money !’’ “ Yes—but—oh—oh, give me them,” “T won’t give them up till you answer me, so have ¢hem or let it alone.” “T say I earned them—they’re my savings.” “* Did you lose these notes?” “Yes, yes.’ . ** You lost them? I know better.” “Well, well, one of my dear boys did.” “Obho! Well, where did he get so much money?” «That's his business,’’ cried the old woman, fiercely, “Give me the money.” “You won't, well we'll see,” said Leary, crossing to the grate. “You won't?” “Nol” Leary deliberately threw one of the tive hundred dollar notes into the fire. It shrivelled {to ashes ina moment. The woman uttered a cry of wrath. *« Will you answer?” The woman glanced at him like a tigress. fingers clutched nervously. Leary coolly threw another note into the fire. * Madman, that is money—good money. Help! ¥ire! Thieves !” “Stop! Open that door, or utter another cry of alarm and I'll burn the whole package.” “Will you apawer 2” said Leary taking out a third note. 4 “ What is it fo you how he got them |” “That's my affair |’ “Oh, I see, you want to get money in the same way, eb ?” “Perhaps. Come out with your secret!’’ said Leary, "orin they go—to ashes.” “ Will you divide with me what you get in the same way?” “ Yo-0-8,”drawled Leary, ‘and you'll give me the— the notes.” “Yes, I say.’? * “Then J will tell you. Give me the notes.” “No. The secret first. Answer my question. How did your son come by these notes ?” “From—from,’’ here the old hag crept up closer to Leary, and half-whispered, ‘‘from—from Mr. Ken- ward ——” “ Kenward who?” “Koenward Dicks !"” Leary uttered an exclamation of triumph. “What was your son to do for this large sum—ch?’’ “‘Sh! these very walls have ears—my son was to help get a young lad out of the way; you understand ?” “T—yes I do,” said Leary, “to murder a young lad, Precisely. Now his name ?” “You won’t peach, and you'll divide—what you can tnake out of this man ?” “Tell me the name of the boy that your son is to ¥ill ?”’ hissed Leary. * His name is Charles Didier.’ “The wretch |” “ What does he wish him killed for?” “How should [ know? How should my son know? ow, give me the money.” “Where is your son ?”’ “T haven't seen—— ” “Don’t lie or——"" “Well, then, if you must know, an hour since.” i Where does he see this Kenward Dicks ?” Tcan find out for you, It'll bring no harm to my Ses ans o, itll bring him good, I willbe here two da oa this, at this hour. Have him here. If you fail, by Rod you all arrested. Remember. Take your roadie, 8 clutched the package and kissed and ay emember,’* said Leary, stepping toward the door. _ “You know your doom if you wehay me.” ea At thatinstant it opened. Upon the threshold stood “You Her long \ _ Keaward picks, 6, foun here!” said Kenward, savagely. + am visible to the naked eye, and Tam about to G0 you a good turn, am I not, Nancy Grip?” mn *Yes—yes. He’s one of us,” crooned the old hag, RED LEARY THE BILL POSTER. CHAPTER XI. THE BILL-POSTER’S VISION OF THEDEAD AND THE LIVING —A DREAM OF PROPHESY—THE MYSTERY OF JACK BRAN- DON AND KENWARD DICKS. -“THaris my man. I only saw him that night by the light of my lantern—but I'll not forget it. This man, Kenward Dicks and the would-be suicide of three months ago—it’s a pity he had not killed himself—are the same—curse him !” said Leary, as he emerged from ee narrow passage-way of Nancy Grip’s abode to the street. “What alook he gave me! Ifthat look had been a knife, there’d have been one bill-poster less in New York, and one more murder to bother the police,” Leary hurried back to his garret. It will be remembered fhat he was to meét Charley Didier at ten. It vas within twenty minutes of that time already, “T’ye got the pocket-book of this ruffian’s victim— through that I think I will find my way to a certainty of crushing the murderer. As for Charley, the brother —poor fellow--well—if his death is worth five thousand dollars to Kenward Dicks, I'll makeit worth double that pile before I’m through with the wretches.” He reached his quarters. Charley had not yet arrived. He unlocked the door and went in. Althoughit was morning, andthe light came in quite brightly through the little dingy window of the garret, and the fire gaye a pleasant warmth to the air, Leary shuddered as he entered. Asort of nameless dread came upon him, It was a feeling as if he had come into aroom in which a dead person had been lying. “This is queer; what canitmean? If I'd been drink- in’—but I haven’t—not a drop—ugh! There's a chill on me like the chill that comes from the touch of death. There's a numbness, too—whatis it? I—I—it can't be that I’m going to die—no—n+—not yet—not yet.” He threw off his old outside coat, then put it on again. “There's agood warm fire in the stove, but I’m as cold and shiverin’ as—ugh !” He sat down as closely to the stove as he could, Even then the heat seemed to have no effect. A sudden dimness of sight came upon him, and then the chilly feeling passed eff and in its place there came & vague dreamy sensation. He tried to shake it off. He attempted to arise from his seat. He did for the moment get up but dropped again. Then with a supreme effurt, by bracing himself with his hands upon the back of the chair, he regained his feet and staggered rather than walked to his bed. Once upon this his sight grew more vague, the weak- ness of limb increased, and with no power to struggle against it, his eyes closed and he lay there as motion- less and inert, to all appearances, as a figure of wood. But despite this apparent insensibility there came a vision, as ifsome great cloud had rolled away and op- ened to him the reality of a new life. He saw himself in this vision, saw himself as plainly as in a mirror, standing in an open street. People, strange to him, were passing and repassing. As he stood here looking, he saw coming from a covered passage-way in the opposite aide of the street the form of Nancy Grip, clad in silk and her haggard witch face rouged and painted like the weird and gro- tesque disguise of a masquerader. Boside her came Kenward Dicks. As they came out, smiling at each other and appar- ently as familiar as mother and son, there appeared behind them two other persons. One resembled in dress and manner a seacaptain, and the other was Garouse, the banker. These two arm in arm. Other shadowy figures seemed to follow them but their features wore indistinct, But, strangest of all, he, Leary, seamed to be follow- be, Sp phantoms of his vision. esaw himself creeping out of this covered passage- bs) behind them. rom an opposite qiraction advancing slowly, to his horror, there seemed to grow out from among the people passing and yepassing the form of the murdered Joe Didier, There was upon his face the same look’of agony; the blood welling out upon his brow from the ghastly wound made by the murderer's club. As he came nearer Leary saw the image of himself crouching in the shadow of the buildings, and ‘beheld the form of Joe Didier approach within arm’s length of that of Ken ward Dicks’. The two were face to face, _ They seemed not to recognize each other, but they stared, one at the: other, the face of neither at first changing in expression. Then, for the first time in all this vision, the watching Leary heard the sound of a human voice. It was the voice of the ghastly, blood-smeared Joe Didier. It uttered only a name. Jonn Brandon,” “John Brandon,” repeated Leary, and he was about to spring from his place of concealment. “John Brandon, do you know the hag beside you ?”” The woman, Nancy Grip, drew up eloser to the image of Kenward Dicks’, as if for protection. The arm of Joo Didier slowly raised, and, extending his finger, he pointed first at the woman and then at the man. “That woman isthe mother of one of your victims, John Brandon. Now look behind you.” The image of Kenward Dicks turned in obedience to the command. Leary. looking on, uttered a cry of terror. For there behind Kenward Dicks stood another Ken ward Dicks, but in a different dress. This one was clad in a shabby suit, and was woe-ba- gone and wretched. 4 In his hand he held aclub and from the endof it drops of blood slowly dripped to the pavement, making alittle pool at his feet. The face of Joe Didier turned toward Leary. “ Which is my murderer—John Brandon or Kenwar Dicks ?” ot The image of Dicks uttered a cry of despair as ifm ea the counterpart of itselfin the form of John }} on. ‘(Which ?” repeated the pale lips of Joe Didier “Mercy!” cried the image of Kenward Dicks, ing and seeming to shrink back. ee mercy you gave two, shall be yours, Kenward icks.”” Then suddenly the image of John Brandon raised the stuy and struck the image of Kenward Dicks a terrible ow. : Dicks dropped as if dead, Then a strange scene occurred. The woman, Nancy Grip, stooping down, caught the prostrate form of Dicks in her talon-like fingers and be- gan dragging it away. There was a fiendish smile upon her painted face, as seemingly with scarcely an effort she did this. “One is buried in an unmarked grave and the other —ha—ha—where shall this one be hidden ?” As she uttered these words Leary glanced at John Brandon, The blood-stained club was gone. John Brandon stood there—yet it was not John Brandon the murderer—for the shape was that of Ken- ward Dicks. . The one had changedsto the other. h Then Leary heard the tolling ot the bell. aN At each stroke of the bell ono of the figures in this vision disappeared—vyanished into the air. As be came out from the shadow of the buildings the street was suddenly darkened. ' The street lamps, one by one, at each stroke of the bell, began to flicker and glimmer through the dark- ness. r Then he saw himself standing on the end of the pier and looking out upon the black water of the river. Three forms seemed to rise up from the water— the three locked in a dead!y embrace, and struggling together. One was the image of Kenward Dicks. The other Joe Didier. The third John Brandon. A sudden flash of light from some unseen source re vealed the group. Only amoment were they visible. came again. Then darkness OHAPTER XII. THE AWAKENING FROM THE TRANCE—TRAOING A ORIME—~ “GOOD, THAT COUNTS ONE ”’—THE BLOOD-RED HAND, “Come, get up !"" Leary slowly raised himself upon his elbow and looked up in a dazed sort of way. “Eh? Why—you—what does this mean?” ' “Mean? It means that you've been lying here like a log, and that I’ve been trying to awaken you for the last half hour!” a ‘““Wake me? Was I asleep ?—or—yes—I —— ” Leary stopped in his speech. He began to remember the strange feeling which had taken possession of him. “ What time is it?” “Half past ten.” “And I have been lying here, in broad daylight— asleep—dreaming such strange dreams, and ——” i “I waiting here for you,’’ said Charley Didier, : Leary slowly arose to his feet. Something of the numbness remained. “Ugh!” he said. “I thought when I lay down there, that my time had come.”’ He went to a tin basin that was upon a shelf in the corner ofthe garret, and doused his face with water. “Ah, that is better. Nowlm Leary again, my boy, I begin to know myself. But I had e oddest of — ’ dreams. It wasn’t natural. I don’t think I'll forget it soon. Sit down there.” They sat down near the fire. “My boy, do you know you’re hunted ?” “Hunted 2” Sk “Yes; that there has been a price set upom your life ?”’ “Know it?a price set upon my life—what do you mean ?” % “Oh I’m not dreaming now. I mean what I say. — There is danger in your path, my boy.” \ Charley laughed. “Why, who wants to harm me?”’ = “Who wanted to harm your poor brother—yet he was murdered—almost in my sight. And I tell you, that the same hand that struck down your brother is now waiting to strike you down as cruelly and as secretly.”’ : Didier shuddered. “ Strike me down—what for ?”” Bt “ Because, you are the brother of the murdered Joe Didier.. There is a strange mystery in it that I intend to find out. Listen, I know—I have discovered be- yond a doubt in my mind that the man who killedand — robbed your brother is in the city.” “You know him !” “T know him ?” i “Then .why not arrest him and let him end his wretched life upon thegallows 2” 4 “Wait. Haste often loses the race. This man is crafty, and were I to denounce him now would escape unishment. We must be sure that no loop-hole is left forescapo. Now answer me, is Garouse, the mam hae
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ey whom you saw, an intimate friend of this—of this Kenward Dicks ?’’ “How can I know that. He comes to Garouse’s house—they have dealings there together sometimes— that is all I know.” " “You remember the night Garouse sent you on that errand to the shipping oftice—the night you were way- y laid by the river thieves ?” = “ Yes,” “Was Kenward Dicks at the house that day ?” “Yes, he was.” “ Good—that counts one.” _ Yes; we'll call it a link—link number one. ~2 when you were sent on that errand ?” No, but he was there just before.” “How long before ?”? “Tt might have been half an hour.” “Did Garouse call you into the room while you were there?” a Yes.” “And spoke to you of your errand?” “Yes, 1am sure he did.” “Now, tell me as nearly as you can what happened after you lett the house ?” Charley told him the story of his capture. “Exactly,” said Leary, when Charley had finished ; “and you are sure you were not followed from the house by anyone ?” “Why should anyone follow me from there?” “There was aman standing at the threshold of the door as you came out?” ‘Zens’? “He was not there when you went in?” “T didn’t see him,”’ “That’s enough. that.” “ Your man ?” “YVes—the same villain that killed your brother was the cause of your being gagged and thrown into that boat, and he will not rest until he accomplishes his purpose of getting you out of the way or is himself caught in the toils.” ‘Charley Didier might well stare in amazement at Leary when he heard this. But as yet he did not understand it. “You do not mean that Garouse is the one that!——” “No,” cried Leary, grasping Charley by the wrist— “no, but he is the instrument, the tool in the hands of a master-workman who is the one. Do you understand me now ?”’ “Don’t be so fierce, you frighten me. I know what you have said but I don’t see.” “Don’t see!’ interrupted Leary. “Did I only mention one name and that one Garouse’s ?”’ “Yes, yes, Kenward Dicks.” “ He is the master workman in this job.” “Dicks—he—no, no, Leary—you are mistaken.’’ “No more mistaken than Iam when I say that I know the man who killed your brother and robbed him ; and who out of the proceeds of that robbery has made himself wealthy.” “I do not believe he is the man who would commit &@ murder.” “Did I say he was. Did I mention him as being the man?” -- 4 "No, but you seemed to mean him.” “Tsimply say he is the master workman who put up that job of having you kidnapped.” Charley made no reply. He was more bewildered than ever. Again, too, came into his mind the suspicion that after all this bill-poster, honest and fair as he seemed, might only be deceiving him, and that he was in some way impli- eated in his brother’s murder. “He wants me to believe that Garouse had a hand in my kidnapping. and that Kenward Dicks is a villain,” thought Charley. But he had sense enough, in the way of shrewdness, not to hint, in any manner of word or action, at his suspicions. He had told Leary that he no longer suspected Was he My man was at the bottom of im. “Vl watch him—it won’t do an harm. I’ll watch him, and take good care to forget nothing he says. If my suspicions wrong him, I’ll find it out myself. If it does not, he’ll know it to his sorrow.” j Whilo he remained silent and thoughtful, Leary had arisen from his seat, and was busying himself about theroom. “My boy,” he said, “I am going to pay a visit to this Kenward Dicks.” “You 1” *‘Oertainly; why not 2?” “Por what purpose.” “Oh, just for curiosity. There’s nothing like being on visiting terms, you know, 'specially with men who have plenty of money. He may have some bill-posting, you know.” x Leary smiled grimly as he said this. * Bill-posting ?” “Of course, or I may get some other work from him. Once I get face to face with him, I will read him from his topmost hair tothe soles of his feet. “I'll call upon him to-day.’’ “Let me know the result.” “Oh, yes—perhaps,” said Leary, carelessly. Then, suddenly turning and taking Charley’s hand, he said in a low tone: “My boy, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't trouble myself about you or your welfare. Your brother’s terrible fate brought us together. Now, de as I say, and one of these days you will bless the day, even though you regret the cause that brought you tome. Go, now, and leave me. To-morrow I will be here. Come tome then, but beware of being out at ‘night. I tell you you are watched, and your eyery _ motion dogged by an unrelenting enemy.” “ Garouse ?” F “Bah! no. You shall know when it is time.” “ Kenward Dicks?” 4 RED LEAks THE BILL-POST@R, “Ask no further—bur it won’t do youany harm to keep away from Dicks. That’s all—good-bye. Don’t forget to-morrow.” “I—I won't. You are going to the house of Dicks?” “ To be sure I am—bucket, brush and all.” Charley laughed in spite of himself. “And I’llstick a gutter snipe in his back if he tries any nonsense with me. Then, good-bye.”’ Leary held out his hand. The hand was almost blood red. Charley started back when he saw its strange color. “What's the matter?” said Leary. “Your hand ; it is the color of blood.” 5 vf op. thatis nothing. Did you not notice it be- fore ?”” “No.”? Charley shuddered. It was Leary’s right hand, too; the hand that might have struck down his brother. “Won't you take it ?’” A Belnotanily Charley placed his within the other's and, “ That red is from a stain. “It looks so like blood.”’ “Yes—my boy—like many other things—it is deceiv- ing. It looks like what itis not. Once more, good- vo.” So they parted. But all that day Charley could not forget the color of the bill-poster’s hand, It was a trifle, to think of—but trifles to the suspic- ions become like haunting specters that will not bo banished. Red Leary resolved to go to the house of Kenward Dicks that day. In his mind there lingered the remembrance of the strange vision through which like a spirit he had wit- nessed such weird scenes. “Isit possible,” he said to himself on his way to Dicks, “that John Brandon not only killed Joe Didier, but murdered a man named Dicks and assumed that name.and the dead man’s place in life? That was my dream—well, well I can’t account for it now. When the story is ended, and the play is over I’ll know.” s aoe a while he came to the house of Kenward cks. It will never come out,” CHAPTER XIII, THE HOUSE OF KENWARD DICKS—NANOY GRIP COMES OUT OF THE BASEMENT—THE PUZZLE IN CYPHER—THE DRUG- GED BRANDY—THE TABLES TURNED; ‘DRINK IT YOU VILLAIN, TO THE LAST DROP.?? As he ascended the broad stone steps and placed his hand upon the silver bell knobhe heard the iron gate | of the basement beneath clang in closing, He looked over the balustrade of the stoop. A woman was coming out, It needed no second glamee to tell him who she was, “Nancy Grip—theinfernal old hag !’’ he said. ‘So, 80, sheis one of his visitors. “This morning he yisited her; in the afternoon she visited him. Good. It looked business like—sociable too. Nancy is so handsome too—quite an ornament to genteel society—the she-devil, that she is. I wonder what new scheme she is concocting ?”” Nancy came out upon the pavement. Then she looked up and saw Leary. Her deep set eyes fairly snapped. “He Here, What can it mean? Was he in earnest or——’ “Hallo, my fine friend, lost any more five hundred Sacra notes ?”’ said Leary, his hand still on the bell nob, “What's that to you, meddler ?” “Or have you been undermining me with tbis good friend of ours who lives in this fine house ?”” “Fool. It was your turn when you burnt that money ; it will be my turn before long,” she hissed as she gathered her shawl about her bent form. “Don't get mad, old woman, with a man you don’t know. A word with you.” Leary as he said this came down the steps. ‘“Itis this. Don’t you try any of your tricks on that boy.” “You're an idiot. You frighten no one.” “Vf you do, if harm comes to him, I'll tear you limb from limb as a starving man would tear ahalf roasted chicken into shreds. Ugh, I could do it now,” said Leary fiercely. “You go your way ; I'll go mine. Nancy Grip ‘ll not forget you.” “ Nor will Red Leary forget you, my charmer.” The woman gave her shawl a savage twitch and be- stowing upon Leary a glance of venomous hate, started up the street. “ Ha, what’s that—a bit of paper—l’ll see.” From beneath Nancy's shawl as she drew it up so closely, a folded paper dropped, unperceived by her to the pavement. Leary took it up and re-ascendedjthe steps. Then he examined it. It was little more than a scrap partly folded and partly crumpled. He opened it. There was writing in pencil on it, ‘Here is a puzzle.” It was writen in cypher. Thus it read. “Tan2 ¥r2 w46472 Fv ¥13 92d4¥2y. 470 Uv x92 ZFA, VUZ. ‘ B. Uv. EB. BYZz. 6vyu2y. “It’s a sure thing that this wasn’t intended for Nancy to read—nor me either. There’s more deviltry in this—certain,”” ‘ : Leary turned it upside down and endwise—in vain. Then he thrust it carefully away in his pocket. “Tl put that on my list as link Number Two!” He rang the bell, Presently the door was opened by a servant. “ What do you want ?"’ “ Not you, but your master !’’ “T have no master.’”’ “You ought to have them to teach you manners— don’t attempt to shut the door in my face. Don't you see, that my foot is in the way.” ‘‘We haye nothing for tramps.” “Tell your master, Mister Kenward Dicks, I want to see him.” “Gentlemen have cards, and——”’ ‘« Clubs are trumps with some of them.’’ “What's your name ?”” mh Tell your master that Mr. Leary wishes to see im.” “Who?” : “Mr. Leary—Count de Poste—wearing the decora- tion of the brush and bucket.’ Wait.”” “TI will—you can depend upon that, and with this door open, too.” The seryant returned. “You can come in.” “T know I can, and witt,’’ Leary fol)owed him into the reception-room. “Mr. Dicks will be here in amoment;” and the ser- vant was gone, “What luxury—what riches! All this profusion for one man only, and that man—well, we’ll see.’’ ; The door opened and Kenward Dicks in dressing gown, smoking cap apd slippers confronted him. Aside trom a slight paleness his face was as cold and expressionless as a face of wax. “Mr, Dicks ?” “That is my name. You want to see me?” “ To have a little talk with you,”’ said Leary, soating himself. ‘Tnat face is the face I saw ou the pier ; the face I saw ofthe man named Brandon Isaw in my strange dream |!” Leary added, in his mind. “What do you want?” “To take a seat—von seeI haveit.” “In the first place, who are you ?”” eee servant told you my name ?)’ “Yes.” us rete you ask who I am, eb ?”’ (2 “do.” “dy ee met me on the steps of Garouse’s house—days ago ?'” “ Ye—yes,’” “And this morning early we met on threshold of the door of the honest Nancy Grip’s luxurious house 2? “Well, what cf that? What is your business with me? Ihave no time to spare.” “Nor I breath to waste. Iwant to ask you a few Leta’ concerning young Charles Didier,” said ary. “ Didier,’ repeated Dicks, in a cold, hard tone. “Well, what of him ?”’ “Don’t pretend ignorance, Kenward Dicks,” said Leary. bad “Ignorance? You are impertinent |’ “ Bill-posters ain’t particular where they put their brush. You seem to have an interest in this Charley Didier.” “None whatever.”’ “Permit me to inform you that you le /’’ “What?” Dicks started back and reached his hand towards the door behind him. - As he did so Leary put out his hand to a bell-knob in the wall which he just then noticed. “Open that door,” said Leary, “and I touch this bell- knob. It will likely bring up the servants.” “And I will order them to put you out.” “But not before Lask them in your presence who you are, and I will answer the question for them.” Dicks smiled. “T will tell them you are the man by whose means Charles Didier was kidnapped and robbed and barely escaped with his life.’”’ “You are crazy.” ‘ “ Not so crazy as not to know I am in the presence of a villain.’’ “Do you dare——” “I dare anything for the revelation of a great crime and the punishment of the perpetrator,” “Come, this is folly. You want money Isuppose.” “‘ Everybody wants that article, but everybody isn’é willing to get it either by robbery or murder.”’ Dicks glanced at Leary fora moment. Then he locke ed the door and once more stood before Leary defiant, “What you know about me or my feelings toward Charles Didier will not either harm me or hy its ex- posure do you any good, but——"” “But what?” Dick hesitated. Y “But what? Iknow. You think I have come here to blackmail you ?”” Dicks made no reply. He was evidently resolving upon a plan of action. He saw that he was on the verge of a trap—the springing of which ut any moment might bring, exe posure and destruction to his schemes, “Vive thousand dollars is a good sum to pay tomake way witha boy like Didier?” ‘* Never mind—I know, you see.” “It is false.”” . “Thayen't accused you yet, . aaye only insinuated.” “IT see—now—let us understand one another,” said he “my good fellow. Wait andI will take some wind? “Brandy for me,” said Leary. Dicks left the room. “T see his little game. I'll go him one better or I'm mistaken. If he had not meant mischie! he would have rang forthe tiquor. As itis—he means to drug me. Nice, very.’’ In a moment Dicks returned, bringing a amall tra .
