Thus matters stood in the saloon as the conversation within the sanctum was renewed.
"Rube Tisdale," said the stock operator, fiercely, "stop this child's business and listen to me."
"Well, I'm listening."
Though he replied, the man did not raise his head.
"Our scheme with the Webster Bank has proved a miserable failure in every particular."
"You don't need to remind me of that."
"But I chose to, and that is enough. First, all the money we got was five thousand dollars, for the bonds and securities are utterly useless; and second, the will of old Mansfield, which I was most anxious to secure, by your stupidity is lost, perhaps forever, and the secret of the hiding-place of a fortune in solid cash is gone with it, I suppose you understand."
"Well, it ain't my fault. You drew the plans for the job. You said there was a hundred thousand in specie in the vault of the bank."
"So there was at noon. How was I to tell that they would send it all to the Sub-Treasury in Wall street for security before three o'clock?"
"That's your business. It ain't mine."
"But the Mansfield will and the parchment telling the hiding-place of the buried treasure—who botched that job, may I ask?"
"I took the box of papers you told me about. I was particular enough to break open the lid to assure myself that all was right. I had it in my hand when we heard those infernal bats whistling in Trinity church-yard. It scared the life out of us, I want you to understand, for how were we to know they were bats or what they were? I must have dropped the box in the snow as we ran up Broadway."
"And because you happened to see Maria wandering about, you thought she picked it up, and killed her, only to find out your mistake. Well, Rube, upon my life you are a precious fool. Next time I let you into a scheme like this I'll know it, I guess."
"Come, you've called me names enough," replied the burglar, gruffly, raising his head and facing the man before him. "You are as deep in the mud as I am in the mire, I want you to understand. The detectives will turn New York upside down for this affair. Now, what do you propose to do? They've got Joe Dutton, and they've got a part of the swag. It's my opinion that the best thing we can do is to skip."
"Nonsense! Joe is all right. I shall make it my business to send some one to him at once. Have no fear, Rube. He'll never blow."
"And the—the body?"
"We can't do anything about that. Matters must take their course. I agree with you that it would be wiser for us to leave town for a while—not that I have any serious fears, but only as a matter of precaution—but I intend to have that Mansfield money before I go, make no mistake about that."
"But how do you propose to get it? Without the parchment you don't know anything more about its hiding-place than you did before."
"Rube, it is concealed somewhere about the old house, I'll be willing to bet all I'm worth. It was there on the night that—but no matter about that—and I'm sure it is there now. We never wanted that hidden wealth half as much as we do now. Frank Mansfield is almost of age; my scheme to convict him of crime may have worked and may not. We can't tell into whose hands the papers may fall. What we want is the money now."
"All very true, but how are you going to get it, when you don't know where it is?"
"I'm going to search for it, Rube!" cried Callister bringing his fist down upon the table with a bang. "I'm going to search for it, and I'll find it if I have to tear the old rookery to pieces bit by bit. Come, we've been here too long already. Wherever you think yourself the safest, there hide for the next few days until we see what comes of this affair. Meanwhile, I'll go home. To-morrow, at midnight, meet me at the gate of the Three Oaks, and we'll search for this hidden treasure as we never searched before. I've no notion of seeing it drop like a ripe cherry into the open mouth of that cub of a boy while I can raise a hand to prevent it."
The pair arose and passed out of the saloon.
The sleeping Paddy did not attract their attention—they did not perceive the boy behind the barrels at all.
Once in the street they separated, the man Tisdale going down Cherry street, Elijah Callister up Oliver street to Chatham Square.
He had hardly passed Henry street before a ragged newsboy went past him on the run.
"Sun—Herald—World!" he cried. "Morning papers! Herald—Sun—World—Journal!"
If Frank Mansfield could have seen the newsboy then he would have unquestionably recognized in him Jerry Buck, his companion of the old church-yard vault.
Had an elephant crossed the path of the scheming villain, or a dog, or even a mouse, he might have turned aside and looked upon either one.
Mr. Elijah Callister, however, paid no attention to the flying Bat at all.
AN INTRUDER IN THE HOME OF THE BATS.
We left Frank Mansfield standing in company with Detective Hook before the fence of Trinity church-yard, beyond which moved the form of the woman who had tracked his footsteps to the bank upon the night previous—of his mother, whom both he and his companion knew to have met her death in the upper room of the little rear house behind the Donegal Shades.
It was for an instant only that the figure faced them.
Had the warning words spoken behind them proceeded from those pale, set lips?