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+ with.a bottle of brandy, one of Burgundy wine and three glasses. “There is water on the table,” said Dicks. “ All right.” Leary poured out a wine glass full of the brandy. Dicks, smiling, did the same with his Burgundy. “ There’s nothing like brandy,is there, to cheer one up,’’ said Leary, holding up his glass. ** Nothing; drink,” “This looks like good brandy. drink it ?”” * Not often.” We a aly you taste this ?’” as y ?” said Dicks, glancing sharply at the bill- Don’t you never poster. ‘* Because,” said Leary, suddenly stepping closer to Dicks, ‘‘ because, you infernal, treacherous, murder- ous wretch, you hyena in human shape—because I say you must.’’ Dick's face paled to the color of ashes. a saw that the bill-poster had penetrated his de- sign, **You—you’’—he stammered. “Surely I—my dear man what do you mean ?” ‘I mean,” thundered Leary, “I mean that this liquor is drugged, and I mean that you shall drink it now.” “Tshall not. You are a ruffian.” ** But not a kidnapper or a murderer !’’ * What—I. Help—help !” Before Dicks could utter another cry Leary drew a — club from an inner pocket and raised it over his head, *Onecry more and I’ll harm you—as this same club months ago struck down to his death the brother of Oharles Didier upon the pier at midnight. Ha, ha, you know—do you, wretch ? Now drink that brandy.” ** No—no—I cannot,” “ Drink it or I strike |’ Dicks saw no escape. ‘The terrible look of the bill-poster as he stood there with the upraised club and gleaming eye would have awed a fiend. “ Drink it at once.” With a trembling hand and quivering lips, Dicks reached out his hand and grasped the glass. Not amovement escaped the bill-poster’s glance. Seg fear-stricken man raised the glass to his quiver- (ps. _The-edye of the glass rattled against his teeth. Still for the last lime he hesitated. “ Drink it, you villain.” Dicks wet his lips with it, then hesitated “Down with it,” thundered Leary, “ fast drop.” : Dicks swallowed it, and then sat down in the chair beside him. _ * Now,’’said Leary, “ old fellow, I’ll steady my nerves with a drop of this Burgundy, and wait until I see how brandy operates on you. Don’t be afraid; I’ll keep in- truders out and stay by you. When you get sleepy ‘you can take a snooze on the lounge.” Kenward Dicks sat there silent and trembling. All his brayado for the time was gone. . -He was for once conquered—bafiled. _- He had now no chance to counteract the effect of the drugged brandy. “You will repent this,’”’ he at last said. “Repent what ?’” «This—this—why——” “Then don't talk; it might weaken you. I can wait here. You see, the drug may loosen your tongue.” _. Here Leary took from his pocket the paper Nancy had dropped on the pavement. « By the way, my jolly Dicks, here is a bit of paper with a nice little puzzle in pencil written onit. It’s bi | eh ech Perhaps you can read it ?” y © held it close to Dicks’ face. “Ha! Give me that, Where—oh, I see all now— that woman—Nance has betrayed me.’’ “Oh, no she hasn't. She dropped it on the pavement when she went out from here, and I picked it up— that’s all. I can’t read, but I can. keep it till I find somebody that can.” “That will never be,’’ said Dicks, “We'll see. I may make you read it for me.’ » Dicks’ eyes began to have a heavy, dull expression. “it’s working,” said Leary. ‘“ Brandy does make people sleepy.” Geary had placed the club back in his pocket. ‘The words uttered in a sneering tone by Leary seem- ne oh the moment, to have aroused the spirit of ain. in it to the 5 With one supreme effort he leaped fromhis chair, and sprang upon the bill-poster. CHAPTER XIY, RED LEARY ENDS THE STRUGGLE WITH KENNARD DIOKS— THE DRUGGED GLASS—‘I DON’T WANT TO ROB THE _HANGMAN OF HIS RIGHTS.” Tae struggle was brief. At the best Kennard Dicks was no match for Red Leary, physically. Now, weakened by the drug he had taken, his chance ‘was only as one in a thousand. Leary caught him by the wrists, and gave them a ter- _ ible inward twist, which brought Kennard on his knees to the floor, “TI could kill you now,” exclaimed Leary, “kill you “as Iwould a snake—crush you out of the existence you apa I don’t want to rob the hangman of his 4 8 ary held him tor amoment, and then ing him around the body, threw him upon the Touhue: a a ey lay wists, and remember that when I am good ar eady, and am through with using : hand you over to the police.” bi Bb Tag RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. “Y—o—u—” Kennard tried to speak, but the exer- tion of the struggle, his last desperate effort to over- come the effects of the drug proved vain. The dose he had prepared for the bill-poster was a strong one, and he was its victim. Voiceless, with dulled sense, vacant eyes and nerve- less, he lay where Leary had placed him, utterly at the mercy of theman, who above all others, he had least expected to meet, and had the most cause to fear. “You're a nice one,” said Leary, looking at him. “ Worse than a last watering of paste.” Leary stood gazing at him a moment. Then his glance fell upon the center table and its contents. The glass which had contained the drugged brandy stood there with the rest. Upon it, as upon all of them was the monogram ot Kennard Dicks. Leary took it up. At the bottom was a grayish sediment. “ Phat’s not sugar, unless he dropped a bit in to hide the taste of his drug whatever it was. I know what T'll do with that.” He thrust the glass quickly but carefully into an in- ) side pocket with the mouth upwards. “Tl look into it. when I get home.” Then he turned his attention once more to Dicks. | Thereis a mystery about this man beyond the mur- der on the pier. He wanted to kill himself, and he meant it too. Why? That's the mystery, perhaps. These conundrums are always coming up to bother me. Sometimes 1 wish I had never wandered down to that infernal pier. But it’s all for the -best, I s’pose. I wonder if this scoundrel has anything about him that would be of any use ?”’ He bent over the man, and cautiously began an ex- amination of his pockets. « Any reg’lar detective would do this; itcan’t be much harm to go through a chap like this to get evidence. Ha, what's this—a pistol, eh? If the drug hadn’t worked the pistol would. Keys, pocketbook. I don’t went them. Papers, eh? two letters. So. I'll gun them. - I always had a fancy for reading letters. This one, signed Captain Alex. Seaweed ——” There was a ring at the door bell. Hastily concealing Captain Seaweed’s letter in his pocket, he replaced the other where he had found it. He listened. “Engaged at present,” he heard the servant answer. “Umph—yes,” said Leary glancing at Dick. ‘‘I should rather say he is, and likely to be. But I must pe getting out of this. BeforeI gol’ll leave him a to- en.’? Taking from his pocket the stump ofa wooden pen- cil and a bit of paper, he wrote. ‘You will see me again—when you are in better trim for talking,-and when you least expect me. * Leary.” “There, that will do.”” He folded itand opening Dick’s hand, which lay across his breast he placed the paper in it. » “He'll find it—no fear of that.’ Leary softly opened the door leading to the hall- way. Silently as he could he pushed back the dead-lateh and opened the front door, and closed it behind him, Once more he was on the step and in the open air. «« I'd like to paste a reward for murder poster on the front of his house or slap it over with gutter snipes. tive clue—a mere hint, and to-night—yes, to-night, I'll have my man.” ‘What do you propose to do?’ asked Garouse, im- patiently. j “Well, several things— watch and wait, among ; others.”’ ‘ “But—pshaw—the diamonds will be scattered and $ sold long before you get even what you calla ‘mere hint.’”’ % “Not likely. Even if they are the robber will not scattered and sold—unless he’s sold to me.” “Umph! By the way,I had another talk with Kennard Dicks this morning.’’ “And he still sticks to it that this Charley knows more aboutit than he cliooses to tell ?”” “Yes, and further he persists in his opinion, that_, Now then, I’ll go to ne palace on the top floor. There’s harder work than bill-posting before me, and some- thing’s pushing me on to it—a something I don’t under- stand. Well, it aint in the books for bill-posters to know everything before hand. It'll come soon enough.”’ When he reached his garret lodgings, he found Charley Didier waiting for him at the door. ‘ CHAPTER XV. “ COUNTRY’? GIMBLET THE DETECTIVE ON THE TRAIL— HIS INTERVIEW WITH GAROUSE THE BANKER—THE DIAMONDS AGAIN. Srnce Charley Didier was so mysteriously waylaid and robbed of the package with which he was intrusted at the shipping office, and after his escape and reappear- ance, Garouse his employer had not borne the loss in silence. The river thieves were right in their assertion con- Mereind this package. It did contain diamonds—unget and worth fifty thou- sand dollars. In sending Charles Didier for them, at nightfall, he had no thought of any danger of losing them. Who would suspect a youth or boy of being the bearer of such a precious store of jewels at that hour? ~ It was to ayoid any suspicion upon the part of any one that hesent him rather than an older person at that hour. Garouse had privately summoned to his house one of the most noted detectives at police headquarters. A common-looking man was this detective—but withal ashrewd one. ; He had successfully worked out many a seemingly hopeless case, and had not only gained a reputation but mofiey in his ten years’ career upon the force. On the very day that Leary paid his respects to Kennard Dicks, “Country Gimblet ’—otherwise Jack Gimblet, the detective, was in conference with Garouse at the latter’s residence. “Noclue yet?’ said Garouse. “None whatever,” replied Gimblet, his chin, reflectively. : “And I suppose I must give up all hope of recover- ing my diamonds, or of finding and punishing the robbers.”” ts “Oh, no, that doesn’t follow. Why, I’ve had a case 4 tapping his on hand for three years, and only yesterday got a posi- if foi not captured really by the river thieves, and” ae “Nonsense—so far as that goes, this Mister Dicks is all wrong. Wasn’t one of the thieves captured ?” “Yes, and got away, too, on the way to the police- station.’’ “No, afterwards; after he was locked up, too,” said Gimblet; ‘he tricked the doorman.’’ “TI can hardly believe this boy—for he is a boy yet in years—could be guilty, yet Dicks isa man who un- derstands human nature.’’ R “But Dicks isn’t a detective ?”” “No?” “ Does he like the boy otherwise ?” “No, I can’t say he does?”’ “Why ?” “He never gave any special reason—saye that ho didn’t like the breed.’ 5 “‘That’s no reason at all,”’ said the detective. abe “ Dicks says that if one brother disappeared with his employer’s money, why not the other ?”” “7 “Yes, why not? Mr. Garouse, this Kennard Dicks may be asmart man, but he'd never make his fortune z as a detective. Was he here when you sent this boy to the shipping office on that errand ?” “He was.” “ Did he know what the boy went for ?” «Not wholly.” bya “ But he knew that he was to bring back a valuable — package ?’” : «Yes, and now I remember that I told him some- — thing concerning these diamonds.” ae “ Why, or what purpose did you leaye them at this shipping office ?’” Fi “One of the members of that firm who is exceeding- ly wealthy, knowing I had such jewels, wished to purchase a portion of them and being an old acquaint-— ance, and sure that they were safe with him, I brought — them to him myself afew days before in order that _ he might examine them as to a selection of the size which would best suit his purpose,” “ And the boy was sent to get them,” ; “Yes.” } “Did youneed them on that particular night 2?” “Yes.” “For what purpose ?”’ persisted the detective. “That I might deposit them in bank as collateral against a large loan I desired to make for a special ob- — ject,” answered Garouse impatiently. ment ie Then Mr. Gimblet took him up on another tack. ; “How long have you had this boy Charles Didier — with you ?” . “From a week after his brother’s disappearance.” ‘His murder you mean. How long have youknown ~ Mr. Kennard Dicks?” : Ly «‘Oh—along, very long time.” “ Ah ! Has he always liyed in the city .”” Ge as ““No, until within the monthin which the murder of young Didier occurred, he had been absent from the city a matter of ten years.” Ary "i “Was he rich ten years ago?” ig Yes, but on his return I did not know him?” i «« Changed, I suppose ?”’ “Yes. His very features seemed to have altered. — Yet, there was something in his (per ee Way? Ry of dress which I recognized. Yes, I should never haye y i known him had he not himself and with some trouble, too, convinced me of his identity.” PRD. “There were others in the city who knew him, that know him now.” eye |. “Very few. Kennard kept himself aloof from men— — had few associates. He was a strange fish in those days, — but now he is everywhere, and making acquaintance with everybody.” My ita Mr, Gimblet listened attentively. “Do you think this Didier was a party to this di mond robbery ?*’ he said, : 2 “JT don’t know what to think.” ate is 3! * Well, I know whattothink. IthinkI willcallupon Mr. Kennard Dicks at his house to night.” j “Pshaw, what good will that do?” Be Ug ae “We'll see, Was there any other outside about the ; a | errand ?’” «No—yes, there was.” i “Who?” tS inal “ A queer, independent sort of fellow, I hired him f aday or two.” a « His name ?” Aes ge 29 a Wer “They call him Red Leary. He is a bill-poster times.” “Do you know him—his character ?” Hae “Somewhat. Isent Didier for him to his garret.’” “Oh, you did,eh?” Mr. Gimblet tapped his chin vigorously. ij aemncry: “V1 interview this Red Leary also. I think I begin to see the glimmer of those diamonds,”” HN ipa “What! You Ea Aer alk he toe “No, I never allow myself to suspect anybody,” : terrupted Gimblet. ‘It's’ my business to know, an when I know, that settles it.’ re “You are going ?’”
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©Yos. On Saturday I will see you again. You haven't fi any bills about you, I ’spose ?” “Qh—for expenses—yes, certainly—here,’—and Ga- pouse handed him a fifty dollar note—“ that makes three H hundred and fifty—this is a costly business.” “But to get the diamonds back—only think of that, sir!’ - “JT do, or you wouldn’t get the money ” y The detective smiled, pocketed the bill and went out. Mr. Gimblet then and there had made up his mind. Sy “A knowledge of the whereabouts of those diamonds in the keeping of one of three persons—the boy, Red vy or Kennard Dicks. Ican’t thinkit’s the boy. tay Fe Ts ONS ofthe others.” | Mr. Gimblet had his ideas. He had worked up many a case toits terrible end of prison or gallows; only one ever foiled him. That was the murder of Joe Didier on the pier. Clue after clue of that he had taken up and abandon- ed, and gave them all up, baffled, ; Now ¢ame up this diamond case. The more he thought of it as he went along, the more every way he looked nt it, it seemec to point to Leary. He was in the house at the time the boy was sent on the errand; he left it at about the same time, perhaps 4 little before. Might he not have been the man stand- ing at the door of the shipping office,disguised in heavy Oharley Didier, even if he started a few minutes after him. On the other side—Kennard Dick was rich, had a re- putation to sustain, and besides was an old :.ccquaint- auce of Garouse’s. | .*The fingerof evidence points to Leary—Red Leary - the bill-poster. I know it.” Gimblet having arrived at this conclusion, determin- ed to forthwith work up Red Leary. CHAPTER XYI. PLOT FOR PLOT—LEARY UNEARTHS ANOTHER TRAP— JOSS: CORNER’ S—THE CYPHER NOTE IS SOLVED—THE ‘PLAN—DETECTIVE GIMBLET APPEARS. “So, Charley, my boy,” said Leary, as he opened the door and went in followed by the boy—‘ you’re here before me, eh ?” _ ~The boy sat down by the stove and made no answer. © * What's the matter with you ?”” You ought to know,” said Charley, moodily. “Ought to know—well Ilike that,” replied Leary. “Tm not a doctor.” It’s nothing that needs a doctor. I’m tired of this that’s praying on my mind!” Cie “Shake it off then—whatever it is.” ap TI can’t get rid ofit. If { could go crazy I—” _ “Don’t be a fool, my boy,’’ said Leary. “You're too - young for that sort of nonsense.” "There was a wild look in Didier’s eyes and a neryous " od whiskers? He could easily have arrived there before | the murderer of my brother.” \ “L-POS” RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER, twitching of the muscles of the face, a restless chang- ing of positions. Saree! sat down besidehim and took the boy’s hand is. It was as hot as fire. “«My boy, what hascome over you.” “T—I am now sure thatIam on the track of my brother’s murderer.”’ “You should be glad of that.” ** No—not now.” “Well you’rea strange sort of grown up lad.” “Never mind what Iam, Since Isaw you, Leary, I have made a discovery. Iam sure now where I was doubtful before.” “Well, stir up your paste and begin work. Tell me what you have discovered.” Didier looked up into the face of Leary. He drew his hand away, and suddenly sprang to his feet. His whole demeanor changed. The moedy, sulky expression gave place to one of | desperation—of wrath. «You may as well know it first as last, Fou are the man,” “The man! What are you driving at ?” “You are the murderer of my brother!” “¢You have come here to tell me this?” | * Yes, not to tell you this, but to tell you more.” “gyi irs \ “The boy and my man together!’ thought the detective; “ that looks suspicious. “You're mad!” “Mad! No, I’m not. Do you know who it is that , denounced you as my brother’s murderer ?” “No, nor do I care,” said Leary, calmly. “T will tell you. I—I—believe Iam going mad.” «That is what I thought.” ; “Read this,”—the boy handed a letter to Leary. | “What is written there is the truth.” “Ah! isit? We'll see.” Leary opened the letter. When he had read it he quietly folded and returned it to the boy. “TI have just left the man who wrote that letter. Are you fool enough to fall into the trap this Kennard Dicks has set for you?” “That is his writing, I knew it.” “Well.” / “Init he bids me beware of you, to brand you as “You haye already accused me, my understand the meaning of that letter ?’ _ “{do, equally as well as know that you are play- ing a double game with me.’ “Pshaw. See here. He wrote this last night. To- day not .an hour ago I saw him ; left himin his own boy. Doyou ' house. Had he waited until now he would not have ey that letter. He would have tried another ‘ick,”’ “Trick? Everything is trick with you.” “A baby could see through this. I have told you, warned you that this Kennard Dicks as he calls him- self hates you, for what reason, 1 shall know before Sait > a —————————————————————————— long. Ihave thwarted him once in his plot to make way with you. Dll doitagain. This letter—bah!’’ The boy stamped his foot upon the floor. “Be patient. Don’t upset your paste before you put up your bill. In this letter he tells you that he knows that I was concerned in the murder of your brother, that he has the proof of it and that if you will go with him on Friday at dusk to Joss Corner’s, he will furnish you with the proof,” ** And it is this little trick that has excited you, eh? Bah! Do you know where Joss Corner's is?” ““No—but I can find it—for am I not to go with him | there?” “But you will never come away from there—with him?” *“Why not, surely.” s * Boy,” exclaimed Leary suddenly, and with a fierce earnestness grasping Charley’s arm, “that man tried to-day to poison or drug me ;1 foiled him and made him swallow his drug himself ;I left him lying help- less in his own house. See here is the glass with the drugs still init.” He took the glass from his pocket. Charley shivered. The nearer he came to the dis- covery of his brother’s murder, the more the cloud of mystery seemed to thicken and grow darker. “Joss Corner’s is a den of thieves; a resort where cutthroats and villains carouse; lay their plans of HIAAHHI CO | iain ma { IL I know I’m on the right track.” { crime or hide from pursuit of justice and the vengeance of the law.” The boy shuddered. Then he straightened up. : “*T’ll not believe it. Dicks does not go with that sort of people nor to such places.” “Don’t he? We'll see about that. that letter again.’’ r Leary took up the letter, Then from his pocket he drew the slip of paper which Nance Grip had dropped in front of Kennard Dicks’ house. He compared the two, “I thought so,” he exclaimed. “Do you see this, Charley Didier ? These are both written by the same hand and with the sameink. Thisisincypher., Yours is in English : that’s all the difference.” Charley looked at the two pieces of paper. “Darker and darker,” he muttered. “To you, yes; to melighter and lighter. Sit down there.” 7 Charley quietly obeyed. Leary sat-opposite him, the table between them. “Now, let us work out this puzzle. Lused to worry my brain over the puzzles in the story papers. Now here is something that beats them all.” ‘ An hour passed. Patiently he worked over it. At last hestruck the key. He leaped from his chair, si 2 ; “T’ve got it, ’'ve got it!” he exclaimed. “See, and this is a key to that letter he sent you as well.” net Charley began to think Leary himself had gone mad. Now show me
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“Now, listen, Charley, while I spring the trap.” “TAH. FI2 W46472 FV F12 924V2Y420 UV XG2ZFAV- - UZ. B9. UV EB. Vhat’s Kennard Dicks’ way of saying it. Transiated it reads: ‘Give the package to the bear- er. Ask no questions. Cometo me about the prison- er. J. B., Number 93, Joss Corner’s.’’’ Charley started back and uttered a cry of amaze- ment. “Now, then, my boy,can you see his little game?” “Your letter was written yesterday; this cypher was fixed this morning, and given to Nance. As she left Kennard Dicks’ house she dropped it trom beneath her shawl. I picked it up. She is his tool, Charley Didier, now who is the rascal? D’ye see ?” “That package 2?” “A year's work toacent, It is the package of dia- monds stolen from you,” cried Leary. “ Then it was—it is a trap ?’”” “Ofcourse, Boy, yeu have courage ?”” “Try me.’’ , “Courage to go into Joss Corner’s alone ?” J “Any where—when there is a chance to find——” “Enough !” interrupted Leary. ‘‘ You shall go to Joss Corner’s—but not in thoso clothes. You must disguise yourself.” “Instead of going there, why not have Kennard Dicks arrested ?” | “No. That would spoil all. You shall go to Cor- ner’salone. Get yourself up asa vagrant, dirty and ragged as youcan. Take this cypher paper with you.” “When?” “To-night, Even then there it a chance of its being too late. Come here 'to me at nine o’clock. I will haye the duds ready for you. I have ajob of one sheet- ers to Stick up to-night. When you enter the door ot Joss Corner’s den it will not many minutes before I follow you with my paste-bucket, brush and bills. I will call for a drink. You needn’t fear but what Ill keep an eye open for your safety.” “ But suppose Dicks himself is there ?’’ 5 “No danger of that, If he is recovered from the dose * Imade him take he will be waiting for you.” - Fora moment Charley Didier was silent. Then he caught up the hand of the bill-poster. i ita forgive me, I believe I have been a stupid a ea “There, my boy—none f that. Do you trust me, that’s all. We'll conquer in the end.”’ : “You still have that pocket book ?” ete “« Yes.’? 4 ‘ _. And one day——” j “You shallhaveit. Itis yours—but—you shall have it on the day vengeance overtakes the murderer of your _ brother.” ' ‘The boy took the eypher paper up from the table. _ “This name—the letters J. B. do not stand for Ken- ard Dicks !’”” said Charley doubtfully. Z| “No. Nor are the initials in cypher. { Kennard Dicks.” «J, B. is not K. D.” “But J. B. stands for Jack Brandon, and Jack Bran- don is the real name of Kennard Dicks!” “ Jack Brandon |” “Yes, and the Lord knows how many there are behind that.” As he said this there came a knock at the door. ee “Come in.” Phe door was pushed open, and Country Gimblet, the detective, stood upon the threshold. “The boy and my man together!” thought the de- is tective; “that looks suspicious. I know I’m on the : right track.’”’ ** You are Leary, the bill-sticker.” “Red Leary—at your service!” _ The detective came in and closed the door. iB,” Re J. B. means more names | ‘ OHAPTER XVI. GAPTAIN SEAWEED SAILS IN—-ONE MILLION OF DOLLARS 20 _--« JACK -BRANDON—“‘ YOU INFERNAL SCOUNDREL, I WAS _ PREPARED FOR THAT DODGE.” -KENNARD Droxs lay helpless and unconscious upon ' the lounge, where Leary had left him—under the in- fluence of the drug—an hour or more. _ He might have lain there until nightfall had he not been aroused by one of the servants. After much shaking the servant succeeded in making him conscious. } “Mr. Dicks—Mr. Dicks!” cried the servant, and ad- | ding to himself, ‘‘he’s drunk, and I never seen him in ~ @ais way before.” Y ““Wh—what—where amI? I feel as heavy asif I— ' I'd been turned into lead. Help me to my feet.” “Yes—yes—but Mister Dicks there’s a gentleman waiting for you !’”” _ “For me?” “tea” «‘ What is his name ?’ «‘He wouldn’t give it, sir.” * How long has he been waiting ?”" “About halfan hourthis time. He called twice.’ isn’ that man—Leaty—the one that was here morning ?”” RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. “You see lam not dead. You look haggard—your conscience I suppose—a little loggy, eh ?”’ “No, a nervous headache, that is all.” “There is no need ofa waste of words between.us,” said the captain. ‘‘Extra ballast of words sinks the understanding.’” “What can I do for you ?”’ “Pll tell you. You thought me dead. Iam neither dead nor am I likely to die so long as there's salt water enough to float a raft anywhere. You remember, the night that we first met?” «JT—J—do.” ' “It was the night after the night of that mysterious murder on the pier below, the one at which the Har- lem was lying?” “ Yes—well ?” “T'll refresh your memory still further. South Street.” “Yes, yes, I know.’”’ It was in “So do I. On the night after that murder, in a saloon frequented by seafaring men, you came in flushed with liquor; in fact, you were drunk as a lord. You made a show of money. You hada great roll of bills in your hand—hundreds of dollars. You insisted that you knew me.” “Soldidl”’ . : “You called me byname. I did not recognize you. You said you were Kennard Dicks. That you had once sailed with me as a passenger from London.” “So Lhad,” said Dicks, coolly. “The Kennard Dicks who came over with me——” “Was myself,” “So you said, but you had changed wonderfully. I could not believe it was you, for the Kennard Dickg I remembered was a quiet man—you were noisy and boisterous.”’ “Twas drunk.’’ ‘| ag hia father learned, became by turns a vagrant, the **T know that.’ “What is all this coming to?” “This. In that saloon at last you beoame abusive. We hadafight. You gave mea cowardly stab with a knife which came within aninch of souttling me. But 4a month in the hospital brought me up ali right. You fled away. You dropped from your pocket a letter which I now hold.” “ Well, some friendly letter, I suppose?” “Umph ! not exactly. It was a létter written in a wretched scrawling hand w ‘a dirty sheet of papar, and directed to John ‘Brandoa? Dicks’ face paled to thafolor of ashes. , He grasped the back of his chair convulsiyely. The captain went on, his eye fixed upon the man be- fore him. “ The scrawl was signed Nancy Gmip.”” “ Tt—it— was—I—found that letter,” stammered Dicks. “Tt was dated on that day. It announced to you that, ‘‘ you must come to her at once, that her ‘boys’ had hocussed a man who bad just landed froma, Bre- men steamer—that the man had a big “boodle’ and was dying from the effects of the boys’ works.’ Dicks brightened up. “Well, this is a nice fairy tale, captain. In what does it concern me ?!’ The captain looked about him to make sure they were alone. Then he stepped up close to Dicks. There was alook of terrible earnestness in his eye. Dicks once more drooped. He felt that some new danger was about to reveal itself. ' “Tt concerns you more than you desire. On the other side of that piece of paper, written in the same wretch- ed scrawling hand, were the words—stranger’s name is Kennard Dicks.” Had a thunderbolt struck the floor at his feet, Dicks would not have been more unnerved. Yet, true to himself, he tried to conceal his feelings. But the captain read him—through and through, He saw that the nail had been driven home. “Kennard Dicks dying in a den of ruffians, and Ken- nard Dicks hearty and drunk stabbing a man he claimed as a friend, in a public saloon in South Street, on the same night,” ae sat staring at the captain, but uttered not a word. “TI have come to you, calling yourself Kennard Dicks, toask you where I can find this John Brandon. Tell me that. and you and I are quits.” Slowly Dicks recovered himself. He could haye murdered the captain as he stood there with as little compunction as he would haye killed a worm. “ I—tell—you—I—found that letter on—on I don’t know how else-—”’ “Silence man! Whether you are Kennard Dicks or whether there are or were two of that name I care not. 7 wretched scrawl with that name upon it, and the name of Kennard Dicks pointed out my course. 1 come te you. Do you know John Brandon ?” e “One million of dollars !” Dicks repeated. Then, bracing up and looking at Ghe captain, hesaid; = «That scrawl—that letter—you have it with you,l suppose ?”” “T have.’ “Can [see it 2!" “Yes, if L show it to you.” “T should like to see it!” The captain took out his pocket-book. drew forth the paper. Dicks moved his chair nearer the fire was burning up brightly. He reached out his hand, “Let me look at it,’’ he said, The captain gave it to him, ‘ No sooner did Dicks grasp it than, with a quick movement, he attempted to fling it into the fire. Aa In aninstant the captain’s hand was on his throat, while with the other he caught the paper. 2 “You infernal scoundrel. Iwas prepared for that dodge |” cried the captain. tot From it . grate. ‘The CHAPTER VIII. THIS TIME KENNARD DICK TURNS THY TABLES—CAPTAIM SEAWEED LOSES A POINT—"‘ NOW FOR JOHN BRANDON ”* } —THE PRUGGED GLASS AGAIN—THE STRANGE VISITOR. dah Dick was again foiled. Ny And that, too, at the very moment when he imag- ined the captain was the least watehful. : “You need not fear that I will strike you,” said the captain, folding the piece of paper up closely and de Eee it in his pocket; ‘I am notin a quarreling — mood,” R “T onty intended,” began Kennard Dicks, “to— Ageia } i } “Yes, yes,’’ interrupted the captain; ‘‘I quite agree with you. You only intended ‘oe the best of cea bargain, but your intention was a failure. I see Ic: get no information from you as to this John Brando: I shall seek elsewhere. But, however long itmay take, Iwill find him, no matter what obstacles there may be in my path.” ro Rey The captain uttered these words as calmly as it th man before him were a friend between whom and. himself there had heyer been a word of trouble. —~ Dicks drew back and threw himself upon the lounge, He knew too well who John Brandon was and where _ i he could be found. eee ie It was evident to Dicks that the captain more than suspected his identity. OMAR ‘** You understand me, Kennard Dicks, do.you not ?” Dicks made no reply. ; ae) f “Tshall pause not in my search until I haye lwid bare the mystery which hangs like a dark cloud around the fate of the man whose name is mentione: in this note.” Wife Dicks still remained silent. the back of the lounge. But tor a single moment did he permit his eye upon ae face of the penta Tanta in that moment when their glances met, the. Xpres- sion of each revealed to the other Pierignie: the calmyess of the captain and the silence of Dicks, henc forth the struggle was to end only in the mastery—the triumph of one of the two. Breer “Now, Kennard Dicks, Dleaye you—leaye you to di cide your course. You know where to findme. Ishasd always know where to find you, for from this time forth I shall not lose track of you. Tell me what you know of John Brandon, and——” ‘ u | His hands rested ‘upon Dicks suddenly started up. The dogged, surly ex pression was gone and his face suddenly ‘ented Up. ty “Stop, captain,” he said. “I have thought this thing over. T don’t see wh honest man like you what Brandon.” lt was now the captain’s turn to be astonished. x This sudden change in Dicks’ manner—go unexpected, __ so complete—was another mystery. ; Distt “What is he up to now—where is he steering to?” the captain said to himself. Viele “Sit down, captain. Icannot see you undergo the trouble of a search for this wild son of a worthy father.” Peat ree Lents ares captain sat down, but keeping a wary eye upon Hicks. , ey Dicks’ sudden good nature and willingness to aid the captain, began to look suspicious. ene ; “Well,” said the captain, “ proceed,” Os “Are you sure you would know this John Br. were you to see him ?” A Ishould conceal from an know concerning this man John Brandon the one to whom the scrawlis ad- dressed, is the man I am in search of !”’ lars.” “ What—fath—dead—fortune !’’ gasped the utterly confounded Dicks. Henry Brandon the father of a John Brandon, who, associate of thieves, and who is here in this city now ?’’ ** One million of dollars.” Dicks made an involuntary motion of hisxigh “What is that mark ?” y i sites “The letters J. B.—a star and a cross.” arm. ee “Umph—J. B. _star-cross. I do not know wheth a ae my reckless friend Brandon bears such a mark arm or not. I shall soon know.” “Where is he now?” asked the captain. “That is hard to tell. Iknow his haun hunt him up.” ; ee '“ Why did you not e xhibit this willingne Dicks smiled, The ca i id fo 58, hat harm mle
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RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. has been a friend to me in times gone by—wild as he ig.’ “How came you by that note ?—this one which a few minutes since you attempted to destroy?” “T’ll let Brandon himself explain that,’’ said Dicks ; | «T wished it destroyed only because I—well for the same reason that J at first kept back my knowledge of his whereabouts.” “4 knowledge which is not yet mine,” said the cap- ‘ain. “ But which will be within three days.” “Within three days ?” ‘Yes, captain.” ‘And you will bring me face to face with John Bran- | won ?”” * Ves—with Jack Brandon.” “That will satisfy me. If he prove himself tobe the | son of my old friend, he shall have the legacy in money | —in gold.” “You can satisfy yourself as to his identity.” “Then within three days.’’ “ Precisely.” ‘ Where 2?” “Here, if you choose ?” “«T prefer some other place,’’ said the captain. “As you like,’’ said Dicks. The captain sat fora moment in silence. He was evidently deliberating within himself. i | gone. {came upon his face, | bah! why should I care. Then taking his hat from the table he bowed, and | turned to the door. On the threshold he paused, his hand resting on the knob of the door. “Kennard Dicks,” he said, “remember that if this John Brandon does not come to me I will come to you.” *‘ He will be there.” ‘© Good day, Kennard Dicks,’’ and the captain was *“‘Now, Captain Seaweed, you’re in the trap,’ ex- Claimed Dicks, his eye flashing, ‘‘ you shall have a Jack Brandon, and IJ’ll have that legacy, despite your sharpness. Now, then Kennard Dicks, it’s your bus- ness to find a Jack Brandon that'll work the game to the winning point. Oh, ho, my jolly captain, Pl wreck your little craft on rocks that are not Jaid down in | your chart.”’ Dicks rubbed his hands together gleefully. Then suddenly his mood changed and a frown “That cursed bill-poster! He must be got out of | the way—he and that boy. While that boy lives; while he is free, the memory of that terrible night— I have wealth, position andaname. They are a barrier to everything he or any one can bring against me. If I could but fasten the robbery of Garouse’s diamonds upon him. By " ne a \} Leary ran to the woman, and bending over her, raised her head from the rough floor as tenderly as possible. * As you like,” said Dicks; ‘anywhere.’ “You wish to be present ?’’ «Not at all—after you meet John Brandon my interest in the affair ceases of course.” « Perhaps—but it may happen that my interest in your affairs may not cease.” «What have I to do with Jack Brandon’s business ?”’ “That remains to be seen, But as to the place of | meeting this Brandon.”’ “Name it.’? Dicks arose and crossed to the mantel- shelf, and, leaning upon it, awaited ‘the captain’s alswer. It came after a pause. \ “Let him meet me at the hot at which I am liy- ing.” **So be it,’ answered Dicks. ‘Now I will leaye you. Three days hence at my hotel at this self same honr,’’ “Yes at this hour. A‘ that time you will meet John Brandon. Should I *%e him to-morrow, you will meet him soonei.” t “At this hour ?” ‘*Yes. Now, captain, takea glass of wine ?” “ No,’ replied the captain shortly. * At least,’’ said Dicks, ‘‘ you will take my hand at parting.’' The captain extended his hand, and Dicks placed his within it. Dieks’ hand was as cold as the hand of a corpse. It made the captain shudder. He dropped the hand Jove! Ican, Tie idea: the very thing. His room at) Garouse’sis on the third floor—the hall bedroom at the rear; I can find it. Ah ha! Kennard Dicks, you | aremaster now !” Dicks took up a glass and filled it with the sparkling | Burgundy. He held it: “ Here’s to you, Kennard Dicks; and here’s to the coming Jack Brandon.” He drained the glass, and set it down. “Only three glasses, here. I brought out four when Leary—only three?” He examined the three, one after the other. «The drugged glass—the one he made me drain to-:its very dregs—is—is gone! Curse it—I—surely !”’ For a moment he stood glaring at the table. «IT see—now I comprehend—that bill-poster—he has | taken the glass with him! Ishe the pet of Satan that | he should—bah—of what use is it to him? Imay have been mistaken after all, and only brought in three glasses. Yes, yes, to be sure. That dolt of a poster ou never have thought of taking the glass with im,”’ And Dicks rang the bell for a servant. One appeared instantly. Dicks looked at him suspiciously. “Were you listening at the door?” “No, sir ; I never listens.” «How comesit, Alex, that you answer so quickly ?”” ««] was—was just passing the door when you rang.” “Umph !" answered Dicks. ‘Well, clearaway these glasses, and if I am asked for by any one, say that I from his. ay cannot be seen until to-morrew at three.” | three times a week to see Mr, Dicks. 3 “Yes, sir. If that old lady——” She will not call.” Dicks passed from the room. An hour afterwards a man roughly clad, and with a mass of bushy red whiskers about his face, shadowed by a broad-brimmed soft hat, came out of the basement of Kennard Dicks’ fine residence, He glanced hastily up and down the quiet street. “Right. Now for my kitchen help. Its a lucky thing for aman to lead two distinct lives. Ah, this masquerading is a fine thing if one isnot cuught at it.” Muttering tiLic to himself, the roughly-clad man hurried up the strecc There wis one observer he did not see. Aservant was leaning out of an upper window of the house, who saw him come out ofthe basement. “There’s that strange man again that comes two or He must haye a latch-key, for he has never yet rang the bell, and he al- ways comes in late at night and goes straight up to Mr. Dicks’ private room. “He goes and comes like a ghost. Dicks knows if nobody else don’t.” And Dicks did know, for the mysterious man who came and went, and never rang the bell, and who seemed to be so secret a friend and visitor of Dicks, was Kenward Dicks himself. Who can he be? I lh SS CHAPTER XIX. LEARY “‘ PLAYS POINTS” ON GIMBLET, THE DETECTIVE— CHARLEY DIDIER COMES IN TIME—THE STEEL HAND+ CUFFS—LEARY’S PLOT. GireLet, the detective, glanced from Leary to Charley Didier. 4 “Come in—come in,’ said Red Leary. ‘* We're not working up any private business.” “Oh, no, of course. You are Leary, the bill-poster ?”” said Gimblet. “| think Iam,” was the reply. Charley Didier had seen the detective seyeral times either coming in or going out of the house of Garouse. While he was not certain of his character or his ‘ special business, he halt suspected it. Mr. Gimblet seemed perfectly at his ease. He drew up a chair and sat down. “You've got a cozy little lodging-place here,” he said, lookingaround, ‘ But is—is Mrs. Leary out?’ “There is no Mrs. Leary,’ replied the bill-poster. ** Oh—bachelor, eh ?”” “T may be.’” 1 ‘And you,’’ said Gimblet, speaking to Charley, “yom! —let me see—oh, yes—you are with Mr. Garouse. A good man to be with—a good man. Pays you well, E s’pose ?, Gives you plenty of holidays, and all that sort of thing, no doubt.” 4 Leary, unseen by Gimblet, motioned Charley to make no reply. Lh ly
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RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. Gimblet threw himself back in the chair, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “What did you wish to see me about ?” said Leary. “Umph! Well,” said Gimblet, “ the fact is—by the way, take 4 smoke ?” he drew one hand from his pocket, and with itacigar case. ‘Help yourselt—cheap fill- ing—plenty of flavor to the inch—take one,” “A pipe suits me well enough,” said Leary, sharply. “ Ah, well.’” / ._ Gimblet scratehed a match upon his boot-sole and 3 lighted his cigar. r ary looked at him, “« Weil, I was speaking to—or rather, I was spoken to of you, Mr. Leary, in reference to—~’* ‘“ What ?’” “This cigar of mine draws hard,’ said Gimblet; “some Cigars do.” - knew him now—I read him,” said Leary, to him. self. i ' It struck him it would be better for Charley Didier to be absent. He made a signal to the boy, and with a rapid motion of his fingers pointed to the door. The boy understood him, anda moment after rose from his seat. “Going, Charley ?’ said Leary. eee: 5 This gentleman's business may be private, and——' “Oh, as to that, my boy,” said Gimblet, ‘don’t leave on my account.’’ “Lam not leaving on your account,” said Charley, taking his hat. ys “Come again, Charley,” said Leary, going with him : to the door. Then he whispered: ‘“‘I know this man. Heis after no good. I willsee you to-morrow.” He closed the door upon Charley and returned to his seat opposite Mr Gimblet. * Now, sir,’”’ said Loary—* we are alone,” “ Yes,” said Mr, Gimblet,”—“you sent the boy away.” “He went ot his own notion.” “Lsaw you signal tohim. It ismy business So see everything that happens around me.” “Oh—itis, eh?” . ~ ** Precisely.’ £h, * Soitis mine. Bill-posters learn that as a part of their trade. Now what do you want of me?” ' “Qnly to make a few inquiries |” “Concerning what?" “Something that you may know all about—more than you care to tell—or about which you may know he nothing.” Leary filled his pipe. ; eee here,” said Leary, “do you think Iam a paste- " ° Gimblet laughed. “No,” he replied. : + “Ora gutter-snipe to be stuck up or tore down at P anybody’s will ?”’ eae } Gimblet laughed again. : “ Now, then,” said Leary, “J know you.” ae “There are & great many people know me.”’ oy “You are a detective.” i Gimblet drew a long whiff at his cigar, but said nuth- ing. ; Tana your name is Gimblet.”’ “ Correct,” was the reply. “Now then, what do you want with me?’’ 7 Gimblet suddenly turned upon Leary. ** Suppose I was to say I want you for being concerned in the robbery of that package of diamonds belonging to Garouse, the employer of Charles Didier, the boy who + Just left here?” : : “ IT should = igsebe you down stairs.” “Oh, would you ?’’ ** Yes, because you know I had nothing to do withit.” “‘T know nothing of the sort.’ “Then you suspect me,” cried Leary, rising. ‘ “J never take the trouble to suspect. I always make it a point to know.” ‘If you came here to accuse me ——” “ Keep cool, Mr. Leary. Be reasonable. One of three persons are guilty ofthat robbery, or wereconcerned in it. It was a nice job, put upin first-class style. None of your common duffers did.t. It was too high-toned for that. Now there is a heap of credit in doing ajob like that, in that way. It’s clean. But there’s a clew. I think I’ve got it.” “Who are these three persons ?”” asked Red Leary. “ That's telling ?”” . “You think J am one of them ?” Gimblet smiled and took out a fresh cigar. *Gimblet, don’t make a fool of yourself, and don’t ig it into your head that you have a fool to deal with In me.” “T don’t—I won't.’’ Here he took from his pocket a pair of small, highly-polished handeuffs, and held them up. _ “Do you see them beauties? «They have been upon the wrists of twenty men. Four murderers—the bal- ' ance, cracksmen, river thieves and forgers, and they're _- goin’ onto the wrists of the man who planned the rob- ‘bery of them diamonds. Come close to me," said -Gimblet. “Speak out,” said Leary—‘ You'll not be heard by any one but me.” Gimblet placed the shining steel “ bracelets” upon the table. _ Then he detailed to Leary something of the sub- _ stance of his conversation with Garouse about the robbery. 4 _ Leary listened quietly. ' “ Now’’—said Gimbist winding up his narrative— eary—you see all this—your being in the time—you and the boy being thick— ‘up—peach on the rest of the ee and o harm will come toyou andI’N yes share of the reward, You mightas well—for it's bound to be blowed—and you might as well be the first to blow.” “So—so,’’—said Leary slowly—“ It lies between Ken- nard Dicks—the boy and myself, eh ?"’ “ Precisely.” “And you think lam the most likely of the three to j have planned it—using the boy as my tool ?” “Tdon’t think it—I am sure of it.” i Soy I peach on the others I go scot frea?’’’ “Yes,)” “And you will give me a share of the reward?” “That's the bargain,” “And you will contrive that I shall not be known in it; will not be arrested, and ——’’ “Yes, yes,’’ said Gimblet, eagerly. Leary while asking these questions had been rapidly in his own mind laying a beld plan. The detective was clever. But it was evident he had made a mistake, He had begun at the wrong end of the case, as Leary regarded it. Leary made up his mind that here was his chance to test the strength of his own suspicions of Kennard Dicks’ complicity in the robbery. “You may as well, between us two, make a clean breast of it,’’ said Gimblet. “It isn’t often I give a man such a chance as this.” ““No,” said Leary. ‘No, it isn’t, and it isn't often a man’ll take the advantage I will of such an offer. It’s tnighty fair of you, Gimblet.” “Come, now,” said Gimblet, “of course it’s natural you don’t like to peach, but ——” “Of course,”’ interrupted Leary. There was silence in the room for a few moments, But for the sound of the distant voices of the street far below, the falling of a pin upon the floor could have been heard plainly. Then the silence was suddenly broken by Leary. He had arranged his story. “Gimblet.” “Yes.” a “T'll trust you. I'll tell all I know.” “Yos, yes.” “The boy is innocent—he knew nothing of it. His story is perfeetly true.” «Well, well!” ‘The man who planned the whole thing was Ken- nard Dicks.” ‘« W-h-a-t ?” exclaimed the detective. “Kennard Dicks.” “ By —— | that’s just what I thought.” «And the package of diamonds !’" ‘ “T don’t know where it is, but I will know in a few ays.” The detective gave a long whistle. “Now, Gimblet, listen to me,’’ said Leary. you do as I tell you?” “Um! Well, what is it.’ “ Goto Kennard Dicks’ house to-morrow—see him— boldly arrest him,” “ That depends,”’ said Gimblet. “On what ?”” “ On circumstances, It’s risky. and—well—yes—I wit arrest him.” “ To-morrow eve ?”’ “ Yes.” “ And before that time I will give you proof enough to satisfy you.” “Oh,” said Gimblet, suddenly, “ how is it you did not get any of the swag 2?” td Leary was for the moment taken aback by this ques- on. It was apart ofthe business not down in the pro- granime he had made, and was not thought of in the fairy tale which he had given Gimblet and which Gim- blet had swallowed so nicely. “‘ My share ?”’ he repeated. “Yes. Dicks must have given you a loose diamond or two at the least.” Leary’s ready wit came tu’his aid. “ Oh, yes—you see, Gimblet, the division of the plun derisn’t made yet He is waiting forthe hunt to dio out first—then heis to sell the stones and share and share alikein greenbacks—d’ye see ?’” Gimblet saw it. For once at least Gimblet had met his match. “When will I see you to-morrow ?”’ “ Before you go to Kennard Dicks’.’”’ “Yes.” ‘*Here.”” “« At what hour?” “At five o'clock. ‘All right—and at seven or thereabouts these brace- lets will be upon the wrists of Kennard Dicks, or my name's not Gimblet.’’ , Gimblet put theirons in his pocket, and in a few minutes left the room. Leary sat down and laughed. i i “TI never felt so jolly in all my life,” said he to him. self—*I saw his littlé game and went him two better. That Garouse suspects the boy; he sent Gimblet here to sound me. Irather think Gimblet will feel sick, but not half so sickas Kennard Dicks, over this little trick of mine. This note in eypher—I’ll swear that Dicks is at the bottom of the robbery.” “ Give the package to the bearer. Come to me about the prisoner. Corner’s."% “Well, Cbarley’ll take a hand in that to-night. When | said to-morrow I wonder if he understood me?” The door opened, and Charley Didier came in, “Understood you?” said he, ‘of course I did, That's why I've come back.” «“ Where did you go ?”’. “No where.” “No where—you did not go away ?” “No. Iwas out therein the passage all tho time.” | “ Near the door ?”” : “Near it ? Yes; with my ear close to that split in “Will But I'll see him— Ask no questions. J. B. 99 Joss the panel. Iheard every word. When that man came out I ran and hid behind that old coal-box at the end of the passage.”’ ; Me “Good, my boy.” CHAPTER XX. JOSS CORNER’S—LEARY AT WORK—OHARLIE ENTERS THE DEN—AN INVITATION—THE ORY OF MORTAL AGONY— ‘‘ WHERE IS THE BOY ?’’—NANCY GRIP. ‘ Ar twelve o'clock that night Red Leary, with a bat of single sheet-posters slung at his side, was pursui his business at a board fence a few doors beyond t notorious den known as Joss Corner’s. ; Leary was just washing the rough boards of the fe Yy when, from the gloom on the opposite sideof street, a ragged-looking boy slouched across the street and stood staring at him. ‘ Tt’s me,” said the boy. Leary never looked around, but dropped his brush into his paste-bucket. I “All right, Charley. Now be careful. If anything goes wrong, give a yell. I'll be near enough to hear you. Ifyou don’t come out inside half an hour, I’ll come for you.”’ ‘All right,” was the cheery answer. ‘ Now for it.” Charley went on and presently Leary saw him enter the haunt of the worst class of the town. Leary plastered away at the fence. Never did it take him longer to post on three single sheet posters than on that special night. i The night was gloomy, and there began to fall a slow, drizzling rain. “Tt puts me in mind of that awful night on the pier,’”’ thought Leary. “Just the night for murder and yil- lainy. Hark |’’ Footsteps were approaching. He went on with his work, keeping his eye on the entrance to Joss Corner’s. He could hear the sounds of yoices—the rough, coarse iaughter—the oaths and revelry of the crowd in the bar= room. : ‘Hello, old paste-slinger |’’ } Leary looked around. Behind him stood a hard-look- ing customer, i “ Well, what d’ye want ?’’ i “Oh, nothin’, Seems to me that’s dry work,” “ Dey for them that don't like it,’ answered Leary. “Tsay, old fellow,”’ said the man. ‘ §’pose you ask ki a chap in.” ti “In where ?’? ee “Why the boozin' ken there—Joss’'—good budge im ¢ f there. “‘ What d'ye say, old feller ?’’ ne “Nevbr was in there,” said Leary. ‘It's a hard place, e I'm told.” : ie That's nothing to us, We kin git ournip and then” “You're a free and easy cove,” said Leary. “ If you'll wait a minit, I'll go with you.” ‘* What are you doin’ ?”’ asked the man. z Leary had thrown his bundle of bills upon the ground beside his bucket and was rapidly divesting himselfof his overhauls and working blouse. ‘ Vand “’Tain’t no use of skinnin’ yourself togo in there,’? a said theman. ‘‘It won't make the whisky taste any better, ner you won’t git any bigger nip, either, ’Tain’t a place for style.” aes ‘I never drink with that paste on me,” said Leary. FB When the overhauls and blouse were off there wage . j remarkable change in Leary’s appearance, although the darkness prevented the man from noticing it. WA “Now go ahead,” said Leary, throwing down his overhauls besides the bucket. “I’m ready.” _ “You're a brick,” exclaimed the man. “I’llintroe . duce you to some of the boys in there—ifthere’s anyof my gang in. Most of’em's moral young fellows that goes to bed early.” The man led the way, Leary behind him, quickly 2) drew a pair of false whiskers and alow-browed short . crop wig from his pocket, and as quickly placed them upon his head and face, 4 Leary had done this sort of thing before. , “Now, Charley,’’ said Leary to himself, “I will be near you—thanks to this chap.” They reached the door of Joss Corner’s. Just as the man, directly in front of Leary pushed open the door there came a terrible ory—a cry of mor- — tal agony from the interior. 4 Tt was the ery ofa woman. The sound ofarush of feet—a volley of oaths fol- lowed. Leary pushed past the man and was within the den. On the floor near the door opposite, leading to an inner apartment lay, her head covered with blood and her hands conyulsively clutching at the boards, an old woman. : One glance was sufficient for Leary. (athe The woman was Nancy Grip. = She had evidently been thrown out of the rear room, after being struck down. “ Mercy—murder—mur—help !” she screamed. j} Beside her, Leary and his companion, not a soul was left in that part of the den. All had retreated into the inner room. ‘ “My God—where is the boy ?" cried Leary. A Even the man at the bar had fled. ‘ . Leary ran to the woman and bending over her, as tenderly as possible, raised her head frem the rough floor. tate “Poor soul!” said the man. “ It’s—hard—there’s no- body here to give us our drinks.” ; A “That’s a terrible blow she’s got,’’ exclaimed Leary, — pushing back the matted, unkempt gray hair from ou the wretches!” . Leary glanced around the room. hard It was lighted by acommon swinging lamp, depond. ing from the centre of the black and grimy ceiling. © The light struggling dimly through the smoky craok- of the blood that covered her brow—‘‘ ugly cut it ian area
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RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER, ed chimney made the place seem in its dull gloom as if fitted to complete and make more ghastly the seene of a murder. The short counter—the shelf behind with its row of black bottles, and as a center piece—suspended above the shelf, a dingy lithograph of a prize-fight, and two or three small tables against the wall—all seemed mute, ‘helpless witnesses—dumbly giving in their looks evi- dence of the yileness of the place. “Puta couple of those tables end for end,’’ said Leary, ‘so I can lay the woman on them; it’ll be +) better than the floor.” The tables were pulled out and Leary lifted the Woman upon them. She had partially regained consciousness and was moaning—the white froth mingled with flecks of blood oozing out upon her thin lips. ‘ ‘Turning trom her, Leary to hissurprise saw a man standing behind the counter. How he came there was a mystery. “‘ You're the barkeeper ?”” “* Maybe I am ?” was the man’s reply. “Yes,”’ said Leary’s companion, ‘‘that’s the gin- slinger. How’re you, Stabber ?” Stabber lookedin keeping with his name. “‘You fellers want to drink you’d better git it and . skirmish out of here and let the old gal alone. She's / used to that sort of thing!” She won’t beused to it any more, I’m thinking. Why—hbere you—go and hunt up a doctor,” said Leary. 5 “You couldn’t get a pill roller in here—it ain’t no ood place for ’em. Fire a three finger-dose of gin down er throat—that’s the sort of medicine ‘ll bring her up,” said Stabber. “ Heartless wretch,” muttered Leary. ‘Will you go for a doctor?’ he said tothe man beside him. The man looked toward the barkeeper. The barkeeper shook bis head, Leary saw the action, “Oh, that’s it? Now then either youu go fora doctor or help of some sort, or I'll go and bring the i cops on you—take your choice!” 5 “ You will, will you ?” sneered Stabber. ‘‘That’s your 5 game, eh?” a, Nancy Grip threw up her arms and moaned. She be- gan swaying her head from side to side and her long skinny fingers opened and closed convulsively. Suddenly her half closed eyes opened wide and their gaze was fixed upon Leary. ** See the old gal is coming to,’’ said the barkeeper. ny) Mention gin agin and it'll fetch her onto her pins sure.’ Leary wiped the blood from her lips. CHAPTER XXI. Firs LEARY CAUGHT IN THE TRAP—THE STRUGGLE IN THE BAR- ot ROOM—WHERE IS CHARLIE DIDIER? Nanow still kept her eyes fixed upon Leary. The convulsive movement of her talon-like fingers had partially ceased, and one of her arms had fallen limp and nerveless across her breast. Presently she began to move her eyes from Leary to isd the man beside him and toward the bar. 7 When-her glance rested for an instant upon Stabber, the bar-keeper, she closed them suddenly and shudder- ed, as if the sight of him had conjured up dimly in her mind the memory of something dreadful. “You let the old gal alone,” said the bar-keeper; “she'll come around allright.” » ‘Who struck her down ?” asked the bill-poster. “ Dunno—she—she fell out of the other room. Some of her pals pushed her out, maybe.’ She’s awful to manage when she gets aboard an over ballast of benzine,”’ said the bar-keeper. “ Aye her pals in the other room ?” “Dunno.” S.eary knew the bar-keeper was lying. Turning to the man who had entered the place with him, Leary once more asked him to go for a doctor. “You'd better not,” said the bar-keeper. “See here,” said Leary sternly, and stepping from the table up to the counter so that he stood face to face with the bar-keeper ; “ see here, thereis a mystery here that I am going to have cleared up. That woman there is dying. You were here when she was struck : down. You know who did it. By stepping to that % door one cry of mine will bring the police, who know ' this to be one of the worst dens in thecity. Now, either you lend a hand in getting a doctor, or I call for the sort of help you won’t like.” . “Why don’t you go yourself?” said the bar-keeper. ** Because I know that when I get back, you and your pals in the other part of the house will have taken her away, knocked her on the head and so hidden all trace of your crime.”’ “Come, take a drink and settle down, old fellow,” aid the man who had come in with Leary. Leary turned and for the first time caught a full face to face glance at his features. At the same instant Nancy Grip uttered a terrible groan. geen an The eyes of the two men met. Leary uttered an exclamation of surprise. The face of the man had a strange, familiar look. Z Where had he seen it before ? His voice was coarse and gruff. The sound of that he did not recognize. “The old yal’s comin’ round,” said the bar-keeper, “Come, gen’)’mem, what'll it be?” He placed the glasses upon the counter. | Notin the usual manner, howeyer. __*That’s one for you, my boy,” he said, as he set one of the glasses upon the counter, with aloud thump, in front of Leary’s strange companion. “ That's one for moe,” said the bar-keeper, placing the _ second glass in the same manner in front of himself. 4 a Leary was silently bending over the moaning woman now. He was thinking for the moment what was best to do. “And, my covey,” said the bar-keeper, bringing up the third heavy bottomed glass, and speaking to Leary—his voice in a louder key than before “ there's one Jor you.’ Then the movement of the bar-keeper in setting out the glasses found an explanation. “ There's one for you,’ was no sooner uttered, than the man outside the counter sprang to the door by which they had entered, and fastened it by shooting across it a heavy iron bolt. At the same instant the door leading to the inner room was flung open, and half adozen men rushed out. Leary turned and faced them. In the dim light shed by the solitary lamp overhead he saw who they were. One of them be remembored as one of the men that had quarreled over the package of money in the beer- saloon. it was a trap, and these men had been prepared forit by their leader. The whole movement had been so suddenly executed that it seemed to him like the weird action of a dream. The men rushed upon him so quickly that there was no chance for an effective resistance. Yet the first surprise over, Leary, as the men sprang upon him, grappled with the one nearest him. “Don't hurt him, boys |” This command was another surprise for Leary. It was given by the man who had come in with him —the man whose face seemed so strangely familiar. But instead of the gruff, coarse voice, it had changed to one that Leary recognized at once. “ You—you!” exclaimed the bill-poster as he vainly endeavored to free himself from his assailants. “Yes—me!” exclaimed the man. ‘I, Kennard Dicks, up there inthe avenue, but here, the proprietor of Joss’ Corner and the captain of these good men, from whose clutches you can only escape—dead !"’ “Infamous scoundrel !” cried Leary. “Don’t hurt him, boys,” said Dicks. ‘‘Throw him down, gag him, strap him and drag him into the other room—our Httle reception room, boys.” In yain Leary tried to draw his pistol, in vain every trick of wrestle, every grip at the throats of the rut- fians, every blow from his strung arm—they met at every turn. Dicks took no share in the struggle. In his disguise, standing by the ven and near the door leading to the street, he seemed a passive spectator. The men were doing his werk well, and there was no need of his aid. Leary struggled desperately still. Three of the strongest of the men were upon him. They forced him to his knees. Their whole weight, added to their muscular force was more than he could battle down. With one last supreme effort Leary half arose beneath their weight and endeavored to break loose from their grasp. But he might as well have thrown himself against a wall of stone. rt They once more hurled themselves upon him, With terrible desperation inch by inch he fought against the fearful odds, They forced him back. Suddenly one of the ruffians, the largest and most powerful of the gang, struck him a blow behind the ear, which staggered, him from his feet. + He wheeled around and fell backward against the table upon which Nancy Grip lay. His whole weight came upon them—he made a last wild clutch at one of them to save himself from fall- ing. Then he dropped helpless, dragging over with him the tables, and with it came the woman—falling in a heap upon the floor—her head striking on the floor. “‘ Now then, your work is easy,’’ said Dicks, as coolly asifhe were merely giving an order for a dinner, “bind him securely, gag him and take Lim in there. As for the old woman, take the infernal treacherous old hag—two of you can do that—into the street—carry her up to the fence—and leave her there—the police ‘11 think it’s another mysterious murder.”’ “ But she isn’t dead yet, cap.” “She will be—if anything short of a hanging match can kill her.” The men very quickly secured Leary beyond all pos- sibility of escape. They were used to that sort of work. They bound him hand and foot, and finished by cram- ming a wad of cloth into his mouth, ; “Now, cap, he’s as safe as a jack in a box.” “ Right, drag him in there.” The men obeyed. ,Meanwhile two of the ruffians lifted Nancy Grip from the floor. Dicks pushed back the iron bolt, andin a moment more they were carrying her through the darkness of the street to the place indicated by Dicks. They laid her down, itso happened, or as perhaps was intended by Dicks,at the very spot where Leary left a paste bucket brugh and overhauls, closein by the ence. The rain was now falling steatily Saye the two men and the woman they had left lying there like a bundle of rags no human being was visible in the street. They returned to the bar-room. It was open again, the tables wire replaced, Stabber the bar-keeper was behind the counter and one or two of the gang were in front of it, refreshing themselves with a drink. But Dicks was no longer visible. Not a sound was heard trom thé rear room, and Joss’ Corner to all appearances was as orderly and quiet an all night dive as the heart of s policeman could desire. Beyond this bar-room and into the mysteries of the corner, the police had rarely ventured in pursuit of fugitives. Even then their search had resulted in find- ing nothing affording cause for arresting those who seemed to have charge or it. When they “ wanted’ a notorious thief or crimin- al, they came there for him. If he did not belong to Kennard Dicks’ gang, he was at once given up. z If he did, he disappeared, after he had crossed the P threshold of the rear room, as completely and securely from all further pursuit, as if he had vanished into air. Here was, in these surroundings, the other life ef Kennard Dicks. Hére he ruled, the master whose commands were never disputed. CHAPTER XXII. THE UNDERGROUND MYSTERIES OF JOSS’ CORNER’S—KEN- NARD DICKS LAYS HIS PLANS, In the rear room. < Alow ceiling, and the features of it in keeping with those of the bar-room. _— were sitting four or five of the party, at a table. Upon the table a lamp was placed, and two or threa bottles and glasses, “The cap’s got that infernal bill-poster, now, what'll he do with him? That’s what I'd like to know. I’m blowed if I can understand him sometimes,’’ said one of the men. “Who, the bill-poster ?”’ “No, the captain. Now, why didn't he let usquietly knock him on the head, and end the matter if he wante 1 to get rid of him ?”’ “Murder, my boy. Thecap’s a tender-hearted chap, you know.” 4 “Yes, he show’d that when a month ago, he braine@ ; Bill Dozer down at the kitchen.” ‘He had to do that, Wasn't Bill’s pistol a drawin’ bead on him ?” ; “Sh |—hark |” ‘‘What’s the matter now ?’’ “Sh” repeated the speaker. ‘There's a strang cove in the bar. I heard him speak,.”’ “Bah! some night-hawk come infor his budge. say, what's the job for to-night ?” \ “Notbing—except to boose. It’s about time we dropped on a pile of swag. I'm gittin’ frightfully pror.” “Oap says he’s got a big lay out for us.” 5 ‘“When ?” ; “ Yes, that’s the question—when ?” ‘ “Sh! here he comes.” i Ores The noise of footsteps—the opening of a door at the side of the room, a rush of cold, damp air, and Kennard Dicks entered followed by two of his companions. “There, boys—that little job’s fixed. Now then to an- other sort of business. You know that yesterday Isent you word of that downeast schooner that lies outin the stream? She's dropped lower down. She'll be there to-morrow and until next day. To-morrow night only one of the hands and the mate’s wife will be left aboard. In the captain's locker will be the money he is to re- ceive to-morrow morning for the cargo he discharged. + Four of you can do the job. A)l of you share and share alike—nothing for me,” “Ts it worth it, cap ?’’ “Yes—I was in the shipping office on the pier—I know.” “Allright, cap. That’s enough for us.” Dicks, looking as little like the Kennard Dicks that Leary had forced to swallow his ewn drugs in his splendidly-furnished reception-room a few days before, as he did like a minis ter—seated himself at the table. His two companions lounged out into the bar-room. For half an hour Dicks sat there not drinking but smoking and arranging with the men the details of their coming midnight raid on the schooner. That being settled, one by one the men departed— two of them settling themselves in the bar-room at cards, the others going their way out into the night and rain. _ When they had gone Dicks called his two compan- ions. They returned to the room. ‘Are they gone ?’’ “As good as gone,”’ was the reply. “Where is the rest of the gang ?”” " Working, else they’d have been here to-night?” “On what iay ?”’ “Old cordage iron and ’longshore pick ups |” “Now then, Jim you and Bullseye come with me; we'll go where we can talk quietly.” “Tell Stubber to ——"’ “No ; Stabber kno ws his business.’ “All right then.” “ Catch hold ot that table there.’’ The two men understood what was wanted. They lifted the table from the center of the room te within a few feet of the side wall. j When the table was moved the outline of a trap-door was visible. Stooping down, Dicks, by inserting a short bit ofiron shaped like, a screw-driver, which he took from his pocket, in the crack at the side of the trap, raisec it an inch or two. ; ‘Then the two men catching it at the edge, raisedand = disclosed an opening three fect square. f “It’s a black-looking hole, isn’t it?” “Yes; but its darkness is its safety.’’ . Dicks reached his arm urder the edge of the opening and brought out a rope. i He pulled away at this, and presently it tightened and the top ofa ladder became visible. : This he braced against the side of the ceentg: ‘he “Now then, Bullseye, you come last and olose the trap after you.” lee Dicks and Jim descended the ladder into the damk- ness. ; i | amy
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/ ‘RED LEARY THE BULL-POSTER, - The man, Bullseye, followed, closing the trap oyer ~ his head, The room above was now deserted. They descended the ladder and presently stoodin the darkness upon the cellar bottom. The darkness was so intensé that neither could see _ the other. | But these three men were, as well may be imagined, no strangers to the place and its ways, and darkness for their deeds and business was at times a welcome ele- ment. ' Dicks groped his hand up the rough stone wallof the | cellar until it touched a shelf. a From this he took down an ordinary lantern. } ‘Phe flash of a match andthelamp within the glass sided lantern was lighted. The darkness was gone. Then in the light, the surroundings, only from rough stone walls, were visible. = __ Apile of coal, an old barrel or two, and the fragments ‘of boxes scattered about. “The cops thought they found a big thing last month —eh, cap, when they lit on that trap and got’ down here?’’ cried Jim. «© »* And found nothing,’ : “And got up again with their ears pinned back,” -- Dicks made no reply to the words of his com- » panions, i ‘ He went to the back wall of the cellar. act the centre he pulled out a small fragment of stone. * In the aperture thus made, he thrust the same piece of iron with which he had raised the trap-door. He pressed it in hard. © ‘Then a portion of what had seemed solid rough hewn stoue swung slowly out. - It was a door to the outer surface of which had been ingeniously fastened bits of stone and plaster, so that when closed it would have required sharp eyes to haye detected this deception. “That door cost me five hundred dollars,” said Dicks. _ ‘And its maker his life,” said Jim, in an undertone. “That was because he had a loose tongue,’”’ said » Dicks. “Come.” Followed by the men he passed through the open- ing. : Then he closed the door after him. _ Whey were now ina large cellar, but which seemed more like an aboye ground apartment. The-walls, save where the door was, were plastered, the ceiling was white and clear, and the floor covered ' with heavy matting. ' There were two arches at one side, similar to those which lead out under the sidewalk of an ordinary house orstore, In this room were a couple of tables, a lounge, a cup- ‘board, and a fireplace. “Now we can talk,’” “Rather. But how about—you know ?” and Jim made a motion with his thumb toward one of the ~ arches. “ He won't hear. he'll trouble us.” _ Dicks lighted a cigar, and the precious trio seated themselves at the table. 4 Now, Jim, your work is easy. Tied so he can’t moye a limb, Kugged so that he can’t move his lips, that boy must be taken from here. It’s an easy job.” ‘How, in broad daylight ? why not now ??’ “It wouldn't do, Put him into a bag, tie the top up tightly—throw it into a wagon, and then——” “Then what?” . “Leaye the rest to the driver of the wagon.” “Ts he one of us?" _ ** No, but the one to whom he will deliver the sack with its motionless contents, is one of us—as trusty as yourself.” . “Isn't it risky, cap ?” “There is risk in everything. “Once in the keeping of Dousey, and this Didier “will never again cross my path.” “ Will Dousey—is he to——” Kill the boy? Pshaw, there are other ways to get H fa kid like him than by murder!” “xactly,” said Bullseye. “ You did it neatly, cap, gittin’ your grippers on that boy. Lord! didn’t I grin to see how neatly Stabber baited him into the back room, and how nicely we fellers lit on him, before he w whether he stood on his head or his heels.’” If we can’t hear him I don’t think y - With that cypher message in his hand,” “Yes,” said Dicks, ‘‘you did the job nicely. Whata wretched dolt that bill-poster must have thought me. Thave him now, and I'll keep him. Under that stone arch let him lie and rot—starve, for aught I care.” _ “That makes two of them—yew, counting the boy— three of them caved here, right under the nose of the - “police,’’ said Bullseye. - Bullseye and his fellow Jim soon began to show “symptoms of uneasiness. ullseye threw up his hands and yawned. “Sleepy, eh ?” said Dicks. _ “Sleepy’s no name for it.” yen Mes \ “No sound. Ah, these walls are thick-—were the dying tohowlin their agony, the ery would not be heard beyond those iron doors. Better a prison like this for them, than the ‘!ombs and a gallows for me.” From his pocket he took «key, and placed it in the great rusty lock of the door, at which he was listening. The bolt was shot back, and with an effort he swung the door back on its hinges. Holding up the lamp to a level with his shoulder, he peered in. “Safe,” he muttered, Good !”’ Sure enough. For there on an old straw mattrass, bound and help- less, with only the gag removed from his mouth, lay Leary, the bill-poster, He was breathing heayily, and apparently in a stupor. < «You would baffle me—me Kennard Dicks would you, with your shallow tricks. You would hunt me down, proclaim me 4 robber—a murderer, eh ?”° For a moment he stood gazing at the prostrate form of this man whom he regarded as his bitterest foe—as the only man in all the great city whom he dreaded. “Quiet enough now,’ said Dicks, “quiet enough now.” Upon the ground in this terrible place was a pitch- er'of water andaplate containing part of a loaf of bread and a piece of meat, The atmosphere was close and stifling. Above—in the center of the ceiling was a grating— above’ that, setin the thickness of the stone, was a small ground glass bullseye, and aboye that another grating. This, in the brightest of days, flood it with its light as it might, the sunshine could be of little solace to the prisoner, ‘The light that penetrated served only to make more hopeless the wan, the more dismal and gloomy the narrow cell. Now in the darkness of the night it was a tomb, ‘“‘and still unconscious. CHAPTER XXIII. THE UNDERGROUND DUNGRONS—LFARY’S RESTING PLACE —DETECTIVis GIMBLET STRIKES A TRAIL—'‘ IF THE BOY DOES HIS WORK STRAIGHT, I'LL GIVE HIM A DOLLAR,” ‘Lim there—lie there—and instead of hunting me, hunt the rats—instead of counting your bills, count the straws of your pallet—fool that you were. You turned the tables on me once—you won the first. trick in the game—where are younow? Shriek, moan, shout your- self hoarse if you like, and listen to the echoes of your voice—ha, ha, my fine bird.” : He turned from the ce)l, closed the door, and locked it. Coming into the room he looked at his watch, “Three o'clock. This las been a busy night, anight of work, a night of victory. Now then there remains two more things to accomplish, and then I can rest in peace. One is Captain Seaweed—ha, he is another Jriend of mine. He shall have his Jack Brandon, within swenty-fony hours hej shall bave him,’’ Dicks sat musing and planning—gloating as his busy brain mapped out his sechemes—over his success. “The boy—ah, Stwbber's got him safe enough in the eloset—no fear of btm.” He glanced down at his companions. Bullseye was sleeping as soundly asif his mind had never known a thought of crime, Jim snored. ; “How easy it would be for me to brain these two rascals! I may have to doit or give out the job to some of their pals. Dead men tell no tales. Don’t they? Ah, that is yet to be proved. Now thon, Dicks, an hour's sleep for yourself may do no harm.” From a large locker cr chest in one corner of this strange subterranean room he drew out to or three heavy buffalo robes and a tasselled cushion. These he arranged upon the floor. i “Not so soft as my spring bed in my other house, but it’ll answer. After the battle’s won the victor can sleep soundly on the hardest of beds.” He stretched himself at full length and was soon like his companions—asleep. Next day two men drove up jp a light wagon op- posite the tenement in which was Red Leary’s garret lodging. They leaped out and entering the passageway as- cended to the upper floor. One of them producing a key opened the padlock, and followed by his companion entered the apartment. Everything was as Leary had left it. “Well, Bullseye, it strikes me that the captain won't make much out of this lot of stuff. An old stove, a rickety table and a bureau, that looks as if it was ready to drop into pieces,” said Jim. “Obey orders if we break owners,” replied Bullseye. ; “It won’t break anybody, not even that bill-poster to lose this lot. What shall we move first ?”” “That rattling old box of drawers.”” “Then down it goes.”” The two men began their work. Under Dicks’ orders they were not to leave a scrap of anything in the place. : “Not even a piece ef stick or a shred of cloth, leave nothing,’ was the command they had received. They carried down a portion of the contents of the room and placed it in the wagon. i They had returned, and were tying up in one large bundle the bedelothing, when there came an unlooked for interruption. ’“ Hello, here.’’ hey were hot unknown. iret eae ues _ | wagon. “ What's all this mean ?”” Aa ps ‘* Means moving,” sang “Where's the bill-poster—Leary?”’ . ‘He isn't here.’” ' rays ‘*] don’t ask where he isn't. It's where he is and what this moving out means.” ; : “T dunno,” said Jim. “ He hired us to move his traps, and we're doing it.” “Where ‘re you going to take them ?’ $5 «Oh, just eran the next block,” said Jim. * Yes—well,”’ said Gimblet, for you ?” “ Ls'pose he is.” ** You s’pose, eh ?’’ said the detective. He didn't like this movement. va Kither it was an attempt on the part of Leary to ge beyond his reach or it was not. The fact that these men, whom he knew to be a cou- ple of rascals, were moving the furniture did not bene- fit the bill-poster in the opinion of Gimblet by any “Ys he there waitin, means. He watched the men at their work. They were along while tying up the bed clothing, — They were evidently not anxious for Gimblet’s com- pany. * Well,” said Jim, here ?”’ Gimblet thrust his hands into his pockets. He made no reply. t “Cos if there's nothing you want it’s mighty easy to take nothing and go.” “See here,’’ said Gimblet, quietly —“ my men, I’m a special friend of Leary.’ “ S"posin’ you are—we can’t help it ?” said Bullseye. “You can give me the number of the place and the street he is moving to—can’t you?” ee | “Well you see boss,’ said Jim, pausing in his work and looking up-—‘ Leary’s a queer fellow, and likes to — be to himself.’’ ait “Well?” fre, ** And don’t like visitors.” ‘ £©No'?”” Mp “No. So he says to me and my pard, says he—boys,’ ) don’t let anybody round there know where I'ma moy- in’ to.%% ain “All very fine,”’ said Gimblet. “Now you see it wouldn't be fair for us, that’s hes a payin’ to do his work, to do what he don't wantusto do—would it?” ; NAL, Gimblet saw that there was but one way. That+way he adopted at once. ee “Well if you don’t tell me I'll have to wait till bo meet him,’’ said Gimblet, 5 “Guess you'll wait a long time,” muttered Jim, What's that ?” asked Gimblet. cine “Oh, nothin’ only sayin’ sutthin’ to me pard here, that’s all.” UM “Oh.” pics “Are you off ?’” , ay “Yes ; you can tell Mr, Leary I called, that’s all 2” “Be sure we will,” said Bullseye, with a grin. 4 Gimblet left the room. eG Once in the street he looked about him. , Half way up the block a group of boys were playing around a great heap of sand. Ge Gimblet went up to them, 4.4); One of them, the eldest, ragged as to dress, dirty’as to | face and hands, and sharp as to eyes, struck Gimblet as being the sort of boy he wanted, Se hos « Bub.” The boy came down from the sand heap, “Do you want to earn a quarter?” . “Yes,'’ was the eager reply. Ps “ BO you see that wagon down there ?”’ 2 'Nee,'2 f , Dray. *Do you think you can keep that wagonin sight when it is driven off—follow it without letting the driver notice you, and find out where if stops?” k “Yes, if they dosent drive too fast.’ Py “There ain’t much fear of that. You can dodge along on the sidewalk behind the wagon, you know.” “ But where kin I find you?” 5 “You'll find me in that doorway where the men are loading up the wagon.” a “All right, boss. It’s a quarter is it?”’. d “Sure, and if you do the job right, maybe it'll be a quarter more.” “What, a haifa dolar,” “* Yes.’” “ Hoorah |?’ cried the boy. a@ go.” * “Now be careful, don’t lose sight of the wagon.’” “T'll follow ‘em chuck into Jersey.’ Gimblet laughed. ! ’ } nf The boy walked or rather skipped away, delighte@ with the task, ‘ CVs le “Now, Mr, Leary, bill-poster, we'll see whether you can dodge Gimblet so easy. If that boy works his game right, the bill-poster’s little cat’ll be out of the bag mighty quick.” A Gimblet strolled up the street as faras the next corner, i are Be quickly stepped into a doorway. Hal” 6 The exclamation escaped his lips as his eyes resbe upon a man passing on the opposite side of the street. — It was Kennard Dicks. ; : 4 ? We « Where's that swell going I wonder?! said Gimblet to himself. “ This isn’t the sort ot neighborhood for him to promenade in.” ‘ Pat G. Dick walked on, y Gimblet’s eager eye was upon him. ‘ys When he was nearly opposite the place wagon stood he stopped. adie Ng Rs Thenin a moment he crossed over. = As le did so, Jim and Bullseye came out to Perhaps Kennard Dicks and h other,” suid Gimblet. “Ts there anything you want { Oh, hot itand
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work straight—dammit I'll give him a dollar!” OHAPTER XXIV. BED LEARY wWoORES HBS WAY OUT OF THE VAULT INTO AN- OTHER, Wuen, inthe gloom and silence of the narrow dun- iy goon into which he had been thrown, Red Leary came slowly back to consciousn ess, if seemed to him that ae had passed through the terrors of a distempered Yeam, With consciousness came memory, and bit by bit, piece by piece, like the weaving and putting together ofa patch-work quilt, came to his mind the recollection of the past two days. ‘ Then, despite his own terrible condition he thought of Charley Didier. “Poor boy. It was all my fault. Isent himinto the trap of this accursed fiend, and heaven alone knows his fate. Oh, Kennard Dicks, once that Iam free again, your doomis sealed.” By degrees Leary recovered the full use of his limbs, ; and found that, notwithstanding the desperate strug- -_, gle which he had had with Dicks' ruffians, he was but little bruised, He groped his way about the vault, feeling carefully on every side, back and forth on the rough stone-work, ‘until his eyes ceaond accustomed to the dim light from above were capable of distinguishing something A; of the nature of place. ; “This must be a cellar yault,”’ he said, “and contrived for this purpose. How many poor wretches have gone to their tatein torture and misery within the darkness » and tomb-like silence of this place! Ugh! if smells + Miko asepulchrel”’ He had no idea of time, there. How long he had Tie been there, whether it was a day, a week, or a month, his he had no conception. It seemed to him that the struggle with the ruffians and his desperate but fruitless resistance had occur- ed months before, and that he had been lying ina stu- y por ever since, t ‘He found bread and a piece of meat on the plate be- side the straw pallet upon which he had lain. ,‘ Certainly they don’t want to poison me,” he said, as ee: greedily devoured it. “If they do—ho—what is ey f _ He paused in his eating. ' “Tthought I heard a human .yoice, the groans of » some one suffering.” Ho listened intently. The sound seemed to proceed from the wall beside him, asifit were hollow and within its hollowness a human being might be in agony, and moaning for as- sistance, “Can it be possible that there is another victim hid- den away in this living tomb?” Again and again Leary went the round of his narrow prison. . After awhilein doing this his foot struck against something hard—something that had tho ring of metal. He stooped and took it up. _ If was—he could tell by feeling it more than by the dim yiew lve got.of it—the blade of an old chisel. He sat down on his pallet and examined it as thor- oughly as ifit were a nugget of gold and his life de- ig ponded upon his ascertaining its value. “Thave read,”’ he thought “‘ of men cast into prison cells where only darkness and the rats could be felt or “iknown, who have inch by inch worked their way through wall after wall until they were free ; worked it with a bitof nail. Why shouldn’t I be able to free ' myselfwith this old rusty piece of chisel? Ican at least forget my misery in trying the work. That'll be ‘something anyhow.” Two days passed on. Twice while he slept, by some silort, mysterious ~ method had geod and fresh water been brought into his cell and placed within his reach. Twice, too, had he caught indistinctly the sound of that moaning in the wall. These walls must be solid, there is no sign of abreak, except that narrow iron door ; that seems harder and more impenetrable than the stone and plaster.” Here and there with the chisel he began to test them. - The plaster or cement was hard apparently with age. The stones had settled into it as firmly as if it were a part of themselves. _ More carefully than anywhere else he picked at the aide from which the faint sound of the groan had seemed to proceed. “Hard as fate. Hard as the heart of the wretch, Kon- _ mard Dicks,” over and over again he repeated. / Still, hour after hour, with intervals of rest, he Be picked here and there at the plaster between the tones. : e _ He tried hard to remain awake, 'too, in order that he might know the time when his food was brought in, mae even in this he failed, _ By Jove, I think I’m getting clower and closer to} But he persevered, and with the patience of aman’ to x that package of diamonds. If that boy only does his | whom time was nothing and the accomplishment of RED LEARY THE “BILL-POSTER, his task all the world, he toiled on. At last, toward the close of the third day, he uttered an exclamation of delight. The plaster had evidently softened near the center of the wall from whence the groaning seemed to proceed. A bit at a time, under the pecking and prying of the old chisel, the plaster came out, Every little piece that came out and dropped upon the ground brought its share of hope to Leary. He seemed to grow stronger, and he felt that the hour of release and vengeance was coming nearer and nearer. Pausing to wet the plaster, waiting now, not with patience, but with a feverish longing for the plaster to absorb the water, then digging away with the chisel, he saw in the future a reward for all that he suffered. When worn down and exhausted, he threw himself upon his pallet of straw, only to awaken after an hour or two of sleep to find his food and water renewed. “TfIcould only grapple once with the wretch who brings me this meat and water—this digging my way out to liberty wouldn’t have to be done. I wonder how he finds out that Iam asleep. Is he or some one of the gang always watching me through some crevice in the door? There must bea way—yet, if they could look in here at any time, they would see me at work on the wall,’? Two or three times while he was at work, digging around the stone, he heard faintly the repetition of the groans from within. ‘* Perhaps in working my way out, I may find an- other victim like myself—dying, perhaps,” said Leary, with his old habit of talking to himself. “Dying, and with a curse on his lips for Kennard Dicks.” Hour after hour, all that day, he worked and picked almost unceasingly. At last he had worked out nearly all the plaster around one of the stones, and by prying atit, using his chisel as a sort of lever, ha moved it. Gradually he worked it out. by tape mile stone nearer the end of my journey !” he eriod, Fortunately the stone which he had taken out was of no great thickness, as its breath and height outside would have indicated, He found that behind this, thrown in as filling, the stones were small and the cement broken, and much more pliable than that upon the outer surface. One by one these smaller ones were taken out and placed under his pillow Then he began tapping the surface of the inner stone at the back, ; ee was no solidity to the sound. It echoed hol- owly. “That stone out, and I can-+creep through into the place beyond—whatever it is,’ He redoubled his efforts now, There wasno thought of pause for sleep, or reat, er food. As he dug away, 8 ly, plainly, and more than ever distinctly came 6 repetition of the groan beyond, * There is another yault like this with its prisoner.” As nearly as he could calculate, it was at this mo- ment the close of the day. “T have all night before me,” was his thought; “‘and if some of my odd luck dosen’t come up to balk me, I'll know the secret of the other side of thig wall. 111 not sleep till Ido know it, whatever happens.” The mortar slowly gave way, what with tho inces- sant alternation of water and chisel, and after three long hours of constant toil, Leary felt that this last obstacle to his progress would soon be at his mercy. CHAPTER XXY. LEARY FINDS THE REAL KENNARD DICKS IN THE OTHER VAULI—LEARY BRINGS DOWN TWO BIRDS WITH ONE BOTTLE—“ NOW FOR LIGHT, LIBERTY AND VENGEANCE.” ‘THERE !’” And there it was, sure enough, for giving the stone one vigorous push by the exertion of his whole strength, this last barrier fell inwards and struck the ground with a dull, heavy thud. At the same moment the sound of a voice in tremu- lous, feeblé accents exclaimed : “Don't kill me! Don’t kill me!” Leary started back, for the instant, horror-stricken, The voice was soawful, coming up, as it were, out of the darkness of that horrible place, so like the last weird wail of one dying ; so weak, so piteous, yet so clear, that it seemed to Leary as if every stone took up the cry and prolonged it in his ears. Again the appeal was repeated, this time with a roan. . This, then, was the one whom he had heard through the wall, Leary crept to the iron door. Had there been a dozen men shuffling their feet upon the stone flagging without, he could nof have heard them through its thickness. Etec he returned to the opening he had made in the wall. _' resolve ; you now, I’m thinking he’ll wait an hour or two filled with the festering remains of the unburi Bunt just as he was about to rise and put an end to this racking suspense, there wasajar of the iron door, Then he heard the turning of a key, then the clang | of a heavy iron bar striking inits socket. a Leary remained motionless saye such motion as would indicate the heavy,regular breathing of a mam sleeping soundly. ; , Slowly the door opened, and the dim partly shaded light of a lantern shone into the vault. hen the Yearer of the lantern noiselessly entered: * Sh—the old paste-pot’s asleep,’ said the man with the lantern. “If he wasn’t you wouldn’t be here,” was the whispered answer of the one who followed. 4 “ What's the usé of the aoppen a keepin’ this bloke } in this way. Why not knock ’em on the head——” “Sh! The man with the lantern moyed as silent- ly as a specter to the place where the bottle of water was standing. Leary saw every movement of these men from under ihe the shadow of his arm which he had thrown partly it over his face and so concealing his eyes. **Cappen’ll have to move him out of this soon,” ~ ; The man with the lantern made no reply. He placed ifn the lantern upon the ground. “T'll give this duffer his grub, and then we'll give the other one a visit,” A As he said this his comrade turned toward the halt open door. * Bring in the fresh water and bread,”’ said the man with the lantern. A wild pncontrollable impulse seized upon Leary, An impulse to make one desperate effort to turn the tablea vag upon these ruffians, and so effect his escape by speedier f means than the slow process of digging his way out i through more walls, If he failed—well, that would end — ity He could but fail. his hopes. They were two to one. They were doubtless armed and ready for any such attempt, but he knew that by — a sudden surprise he would be for the moment more than their match. 5 ‘The comrade of the man was on the threshold of the — narrow, iron door, with his back toward the interior) of the Vault. ° \ The other was stooping to take up the broken plate upon which the bill-poster’s daily allowance was placed. ‘This was the supreme moment. ‘i A better chance might never again occur. Springing to his feet from the pallet, and grasping the water bottle by the neck—the flash of lightning could scarcely have been quicker than was the move- ment of Leary, as he brought the weapon crashing down upon the head of the ruffian nearest him. The action was so instantaneous and the blow so ef. fectual, that he fell as limpasa wet cloth to the ground without a cry. Leary leaped toward the door, with the bottle still clutched in his upraised hand, The remaining ruffian was in the act of turning om the threshold to re-enter. In the amazement at seeing Leary before him, he ut- tered.an oath and dropped the piate which he held ir his hand. That oath was all that escaped his lips. For in the same instant that he beheld Leary, the bill- poster's weapon levelled him to the floor, Ashe fell, his head struck against the edge of the iron door, and that completed the work, . : Like his companion he lay helpless, stunned, and at the mercy of the bill-poster. i “Now, for freedom and vengeance!” exclaimed Leary. ‘Oh, you ruffians, my vengeance is not for you, but for your master,’’ Rr stepped outside the vault, taking fhe lantern with im. Upon the wall he saw hanging See rope. Hastily taking it vault. ** Now, you rascals, we'll see how you like the little 4 game your master played on me. If he’s ne for ong. With the rope, which he found to bein two or three pieces, he proceeded to effectually tie and bind the two men, hands and arms fast to their sides, and their legs tightly together. Pak, Sen Then, hastily tearing off a portion of the coat ef one of them, he crammed it into his mouth as a gag. ae He did the same with the other, only inthis inetatice using the crown of the ruffian’s old felt hat as the gag. “ There, you're comfortable enough now. Lie there and be happy.” \ His next movement was to close the iron door. He found the key in the outer lock. Securing that, he locked the door on the inner side. *« So far all is safe.” fi CAL Then he removed the stone from the opening in the wall. ais “That avas atoughjob, but it has paid for itself,” said Leary; taking up the lantern afterlookingto make sure that the two ruffians were fast, he began the task of creeping through the opening into the next vault, — It was a difficult task he had in getting through, he finally succeeded in squeezing himself through. The dim light ofthe lantern made the vault’s pearance plain enough, It was similar to the oi size inwhich he had been confined, but the aii close, and the rank and foul odors that filled it sickening. ; i Mi if a It smelled more like a charnel house or a apo l toa huge ironspike @ i own he re-entered the Hana held thoteatien bs ooking aiid Oh Ashe held the lantern up, looking around the horri ble place, he started Back ox Pee iats as fea b ‘serpent had reared itself at his feet. © Far from the. ) Mike | ‘came once ito the