Such undoubtedly was the case.
And as if to make the matter still more plain, even as they gazed upon the apparition through the palings of the graveyard fence, the words were repeated again.
"Again I say to you, my son, seek not the parchment. Watch and wait, for the day of vengeance is at hand."
Suddenly the figure of the woman had come to a halt.
Raising one thin hand aloft to the starlit sky above, these words escaped her lips.
Then advancing with a gliding movement among the crumbling stones of the old burial ground, the outline of her form seemed to fade away in the darkness, to mingle with the shadows of the great church, of the snow-capped tombs.
It was all the work of an instant. Not half the time was consumed in the happening that has elapsed in telling the tale.
As though animated by a common thought, the detective and young Frank Mansfield had leaped toward the church-yard wall.
The fence offered no obstacle.
They dropped in the snow among the headstones.
"After her, boy!" whispered Hook. "After her without an instant's delay; there's some crooked work going on here, and it will go hard with some one, but I'll find out what it is."
But Frank Mansfield did not heed him.
He no more believed in ghosts than did Caleb Hook.
If the woman by the side of whose dead body he had knelt in the house on Catherine street had been his poor, insane mother, driven mad by such a combination of afflictions as woman is seldom called upon to bear, then who was this?
He needed no encouragement from the man by his side to spur him on to solve the mystery for himself.
The day had been clear and more than unusually warm, causing the snow to soften considerably, but as night had approached the thermometer had fallen, forming a hard crust upon the smooth surface among the stones.
With a bound Frank reached the point in the church-yard at which the apparition had appeared, Detective Hook pressing close behind.
It was unoccupied by human form.
The headstones were there, the shadows of the church were there, the leafless branches of the great trees rattled gloomily above their heads.
But the woman whose warning words had fallen so plainly upon their ears was nowhere to be seen.
She had disappeared—disappeared, leaving no trace behind.
There was not so much as the outline of her footsteps to be seen upon the hardened crust of the snow.
"Come," whispered Hook, "this is the way she went, over toward the New Church street wall. She cannot get out; there are but two gates, and both are locked at night; it is twenty feet to the ground on the side towards which she disappeared, to say nothing of the fence she would have to climb."
They picked their way among the tombs to the rear of the church.
Here, in the cold starlight, the entire expanse of the church-yard was plainly visible from the fence on the Rector street side to the wall of the great Trinity Building at the upper end.
Not the faintest trace of the woman could be seen.
Footsteps there were in abundance, but the hardened crust had formed over them, showing plainly that they were the footsteps of persons who had passed over the snow some time before.
As it was Sunday, and service had been held in the Trinity Church twice at least during the day, there was nothing strange in this.
A score of people might have amused themselves wandering about among the moldering tombs, as the church-yard is free to all.
Detective Hook examined these footprints carefully.
Among them he recognized his own and those measured by him the night before.
At one point he observed also many smaller than the rest, as though made by the feet of boys; and these were particularly numerous in the vicinity of a great flat tomb-stone, embedded apparently in the solid earth, about which the snow had all been cleared away.
"Mr. Hook," whispered Frank, nervously, "what can this mean?"
"My boy, you have me there. I can't tell any more than yourself."
"It is very, very strange. I saw my mother as plainly as I see you now. I heard her words spoken in her own voice."
"You are positive that it was your mother, Frank?" said the detective, musingly, as he stood contemplating the great flat stone.
"Positive? Of course I am. It is almost enough to make me feel that I am going mad myself. I should doubt my own vision, my hearing even, had you not both seen and heard too."
"There is nothing to doubt," replied Hook with sudden emphasis, turning his gaze at the same time upon the boy, who stood trembling with excitement before him.
"What you saw I saw, what you heard was heard also by me. No, no, my boy, there is no madness in this case. If you are positive that the woman murdered in Catherine street was your mother, that the woman I followed through the streets last night was your mother, then, although I am an utter disbeliever in spiritual manifestations of all kinds, I see but one conclusion to draw——"
As the detective paused, staring about the church-yard in deep perplexity, Frank felt a shudder pass through his frame from his head to his feet.
If the man by his side did not believe in ghosts, no more did he.
And yet——
Well, the woman seen by them both was gone, and that was all there was to it.
The whole expanse of the rear of the Trinity church-yard, toward which she had moved, now lay spread out before them.
If her gliding figure had vanished into thin air it could not have disappeared more effectually than it had.
"Come," said Hook, abruptly moving at the same time toward the low wall on the Rector street side, "there's no use in remaining longer; we shall learn nothing here to-night."