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what seomed to be a bundle of rags, from out of which ed the thin, ghostly mockery of a human face, ‘he skin was drawn tightly to the bones of the cheek the hair was long and matted about the forehead and out of the shadow of the sunken brow peered the dulled eyes. The lips thin and partly opened with the white teeth, visible, completed this horrible sight. A thin hand like the hand ofa skeleton was partly raised from out of the rags and fell back again, ‘*Mercy—mercy !’’ repeated the voice, Leary placed the lantern upon the ground and kneeling beside the awful death-like figure placed his hand under its head and as tenderly as possible raised it up. ; “You—you—”’ gasped the poor wreck. ‘ You are not —the—the—”’ then the lips closed, and the head tell back on Leary’s arm. “ Be quiet now. I am not one of the ruffians who ut you in this den. I haye come to rescue you, to ring you back to life aud light and the world.” “You, I—life—oh yes, I know the other world—yes —yes.”’ “Wait a moment,” said Leary. He arose and crawled back through the opening into the other vault, and came back, scarcely heeding the struggle it occasioned, bringing with him the bottle of fresh water. “Here drink this, drink it—it will revive you. I wish it was something stronger,” He placed the bottle to the poor fellow’s lips, and he drank eagerly—as ravenously as if it were nectar, The water in afew moments revived him, and he seamed to have freer use of speech. ‘ “ Who—are—you?”’ the thin lips said, and the dull eyes brightened as they rested upon the kindly, pity- ing face of the bill-poster. “Me—why, I’m Red Leary, the bill-poster—that is,”” . Leary added, smiling grimly, “‘when I’m not under - lock and key.” “Where is—is the old. woman that lured ino into _ that den, Nancy Grip—so many weeks—months—I can’t ted—so long ago.” “Nancy Grip |’’ exclaimed Leary. ‘‘ Yes--yes, I know who she is,’” Then Leary thought of the closing words of*the cypher note she had dropped in front of Kennard Dick’s honse—‘' Come to me about the prisoner.’’ “You are one of her—her con—confederates |” “No, no,” cried Leary, quickly. ‘Don’t think it, I must get you out of here some way. Are you able to atand up, to walk ?” “JI try.” ? “Then do so at once. I have been a prisoner here mysolf. I have got the best of the ruffians. You must leave here with me. You shall goif I have to carry you. But first tell me your name!” “My name ?’”’ said the poor victim of ill treatment. “Yes, your name !’’ “Tt is—it is Kennard Dicks.” “Kennard Dicks!” exclaimed Leary in astonish- ment. 4s, that is my name |” - "Now, by the saint of all the pill-posters, the secret is out, the infernal villain. Oh, ho! that’s why the milk is in the cocoa-nut! You are,Kennard Dicks; eh ? Then, why were you kept here?” “Tdo not know. Itis too long a story to tell now. _ I’m too weak, wait, I’ll tell you by-and-bye. They de- - eoyed me into a trap.” They ? 7 ‘Yes, an old woman anda man, the man first; they seney ee me, I'll tell you, it’s a horrible story, hor- rible \’’ “Yes, but not more horrible than will be the fate of the black-hearted John Brandon, the midnight mur- derer of Charley Didier’s brother, on that Kast River pier. Butcome, try and getup. I'll have you out of here if I haye to break my way through a dozen such ' walls as that. Come, Mister Dicks, you are safe, now.” . With some difliculty he raised the victim to his feet, and belping him he managed to stand erect. _ Then Leary, half supporting) him, led him toward the opening in the wall. “You'll be strong enough directly,” said Leary. ‘‘] 1 have to pull you through this opening some way or other without hurting you.” ‘Then Leary, leaving the new found Kennard Dicks at the opening, crawled through into the other vault, taking the lantern with him. > One of the ruffians was writhingin his bonds, vain- ly struggling to free himself. « Squirm away, my pretty bird,” said Leary. “Then he took a survey of the other one near the door. The fellow was quiet enough, but his sharp eyes were fixed upon Leary with a look that told the bill-poster plainly his feelings, and what Leary’s fate would be if he should happen to get loose, ‘ _ “You're another good looking bird of prey,’’ said ‘ Leary: “ How doyou like it? Teach you to keep awa: 3 from the bottle—it’s too much for your poor head, ~ You ain’t the only scoundrel that’s been brought down _ by the bottle, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.” 5 The fellow’s face; distorted as it was with the portion of felt hat which had been crammed into it, assumed a diabolical expression as Leary uttered the taunting _ words, “Now, my fine fellows—my cheery mocking birds, m going through you.” CHAPTER XXVI. i \DIOKS GETS A NEW JOHN BRANDON IN STAB- BER THE BAREKHEPER—NANCY GRIP IN THE HOSPITAL— CAPT. BEAFOAM LOOKS THE DOOR AND DRAWS A PISTOL, wagon in Red Te "8 rer the RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. that Leary was im league with a band of desperadoes, let us turn to Mr. Kennard Dicks. As he passed on, he saw Gimblet, and at once sus- pected his motive in waiting near the entrance to Leary’s garret home. That troubled him very little, for he had another matter upon his mind. There was a dim, vague foreboding in his mind that something terrible was about to happen to him, to ey all hia schemes and bring him to a fearful retribu- ion. That day he was to take to Captain Seafoam, and in- troduce him, John Brandon. : This John Brandon he had found in one of his asso- ciates in villainy. It was the barkeeper at Joss’ Corner. He had dress- ed him in a plain inexpensive suit of black, and had transformed him into an appearance approaching re- spectability. He was on his way to meet Stabber, the barkeeper, when he saw Gimblet. He crossed the street and justin timeto catch the ear of Bullseye, at the wagon, i Bullseye,” he said in a low tone, ‘‘you’re watch- ed.” « Who by ?”” ‘‘Gimblet, the detective!’ “ Oh, ho, captain. Then we'll watch him.” “See that you do.’ “Where is he?’ “ Alter I've walked om a piece away from you, as you drive off, look behind you sharply. D’ye take?’ “Yes, captain ; I’m fly.’’ “¥ou'd better leave Jim to watch him and you drive off alone,” “All right, never fear, captain. You'll see us to- night?” “Yes, at Joss’, at twelve.” Kennard Dicks—little dreaming that while he was on his way to present to Oaptain Seafoam a second Jon Brandon, Leary had already discovered a second and areal Kennard Dicks—went to the rendezvous and met Stabber, the barkeeper. ‘Now then, Stabber,’”’ said Dicks, “be careful. Ona slip of your tongue, and you'll spoil the whole game. Remember there’s ten thousand dollars as the prize ; and your pay for this day’s work, if you succeed and do the job well, is two thousand.” “Ifthe old deck-treader should drop to our little game ?” “Then we get nothing except the chance of being pulled for an attempt at swindling.” “ Comforting, that, isn’t it, captain, eh ?’” “Yes, for you. Now, come on,” They walked on together to the hotel which the captain had designated as the place of meeting. The barkeeper, so far, had played his part excellently. But the worst was to come, for Captain Seafoam was a bird not se easily caught with chaff. They were—this nice pair—on the point of entering the groat doorway of the hotel, Stabber being the fore- mosé, “Mr. Dicks.” Kennard Dicks turned and saw a man who touched him on the shoulder as he spoke, ** Well, sir ?’’ said Dicks, looking at him suspiciously. “You forget me, but I kaow you,” said the stranger, bowing. “Well, sir ?” said Kennard Dicks. “T have followed you nearly a block, T was on my way to your house when I caught sight of you.” “What did you wish to see me for ?” “ Thave a message for you. I am one of the surgeons of the Park Hospital. An old woman was brought there early in the morning in a dying condition,” Dicks started and gave Stabber a meaning glanco, “She was found bleeding and insensible, lying on the ground close to a fence, by a policeman, a few doors from a notorious den known as Joss’ Corner. Nearher were the overalls, bucket, bills and brush of a bill- poster.” “ Well—well, how does this concern mo ?” “Only in this way. She was taken to the station and from thence brought to our hospital. She recovered sufficiently some hours since to speak, and she wanted— asked that you be sent for, She gave her name as Nancy Grip. Sheis a wretched-looking object.” “IT suppose so,’’ said Dicks, disconcerted, yet giving but little outward display of it; “but what does she want me for?” “That she will not say. You know her ?”” “Y-e-s, I do remember some such woman. once my washerwoman or something of the sort. it was so long ago that really I had forgotten her.” “Likely,” said the surgeon ; “but will youcome? We sent one messenger, but he did not find you at home.” Dicks hesitated before he replied. Then he answered, eyes.” “Come soon.” “As soon as I am through with a little business I have in the hotel.” The surgeon was about going away when Dicks call- But she says you must come. She was But edhim. ; “You said you knew me—when have we met?” « At Garouse’s, the banker’s residence.’’ “Oh, yes;” but Dicks did not remember. “ Besides your face is the better remembered by me, because it has a strange resemblance to the face of a person, who, some months since, called three or four times at the hospital, inquiring concerning the condi- tion of a seacaptain named Seafoam. That person, however, was evidently a fellow of not much account, judging by his dress. Well, you'll be sure and come. Good-day, sir.’”? . ) ' The surgeon went his way, leaving Dicks staring after him. N a | ‘‘Stabbor, that cursed old hag means mischief,” a “She never meant anything else in all her bors ays.’ “Tthought that kick I gave the treacherous o} witch had settled her.’ Bergin! “TY don’t think anything’ll ever’ settle her, unless it be about two good solid pounds of strychnine, or a quart of bug poison She’s been shot and knifed, choked, chucked off the pier and half hanged, aud it had no more effect on her than a dose of our gin.’ “T must see her, at all events. But first we'll go in and begin our work on the captain.’’ “Come on,” y “ After I introduce you as John Brandon, I will leave you with him. But don’t forget—don’t lose a trick,” “You bet I won’t. If he don’t take me in as Jack Brandon, you may put me down for a second class duffer.”’ ty aed ‘They entered the hotel. i Dicks sent up his card. ‘ “ Captain Seafoam will see you,” said the servant. Stabber and Dicks were shown up to the captain’s Fs room. 4 Dicks was the first to enter, Stabber following clowa behind, ; Captain Seafoam was sitting at a center table, exam-~ ining some papers. 5 As Dicks came in, the captain arose and bowed, bad The servant retired, closing the door after him, “You are prompt, ’’ said Seatoam. “Tam always prompt to oblige,” was Dicks’ answer; “and after some troublein finding him, permit me to ian present to you Mr. John Branden. Mr. Brandon, this 2 is Captain Seafoam, the friend of your late father.” « Stabber stepped up briskly and held out his hand to the captain who reached out his bronzed fingers slowly, ! looking Stabber, much to that individual’s disgust, me steadily and sternly in the face. “ Be seated,” said the captain. . rs Then Dicks, as Stabber seated himself, explained te Nes the captain that business of great importanee called ( him away, and that he would leaye them together, Im a moment more Dicks was gone and on his way to the hospital. ae “So you are John Brandon?” said the captain eye. ing Stabber. Ve “ Yes, sir,” answered Stabber boldly. iy j raf The captain stepped to the door and locked i, Stab. F ber didn't like this proceeding. The captain then, : from a drawer in the table took out a pistol, cocked it, seated himself opposite Stabber, and then placed the \veapon on the table before him. For the first time m his life Stabber felt that his face turned pale. He moved uneasily and he avoided meeting the captain's : chance, although he kept his eye upon the pistol. He ih began to think the captain waseitheralunatic or had = by some unknown means penetrated their secret and had adopted this means to entrap him. ‘ CHAPTER XXVII. LEARY AND THE REAL KENNARD DIOKS ESCAPE FROM THE VAULTS OF JOSS CORNER—DEATH OF A TRATZOR—‘‘ NOW ® FOR VENGEANCE,” { WHILE Stabber, playing the part of John Brandon, a was sitting, trembling at the singular method adopted : by the captain of receiying him, by locking the door tee and placing a pistol before him on the table; while Kennard Dicks was on his way to the hospital to hear the dying words of Nancy Grip, and while Mr. Gimblet was in feverish impatience awaiting the return of the boy he had sent as a spy to follow Bullseye and Jim with the household goods of the bill-poster, Red Leary and the real Kennard Dicks were closely making their way out of the vaults beneath the den at Joss Corner. The two ruffians lay helplessly gagged and bound, and only their eyes, watching their two captors, ex- pressed their terrible but useless rage. Leary opened the door leading from the vault to the arched passage, and taking the real Kennard Dicks by the hand, led him out from the shadows and murky air in which he had suffered fur so many weeks, F f “ These are the words, liberty and vengeance,”’ said eary. ‘ “ Vengeance to the death,” niurmured Dicks, ‘“ With- out it ’drather go back to that vault and rot there.’” Leary turned and locked the heavy iron doors. “There, my fine birds, you can have a taste of the fun you gave me,’’ he said, 5 They could haye made no answer had they heard him. F “The wretches! I wish—no—thatIwilllearn here. after—but if they have murdered Charles Didier—if they have ——”’ Se: Ae “Sh |’? whispered his companion. ; Leary listened. y “J hear nothing.” “I did—the sound of someone heavily breathimg. Listen.” . 2 “Ah, [hear now. Whoever it is, he is not far off.” They were sow in the room beyond the arched pas- sage, the place where Dicks and his pals slept. diy By the light of the lantern Leary and hiscompanton advanced to the table. Upon it were a bottle and two | or three glasses, The bottle contained brandy. = “Oh, ho,” said Leary. ‘‘My poor friend, here is pr that will revive you. ‘here is strength in this.” . The two men took each a drink of the liquor, “That's as good as a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving day,” said Leary, smacking his lips. “Now then let us make our way out into daylight.” cz) Again, and more plainly, the sound as of someone ng heavily breathing came to their ears—thistime nearer and more distinct. % fest! spleen ues “There is some one sleeping near where we aro, said Dicks, in a whisper. HG ae But although the sound still came to them at imter- vals, they could find no trace of the one who made it. ‘i ¢
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“ But how are we to escape from this hole? There must bea way out ofit, surely,’’ said Leary. Just then Leary approached the further wall oppo- site the entrance to the vaults. “There is some one on the other side of this wall,” said Leary ; “I hear the turnings of a key in alock. It‘is rusty and turns hard, and thé man is swearing over ate i The words had barely escaped his lips-when a con- cealed door—the same by which it will be remembered the ruffians had entered with their captain—was push- ed open. : Fortunately Leary and his companion were close to the wall, and as the door opened they were behind it, Consequently the man who entered did not see them. He stepped in, little suspecting how close he was to an enemy. “Where the devil are the boys?” he grumbled. He saw the lantern which Leary had placed upon the table. “There’s the glim, but where are they? Cuss the luck, I wish the captain would ‘tend to his own business. He’s got too much on hand for one man to carry.’’ The man stepped toward the table. Leary recognized him as one of the gang who had rushed up- on him in the bar-room. As he stood by the table he took the bottle in his hand, and poured out a portion of the brandy into one of the glasses. Behind him, eyeing his every movement was Leary, waiting for the moment when the suspense should be ended. It came. As the man raised the glass to his lips Leary sprang upon him. He was taker so completely by surprise, that before he realized the situation, or the cause of this sudden attack, Leary had thrown his strong arms about him and flung him upon his back to the floor. An oath from the astonished ruffian, a brief but des- perate struggle and Leary, with his knees upon his breast, and his hands grasping tightly at his throat, held him helpless at his mercy. “Now then, Number Three, I'ye got you. Dicks, here, if he attempts to make any more trouble, do you knock him on the head with those keys.” “Dicks?” repeated the ruffian, turning his glance as far as Leary’s clutch at his throat permitted. “ Dicks?” “Yos, not your Captain Dicks, my loyely gutter-snipe, but the one whose name be has taken ; now then, are you ready to give up and be quiet, or shall we put an end to your troubles just as we did to your pals ?” “Take your—your hand from my throat.” “Not if I know myself, my jolly night owl. I say, Dicks, take a search through this gentle lamb’s pock- ets.” The ruffian made an ineffectual struggle to free him- self. The effort was useless. The grasp of Leary was the grasp of a vise, and his strength of a man who had nerved himself to accomplish his purpose or dio in the attempt. Dicks was by no means a coward. It was not fear but weakness which made him tremble, as he searched pocket after pocket. The result of the search was an advantage to Leary, for it produced a loaded revolver, a villainous-looking ‘black-jack,” a bunch of keys, and a small roll of bills. , «Ts that shooting-iron loaded ?” “ Yos, every barrel,’? said Dicks. That's all right. You hold fast to that black-jack, and hand me the pistol.” Loosening one handfrom the ruffian’s throat, Leary took the pistol, and then suddenly leaping from the prostrate man to his feet, he cocked the pistol and pointing the muzzle at his head exclaimed: * Now you can breathe and speak, but if you attempt to rise or utter acry of alarm until I’m through with you, I'll blow your brains out with as little remorse asi would killa rat. D’ye understand ?” The situation was too plain for the ruffian to misun- derstand. He saw that to copy, was safety, to at- mt resistance would not only be folly, but end in eathe “ Well,” he growled, “ you’ve got mefonl, and that’s # the good it’ll do you.” ig 4 jEhat remains to be seen,” said Leary. “You'll do one good act, anyhow.” «will 12” “ Yos, or else take a pill or two from this revolving box. One ’ll be a dose for you. You must show us the easiest and safest way to got out of here.” «And then what ?” “Lie still—don’t try it—or off goes this pepper box. _ When we are out of this den and free, you can go to the devil,’ said Leary. “ With a policeman ?” “No. You're too small game to bother with. It’s your master I shall take care of in that line. You will show us the way out of this.” The ruffian’s face lighted up. He thought he sawa chance, by pretending to submit to this idea, of turn- ing the tables on his captors. Leary, watching him intently, understood the mean- ‘ing of this sudden change of expression. “ But the first movement, after Llet you up, that is ‘not on thesquare, in goesa bullet into your carcass, where it will give your soul a holiday in the lower regions.” ‘he ruffian gritted his teeth. “That's natural,’ said Leary, ‘You're one of the right sort—you are. Now, then, get up.” Covered by Leary’s pistol, the ruffian slowly rose to uM feet, and stood scowling and watchful in front of ary. _ “Now, then, are you ready ?” _ As Lever will be.” “Understand,” said Leary, “the minute I am free, - youcan go where you please; and further, should I , ee he again, you shall not be molested, Is it a weeand you will not betray me to any of my pals for Yhis day’s work ?”’ RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER, “No; because I don’t care to meet them anywhere except in the hands of the law.” “It I refuse ?” “T'll kill you as surely as you stand there.” “It’s a bargain. Will you follow me?” “Rather. You don’t s’pose I'd let you get behind us, do you?” “Then follow me, and be careful how you step.” “ And you be careful how you act, for will keep a bead drawn on you with this popgun of yours until we are in the open street.” “ Come, then, give me the lantern from the table.”’ “ Oh, no, we'll carry that. Don’t trouble yourself. You found your way here in the darkness; we willlight you out.”” The ruffian turned toward the door by which hé had entered. Directly behind him, almost in a lock step, followed Leary with the upraised pistol. After him came Ken- nard Dicks holding the lantern. Once the thought struck the ruffian that by a sudden spring through the doorway and pulling the door shut he might have them in his power. Buta glance at Leary satisfied him that such an [at- tempt would result in the discharge of the pistol. He led them into the dark cellar beneath the room adjoining the bar-room. Then he paused. “Let me fix the ladder.” “What ladder ?” “Don’t you see. It leads to the trap in the floor above,” “What is the floor above ?” “ The next room to the bar.” “ Whois in that room ?” « No one.” “Are yousure of that?’ demanded Leary, suspi- ciously. “ Yes. Stabber, the bar-keeper, is off with the cap- tain on an expedition, and our men are always away in the day-time.” “ How is it you and the other two men, your pals, are here ?” - We were left home by the captain to take care of things.” “Well, you’re doing it now. Fix the ladder.” Taking as much time as he could, and never for an instant removing his eyes from Leary end his pointed pistol, he raised the light ladder and placedit in po- sition. *« Now, then, stop,’’ said Leary. “Well ?” growled the man. ¥ ve Before we go further, 1 want you to answer a ques- ion,’’ “Well,” repeated the man. “In that den where we trapped you, we heard the sound as of some one heavily breathing.” “That was me.’’ “No. Through the thickness of the door and the wall we could not haye heard it.’ “There is nobody in that room, nor any place where eny one could be shut up or hidden.” pao are sure of that?’ “Yes.” “Now, them, go up the ladder, Remember this pistol covers you.” “TI don’t forget it,”’ said the ruffian hoarsely. His foot was upon the ladder. Within arm’s length of him Leary stood waiting to follow. The pistol was still pointing like a finger of fate, and upon the two the lantern held up in the hands of Dicks threw upon the group a dismal ghostly light. For the instant there was silence, Then it was broken. ’ At that moment of silence, Leary’s pistol was inad- vertently lowered. The ruffian saw his opportunity. From the ladder he made a rush at Leary, and almost accomplished his purpose of grasping the pistol. But Leary on the instant sprang back, and raised the pistol. He saw there was no other alternative. He fired, and the ruffian staggered back with a cry of baf- fled rage, against the ladder, and then fell to the ground. “The lantern, Dicks, quick !’’ cried Leary. Dicks held it closer. Leary stooped over the man. The bill-poster saw that the shot had done its work. The blood was oozing from the man’s forehead, ‘A “Poor fellow,” said Leary, “his race isrun. It is the first—I pray Heaven it may be the last time I shall ever be obliged to do the like.” “The boy—captain—breathing—closet—I——"’ and from those quivering lips never more came words of good orill. A spasm, a contraction of the limbs, and the shadow of death crept over the rugged face. “He was true to his master here,” said Leary, sol- emnly turning toward the ladder—** but—well maybe he never thought he had a master above. Come, Dicks, when we get out of this we cansend the police.” Leary led the way up_the ladder, Giving the trap door a push, it raised. Pushing it back they climbed into the room. It was, as the man had stated, deserted. There was the table, with bottles, glasses, and a preay pack of cards upon it, the old chairs, and that was all, They passed out into the bar-room. closed, ] “The poor wretch told the truth as far as he went,” said Leary. “Tt was a pity it had not been the head of the gang youshot,” said Dicks. - ‘He'll get his deserts in good time,” answered eary. fen opened the door leading from the bar to the street. It was broad daylight yet, and the sun shone bright and cheery. “ Pree at last,” said Dicks, his pale face lighting up with an expression of happiness, ? It, too, was ; : laa SSS “Now for vengeance,’’ said Leary. OHAPTER XXVIII. NANCY GRIP BAFFLES KENNARD DICKS—EVEN IN HEE fs DEATH SHE TRIUMPHS—THE INTERVIEW WITH THE SUR- GEON—DICKES TRIES A GAME WITH BULLSEYE. Kernnarp Dioxs hurried on to the hospital in the park. ; He began to think the fates were against him. A fear had come over him that in some way or other Stabber would make a failure of his attempt to per- sonate John Brandon. 4 He knew that the least word out of the way might arouse the captain’s suspicion. Then another thought came. He had deceived—short- sighted in that—his confederate and tool, Stabber, as to the amount involved, and had placed if at ten thousand instead of a million dollars. “Now, fool that I was—he will learn that a million is thestake I am playing for. The captain will tell him, and—I dare not prevent it without exposing my- self, Stabber will chisel me out of it, grasp the great i fortune of my father, and laugh atme. What afooll was. And this old faggot—Nancy Grip, curse her, she won’t even die peaceably with her tongue quiet. Never mind, I’ll circumvent them all yet. Ihave raised myself from the dregs by my own wits, aud by ; my own wits will I keep where Iam.” ; He knew he had, as he imagined, disposed of Leary and had him and Charles Didier safe within his power, As for the package of diamonds belonging to his friend Garouse, he chuckled when he thought of how nicely he had outwitted them allin that rob- ery. “One fex is worth a thousand donkies,”” he said, as he went up the narrow, outsideiron stairway leading to the second floor of the hospital; ‘‘now to settle this old hag, if death has not already settled her for me.’’ He met the surgeon, who at once led him into the reception room. There was a serious look upon his face. A ; “eat am sorry,’ hesaid, “ Mr. Dicks, but you are toe i. ate.’ if ce “Too late!” ae “Yes. She died ten minutes ago.” : “Poor old soul,” said Dicks, assuming an expression of sorrow. “Up to the last she retained her senses—which is something‘unusual in a case like hers.”’ “And wanting to see me so bad—did she leave no message for me ?”? “Yes. Within the past half hour one of the nurses, at her request, wrote this note at her dictation.” The surgeon took a scrap of paper from the table. “It is directed, as you see, to yourself.” Dicks took the note, opened it and read—what did he read ? Only that once again he was balked. Even in death the woman held him in her grasp. Even in death, grim and stark, her power was greater than his in life, and she had avenged herself for all the insults, abuse and violence he had inflicted upon her—she who had served him so faithfully. The missive read simply: oY “You will not come tome, My secret must not die [exa with me. Yesterday,in all my pain, I wrote out the reat history of—you know what. I betray nothing in this when I say that, in what I wrote, I betrayed all. Had you come I might have —~. Nancy.” 4 The sentence was broken off. : 4 “Curse the hag!’ muttered Dicks gayagely. Then i looking up at the surgeon he said ; “She says she wrote something else, doctor.” 4 “Yes. Oh,yes. That she scrawled herself, sealed it : in an envelope, and directed it, leaving it in my care to deliver only to the one to whom it was addressed.’? cS “That was to me, of course.” P j “No; your name was not mentioned,”’ “To whom, then, was it directed or addressed ?” “To Mr. Leary, bill-poster.’’ “To him!’ “Yes,” replied the surgeon. % «Oh, ah, yes, now I remember,” said Dicks, carel as if all his personal interest in the matter had “This Leary was a friend of hers. I know him very well. He has done work for moe. By the way, I may see him to-day. Give me the letter, whatever it is, and I will hand it to him.” The surgeon smiled. Did he understand Dicks’ little ame ? on No. That is against our rules,” he said calmly. “We always, even in a hospital, respect the wishes, and as far as possible,obey the last request of the dying who are in our charge.”” Dicks had nothing to say. He felt that luck was against him. “J shall see that Mr, Leary gets this note. If you should see him, Mr. Dicks, you will be kind enough to tell him that we havea note or letter here for him from this woman, and that he can call and ey “Yes—yes, I will,’”? replied Dieks. “But, by the , way,” he repeated the words, “do you know this man, | this’ bill-poster Leary ?” . t “T never saw him in my life,” answered the surgeon § frankly. t That was the answer Dicks longed for. It brought new hopetohim. “My way is clear now,” he thought, “T’ll have that letter before night-fall.” ee Then to the surgeon he said: ‘I will see this this afternoon, and send him to you. The note may contain something of importance to him.” “Very well. You do me atfavor. Any time between now and twelve o’clock to-night. If I should not be here, my assistant will deliver the envelope to him. — Would you like to look at the—the——” ~ i ; “ Atthe body. No,’”’ was the answer. : The surgeon smiled strangely. Why ne should smile
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ie « * friend 2” RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. vas a puzzle to Dicks. There seemed to bea meaning nit very significant. “What disposition shall we make of her?” “T cannot bury her in Pctters’ field ?” replied Dicks, eurtly, pulling on his gloves. « As you please,” said the surgeon. Kennard Dicks left the hospital. “T’'ll find a Leary to answer the purpose,” said Dicks to himself. ‘‘I’llsend Bullseye. He’ll do the job. He's fond of such little games. Specially when he’s paidforit. He can act the bill-poster or any other part, except that of an honest man,” He had nearly reached his house, when turning the corner, he came face to face with the very man of whom he had been thinking—Bullseye. “Bullseye.” “ Well, captain ?’” “You're the very man I want.” “’m here, safe and ready.’’: “First, did you dodge Gimblet ?” “ What d’ye take me for? A nod’s as good as a wink ‘a blind man Dodge him? Irather think I did. Besides, I don’t think he was ‘piping’ us.” * “Don’t be too sure of that. Gimblet’s no fool. here, I’ve a job for you.” “Good, ill it pay ?”” **VYes ; money to you—satisfaction to me.” “T’m your worm ; what is it?” ei want you to be somebody else for an hour or CAle “Me, somebody else? I don’t exactly take that in.” “I'll explain as we watk along. You know old Nance &rip is dead.” “ No.” “Yes. Now listen,’ said Dicks. Then he told Bullseye what he wanted, and instructed him what to say in reply, should the surgeoa question him. “Tm fly, cap’n. You shall have that letter, or what- ever it is, before dark.’’ «And you shall have your reward.” Dicks parted from his confederate aad cntered his house, where he waited not only for the coming of Stabber from his interview with Captain Seaweed, but wee return of Bullseye with the secret of Nancy rip. “Tdreamed last night that I saw a raven circling around in the air; gradually the circles of its flight narrowed until at last it perched upon my shoulder. It isa badsign. Danger isaround me, and I must be- ware or the end will come too quickly.” So thought Dicks as he threw himself for an hour's rest upon the lounge in his sitting-room. See CHAPTER XXIX. MR. STABBER AS JOHN BRANDON, AND CAPTAIN SEAWEED— THE PISTOL ON THE TABLE—THE CAPTAIN DEMANDS PROOF—STABBER PINNED DOWN. “$o you are really John Brandon, the son of my old said Captain Seaweed. “You don’t resemble your father any more than acapstan looks like an an- ehor fluke. You think strange of my precautions in pee the door and placing this pistol before me? Well, it’s a way I have of making sure of things in this city of depravity. There’s nothing like being ready to clear the deck.” Stabber did think the whole proceeding strange, and began to wish he hadn’t undertaken the little job. “ There’s a screw loose somewhere,”’ be thought. « When I first began my inquiries after John Bran- don, Ivisited Kennard Dicks to get a clue to your whereabouts, and before I left him I found that a pis- - tol would have been an exceedingly handy article to have.” Stabber changed his position uneasily. “When did you see your father last ?” asked the captain. “Hight years ago.” y “ Correct. You ran away from home because of a crime you committed, in fear that you would be pun- ished 2?” “ Well—yes,”’ said Stabber, who had been posted as to these questions by Dicks. % BS eas you came to this city and turned out a vaga- ond,”” ~ « Gouldn't help it.” “Umph !”’ said the captain, “and was the compan- ion of thieves, Stabber didn’t deny it. “You and an old woman, Nancy Grip, had dealings ‘together, too, eh ?” ~ “Yes, she gave me alodging. and——” , *‘Tunderstand. Now, then, what proof have you to offer me that you areJohn Brandon, the son of the dead millioniare ?”’ * Millionaire !” cried Stabber, taken aback. “Yes. Did not Dicks tell you you were the heirtoa million by the death of your father ?” For a moment Stabber made no reply. This discovery that Dicks had deceived him, silenced him. Then he made up his mind. “Oh, yes, yes,” he said, ‘‘ there was a small legacy.’* “He wanted tosurprise you,”’ said the captain. “ And he did,” was Stabber’s answer, as he added to himself, “and I'll surprise him before this job’s ended.” 3 «To the point,” said the captain. “What evidence have you to show that you are the son of my old friend ?”’ ; This was another stumper for Stabber. He had no evidence other than the instructions he had received from Dicks. “Well, you see, captain,” he said, at length, “I didn’t know—in fact I only met Dicks this morning, _-and haven't had achance. I can bring you proofs. I have got ‘em af my lodgings ——’ “at Nancy Grips’ ?” ‘ ‘ “No—oh, no. Ithaven’t seen herin months. I can see youagain ; there is no hurry aboutit, you know.” “T think there is, for next week I sail for England, and I want the matter settled before I go.” “Next week ?’” “Yes. Your father diedin the city of Mexico, and named me as one of his executors. To me was assigned the task of finding his renegade son, and, under certain restrictions to, by proper legal process, give him his own.” “« A million of dollars !’’ repeated Stabber. “Yes, in estate and money. Can you bring me satis- factory. proofs that you are John Brandon within two days ?” i Certainly—certainly I can, There’s no doubt about that.” “ How long have you known this Kennard Dicks ?”” “A year or two.” ‘No longer ?”” “ It may be. my troubles.” “Lent you money ?” “Yes,” said the lying Stabber. “Tt was very kind of him. He isa rich man.” “A reg’lar nabob, sir,”” was Stabber’s answer. The captain arose from his seat, and coming around from behind the table, stood confronting Stabber. ‘Do you know what I think?” “No, sir—of course——”’ “T’ll tell you,” said the captain, sternly ; “I think John Brandon the son of my old friend, should have the proof of his identity always with him.” “Why ?” began Stabber. “‘But perhaps in the excitement of your new-found oepaus you, being John Brandon, may have forgotten ibe” “Forgotten ?”’ repeated Stabber, blindly. “Yes—forgotten that if you are John Brandon, there is on your shoulder a long, inefaceable scar caused by a burn received in your boyhood, and that just below that scar is a brand in India-ink, made by a sailor who was a visitor at your father’s, just before you disap- peared from home. The brand is simply the letter B. Show me your shoulder ?”’ Stabber fairly writhed. “Qurse the infernal idfet |” muttered he, as he saw that the game was up. ; “Really I—” he stammered— I can give you——”’ “That will do. Either show me your shoulder— prove to me that you are John Brandon,’’—here the eaptain took up the pistol, “or I will ring for a ser- vant, have a policeman summoned and you arrested. From the first I have suspected you aud that fellow Dicks were playing with me. Your actions and appear- ance confirm my suspicion. Show me that you are John Brandon, or you go from here to a cell in the Tombs.” Stabber pale as an image of snow, trembled. He was very kind to me—helped me in CHAPTER XXX. BULLSEYE PLAYS THE PART OF RED LEARY AT THE HOSPITAL—THE DEAD WOMAN’S LETTER—A SURPRISE— “ HOCUSSED, BY SATAN !” Mr. BULLSEYE was by no means lacking in confidence. He felt sure that he had only to present himself to the surgeon of the hospital, tell his story and march off in triumph. He had succeeded in baffling, as he thought, the vigil- ance of the detective, Gimblet, and was particularly well pleased with the brilliant exploit of having carried off the goods of Red Leary under the very nose of the sharp- eyed waiting and watching detectives. When he arrived at the hospital the surgeon happen- ed to be out. “ When will he be back ?”’ asked Bullseye. eS halfan hour,’’ was the reply of one of the assist- ants. “Guess I’ll wait.” “ Did you wish to see anyone of the patients ?” “Um—no,” said Bullseye, carelessly seating himself. Bullseye waited. Nearly an hour elapsed before the surgeon returned. “You are the surgeon?” said the ruffian, rising from his seat and trying to look as honest as the natural villainy of his countenance would permit. “Tam,” was the reply ; “what is your business with | me?” i “ Wellsir, I understand you wanted to see me.” “To see you?’ “Yes. Mr. Kennard Dicks told me that——”’ “Oh,” interrupted the surgeon, giving him a sharp look. ‘You are the bill-poster?’’ “Yes, sir. Iam Red Leary, as the boys call me.” “Ah!” The surgeon placed his hat upon the table, fumbled over his books and papers a moment, and then added: “ Well, I have a message.for you—a pack- age to deliver——” At this instant one of the assistants appeared at the door and beckoned to him. The surgeon went to him, and the two held a whis- pered conference. Bullseye wetched this movement as he did every- thing that occurred around him, with a special idea of his own safety. The surgeon presently returned to the table opposite the pretended Leary. “So you are Mr. Leary, the bill-poster ?” “ That’s me, sir,”’ replied the unabashed Bullseye. “You were somewhat acquainted, were you not, with Mrs. Nancy Grip?" “Me, yes ; I did her some favors. gal, sir.” “Old gal?” “Oh, you see that’s wot we called her for short. But we all liked her, and we all of us did everythin’ we could to make her comfortable, She got to bein’ yery poor, she did, sir,” said Bullseye. “Yes, | sappose so,’ said the surgeon. ‘‘ Well, as to She was a nice old this package, which, on her death-bed, she req wes te me to deliver to you.” “Yes, sir; that’s wot Mr. Dicks said,”’ “« By the way, he must have seen you very soon after he left here.” “Yes. You see I was a stickin’ up a job of Mr, Sheeters, for a show in the Bowery, wen Mr. Dicks came along and told me ‘bout it, so thinkin’ it was suthin that must be tended to at once, specially as it con- cerned Nancy, I jerked off my overhauls and came- straight here.” # “‘Yes—exactly—very kind of you. How long before Nancy Grip met with the mishaps that brought her to the hospital was it when you saw her last ?” “Lemme. see?’ Bullseye made a pretence of think- ing of it. In reality he was saying to himself “ cuss old Nance. I wonder wot sort of a ghost story he wants. The last time I seed her, I’m thinking, 1 gaye her a biff on the side of the head,” Bullseye, however, found his ghost story. “Lemme see ?’’ he said, to the surgeon, “it was—it was about a month ago, an’ she was very poorly then, and I kinder thought she was a little out of her head,”’ “She was found lying .by a fence near a notorious thieves’ den—Joss’ Corner.” “You don’t say—poor gal—dropped on herself in a pit, I spose ?”? “No. She had evidently received a severe beating from some ruffian. She was terribly bruised, The worst was a deep gash on the side of her head; the blow had fractured the skull.” , “That's where the cap’n belted her with the chair,” said Bullseye to himself. a pbs seemed to be particularly anxious to see Mr. icks.’” “Yes, the cap’en, I mean Mister Dicks, liked her very much, He doted onto her, sir.” ‘Do you know where she lived ?”” “* Wen ?”” “Lately—within the past few weeks ?’’ “Well, boss, that’s more’n I could tell you. I seen her every day or two but she sorter didn’t stay long in one place. She was queer. She hada kind of first of May fever, an’ moved offen.’” The surgeon smiled gravely. Then turning to a desk, he drew out one of the drawers and took from it a sealed envelope. - Bullseye’s eyes fairly snapped with delight. He felt that his little game was won. The surgeon still held the envelope in his hand asif loth to deliver it. “Well, I suppose it is all right—if you are the bill- poster, Mr. Leary ?”’ «There can’t bemuch of aif ’ bout it, sir,” said Bulls- eye in an eager tone, reaching out bis hand to grasp the coveted prize. “Tf you are Mr. Leary,’ the surgeon repeated, “ and so farasIcan judge thereis no doubt of it—by the way, would you care to permit me to know the contents of this sealed message? It might possibly ——” At this instant one of the assistants entered and whis- pered in the ear of the surgeon. Bullseye figeted un- easily in his seat. He inwardly cursed the assistant for this interruption at the very moment he was on the point of receiving the envelope. “T will attend to it at once,” said the surgeon. Then turning to Bullseye, and as he did so motioning the assistant to retire, he said: “You will please wait a moment, Mr. Leary. A patient was amoment since brought in and requires immediate attention. I’ll not keep you long.’’ He placed the envelope carelessly in the side pocket of his coat among a few other letters and memoranda, ‘There’s a daily paper,” the sur- geon hurriedly added, “to pass the time with,” and then he hastily stepped toward the door. Bullseye gritted his teeth. He began to be as nery- re as a hardened ruffian like him could, over this de- ay. “Tsay,” he said, calling after the surgeon, “ you— you forgot to give me the letter. I kin be reading it while you’re out. That'll save time.” The surgeon paused on the threshold of the door. ~ “Oh, yes,”’ he said, “ certainly,” and as he spoke he hastily drew out a letter from the pocket. “ Here it is.” Bullseye reached up his hand and his fingers-closed upon the coveted letter. Thesurgeon was gone. Bullseye held the letter up and glanced at the direction written upon it. “ Curse the luck!” he exclaimed, “he has given me the wrong letter—this isn't directed to Leary. Now I must wait, instead of skipping out quietly with no more trouble about it. I’ve a suspicion the infernal Sawbones did it a purpose.” There was no help tor it. Bullseye had the “job” to finish, and finish it he must. Five, ten, fifteen minutes he waited with the same restless, feverish impatience with which he once, not many years before, sat in the prisoners’ pen in court, watting tor a jury’s verdict upon a case of burglary, whereof he was the perpetrator. ; He thought of that time as he sat there in the sur- geon’s office, He thought, too, that the verdict came at last—* guilty!’’ Now, that letter was the verdict. Even while this past scene in his lawless career was revived in his mind, the door opened and the surgeon entered. Behind him came another person, “Doctor, you made a mistake; you gaye me the wrong——”’ At that moment he caught sight of the man following the surgeon. Die ee It was the real Leary, Red Leary, the bill-poster. Bullseye paled, but his eyes glistened with rage. He coutrolled himself, however, as well as he could. j “Tkept you wattle! said the surgeon, “a little longer than I intended. The wrong letter—ah, yes. It was accidental, but so much the better, my fine fel- low.” w ‘ Hocussed, by Satan !’’ muttered Bullseye. “The strangest thing—almost as if it was a scene
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-ers almost within the grasp of justice. - Jetter left by the woman, Nancy Grip, for you.” RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. TTT from a melodrama—a friend of this person,” said the surgeon, pointing to Leary, “one whom he tells me he found by accident, which is yet to be explained to me, was, while he was leading him to a place of rest, suddenly attacked by a fainting fit brought on by weak- ness, superinduced by over excitement. Being near this hospital he brought him here.” ; ““Wot's all that got to do with the letter?’’ said Bullseye, growing desperate at finding himself so near a defeat. “This person here,” again pointing to the bill-post- er, “gaye me his name as Leary—the bill-poster |” “The devil !”’ growled Bullseye, with his eye upon the halt open door. F “ He'll find you soon enough!”’ said Leary, confront- ing the ruffian. “ Soyou’re another Leary are you? Nice game, wasn’t it! Youlook like me, don’t you? You're a fine looking cutthroat to play honest, ain't you, you abominable wretch?” Bullseye cowered before the indignant glance of the man before him; the man whom he would have sworn was lying in the damp and darkness of the vaults be- neath the den at Joss’ Corner. But it was only for themoment. His brutal nature recovered its ordinary stolid defiant disposition. The bill-poster stepped between him and the door. 4‘. see what you're up to!” he exclaimed—‘ but if you et out of this before J give you leave, it’ll be over my aan body, my gentle dove of arascal!” “J believe you to be the real Leary,” said the sur- eon to the bill-poster, “and the revelation you made 0 me concerning your friend confirms me that there is an infamous conspiracy nearing its end, and its lead- Here is the The surgeon handea Leary the letter. “The handwriting is not hers,’’ said Leary. “No. It was dictated by her—that is to say, the ad- dress. The letter itself isin her own handwriting.” Bullseye stood glaring savagely at one and then at the other of the two men. He felt as if he could give five years from his life to be able at that instant to murder both of them. He saw that all there was to contend for was hisown escape. Suddenly he conceived his plan. It was a desperate alternative but it was the only one that to him seemed to promise success. As Leary fixed his glance upon the letter which yet remained unopened, and while the surgeon's attention was partly fixed upon the bill-poster, Bullseye sprang like a famished tiger upon his prey. The suddenness of the attack, the great strength of the ruffian, were sufficient to give him a momentary triumph. } He hurled Leary to the floor as if he were a giant tossing away a ehild, and sprang for the door. His hand was upon it to throw it wide open and es- cwpe seemed certain. ‘As he threw it back, he uttered a howl rather than a ery of baffled rage, for facing him, club in hand, stood a stalwart policeman, who eyidently was not there by accident. «Don’t bein such a hurry, my man,” said the of- ficer. ‘If you don’t like me, there’s a couple more of us outside that may suit you better.” “ Ourse it, it’s a reg’lar plant !"’ exclaimed Bullseye, savagely, looking about him as if for a weapon. «“Hxactly, and you’re the one that’s planted.” Leary had regained his feet but little the worse for his fall. : The surgeon stood calmly looking on at this, an un- usual scene in the office of an hospital. « Officer, arrest this man !”’ fs “Precisely what I mean to do—precisely what I was sont for to do.” Then to Bullseye ho said: “I want you now. No nonsense. If you try any more of your rushin’ tricks I'll give you a dose of club that you won't relish. Is’t quiet, or is’t fight ?” Bullseye held out his hands. “It ain’t no usea fightin’ a lot of cowards—four orfivetoone. Then put ’em on.” The officer gave a rap on the vite with his club, Two other officers appeared behind him in the passage. ; Bullseye yielded, and the officer who had barred his escape snapped the steel handcuffs upon his wrists. Bullseye was a prisoner for the fifth time in his life. But this time in the grip of the law for an attempt to work out therascality of another. “ §’pose you'll let me send fora friend, who'll explain this thing, an’ maybe he won’t learn some of you a lesson ?”’ said Bullseye. ; « After you’ve hada talk with the sergeant, and ‘ur got yourself rested p'raps you kin send fur your ends.” «« Who ts your friend ?” asked one of the officers. “You'll find out, my jolly cop, when you see Kenward Dicks !’’ was the surly answer. « Oh—Dicks, eh ?” said the surgeon. Leary made a signal of silence to the surgeon. The surgeon smiled and nodded. «ake the fellow out of this,’ said the surgeon to the officer. ‘ Mr. Leary, here, will follow you shortly and enter the proper charge against him.” “All right. Come along, old fellow. booked.” And Bullseye was led out between two of the officers, a Leary and the surgeon were left alone in the office: You're CHAPTER XXXI. GOUNTRY GIMBLET’S SPY RETURNS—HIS DISCOVERY LEADS THE DETECTIVE TO THE HOSPITAL-~‘'YOU NEEDN'T LOOK ANY FURTHER, GIMBLET.”’ Tue manner in which Red Leary so unexpectedly ap- peared at the hospital in time to baffle the designs of Bullseye is easily explained. N After leaving the door of the den at Joss Corner, with the new-found Kenward Dicks, who, from the past half hour's excitement, had fallen into a relapse, and was growing weaker at almost every step, he slowly made his way toward his garret lodgings, little dreaming that it had been stripped of everything it contained. When he had reached the corner of Frankfort street, nearly opposite the old Park Hospital, Dicks fainted outright, and would have fallen to the pavement had not Leary caught him in his arms. Assisted by an officer who happened to be on duty inspecting the condition of the apples on a fruit stand Dicks was taken to the hospital. This was the patient the surgeon was called out to see, when he was on the point of giving the letter to Bullseye. While reviving Dicks from his exhaustion, Leary gave the surgeon the name of his patient. This of course led to a brief explanation to the surgeon, who in turn informed Leary that his counterpart, in Bullseye, was in the office waiting to get the letter intended by Nancy Grip for the bill-poster, As Bullseye was being led to the station at the Tombs, and while the surgeon was having a conference over the strange events that had led to so good a result, sss Gimblet waited fox the coming of his spy—the Oy. Three hours passed, until, when finally Gimblet had hie up all hope of his return, he saw the boy return- ng. He rubbed his hands gleefully. “ He moves as slow as a funeral,” said Gimblet to himself. The boy came slowly up. Evidently he was tired. “Well, bub,” said Gimblet. ‘“ You're back at last.’’ “Wish I hadn’t gone,” said the boy. “ Why—didn’t you have an easy time, eh ?’’ “Hasy time. You may think so, but I don’t.” “Did you follow them ?” “Tcouldn’t foller the cart. One of the fellers got out—the big feller, and loafed along a keeping his eye out as if he was afraid of bein’ follered. The other fel- ler drove off the cart as if he was arunningarace. So Idone the best I could and watched the big feller.’’ « Well—well ?” : “Well, he went slouchin’ about up one street and down another, a stoppin’ most every block a gittin’ outside of alot of beer, until he met another fellow that I saw a speakin’ te him afore the cart was drove off from here.’* “Ah, ha! good, boy, good, good,” said Gimblet. “*Well ?” ‘‘ After this big feller and the well-dressed feller had alot of chin together, the big fellow went away an’ I followed him tillI saw him geup the steps into the Park Hospital. Then I giv it up an’ cume back.” “The Park Hospital?” “ Yos, sir.’’ “Umph! Yes—exactly—some friend of his there— sick. I'll see. Now, bub, you’ve done your work well —like a little major—here’s your pay.’’ Gimblet handed lim a dollar, “You've earned it, my boy. Always earn your money as honestly as you have now and nobody’ll ever have to send a boy to follow you.” “Tsay, mister, when’ll you want me agin?” “It'll be a long time before I will want you, I hope. Why do you ask?” said Gimblet, anxious to get away. “’Cause when you do,” answered the boy, looking intently at the green bill in his hand, “it'll be silver dollars for the job.” “Bh?” “Tain’ta poor § bootmaker’s immertations of green- backs now,” and he held up the bill. “Eh—what—bootma—let me see.” Gimblet took the bill. One look was sufficient. He eee and thrusting it into his pocket, took out an- other, “That's my mistake, Here’s what I intended to give you, my boy.” The boy took the bill and gave it a elose inspection. “This isn’t another kid, is it?’’ “No, no, that’s all right.” “Tf it isn’t the cheese I’ll foller you close as I did that big feller, you bet.” Gimblet patted him on the back and left him standing there examining his newly earned dollar. The last he saw of him as he was turning the corner, the boy was surrounded by a dozen of his chums to whom he was relating his adventure, and, no doubt, boasting of the bonanza he had struck. Gimblet made a bee line for the hospital. ““T’ll pipe that fellow if it keeps me out for the next month. He’s in with. that Dicks, and Dicks and the bill-poster are pals in some underhand bizness if they ain’t in the diamond job. I feel it in my bones that this big ruffian’ll lead me to the opening out of the secret of that robbing, and, perhaps, to some other big lay they’re up to. There’s a gang of ’em, an’ it won’t be long before some of ’em git mad over too short allowance, and kick out of the traces. There ts honor '’mong thieves anyhow. It’s all hum. ug. So he went on, planning and re-planning, and turn- ing the matter over in his mind until he reached the hospital, and ascended the narrow outgide stairs. On the platform he halted a moment and looked down at the busy throng passing and repassing through the park and the square beyond. “Tf all them people that’s rushin’ about as if every one of ‘em was adoing the entire bizness of the city by contract, that deserved having the nippers snapped over their wrists, 1 wonder how many of ’em 1’d be run- nin’ loose ?”’ With this reflection on the honesty of his fellow- citizens he entered the hospital door and knocked at the door of the office. The door was opened, and the doctor stood before “Well, sir. Oh, why, Gimblet, it’s you, isit? What can I do for you?” “Not so much as I can do for myself, if I can get the chance. Are you busy?” “Well, yes. D’ye want anything in my line?” “No; it’s something in my line, doctor, and some- thing that may lead up to somebody having another sort of line around his neck, Was there a big chap here | within an hour or so to see you or here on any visit to anybody in the wards?’ The surgeon looked at him, still keeping the door nearly closed, and standing in the narrow opening so that all view of the interior was effectually barred. “What is the party’s name you are looking for ?’’ “ He has half-a-dozen for all I know. One of his names is Bullseye. He's pretty well known to us,” “By us—you mean the detectives ?”’ “Yon’ve hit it, doctor.” “ You needn’t look any further, Gimblet. you’re after is safe. him.” “Eh! Is he in the office?’ cried Gimblet, trying to peer in over the shoulder of the surgeon, “No, he is in the station at the Tombs !’’ ; us Ha 1” exclaimed Gimblet. ‘‘Onz, for you, doc- or.” : ‘Wait amoment. Gimblet, and excuse me if I close the door.” The surgeon closed the door, leaving Gimblet on the outside. As there was just then nobody in the hall-way, he bent his head down, and applied his eye to the key-hole. But the key was in the lock on the inside, and he saw nothing. The man You needn’t look any further for CHAPTER XXXII. THE GAME IS UP, THE FOX IS HOLED, AND WE CAN CALL IN THE DOGS—THE HAND OF FATE. Gimsier did not have to wait long. The door opened, and the surgeon said, “come in,” To his utter astonishment there sat the very man, who, next to Bullseye, he bad been anxious to trace to his hiding-place—Red Leary, the bill-poster. “So help me!” he inwardly ejaculated, “ wonders is the order of the day. Fates’ gittin’ to be a sort of Bar- num in givin’ astonishin’ side-showse”’ “Gimblet, this is Mr. Leary. Take a seat. just the man we want. ou.” Gimblet nodded to Leary, and as hesat down, said in Say “Well, L hope it'll turn out pleasant, that’s “ Shall] tell Mr. Gimblet the history of this matter so that he may better understand——”’ “Tell him ? of course—yes,”’ interrupted Leary, Thesurgeon stepped to the door, and opening it, called out. An assistant came. “Unless it is forsomething specially important do not call me for half an hour,” said the surgeon, “and tell the nurse who is with that case of fainting to be careful and also to come to me at the expiration of that half hour.” “ All right, sir.’”, The door was closed and locked, “Now we will not be interrupted until we through with this dissection of villainy,” said the You're I think we've got a job for eon. ii Mr. Gimblet, listen to Mr. Leary’s statem rat,’’ “What sort of a fairy tale is this pal going to me, I wonder,” thought Gimblet. Leary briefly and in his honest, straightforward told the story of his midnight adventure at the Joss’ Corner den; his being thrown into the vault and his escape and rescue of the real Kennard Dick from the hands of the gang of river thieves who had immured him in what would soon have been his tomb. For once Gimblet found that sharp a detective as he was, he had been on the wrong scent in believing—for he still stuck to it that he never suspeoted anybo Leary’s complicity in the robbery of Charles Didier the package of diamonds, “Now,” said Leary, “the hand of fate is in th for the very weakness of that poor victim of the r fian’s who now lies in this hospital, a weakn brought on him by their cruelty, was the mi of bringing him and myself here when face to f I met the tool of the captain of the river gang, who not only arobber but a murderer. I came here ju in the nick of time. Five minutes later and this letter,’ “ holding it up in his hand, “ would have been in the hands of one of the villains, and in the hands of his master, the captain, and owner of Joss’ Corner an hour later. This letter, scrawled as it is, and blotted, was written by Nancy Grip in this hospital a few hours be- fore her death. Readit, Mr. Gimblet.” “TJ ain’t a detective. I’m nothing,” said Gimblet, as he took the letter. “There is a better and a surer detective at the head of the force than all of us, and that is—Providence.” : When he had finished reading the letter—and he did it not without difficulty, for he was unaccustomed to that sort of labor, he leaped to his feet. and fairly danced, waving the letter above his head asifit were a banner of triumph, «The game's a he cried, “and we can callin the dogs. The fox is holed—and I'll have his brush.” “ We, you mean—or rather Mr. Leary.) — : aie me Red Leary the bill-poster—that suits me etter?” sy hte “Leary, you’er a brick. I forgive you for making me think you as big a scoundrel as Rentaed Dicks.”= “Which Dicks ?” asked Leary smiling. 7 “Tho other Dicks, he means,”’ answered the surgeon. RCo eee said Gimblet, tapping ead, an en 1a; os letter on the table,