Gaining the fence, he vaulted lightly to the street.
Frank, following his example, stood by his side.
"Well, which way are you going?" asked the detective. "I am tired, and off for home."
"Oh, I stay with some friends to-night."
"Friends! What friends? Be careful. If we are going to work together, you must follow my instructions to the letter. Are you sure of these friends of yours? Won't they give you away?"
"I have no fear of that," replied the boy, quietly. "I've had some experience with treacherous friends. I know that I can depend on these."
"Very well. Go to them, then, and meet me—let me see—you can meet me to-morrow at my house at four o'clock, if you don't see me before that time. Meanwhile, I'll keep this box and these papers, including your grandfather's will. We'll lay out a regular course of action together next time we meet. If we only had that parchment, the way would be plain; but it seems that we are obliged to follow the advice we have received so strangely to-night, whether we want to or not—to watch and wait."
Pressing Frank warmly by the hand, Caleb Hook turned abruptly and walked off up Broadway.
He did not look behind him, nor even turn his head.
Passing Trinity Church and the grave-yard beyond, his form was presently lost to view among the high buildings which line either side of the street.
And not until then did Frank Mansfield move from the place where the detective had left him, but remained leaning against the iron fence at the corner of Rector street and Broadway.
No sooner had Caleb Hook disappeared, than he turned, and keeping close within the shadow of the wall, moved down Rector street in the direction of New Church.
As he passed opposite the Webster Bank he turned and gazed upon it with feelings of mingled shame and an utter despisal of himself.
If he had had no hand in the robbery, he had at least been ready to betray the secrets of those who had trusted him for hope of paltry gain.
Within the banking-room lights were burning, and the boy could see his fellow clerks poring over books and papers in the endeavor to discover the extent of the bank's loss before opening for business next day.
Deeply depressed, and with a sense of utter self-contempt strong upon him, Frank slunk by those lighted windows, and turning the corner of New Church street, still keeping close to the grave-yard wall, paused before the great iron door.
Leaning against it, he cast a hasty glance up and down.
The street was deserted. Not a soul was anywhere visible.
But stay!
It might have been fancy, but as he looked a second time it seemed to the boy, in his excited state of mind, that a woman's form at that moment turned the corner of Rector street upon the opposite side of the way and disappeared from view.
Darting to the corner at the top of his speed, he swept the short street at one glance.
That he had been mistaken was evident.
From Broadway above to the river front below not a living thing was to be seen.
"If this thing keeps up I shall go mad myself," he muttered, brokenly. "I see my dead mother now at every turn."
Pausing once more in front of the iron door in the church-yard wall, he gave utterance to a peculiar bat-like cry.
Presently, as though from a great distance, the cry was repeated.
Whether from above or below no one could have told.
Indeed, it seemed as much as anywhere to come from out of the wall itself.
Frank remained silently waiting.
Presently the great iron door swung slowly back, and a boy's head appeared in the opening.
"Is that you, Frank Mansfield?"
"Yes. Is that you, Jerry Buck?"
"Slide in, young feller," said the boy, in a whisper. "I'm a-scart to hold the door open long. After all that happened last night I'm expecting every minute that some one will catch onto our hole in the wall."
His sentence was completed within the old tomb itself, for Frank had entered at the first word, the door being closed behind him and securely barred.
"Come up to the den," said Jerry, leading the way up the steps. "Most of the fellers is in to-night and are abed long ago. I know'd you'd keep your promise and come, so me and Barney sat up to let you in."
Entering the inner apartment of the tomb, Frank found that the boy had spoken the truth.
Barney the boot-black sat smoking a clay pipe by the side of the table, upon which was a loaf of bread and a mug.
"Hello! I know'd you'd come!" said the bootblack, springing up. "Have you had your supper? I kept some in case you didn't."
"Thank you. I've had all I want," replied Frank, sinking wearily upon an old stool. "I'm tremendously obliged to you fellows for your kindness to me. Mebbe I shall be able to return it some of these days."
"That's all right," put in Jerry Buck. "If I can help any friend of Barney's, I'm glad to do it."
"Hush!" cried Barney, holding up his finger warningly as Frank was about to reply. "Jerry, as true as I live there's some one up above. I didn't hear no signal, did you?"
The three boys stood motionless.
Above their heads, at the top of the ladder, down which Frank had seen the two boys descend upon the occasion of his first visit to the tomb, a grating sound was heard—such a sound as might be made by the rising of a tightly-fitting trap-door.