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¢ RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER, eee “Well,” said Leary. } “This rascally Kennard Dicks, that cut such a swell, is waiting for this Bullseye to return, bringing with him this letter. But he’s toosharp to wait more than areasonable time. I read him allthethe way through now—as well as you haye, Leary; all the way through. While he is waiting, we must act. It ain’t uo use / waiting any longer.” é “You understand the letter 2?” ‘Ves, perfectly.’ ‘What do you propose to do?” “Before dark I propose to have those diamonds, un- ies he’s sold them; to have Charles Didier ont of his hands, and to have him, the arch rascal of the gang, in the Tombs.” “‘Hadn’t we better wait a day or two.” ““No—not an hour before we begin the work that will wind up his career.” “And so willend in shame and under the scaffold within the walls of the Tombs, the life that I saved from ending in the dark waters of the river months ago,”’ murmured Leary. “Tirst, send word tothe Tombs and prevent this ruffian Bullseye from sending any messsage to his mas- ter Kennard Dicks.” “It will be too late.” “No matter—send any how. Take the chances on that’’ said Gimblet. ‘Leave me to manage the rest. In two hours from now meet me at—what say you to— Garouses ?”’ “The banker's ?”’ “Yes,” . “You will not require my presence,” said the sur- geon. ‘* My duties are here you know——” “No, Leary and myself will be sufficient.” “But, Kennard Dicks—the real Dicks—will he be sufiiciently recovered to leave here?” asked Gimblet. “‘Have no fear of that. He will beallright. It was only rest and proper nourishment he needed.” “Then allis right,”’ said Leary. The plan was all arranged, andthe tap on the door ae by the assistant announcing that the half hour ad expired, was not amoment too early. ‘The surgeon opened the door, “‘A new case justin, sir—fell through a hatchway— dying, sir.” “T’ll be there at once.” Leary, the bill-poster, and Gimblet, went out to- gether. CHAPTER XXXIII. KENNARD DICKS, ALIAS JOHN BRANDON, ON THE EVE OF : SUCCESS—THE BURNING OF JOSS’ CORNER—THE GHOST _ IN THE ATTIC—A STRANGER—‘‘ SHOW HIM UP.’’ WAITING, every moment, in his half-angry impatience, seeming to stretch into hours, Kennard Dicks, some- times sitting, and sometimes pacing his room back and forth like acaged hyena, was in that agony of doubt which none may know, saye those who are on the eve of the accomplishment of great schemes, or of seeing them come to naught. ‘The million dollars inheritanco of John Brandon, the t possession of the letters of the dead Nancy Grip, the contents of which might be adeath-blow to his hopes, the fear that his confederates in the den at Joss’ Corner might at any moment prove treacherous, and the awfu! shadow that day and night haunted him—the shadow the one fearful crime of his life—the shadow that ght lift, only to leave him under the dangling rope the scaffold—all these were terrible in their weight. Stabber, the barkeeper, failed in deceiving Cap- Seaweed into the beliet that he was John Brandon, n the vast inheritance would be beyond his grasp, f Bullseye should be detected as an impostor in pre- senting himself as Red Leary at the hospital, by the surgeon—the last missive of Nancy Grip—he shuddered to think of what terrible revelation it would bring. ne discovery—one clue ever so slight—one false move on the chess: board of fate, and he was lost. No wonder that as he paced his splendidly furnished sitting room he bit his hips until the blood came, and tarted at every sound in the hall below. *) It seemed to him that by his own contrivance he had gathered, for that day alone,the threads of his fate, hich, within the hour, a hand stronger than his own, # will more potent than human will, would take up and weave a net to enmesh him beyond escape. , ‘Ourse the luck,” he muttered, “why did I trust ‘sthese men with such work? After all, the wisest man is but afool when he plays for great stakes with his Pwisdom as his winning card. Bah, it'll be all right. There is no reason why they should fail. That sur- rises eon, he will not, cannot suspect the trick, and as for a tabber—well, Seaweed is not as shrewd as he might 7 be. Pshaw! all will beright. I'll drink, Brandy will quiet my nerves, and with the aid of a cigar I will wait more patiently. Tho end, whatever it may be, will be better than this doubt—this racking suspense.” ‘He filled a wine-glass with the liquorand drank it. Then, lighting a cigar, he threw himself upon a lounge, and as he smoked and watched the blue vapor Joat up - into the air toward the ceiling in rings and broken x clouds, he managed to become somewhat more restful. To him, as partially calmed and lying there, the curl- ing smoke seemed to assume, with each puff, new shapes, and weave itself into strange combinations, re- sembling, the closer he watched them, the shapes and aspects of life. Once, as it floated up from his cigar, the sinuous ya- por, out of its wayes in the motionless air of the quiet room, grew into aform resembling in outline a scaf- fold, a thin line of the smoke stretching up like a hangman’s cord to the cross-beam, while beneath, a puffofit disengaged from that above, for an instant 4 seemed to fashion itself into the semblance of aman, (Sie shadowy, weird, yet definable, ‘ ae from the lounge and threw the cigar from The calmness, the patience were gone again. Again he paced the room, now pausing to listen, now for the hundredth time looking at the time, the slow- moving hands on the little French clock on the man- tel, and then muttering curses upon the ruffians who were waited for. Still they came not. But one did come ; one he did not expect—one of the river gang, out of whose desperate work he had gained thousands of dollars. He heard the ring of the door-bell. ““Ah, now for Bullseye or Stabber |’’ he said, as for the moment, even though he knew nof what their story would be, he felt relieved. He heard the servant coming up, The door opened, It was not Stabber, nor was it Bullseye. Dicks ut- tered an oath, , “ Well, curse it, what do you want, Bill?” The man advanced, stood silently regarding Dicks, and for the moment made no reply. He then moved gently into fhe room and carefully closed the door, ' “The game's up, cap’n, that’s wot brings me here,” he said, with a surly sort of deference in his tone, and with his eyes fixed upon the bottle of brandy on the marble-topped table. “Game’s up!” exclaimed Dicks. ‘What do you mean ?”” “I’m dry, cap’n; mouth.” “Take a swallow of that brandy, then.’’ “T’ll take half a dozen swallows, cap’n,’’ said the man, filling a water goblet nearly half full of the liquor and swallowing it as if it were merely # glass of water, ‘‘Ah-ha! that’s something like. Now I kin talk. QOap’n, I’m tired. Ill sit down.” Ho did sit down, in an easy-chair, Then ho repeated the words, “the game’s up, cap’n, and we're all hocussed |”? “Speak out !’’ exclaimed Dicks.. “You know—don’t you, part of it?” “T know nothing of what you mean.” ee you read the paper this morning ?” o ‘Oe. “Then you don’t know—though it’s a wonder Stab- ber or Bullseye didn’t tell you.” “*They never read,’’ replied Dicks, shortly ; “out with your story.” ‘Well, Joss’ Corner is burned down !” “ What!” cried Dicks, “Fact, eap’n. Nothing lett of it but ashes and a pile of stones.” « Bill—is—was—did ——” “Oh—I sea what you're drivin’ at. The birds you hadin the two cages—eh? They’re roasted. There was nothing that wasn’t baked in them vaults. Down there under all that fire it must have been wus than a oven fur heat.” “Thank the fates for that’? exclaimed Dicks. ‘Leary burned—that other one sharing his fate—good, good, Now Jam Kennard Dicks beyond all human dis- pute!” and as he muttered these words with a savage grin of exultation upon his features, he drank down a brimming glass of the brandy. “Yes, cap’n, Joss’ Corner’s gone, an’ I don’t think what was fastened up into it “ll ever be able to tell any tales—not much,’’ “ How did it catch 2” “Hey?” said the ruffian, ‘How didit originate ?” “Ory—ginit? No; twasn’t that, ner dynimit ner powder—it wasn’t blowed up. It was set a-fire by somebody, that’s certain.” “No matter, Haye you any more such good, bad news, Bill ?’” “Um—no, cap’n,.’ceptin—’ceptin——" «Excepting what?’ interrupted Dicks, impatiently, “Ceptin, cap’n, that I’m clean broke—ain’t had a cent in—in two days.” “Come tome to-night and I will give you money,’’ “All right, cap’n,”” “Well, take another drink, go,and come to-night. Stop, [have an errand you can perform as well as anybody. It is to deliver a note,” “Who to?” “Mr, Garousse. The direction you will find on the envelope.” Dick lett the recom and returned in a few moments, “There's the note, leave it for him,’’ “ Any answer 2? ‘No, you need not return here until evening.” “Allright agin, cap’n?”’ and the ruffian went out and was gone, “Mo-night, Charles Didier, the last of the obstacles in my path, will be gone, Leary the bill poster and Kennard Dick are burned to ashes, in the vaults of Joss’ Corner, why should Lnot defy even fate itself? Andif only Stabber sueceeds—ha, ha, the million will be mine, and who then will dare dispute my name or brand me as a thief, forger or murderer ?” A servant entered the room, leaying the door partly open, Through this could be seen in the hall two or three others peering anxiously in. The one who came in was his own housekeeper, “Well, Hannah.” “Oh, sir—-we—I—the cook and the housemaid and your coachman——” «What isthe matter with you—out with it.” « We've stoodit as long as we can, sir—but—but——” ‘Norah, are you out of your senses 2” ‘Mister Dicks, there’s something wrong, ies in the attic, sir, which you know is always locked, because iss keep the key of the staircase that leads up to words stick like cotton in my Dicks glanced at the woman savagely. “And our sleeping rooms are, you know, right under it—we’ve heard it every night for the last three or four nights, sometimes it’s groans, sometimes it’s a rumbling, and once we, all of us heard that—thought it was trampin’ of feet as if men were a carryin’ some- thin’ heavy between them. Last night it was all them noises together !” ‘You're a set of fools. If you’d sleep at nights in- stead of lying awake listening you’d have heard noth- ing.” “But it kept us awake and——” “There, that’s enough, go about your work. I'll find out what the noise is—it’s probably rats——’” “ Oh, no, sir, it—it’s——” “Go, If I hear another complaint J’ll discharge the one that makes it. D’ye hear, go.’ , The woman Norah hesitated, then turned and went out, closing the door after her, “ Ourse their prying nature! never mind, to-morrow night they’ll hear nothing. The ghosts will no longer trouble them,’’ “A gentleman would like to see you,’’ said a servant, entering. “The name ?” _‘* He gave none, he said it was important business, sir.’’ “Ts he anyone you have ever seen here before 2” «No, sir.” “Tt may be Garonsse. Is if an elderly person?” ‘No, dark hair, sir, and well dressed.” “Well, I'll see him. Show him up, Anything to kill time.” ‘ OBAPTER XXXIV. STABBER TURNS TRAILTOR—THE BEGINNING OF THE END. Srapper, the Joss’ Corner barkeeper, whom we left in the presence of Captain Seaweed, pale and trembling, and feeling that he was completely baftled in his at- tempt to personate John Brandon, was not permitted to sit long in silence. The captain confronted him with that pistol; the door was locked, Stabber, a villain of the cowardly type, sitting there, saw but one way of escape. That way was suggested by his fear, The stern, unyielding look of the captain, and his evident determination to do precisely what he said, was sufficient. Stabber believed in self-preservation, and the inborn scoundrelism of his nature prompted him to save him- self from harm even though he betrayed, in doing it, his best friend. “Well, have you decided?” said the captain, toying with the pistol, and with his clear, piercing glance los- ing not amoyement or an expression apon Stabber’s face. ‘‘ Show me upon your shoulder the scar and the hand beneath it, or——’”’ “ Captain,’ interrupted Stabber, ‘ I'll make a clean | breast of it. It isn’t in me to deceiveanybody. I—I— was forced into trying this here game, I’m poor, cap- tain, but I’ve got a character.” “Oh, ho! That’s the way the wind sets, my man, eh? Ihadasuspicion from the first that I was to be wrecked by some such hidden rock. So, so!” “You see, captain,” said Stabber, gathering courage, “‘you see, this Mister Dicks, knowing I was out of work and had & wife and five children to support—I’m very poor, captain--comes to me an’ gits me to do this job, promisin’ me big boodle for it, and as I’ve been out of work ever since the strike, why I——’”” “You sold yourself. You made a strike atme, Do you know why sailors neyer strike on shipboard for higher wages ?—I’ll tell you. If they strike, its mu- tiny, and that means a hanging match at the yardarm. Now, then, tell me the truth—confess the whole game. Unload your cargo clear down to the ballast—but no humbug—no luffing on me, d’ye understand ?” Stabber did; and after repeating his awful stretcher about his being out of work, and the suffering of his imaginary family, told the truth—as nearly as a treacherous scoundrel could—concerning his bargain with Kennard Dicks. The captain uttered a long whistle, and then laughed outright. “A nice beacon to steer by,’ said the captain. “Well, I’ve got all your cargo, have I 2)” «All I know, sir,” said Stabber, “and now I ’spose I can go, eh?” “Yes, No, stop. I’ve an idea. You remain here, In an hour I want you to go with me to this land- shark’s house.’’ “Eh?” cried Stabber, who didn’t relish the idea of meeting Dicks, after haying sold him so shamefully. “You heard me. I mean it, Never fear, he won’t harm you; besides, I'll pay you for your treachery to him, und take good care that you don’t try it on me,” Stabber assented. He was fast—and he made the best of a bad bargain, He saw, too, that the captain’s wrath was directed towards Dicks; towards the master and not the tool, “And after I’ve scuttled this little game of this mas- ter of yours, I’ll go with you to where you live, and see what sort of stowage your family has, and put them in better sailing trim.” This was another stumper for Stabber. He inwardly cursed the captain ns heartily as he had a little while before cursed his luck in being caught in such a pre- dicament. | ‘You shan’t suffer,” were the captain’s words, as with Stabber he left the hotel for the house of Kennard Dicks, “and to-night your wife and children ll have the best supper they’ve had in a year.’? ‘Stabber involuntarily uttered a groan. “What's the matter with you ?” asked the captain, “Oh, nothin’, answered Stabber, with a sickly at- tempt to fashion his features into the semblance of a smile—‘nothing, only a sudden pain, but it’s gone now." ya “ We'll stop on the way and taka in a ration—pipe all hands for grog—eh, my honest man ?”’ — yf And they did stop—twice, greatly to the satisfaction — ‘
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RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. 3. gf Stabber, who needed something of that sort to brace {| up his courage—what little of that necessary attribute any of manhood he possessed. 4 me BREA f" " aes CHAPTER XXXY. .GETTING THE WARRANT —THE PLAN ARRANGED—LEARY’'S a NEXT JOB AT BILL-STICKING. TuE real Kennard Dicks, with Red Leary and Gimblet, the detective, proceeded at once from the hospital to the residence of Garousse the banker. A servant answered the bell. “Mr, Garousse is not at home.” “ Are you sure ?”! asked Gimblet. The servant, who knew the detective from having seen him during his visits to the banker's, replied ; “Tam sure, Mr. Gimblet, because when he is in hoe is always at home to you, He has just gone.” “How soon will he return ?” The servant did not know, and only said that ‘‘ Mr. -Garousse had-received a note from a messenger—a rough- looking man—who said he was from Mr. Dicks, and no answer was wanted. The servant closed the door, and the party descended the steps. “ Heis gone to where we are going—to the house of this infamous scoundrel. We will meet him there,’ said Gimblet, i ‘There'll be torment in that wretch’s soul if I can put it there,” said the real Dicks. “Soul |” said Leary. “‘ The only one he’s got is on the bottom of his foot.” : After arranging their plan of action, the three men, 80 lately and so unexpectedly brought together, pro- ceeded to the Tombs police court, where Gimblet pro cured the necessary warrant for the arrest of Kennard Dicks, the second. 4 ithe The charge upon which the justice issued the war- yant will be soon made clear to the reader. “Why did you not, weeks ago, come to me and tell me your suspicions as well as what you knew of this man, this prince of rogues?” Gimblet asked of Leary. _ «Because I knew that if 1 did, he would escape pun- fshment ; because [knew that but half his villainy would be made known, and because I knew that I was gathering together proof after proof every day that even you could not haye obtained.” Gimblet informed Leary of the fact of the removal of his household goods from his lodgings. “We'll find them, never fear, before to-morrow’s sun rises over the city,” answered Leary. “Now, then, for the high-toned Kennard Dicks, the second. Woe are nearing his house. Three blocks more and we will be there.” “Perhaps he may not be at home,” said Gimblet. “Then we must wait for his royal highness, the rinee of swindlers. We're not proud, are we, Gim- biet ? We've got all day befure us.” Tt was arranged that Gimblet should be the first to enter, and the servants of the house being made aware of the legality of the proceedings, were to be used by Leary and the real Kennard Dicks in making search of the premises unknown to its master, while Gimblet was “interviewing ’’ him in whatever room he might choose to receive him. “I think the next job at bill-sticking I haye will ” fo e— « What, Leary ?” asked Gimblet. ™ “Sticking a bill on the city treasury for services as a special detective,” answered Leary, with a grim smile. “ And what will be left for me?” “Oh, you can take for your share the reward offered for the Betestion of the robbers who bagged Charley Didier and took from him the package of diamonds. One of them is in the Tombs now.” «That's Bullseye—the other ?”’ said Gimblet. « Tho other?’ We'll have him in—an hour.’ CHAPTER XXXVI. G@IMBLET’S CAPTURE oF “ THE MAN ’’—“ MURDERER, ROB BER, MATRIGIDE”’—THE CLOSING OF THE GAME—THE _ APPEARANCE OF CHARLES DIDINR—NANCY GRIP’S LET- _opR—THE TRUE JOHN BRANDON—THE POISON—THE END, “Siow him up,’ repeated Dicks to the servant. Five minutes passed. “Strange, my visitor, whoever he is, does not come up.” Dicks was just proceeding to the door, when it epened, and the servant, with a scared look upon his face, uShered in the expected visitor, - Dicks started back. The visitor was Gimblet, the detective. “Excusé ny not sending up my name,” said Gimb- let, bowing, “but you know that persons of my pro- fession don’t often do that sort of thing.” As he gaiq this, Gimblet, apparently as if he had no special pur- pose in view, closed the door. : Dicks stared at him, and then with a gesture of his hand, waved the detective to a seat. Gimblet accepted the proffered favor, but, again, of course wih no special motive apparent, lifted the rep- cushioned chair to a position, go that a8 he sat in it, he would be between Dicks and all chance of escape by the door. _ “Now, sir, your business,” said Dicks. “Our mutual business, you mean,” said Gimblet, in | aprovokingly mild tone. “ Without you it could not _ be transacted; without me—well, it might be accom~ plished by somebody else.” “§top this nonsense, What isyourerrand here? I know you—you are a detective. I haye na time to spare. : hae J know it—not a moment,” said Gimblet. “I'll ex- plain in three words,” : “Very welle-ten or twenty, if you like—but be brief,” and Dicks seated himself near the table and opposite Gimblet. *Briefitis. Mr, Kennard Dicks, I have a warrant for your arrest!” Dicks started, his face paled, then reddened, his eyes flashed, and then, by an effort, he partially regain- ed his composure. Gimblet’s eyes were upon him, noticing every movement. “My—my arrest. And upon what charge?” said Dicks. “Well,” replied Gimblet, carelessly placing his hand in his outside pocket, ‘‘Ihave the warrant ready for your inspection.” «Let me see it?” cried Dicks, rising from his seat. Gimblet did notremove his hand from the pocket, but still keeping his eyes fixed upon Dicks, replied. *‘ You shall see it presently.’ «Now, sir, Itismy right ?” “Oh, yes. You havea right.’? «What is the charge |” «Robbery and murder !”’ Dicks standing there confronting his fate, jelé his face turn pale as that ofa corpse. Yet he answered with something of boldness : “T—I—Kennard Dicks, eharged—a murderer and a robber |” “Well, not exactly, there were two of you, in one.” “This is folly! I never committed any such crimes, Everyone——”’ Tt is folly,” said Gimblet. “I arrest you for the murder of Joseph Didier and for the robbery of a pack- age of diamonds from his brother, Charles Didier.’’ For a moment Dicks stood appalled, motionless. Then flashed into his mind the thought that he yet was safe. Was not the Joss’ Corner Den burned to the ground, and with it in the vaults beneath, Red Leary and the real Kennard Dicks ? And Charles Didier, was he not safe? What evidence was there to convict him of the dou- ble crime of robbery and murder, His courage and self-possession came back to him as he thought of these things. * Well, Mr. Gimblet, is there any more to be added to this farce?” he sneered ; ‘if there is, please proceed.’’ « Yos, there is an addition which may increase its in- terest though it may not seem particularly humorous to you.” ‘Get through with it.” “It isa little conundrum. Do you know were I can find Charles Didier, who was last seen by Red Leary the bill-poster, entering the notorious den of Joss’ Cor- ner, at midnight?’ “T know nothing of either the boy you refer to, or of the den which you say he entered, nor do I know anything about such people as this Red Leary.” “ His cheek and power of making it fit any size of out-and-out lying 7s immense!” said Gimblet to him- self. “Ah,” said Gimblet aloud; “you didn’t know any of these people, eh?” “No sir." Dicks stepped toward a dressing bureau which stood between the windows, and hia hand was already upon one of the smaller drawers, his face being still partly turned toward Gimblet. “Stop ! stop ! Open that drawerifyou dare !’’ cried Gimblet, leaping to his feet and drawing the hand from his pocket and leveling a small revolver. ‘You see I understand your movement. Olose that drawer.’’ Dicks turned. ‘here was desperation in every linea. mont of his face. A low tap upon the door was heard. “You will permit mo to adinit my servant ?” “No,’’ said Gimblet, ‘I will do it for you, presently. You are my prisoner; resistance is useless.’’ “You will be sorry for this piece of work, this drag- ging an innocent man from his house——’”’ “Tixactly. Now really, you say you do not know this Red Leary ?”” “No; admit my servant—I expect visitors,” cried Dicks savagely. “T expect visitors too,” said Gimblet, backing to the door and still covering Dicks with his pistol. “Put down that pistol. You see lam not trying to resist this brutal arrest.’’ ‘No, but there isa pistolin that bureau drawer— that’s all!’ \ Gimblet opened the door slightly. “All right?” whispered a voice. “Yes,” replied Gimblet. Thenhe opened wide the door. In came Leary the bill-poster. Dicks started, and horror stricken at the apparition of the man he supposed to be lying dead in the ruins of Joss’ Corner, grasped at a chair forsupport, and mis- sing it fell back upon the lounge gasping: “ Ourse you !”” “You see, you do know Mr. Leary.’’ “Yes,’’ cried Leary, “and I know you, John Brandon ! and the only blessing that Lever robbed you of was that of déath, when at midnight on that lonely pier I prevented you from committing suicide.” The words fell like a knell of doom upon the ears of the appalled man who sat there upon the lounge. “IT saw you strike down Joseph Didier, saw you rob him,and bent over your dying victim, and to me his oa 1 were uttered as you sped away in the dark- ess |’? John Brandon, still cowering, even in the face of this terrible disclosure, began to think. With thought came Something of the courage of des- peration. Gimblet was watching him. “There'll be achance for me yet,’’ he said to him- self. “That cursed detective’s glance will be turned directly.” “You call yourself Kennard Dicks?” continued Leary. ‘ closet—third floor—I am dying—my son—beat me— kicked—Nance——”’ ji ; a1 “That is—that is my real name,” said “‘and—and I defy you to disprove it.” **Do you?” exclaimed Leary, stepping tothe door. “J’ve a witness here you won’t dispute. He’s as good as a three-sheet poster to fill your eye.” Leary made a sign, and the real Kennard Dicks stood before the now terror-stricken man who had so long borne his name. ‘Kennard Dicks, permit me to introduce you to your special friend, Mr. John Brandon.” “ And here is another particular friend will now pay his addresses to you,” said Leary, looking toward the open door, ‘We found him bound hand and foot in a dark store-room in the attic of this house.” o Leaning upon the arm of one of the seryants, came in Charley Didier, thin and pale with the torture of his confinement, . John Brandon saw that his career was ended. At the very moment when he thought he had over- come every obstacle, ruin and disgrace, and a felon’s ete, like grim specters, were ready to send him to his oom. Trembling, ghastly, and voiceless he sat there. There was no longer thought of resistance. At this supreme moment the sound of a bell, and the opening and closing of the front door were heard, Tha sounds aroused him a little from the torpor of terror into which he had fallen. Leary stepped out into the hall. Three men were coming up the stairs. - Two of them he recognized. It was Stabber, the barkeeper. The one he did not recognize was Captain Seaweed. The other whom he knew was Garousse, the banker. They came up silently. Leary met them at the head of the stairs. “ You wish to see Mr. Kennard Dicks ?’” “r do,”’ said Captain Seaweed, “if the scoundrel is Brandon, in. “There is no scoundrel by the name of Kennard Dicks. There is a murderer just now arrested in this house of the name of John Brandon, who has been known as Dicks, sir !’” The eaptain rushed past Leary and entered the room. Behind hint came Leary, followed by Garousse. Stabber took the opportunity of turning about and ft slipping out of the house before his absence was , noted, “Hal” roared the captain, as he beheld the abject figure of the detected murderer. ‘‘Hal you're not Kennard Dicks, eh? You are John Brandon, the vagabond gon of my friend. Your game of sending a rascal to personate John Brandon while you aes the part of Kennard Dicks—so that you could still bear an honest name in the eyes of the world and rake in the legacy left you by your dead father—your game is played, eh? Lost the trick, didn’t you? If you are ‘ John Brandon, not a cent of the million dollars will you ever touch if I can help it!’”’ “Be quiet one moment, captain,’’ said Leary; “there is something more to be said. This wretch tortured me, tortured that boy, Charles Didier; tortured Ken- nard Dicks, and would have murdered us as remorse- lessly as he did that boy’s brother, Joe Didier, had not heaven pointed out to us the way of escape and frus- trated his schemes, Now I will torture him,” ait Leary drew from his Hpokst the letter written by Nancy Grip, and opened it, John Brandon sat writhing upon the lounge, glane+ ing wildly from one to the other of this group of im- placable accusers, in whose faces not one look of moerey found expression. . It was Cain shrinking back in terror from the wra ofavenging Justice; Judas quivering in the presem of relentless judgment. John Brandon might better have found his death j the river, with its dark waters as his winding-shoe than to have lived for such a fate as this. “John Brandon,’ said Leary, ‘the letter you set your confederateto get, and hu didn’t conyince th surgeon that he looked enough likeme to got it, I gi Ul read this letter, so everybody may know what precious scoundrel you are. Nanoy Grip died, and hi death is another murder you will have to answer for: Then Leary read ; “The man who calls himself Kennard Dicks hag right to do s0—HE Is My sON.’" { ts The cringing figure upon the lounge uttered a cry ¢ despair. It was the cry of a victim placed for th second timo on the rack, Leary, heedless of the cry, continued to read: ‘(Hight years ago, a young man was found lyin up. on the pavement in front of the house where I lived, — He was ragged, and worn out with tramiping the streets Bt and famishing for food. I pitied him, and begged the policeman who found him to let me have him. I took him in, gaye him shelter; then when he was rested ha told me his story. He had robbed a friend of his father’s of a sum of money and had run away from home. He told me his father was very wealthy, Three days after. this he came in to my room, scarcely able to stand. He staggered tothe bed upon which he slept, and the only words he uttered were, “my heart—my heart.” That night he died, Then I made it up with my son, who did not look unlike him then, to pass for John Brandon, 80 that one day he might inherit the father’s fortune. My son, now known as Kennard Dicks, met the real Kennard Dicks, who had just returned from Europe, last year.” Here there was a break in the letter, or rather the sa was illegible. It con- cluded with “my son grew tired of me, baat me, forced me to aid him in all his schemes, and to harbor his gang of river thieves of which he was the captain and Jeader. He was the one who robbed the boy of the package of diamonds, and he wanted the boy out of the way—recognise him—boy is in his house—diamonds in aS eae te ee se
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ee eee" “There the letter ends ’’—said Leary, folding it up. “And here is the package of diamonds found in the eloset on the third floor. Istill shall call you John Brandon,” he added, ‘‘because I know it isn’t much difference to you.” “Ha, stop that!’ cried Gimblet, rushing toward the crouching son of Nancy Grip, ‘“ stop that !’’ But he was too late. The wretched man had, even while Leary was speaking, suddenly thrust his hand into his vest pocket and drawn from it a small vial not Jarger around than a quill, and before Gimblet could reach him he had taken out the tiny cork and held the bottle to his nostrils. Then, as Gimblet sprang upon him, he dashed the bottle to the floor, and the colorless liquid ran out up- on the carpet. There was an odor, penetrating, suffocating, which filled the atmosphere of the room; an odor precisely similar to that of bananas. “Raise the windows!” cried Gimblet. Leary ran to them and threw the sash up. The moment he had inhaled the odor of this strange, powerful liquid, John Brandon dropped back upon the lounge. His eyes were open and staring—his breath came slower and slower, a gasp—a sudden convulsive spasm of the muscles of the face, and the murderer, the rob- ber and son of poor Nancy Grip had gone to his ac- count. Only a slight discoloration, a reddish, bloodshot tinge—scarcely noticeable in the corner of each star- ing, dulled eye betrayed the nature of the poison he had used. Gimblet took up the bottle. The label was worn by long carriage in the pocket, but the name of the liquid was plainly visible. * Potson—Nirrire or Amy.” The odor of which is death ; one drop upon the tongue, annihilation of life and sense at once. The end had come. Now, silently and solemnly, vengance ceasing with his death, the group gathered around the dead body of the man who for the second time had attempted sui- cide, in the presence of Red Leary. But this time he was too quick for human interyen- tion. And so ended the mystery of the murder on the pile, really traced to its revelation by the poor bill-poster, THE END, em HARLES JONAS ISMAEL: THE DRIED-UP WELL. “Twi give thee, Ismael—my younger son, Benjamin, all those of my goats which are lind, so that by thy care for them thou shalt \ to be loving, and pity those whom Allah th afflicted.” ** Oh, my father! and shall my elder broth- , Dabol, be pleased with the bright eyes of his goats, while I may not have goats that shall ‘see me, and bleat as they mark my coming.” Nay; thy blind goats will love thee the more for that they are blind, and will lick thy hands.” “Yet their eyes will not glisten in the sun, while those of the goats of Dabol shall shine like topazes in the light.” So the old sheik shook his head, saying, *¢ Mine elder son has that which is his, and RED LEARY THE BILL-POSTER. are blind for my portion, and when thou sleep- est forever I will declare Dabol my lord and master.” So the old sheik turned him away. He was very old, and full of authority in the tribe, though but the owner of afew herds of mountain goats, and some mountain land. Then goes Ismael to his mother, Rebekha, saying, ‘‘ Know, mother, that my father will not hearken, and gives Dabol all that is his, except such goats as are blind.” Rebekha smiles, for she loves her younger son the best, and she says, after the strange mode of Eastern speech, ‘‘ All goats have eyes; but if they are proud, and look up towards the sun, the great light will dazzle them—nay, the best eyes in the world shall water if sand be cast into them.” Then Rebekha looks meaningly at her son, and he smiles. From that time the goats of the Sheik Giaffor frequently became blind, and thereby passed away from the old man, and were the property of Ismael, the younger son. Dabol, the elder, was ofttimes away hunting, and climbing to the hill-tops, in order to see the world, all the wonders whereof he longed to witness. The years went on, and Ismael held more flocks of goats than his old father, while Gabol still loved hunting. ‘‘Nay,” says Ismael, ‘“‘thine age, my father, bids thee rest, and my brother Dabol still wan- ders from our pastures; give, then, to me thy flocks, and I will nurture thee until sleep comes !” ‘Give Ismael these things,” said Rebskha | “and ail will be well!” Daily, hourly, do Ismael and Rebekha per- suade the old shepherd to give up his flocks. At.last he says, ‘‘I will give thee all my flocks, my younger son; but thou musi pro- mise to pay half that which they are worth to thy elder brother, Dabol.” “That do I promise ; but what of thy land ? Wilt not also give me thy land, my father ; for of what avail are my goats and sheep if I have no land for them ?” ‘The land is thy brother’s birthright. thou wouldst have, thou must buy of him.” ‘What wants he of land who ever quits it?” urges Rebekha, who, as the years roll on, still more dearly loves her latest born. But the old sheick was resolute. He would not give away his land from the firstborn, At the end of three months the old man died, blessing his sons, and thanking his wife for her sweet eompanionship. Dabol. would not sell the land, though he had not goat nor sheep to place upon it, for only Ismael’s flocks prospered—those, half of which was Dabol’s, were lost in the pasturage, or were stolen, or were carried off by wild If thou that art the younger hast that which L| beasts of prey. give thee. Know that the younger son bows - to the elder, and that when I sleep with my - fathers that Dabol is the head of all our house.” So Ismael puts his hands to his forehead, saluting his white-bearded father, and he says, “Lo! I will be content with those goats that ‘Thou shalt rent the land at a fair price, my brother, and when I come home thou shalt give it back to me. For me, I go farther into the world, as I would have long since have gone but that my father prayed me rest.” He wandered. TS ~ ‘And if it please Allah to take him,” whim pered Rebekha, ‘‘ the land will be, thine.” A long year passed, and Ismael found fortune not so easy as it had been. He was too grasping. Lo! journeying one day in the desert, he hears a cry. ‘Help! some water !” He knows the yvoice—’tis Dabol’s. ‘‘Ah, is it thou, brother? Givemeto drink, I pray !” eries Dabol. : “Water have I, which thou hast not; land hast thou, which I have not. Let us exchange. Thou shalt have water only if thou givest me thy land.’’ ; ‘Alas! of what avail is my land, if I dio here of thirst? Yet wilt thou deprive me of all that Ihave of my father’s? Well know 1 that thou didst blind the goats by compelling them to stare at the sun.” ‘oDwas fair cunning.” ‘¢ Well know I that my flocks were not lost, but that secretly thou didst sell them, and kept thy own beasts.” ‘oTwas good trading.” ‘«Byen do I know that when thou didst prompt our father to give thee his flocks, thof wast not ignorant that he must-soon die.” ‘“‘T held my bargain. Ifed him. What say: you—the water and your life for the land, or you die, when the land becomes mine by inher- itance.” ‘Alas! as I am, a cup of water is all the world tome. Take thou my land.” Thus it was that Ismael gained all his father’s flocks and land, and Dabol went forth shorn into the world. ; Five years pass, and this time it is greedy Ismael who had been traveling to collect a debt far across the desert, and is without water. For his enemies had filled his water gourds with sand. He is reeling on his camel already, dying of thirst under that terrible sun, when at last the yearned-for object, a well—Saraman’s” well—shows, a white speck, in the desert, Dried up; the well is waterless. Ah, it is his turn! What now is all the world to him who per- ishes for a draught of water? Then his hot brain dances, and the mirage of the desert depicts his prosperous home and his countless herds peaceful in their pastures. He knows all is fancy. Yet the ringing camel-bell grows nearer. “Wanderer, drink!” says a voice. Still, though he sees the gurgling water gourd, he cannot believe it true. Then the voice says, ‘‘ Brother |” He looks up, sees Dabol, and shrinks. He cannot hope for pity. He showed not any—no pity will be bestowed upon him. ‘Drink, brother Ismael,” Dabol says, more sweetly voiced than ever. And, greedy even then, he seizes the gourd, and drinking savagely, suffocates himself, and falls upon the desert, dead! a And Dabol, the supplanted, is thereupon heir to all his brother’s flocks and herds, and_ oyge more he has his land again, ,
Page 23
503 Tommy Bounce, Jr., in College—comic...... ; By Peter Pad 604 Around the World; or, Fighting to Win........ } By Harrigan & Hart 605 Out With the “Jeannette;” or, Two Years Among I{cebergs..-.......By a Herald Reporter 406 Captain Tom Drake; or, The Young Privateers By H. C. Emmet 507 Fred Ford; or, Lite at Boarding-School....... a By Captain Will Dayton 608 Billy Bakkus, the Boy With the Big Mouth— COMIC....-.+-++++.-+.+.By Commodore Ah-Look. 509 Bow and Arrow Jack, the Indian Nemesis..... By Kit Clyde 510 Arctic Phil, the Bear-Slayer of the Northern AS. vercseerseceerserreesee by Alex. Armstrong 611 Fred Baxter, the Wild Horse Tamer.......... By J. M. Travers 912 The Brookfield Bank Robbers....By D. W. Stevens 518 The Border Bandits...... ..By James D. Montague 514 The Young Sharpshoeters of the Rebellion.... By Col, Ralph Fenton 615 Fighting Joe; or, The Game Man of the Plains By Kit Olyde $16 Invincible Bill........ ..By Alexander Armstrong 617 Skeleton Gulch; or, Captain Texas and His Band of Vultures.........-.ss.e00s By J. R. Scott 618 The Irish Claude Duval as a Privateer........ By Corporal Morgan Rattler 519 The Wolverine; or, The Count’s Treachery. .. i : By a Parisian Detective $20 Ben Bolt; or, the Young Blacksmith......... é be By James D, Montague §21 From Drummer Boy to General....... Beaten ? By Richard R. Montgomery §22 Bob Rollick; or, What Was He Born For— COUWMGs.«. cccueecctetestoecesvscveschy Peter rad 423 Northwoods Tom, the Athlete Hunter,By Kit Clyde 624 Only a Cabin-Boy; or, Saved by Grit... .. By Harry Rockwood 626 Astray in Africa +escees++ BY Walter Fenton 626 Tiger Ted.... . By Alexander Armstrong 527 Barnum’s Boy Ben......By Commodore Ah-Look 628 The Black Mask; or, The Vow of SiJence...... bs By® W. Hanshew BTL ySou’-west Fred............6.s0.+0.++.By Kit Clyde ’ Bob Rollick, the Yankee Notion Drummer; a sequel to ‘* Bob Rollick; or, What Was he ot Born For?)’—comic...... ... .....By Peter Pad _1 The Drummer Boy Spy; or, the Slaughter of the Wilderness................By Ralph Morton 532 The Black Hercules......By Colonel J. M. Travers 688 Fireman Dick; or, The Pride of Number 9.... By James D. Montague 634 The Shortys Out For Fun—comic....By Peter Pad 535 Red River Bill, the Prince of Scouts. By J. R. Scott 586 Special Express Ned, the Prince of Boy En- GINCCTS,....+...+..004+-+++ BY Horace Appleton 537 The Shortys’ Christmas and New Years at HOME—COMIC.........000006 siunae By Peter Pad 688 The James Boys’ Brides........By D. W. Stevens 639 The Spies of the Delaware..........By Kit Clyde 640 Denver Dan, Jr., and His Band of Deadshots.. By ‘‘Noname ”? 641 The Steam Man of the Plains; or, The Terror Ol ONO WORE, see raies ia esseasn Ky ‘“ Noname?” 642 On Deck; or, The Boy Pilot of Lake Erie. J By Howard De Vere 643 From Pole to Pole; or, The Sailor Boy Avenger By Horace Appleton §44 Dick Wright and His Band of Cannibals,..... i by J. R. Seott 645 The Boy Captain; or, The Search for a Missing Wall... Ri nslve's 2 Sys e'e By Alexander Armstrong _ 546 Pickle and Tickle; or, Mishaps and Mischiefs— COMIC. Jo. Yasha aap iacad's 4s By Peter Pad 547 Fort Hayes; or, lack Hagle, the Avenger...... By Don Jenardo 548 Noiseless Nat; or, Always Just Where He’s Wanted..................By James D. Montague 649 The Secrets Under the Sea............ By Kit Clyde 550 Lazy Jake, the Boy Spy of the Rebellion..... By Col. Ralph Fenton 551 Sam Sharpe at School....By Captain Will Dayton 552 Privateer Tom—a sequel to “Captain Tom Drake ’’.......-++-.4...........By H. ©. Emmet $53 Frank Reade and His Steam Horse.By ‘* Noname ” 654 Billy the Bootblack; or, The Trump Card Last B rigan & Hart 655 The Rival Scouts........ Ne detrrs seeeeee....By J. R. Scott §56 The Coral Cave; or, Paul Philips Geyee By Horace ieton 557 The Army gcout; or, The Mysteries of the West By Kit Clyde By James D. Montague eulel os : ag 560 Shady Dell Schoo); or, Haps and Mishaps of Biazepp 563 Extree Nick,the New York Newsboy....+..... ‘ By Commodore Ah-Look "$64 Oath-hound; oF, The Jack or Spades. By J. R, Scott | 565 Custer’s Last Shot; or, The Boy ‘Trailer of the , Little Horn..---- --+-:++By Qojonel J. M. Travers 568 Gassy Hyde; or, The Fire-Boy fond of Phila- \ delphia...... By Corpora] Morgan Rattler 567 Fred Hazara, the Star of the Cirens : By Horace Appleton 568 Coonskin Kit, the Dashing Government Scout r es sn) By Kit Clyde 569 Denver Dan, Jr., and the Renegade. Ry 1 Noname m 570 Billy Badger; or, The Mysterious Unknown of the Bank Robbers’ Band.By James D, Montague The Brand of the Degett-.-+----By Walter Fenton 4 572 Mail-Car Ned; or, Falsely Accused..... By Alexander Armstrong 673 The Maniac Pirate............By Horace Appleton 574 Smokestack Bob the Hero of the Rail.By J. R. Scott 575 Nimble Nip; or,The Imp of the School—comic By Tom Teaser 676 King Morgan, the Terror of the Seas.... By Alexander Armstrong 677 The Convict’s Oath; or, The Prisoner of Van Dieman’s Land.......... By James D. Mortague 578 The Serpent Queen; or, The Mysterious Night- Riders of Georgia........ a easetd st aipia By Kit Clyde 679 The Fortune Hunters; or. Two Yankee Boys in Australia... +++....By Alexander Armstrong 680 The fatal Sta By Horace Appleton 681 The Bootblack’s Plot; or, The Mystery of a DN Geers wiaiemirisisiationeine oebiioe ven By J. R, Scott 582 Huron Harry: or, The Haunted Skitf...... aie By James D. Montague 683 Doomed; or, The Secret League of Boston.... By James D. Montague The beige 8 of Hawkes- 684 The Maniac Rider; or, wood Grange.............--By Horace Appleton 685 The Gipsies’ Den.... seeeeeceees ee By Kit Clyde 686 Matt Merry; or, The Life of the School. .... By Captain Will Dayton 687 The Phantom Avenger; or, Dick Darling in.. Montana..............By Alexander Armstrong 588 Hugo, the Texan; or, The Demons of the Alamo By J. R. Scott 589 Lost on the Desert; or, the Guide’s Treachery By James D, Montague 690 The Avengers’ League............. By ‘“Noname” 591 The “Sea Wave's’? Last Cruise; or, The Pi- rates’ Cave......... Peis oS send +.++..By Kit Clyde 692 Cromwell’s Boy Spy; or, The Roundheads and the Cavaliers........... -...By Horace Appleton 693 The Pirate Hermit; or, The Wail’s Legacy sf hres deta! Armstrong 594 Dick the Shadow; or, The Mysterious Trails of the Backwood... ++.-By J. R. Scott 695 Fighting the Redskins; or, Beaver Bill’s Last Trail........s.seeeeee++s-by James D. Montague 596 The Black Domino; or, The Jailer of the Tow- OP isaieies bag taeda ss tes Ris epee »By Kit Clyde 597 Frank Reade and His Steam Team.By ‘** Noname’ 698 Oheeky and Chipper; or, Through Thick and THIN. ...-....+.++0+.+.+-By Commodore Ah-Looy 599 Dead Man’s Pond; or, The Black Demon of the Sierras... .... 2.00. seseess++By Horace Appleton 690 'Te Tiger of the Seas; or, Forced to bea Pirate Bv Alexander Armstrong 601 Harry O’Malley, the Young Irish Invincible... By Sergeant O'Donnell 60. Arkansaw Bill, the Indian Spy...... By J. R. Scott 663 The King of the Deep...........-.... y Kit Clyde 604 Little Death Shot; or,The Gold-hunter’s Ghost By James D. Montague 605 The Magic Mirror........ By Don Jenardo 606 Old Rube, the Ranger..<....-. Miiewente By J. R. Scott 607 Frank Reade and His Steam Tally-Ho.......... By ““Noname” 608 Out with Barnum...By Lieutenant HE. H. Kellogg 609 Storm King Dick; or, The Boy Adventurers... « By Oaptain Will Dayton 610 Frank Durham, the King of the Cowboys.... By Kit Clyde @11 Hildebrandt Fitzgum; or, My Quiet Little Cou- sin—comic... ++.-++.By Tom Teaser 612 Si Swift, the Prince of Trappers.............. by James D. Montague 613 The Hyena Hunters; or, Inthe Wilds of Africa By Harry Rockwood 614 The Phantom Pirate; or, The Fatal Oath...... By Alexander Armstrong sees eeeseenes guires ae 621 The Captain of the Nine; or, Always a Leader. . By Harry Rockwood 622 Sassy Sam; or, A Bootblack’s Voyage Around the World—comic...... By Commodore Ah-Look 623 Young Putnam; or, Always to the Front....... By Harrigan & Hart 624 Nugget Ned; or, The Mountain Queen’s Venge- ONCO waco aca hareee eaneaeeAisenee By Morris Redwing 425 Frank Reade, Jr., and His Steam Wonder.... By *Noname” 626 The Spy of 76"; or, The Green Mountain oys. - nes ofaseaey Mewnite caaetenine By Kit Clyde 627 Frank Reade, Electric Boat....... By «‘ Noname”? re. and His 628 Ghouls of Gilt Edge.......... By Harry Rockwood 629 Frank Reade, Jr., and His Adventures With His Latest Invention............ By ‘“Noname” 630 The Shortys Out Gunning—comic....By Peter Pad 631 Frank Reade, Jr., and his Air Ship,By “ Noname ” 632 The Young Boy Chief; or, Adventures in the Far West....+ Bex tighorees .By Captain Will Dayton 633 Frank Reade, Jr.’s seeeeees By “ Noname ” 634 The Lighthouse on the Rock... ..... By Kit Clyde 635 Sassy Sam Sumner—a sequel to Sassy Sam— comic........ Ma dae By Commodore Ah-Look 636 The House of Horrors..... By James D, Montague 637 The hien of the Northwest. By Alexander Armstrong 638 The Oaptain’s Secret; or, The Wreck of the SD BIB Yes WINS sac uaa dese tee BY ele Olyde 639 Among the Arabs........--+ ates By Don Jenardo 640 Garry Galore; or, The Adventures of a Wild Trish Boy at Home on se ehcsid sate Corporal Morgan Rattler 641 Cast Up by the Waves. . ae it Alex. Armstron 642 The Shortys Farming—comic. ........By Peter va the. HE FIVE CENT WIDE AW AKE LIBRARY---Continued eae SS 8 Se Es ES hy pee oS =e 643 Under the Grouna,...... --...By Harry Rockwood 644 Yankee Pete....... ...By James D. Montague 645 Hotspur Harry. sese+e-By Alex. Armstrong 646 Buckskin Burke...........- cereeseeeeBy Kit Clyde 647 Guerrillas and Regulay...... -By Col. Ralph Fenton 648 The Mystery of Dead Man’s Castle... By James D. Montague 649 Mad Pete; or, a Feartul Retribution. By Leon Leroy 650 Otfon a Man-of-War......By Major Walter Wilmot 651 Frank Reale, Jr., in the Clouds....By ‘* Noname?? 65z Young Davy Crocket....... dover eevee DY (WU Bi 653 Trapper Against Renegade..........By Kit Clyde 654 The Boy Pedestrians.......... By Jas, D. Montague 655 Tom Basswood, the Swamp Hero. By Capt, E, Park 656 A Sailor's Diary..............By Col. Leon Lenoir 657 Frontier Fred..... «es+e-By Yexas Joe 658 Tales Of the Wars oi. .ceeece cess re By J. D, Ballard 659 Wrecked on the Coast of Florida. By Zach Brewste 660 The Boy Mechanic.......... By Jas. D. Montague 661 Among the Danites; or, The Price of a Life,... By Rit Clyde 662 New York Noll, the Hazvor Police Boy. ...... By Horace Appleton 663 Young Marion, the Patriot Spy of the Revolu- tion...... ae s'eseee ---By Ralph Morton 664 Young America in Bgypt; or, The Drummer Boy’s Bravery........ By Alexander Armstrong 665 The Shortys’ Country Store—comic...By Peter Pa 666 Gunboat Harry; or, The Navy's Best Man..... . By Col. Ralpi Fenton 667 Frank Reade, Jr.’s Great Electric Tricycle, and What He Did for Charity.........By “ Noname”? 668 Dick Wheel, the Young Roller Skater.......... By Percy B. St. John 669 The Ghostly Bell Ringer...... By Horace Appleton 670 Man-of-War Dick,.............+.By Ralph Morton 671 The Shark Fighters; or, At War with the De- mon Fish..................-By Harty Rockwood 672 Sam, Saddle the Wild Horse Tamer. ........... By Morris Redwing 673 The Young Arctic Explorers; or, In Search of the North Pole............-BY Harry Rockwyod 674 Old One Eye, the Trapper Guide of the North. WOBL. asses ctimics.emisemaien wise -By ‘‘ Noname *? 675 A Yankee Boy in Mexico..........By Don Jenardo 676 Cast weeks caters ee | J. T.. Brougham 677 Steam-boat Steve. the Boy Pilot of the Missis- BIPP heh etek sek hier esceg BY tel. SPANdish 678 The Yankee Boy Whaler......By Albert J. Booth 679 Little Mike Malloy......-By Oorp, Morgan Rattler 680 Dick Twilight’s School Days8.............se00e - By Captain. Will Dayten 681 Dick, the Engineer.............By Albert J. Booth 682 The Spy of the Northwest.....By Jas, D. Montague 683 The Pacific Specter....By Alexander Armstrong 684 The Lost Whaler... cc. .ceseeensee .-..-By C. Little 685 Panama Pete; or, The Outlaws of the Isthmus By Hal Standish: 686 Sightless Saul, theMysterious Man of Montans By *“* Nonanwe ” 687 Joseph Jump and His Old Blind Nag—comic By Peter Pad 688 A Struggle for Fame; or, Fighting Against Rate: :.s.a<cees seceeeesees BY A. K. Shackleford 689 Jack Hawser’s Tavern—comic.....By Peter Pad 690 Black Diamond Bill; or, The Hero of the Ooal Mines...... seeeeeeees+e-By Ralph Royal 691 A Boy With Grit, and How He Made His For- GUNG ie cedar cca aa Beis By Captain Will Dayton 692 Jack Stowaway; or, Bound to be aTar...... By Howard De Vere 698 The Sunken City............By H. K. Shackletorad 694 Royal Dick; or, Standing by Hig Chums...... 3 By Hal Standish 695 Wing and Wing; or, The Young Captain of the Flyaway eainte de ods a -By Kit Clyde 696 Dick Davit, the American Boy Middy..By C. Little 697 Frank Reade, Jr., With His Air-Shipin Africa Bv **Noname ” 698 Trusty Joe, the Brave Old Scout...By ““ Noname” 699 Found at Sea..,......ssee.eeeeeeBY Har Standish 700 Little Ned, the Leader of the School.......... 702 Acrobat Ned, the Prince of the Air.....By ©. Little 703 Jack, the Wrecker’s Son; or, Adventures on the Coast......6...-..0-.++-+eBy J. T. Brougham 704 The Fire Bugs of Chicago....By Jas. D. Montague 706 Lighthouse No. 6; or, The Ghost of the Sea.... By Allyn Draper 706 The Wolf-Fighters; or, The Adventures of Two New York Boys in Minnesota . By Howard De Vere 707 Railroad Larry; or, Always in on Time...... By Albert J. Booth 708 Bound Together; or, The Young Fire Laddies of Springdale..... By Robert Lennox 709 Two Weeks on a Abandoned in Mid Ocean....... SONAR ae .-.By Hal Standish 710 The Jolly Travelers; or, Around the World for Fun—comic........ vesseseseseossee BY POter Pad or, Fighting for Texas By *‘ Noname 712 Leaves From a Diary; or, A Young Clerk's DOWnfaliss ost. ce~ v0 cee ---By H.K. Shackleford 713 Boone and the Renegade; or, Iife in Ken- WUCKY «++ eeee cers reese see ceenseeeeeBY Kit Clyde 714 Before the Mast; or, A Sailor Boy’s Travels in Many Seas............ sv++e. By Jas. D. Montague - 716 Monaco, the Jaguar Hunter.....By Hal Standish 716 From Page to Senator; or, Working his Way Up. .es cesses gececevvsseses BY Me K. Shackleford 717 Judge Cleary’s Country Court—comic........ ; By Tom Teaser 718 Old Ronee and Ready............By ‘‘ Noname ’ 719 Fire Bell Dick; or, The Riyal Hook and Ladders By Robert Lennox 711 The Haunted Pioneer;
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758 Barnum’s Hunters; 710 The Jolly Travelers; or, Around the beat for aia elw aise Ue'sg e's Peter Pad mt The Haunted Pioneer; ‘Or, Fighting ion Texas pe By *‘ Noname” ‘712 Leaves From, a Diary; or, A Young Clerk’s PIMC TIBI losis eae tirdola sais's acc By H. K. Shackleford 713 nee and the ReDeUAG: or, Life in Ken- tucky.. sevoetBy Kat Clyde 714 Before the “Mast; or, “A Sailor Boy's Travels in Many Seas.. ssseees-By Jas. D. Montague 715 Monaco, the Jaguar Hunter... .By Hal Standish 716 From Page to Senator;or, Working his Way 1a Es ee OPC Orr care By Hy K. Shackleford TW7 Judge Oleary’s Country Court—cémic........ By Tom ‘Teaser 418 Old Rough and Ready............By ‘‘ Noname ” 719 Fire Bell Dick; or, The Rival Hook and Ladders By Robert Lennox 720 Kidnapped; or, Forced on a Man o’ War.... By J. G. Bradley 721 Jack o’ the Plains; ox, The Headless Mazeppa ByP Panl Braddon 722 The Prisoners of the Castle; or, A Blow for BYeedOM 0... s.0sceseccees by Jas. D. Montague 723 Muldoon, the Sport—comic Maer ats By Tom Teaser 724 A Newsboy’s Trip Around the World.. By H. K. Shackleford 725 In Dixie; or, A War Correspondent’s Thrilling Adventures... ssseeeees.- By Col. Ralph Fenton 726 The Skeleton Sentinel....By Lieut. E. H. Kellogg 727 Muldoon’s Vacation—comic......By Tom Teaser 728 The Valleydale Social Club; ore Ruined by Wine By 4H. K, Shackleford 729 Davy LA gated Vew; or, His Last Shot for VON GOANCE....0 poser aiesieieiie dees ced By Kit. Clyde 730 Keeping. His Word; or, “Lucky ‘’? Landy’s IMCK.....5 iy ce ete By Jas. D. Montague 931 Young Tom Drake; Or, Bound to bea Captain By the ‘Author of ‘Privateer Tom,’ etc., etc. 782 The eae eseaverd or, eee Deadly Dan: ger: :.++«seBy Corp. Morgan Rattler 788 The ‘extied Princes or, ‘Fwo aoe pepiotors in Buffalo Bill........ ap iatieiclae AESY, Robert Maynard 736 A Sailor Boy's peciias or, Young America ‘In the South Sea Islan g.. BY H. K. Shackleford -37 The Forest Mystery..........By Jas. D. Montague 738 Beater ops or, Three ie gers In the Yellow- NicemincemUmlspac rae \ece sae tu » «By Kit Clyde 739 A Walt from the Sea; ‘or, “Flung from the Foam By.Thomas P, Murray 740 The Book Agent’s Luck—comic. . . By “Ed” 741 Dandy Rock, the Man from MOXAS...-.s.00+0s By D. Ww. Stevens 742 Near the Gallows; or, A Young Man's Peril By R. T. Emmet r 'y 743 Dick Daunt the Diver; or, Down Among the Sponge-Cutters,......-..+-+ . By J. G. Bradley 144 Across the Continent on Wings; or, Frank Reade, Jr,’a Greatest Flight......By ‘‘Norame’? 745 Lost In an Unknown Sea; or, Adventures Un- der the Warth, .....0......+ By Jas, D. Montague - 146 The Shorty Kids; or, Three Chips of Three Old Blocks—comic......: By Peter Pad 747 Dick Walton Among the Cannibals... hea Ba By W. I. James, Jr, 748 The Six Swordsmen; or, The Boy Cavalier.. y Richard R. Montgomery 749 The sola or, Dick Walton in the South Sea «By W. I. James, Jr. 750 Frank Reade, ‘tn, Exploring Mexico in His New Air- Ship. Seatea det by ‘‘ Noname 7? T5L er pete Twins; or, The Cavaliers of Mys- meat ae by Richard R. Montgomery 752 Five’ Dollars or, ‘A ‘Oheap itn 9 des + >-by Percy B. ‘st. “Joun 963 Mike MeGuinness; or, Traveling for Pleas- ~-- ure—comic....... . by Tom Teaser 754 Old Grudge, the Feouts’ or, The Ongtle on the “ Noname ” Lake 158 Be Sam Pateh, the ‘Champion tay Jumper by H. K. Shaokieford 756 Little Jack and His Twenty Hove Firemen...... by Robert Lennox : WT Dick Spray; or, A Stowaway’s Gen to China.. by J. G. Bradley or, Trapping WildAni- aa mals for the Greatest Show on Harth...... By Richard R. Montgomery Px 750 The Seven Masks; or, The Quaker City League 761 The Uniuck By Percy B. St. Johu 760 Muldoon's Night School—comic... .by Tom Teaser Miner; or, The Rivals for Dead Man’s Olaim.................-.by Paul Braddon 162 sit OS Cowboy; or, The Young King of Las- -by D. W. Stevens 763 wis Piri ‘Drink: ‘ora ‘Country dhl Life in alee au card BY ad: Shackleford 764 The 6 Ona Boy Mail-Carrier; or, Young Amer- ic L StedskiavsauleeCueecvevaeDY Os Litole 165 wepen +...eby ** Noname ”? etait F 766 On the ‘queen's Service......... ib J. G. Bradley _ ‘The above books, are for sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to your address, Postage free, on receipt of the: ) price, 5 lad per peat ie | GREAT 5 GENT WIDE AWAKE LIBRAR The Largest, Cheapest, Handsomest and Most Po and Most Popular Library in the World. LATEST ISSUES: 767 Tick Tack, the Messenger Boy; or, Sharp Work fora Million.. mea DY. Rovert tee 768 Sam Spry, the New York Drummer; or, Busi- ness Before Pleasure.........-..6.+ by peter Pad 769 A Lost Boy; or Nomely Jack’s Luck.......... by R. T..Emmet 7710 The Black Rider...........s...+- by Ralph Morton 771 A Week Above the Clouds; or, Cast Adrift in Mi BAlLOOB e waald cies ia hcaeke woe, by Hal Standish 772 The Young Moonlighiter; or, An American Boy pO bys) fr Pe Cana ee voy J. T. Brougham 773 Dashing Del, the Knight of the Kulife; or, The Maniac Father.,....+.+0+¢.0+0s by Paul Braddon 774 Little Matt, the Pilot; or, "The Perils of the LGR. Fe cass clgsleiie’. 4s Mba tray OED tbe by C, Litule 115 The Irish Boy Monte Gristo...........0... . by Corp, Mergan R attler 776 A Cruise Among Pirates; or, The Blue-beards Of ThEOSCA..icsercewee esseiepes stale by Kit Clyde 777 The Little Joker—comic..... Oe Date by Sam Smiley 778 The Two Runaways; or, The Hardships of a GIN CUMII GE, waklasitresseatacistices oe by Hal Standish 779 The School-boys’ League; or, Working His Way Against Odds,...........by Robert Lennox 780 Tuoky. Lal, the Newsboy; or, Climbing the Ladder of Fame......... ++es00..dy C, Little 781 Lost in the Land of Snow; or, ‘Two American Boys in the Arctic......... .....by R. T, Emmet 782 Coal Mine Kit........ weqeDy: ey B. St. John 783 The Band of 12; or, The Knights of the Trail.., AG! Paul Braddon 784 Muldoon the Fireman—comic.....by Tom Teaser 785 Diving for GOld........essereees «..-by Kit Clyde 786 The 12 Owls; or, The Secret Band of Chicago by Paul Braddon 787 The Fire King; or, The Yankee Boy Explorer by R. T. Emmet 788 The Boy Bank Messenger; or, Brave Bob Brad- shaw’s Secret Foe..,........ . by GC. Little 789 His Last Cent; or, How Joe Dutton Made His MORNE SA ccrietessnsaee by H. K, Shackleford 790 Born to be @ Sailor...................by Kit Clyde 791 The Electric Man; or, Frank Reade, Jr., in Australia......... «by .Noname ” 792 Satan; or, The Mystery ‘of Ten "Years. eae wy oe by Howard De Vere 798. Those Quiet Twins—comic.,........by Peter Pad 794 The bey Spee oth or, The Burning of Mosc y R, T. Emmet 795 A Soldier. at "16: or,Fi ng for ine Union . By C. Little 796 Teddy of the Toll Gate; or, The Man With the Green Shades...:......By Corp. Morgan Rattler 7197 The cp baal Boys; ‘or, Life in a Yankee SCHOOL geack. wy y Percy B. St. John 798 The Young Snow "Dacieras of, Big Track, whe Giant Moose Hunter..... +--..,By Paul Braddon 799 Denny the Clown. A Story of Circus Life in Ireland....--.......By Corporal Morgan Rattler 800 On the ae or, Perlis in the Life cf a Young PINGINBOL 3. oes hees ea sssua.c en By Albert J, Booth 891 3,000 Miles ona Bicycle; or, x Race acts the t By C, Little 802 Fearless Phil; or, The Vero of Rugged Rift. By Paui Braddon 803 The Shortys’ Christmas Rackets—comic...... By Peter Pad 804 Olaim 4; er, The Hunchback of eater Pocket By ‘‘Noname” 805 The Miser's Son.......... +, By H. K. Shackleford 806 The Waifs of New York....... By N.S. Wotd (The Young ‘American’ Actor). 807 Brian the Bear; or, The Pranks of a Wild Irish 3 Boy .....By Corporal Morgan Rattler 808 The Haunted Bell Tower; 01, The Hidden Mys- WON Yi sie iets vad sirieca By Perey B. St. John 809 Two Years on an Island of Tee. ae Albert J, Booth 810 A Bootblack’s Luck. ......2......00005 By ©. Little 811 Around the World in a Balloon; or, Thousands of Miles Through the Air.. By R. T. Emmet 812 The Fur Hunters of W innipeg. “By rae Braddon 8138 Six Weeks Under Ground........... y Kit Clyde 814 The President's Boy; or, The Hero of i White by H. K. Shackleford 815 The Wiectric Horse: or, Frank Reade, Jr., and His Father in Search of the Lost Treasure of the Peruvians... «by ‘* Noname’’ 816 Lion Luke, the Boy “Animal ‘Tamer. ..ssses+0s by Perey B. St. John 817 Carillo, the Corsair; or, The Mysterious Mon- arch of the Mediterranean..... -by J. G. Bradley 818 Fearless Phil's Chase............by Paul Braddon 819 The Ghost of the School-House....... -by C. Little 820 The i Sate Siege, or, The sa ah the Silk Mask -by ‘‘Noname” $21 Up and ‘Down; or, “phe Life of ea Elevator Boy Percy B, St. John 822 pats ee Middy; or, A Boy’s Lite ob a Man-o’- . y J. G. Bradley 823 Foo “Fred the Boy ‘Actor; or, Bound to be seseee aby N.S, Wood 824 A Rolling g Stone: or, "Jack Ready's Life of Fun --com s+sseestenes Dy Peter Pad $25 The aearet of the Tattooed Map. -by R. T. Emmet $26 Custer’s Little Dead Shot; or, The Boy Scout of the Little Big Horn............by “Noname’? FRAN K sas hint patina Publisher, ; 84 and 86 NORTH MOORD st., N N Rin, 854 Ned, ‘tie Bound Boy; or, Through 100 ee Ss " 827 A Queer Race. The Story ofa Strange People — by William West: 828 Kit Carson’s Boy Trapper........by Paul Braddol 829 Slippery Ben, the Boy Spy of the Revolution... 830 Paddy Miles” Luck; or, The [rish Boy Miner... by Corp, Morgan Rattl 831 The Boy Fish; or, Little Dick the Diver..... by R. T. Emm 832 Ben the Bowsman; Or, Adventures in the Mon- tezuma Swamp............ sain pee DY. 0, Littie 833 The Mastodon’s Cave; or, Two Wide Awake, Boys in the Far West... ..by Percy B, St. Jol 834 The aay Stage Driver; or, The Mero of Rocky Pas: ststcesees DY Paul Bracd 835 Front Newsboy. ‘Up; or, A New York Bone a USIMGS Ss s4ciew pales osc: +5: spielen ispniee by N. 8. Wood (the Young Americar 4 ct 836 Alone in the Wild West. 837 The Secret of the Sealed Gold Many bee Nona 838 Little Blondin, the Tight-Rope Walker. .by ©, Li 839 Hom New York to San Francisco ina Catama- iy ltd aio .ace's.s © «yma ..:by John Sherm! ~ $40 A young Jay Gould; or, A ays Ameng the Monvey Kings........-.+ by, H. K. Shackleta 841 ouly an Errand Boy; or, Getting rh in me ae r] ‘ coevenstueeDY RL, mm 842 Jack Ready’s School Sotapes —-Gamic. by’ Peter 843 The Ice-Boat Boys; or, ort on be ; Waters in the Northwest, . dip. DO, 844 hii iad Joe; or, The Sharks of ew Yor y N.S. Wood (The Young Ameri et Ac 845 Young Troaalt, the Boy Gunner.by Joung ny 846 The Boy Gold Hunters; or, Vannes Aap in California........ y 847 The Shortys the Wild “Weatcoote a pete 848 Billy the Bugler. A Story of Governor's e deland Bnd NOW YOrks...cseesgsccres pe 849 Frank Reade, Jr.’s Chiage Through ihe ¢ C0) louds Nonam 850 A ei Boy; or, The Mystery of an Iron Chest....... were y RT. Em 851 My Friend Smith.. ‘by! ‘Talbot Baines R 852 The Boy Crusoes; or, ‘The Young Reet, (4 of the Pacitic...... .... by St. George Rath 853 Jerry the Tumbler; or, The Wonder of the .by Corporal Morgan Rat Foe 855 rank: Reade, Pyne aud ‘His Hlectrie Te m. 856 The Shortys’ Christmas Snaps—com Gy by Pete’ $57 Two Waifs; cr, Afloat in New York........++ by N. Ss. Wood (Lhe Young American Ac) 858 Frgriess Phi. in Disgiises or, The Tiger’s Last A -by Pan) Braae 859 A Ronthanh “Boy ‘in’ New ry Make His Money.. iy 860 Steamboat Billy; or, The fate- Rant Secret.. 861 The Boy Lion Tamers; or, Adventures in Afric: 862 Out With Kit Garson. A St ory oe Ae ae Days of Kansas...+...« H 863 The Boy Samson; or, Taking dais ‘Ot Tiatigel rs v 864 The Boy From New York; or, A Fight for vas LOMB Ses 02 bs 2s ong a sisi eee «by Percy B. Stia 865 Smart & Co., the Boy Peddlers.......by Peter 866 A Chicago Boy; or, Up From the eee Sher: 867 An Old Boy; or, Maloney After Bian ; 868 The Boy Telegraph Operator; ote Myst aa of a Midnight Message....by @ Ralpi 869 Dick Boldhero; or, The Sttange Seba of a Young Yankee Sailor.......Written by Him! _ 870 carry bi Greenhorn; or, From Stowaway to Sendters cutee: «+ by Gorporal Morgan Ratt 871 rom vernal Boy to Lawyer; or, Bow a to. be. ies at the Top.. by R. T. Bion 872 Bob Allen's Ranch; ‘or, A Cattle King at Pim wt 873 Behind the Scenes; or, Ont with a New Yorkie Combination—comic..... seersene DY Peta: 874 A Boy Among the White Gaba; ‘or, "A Vielim Of the Lash......... - by Paul Bra 875 General Washington’ 8 Boy; ‘or, The Youn Soldier in the Reyolution.....by Ralp! Mon 876 Pawnee Bilt and the Oklahoma ee ‘i oy * 877 Frank Reade, Sr’s search for a Sunken st or, Working 1 for the a ae Re 878 Young Captain Yom Drake; or, In Se: the Pirate’s Home. by the Author of * Gaptain Tom Drake, 879 A Bad Boy’s Note Book—comic .... ye 880 The Young Railroad King, or, Fro: Brakea" man to President.........by Gol. Ralph. Fen (yh $81 Joe Junk, the Whaler; or, ‘anywhere for Fu —comic . ,-+».by Peté: testes eeee enone mn . . 882 Lost on the ‘Atlantic. .......2-by Howard De \ 888 Monitor Matt; or, The Giant of the Waves. — ‘Story of the Great Rebel on.,.by Ralph 884 The Boy Rovers; or, The Adventures, ee Plucky Y BOYBises scar os ojos Sons 885 His Owm Boss; ‘or, The Boy Captain _ head Lake...» weds save dyes. DY POLCY) i