At the same instant two feet were seen upon the top round of the ladder, which, descending, were followed by the legs and body of a man.
"Twigged at last, by thunder!" exclaimed Jerry Buck, uttering a warning cry, which had the effect of instantly arousing several sleeping boyish forms stretched upon pieces of old carpet at various angles upon the floor.
At the same instant a man sprang from the ladder and stood in their midst.
"Good-evening, boys," he said, quietly. "So this is where you hang out? Upon my word, now, it ain't half a bad place. I've slept in many a worse one myself."
CALEB HOOK MAKES HIMSELF AT HOME.
The boys stared at the man who had leaped among them from off the ladder with feelings of alarmed surprise.
Nor was the surprise of Frank Mansfield less than the others.
It was Detective Hook who stood before him—Detective Hook, whom he had supposed to be already far upon his homeward way.
"So these are your friends?" he said, quietly, as the boys gathered about him, with faces expressive of anything but welcome. "I rather thought I should tumble on something like this. Introduce me, Frank. It will take off the awkwardness a bit."
"Oh, we don't want to know you, boss," spoke up one of the boys, with a threatening air. "We don't allow no visitors, we don't, and we're going to show yer, too, blame quick."
"Yes," growled Garibaldi, the Italian boy, "disa whata coma from taka in de stranger among us."
As for Jerry Buck, Barney the bootblack, and Frank himself, they stared at one another, the two Bats surveying the boy whom they had befriended with angry looks, Frank regarding them with a face upon which was seen plainly imprinted every evidence of innocent surprise.
He did not dare to offend the detective, who could, as he was well aware, throw him into the hands of the law at any moment. He felt both sorry and ashamed to think that the kind-hearted boys who had befriended him in his trouble should for a moment think that he had betrayed their hiding-place to a member of the police.
"Is this feller a friend of yourn?" demanded Barney, in no pleasant tone.
"It is Detective Hook, boys," replied Frank, with as much firmness as he could muster. "I swear to you all that I never breathed a word."
"I knowed it," muttered Jerry beneath his breath.
But Caleb Hook, with a keen realization of the way matters stood, gave no opportunity for further words.
He had suspected the existence of just such a place as this from the first moment of Frank's mysterious disappearance on the previous night.
Now, it was a life rule of this remarkable man that no suspicion worthy of entertaining at all should be abandoned until either its truth or its falsity had been proved.
It was for that reason he had chosen for his meeting with this boy, in whose strange case he was becoming hourly more interested, the time and place he had.
"Hold on, boys," he said, a broad smile breaking over his face, "before you fire me out of here, before that little Italian sticks a tooth-pick into me or you condemn Frank Mansfield for a traitor, hear what the detective has got to say."
"Well, say on, den, blame quick!" exclaimed Sandy the Bat, who had first spoken, "for we fellers is a-goin' to pound the life outer yer in jest about a minit and a half."
"Indeed! Well, I'm not afraid. In the first place I swear now, without being asked, never to give this place away, provided I catch none of you boys transgressing the law. Second, I tell you now, and tell you the truth when I say it, that this young man, Frank Mansfield, never by so much as a word told me anything about this place, any boy here present, or gave me the slightest clew how to enter it as I did."
All the boys stared at the detective in surprise.
"I knowed it," growled Jerry Buck again. "How could Frank Mansfield tell him about the up-stairs way, fellers, when he didn't know nothing about it himself?"
"Well, what do you want with us, anyhow?" asked Barney, with a somewhat mollified air. "We're only a lot of poor kids as hasn't got no better place to tie up in winter-time nor this. We don't do no one any harm."
"I know that," answered Hook, pleasantly, "and that's why I propose to let you alone. I found the entrance beneath the flat tombstone in the church-yard entirely by itself. If you wished to conceal it you were foolish to clear the snow away. But you need have no fears of me, not one of you. All I want now is that you answer me a few questions, and then I'll be off about my business and forget that I was ever here."
"Well, that depends upon de questions," replied Barney, taking upon himself the duty of spokesman. "Maybe we'll answer and maybe we won't."
"They concern Frank Mansfield only and can't harm you."
"Fire away, den," said Barney, shortly.
Frank, meanwhile, maintained a discreet silence.
It was plainly evident that nothing he could say or do would help matters at all.
"Who was the woman that passed through here just now by the way I came in?"
The detective had seated himself carelessly upon the table, with one foot resting upon the ground.
As he propounded the question he coolly lighted a cigar, and passed one to each of the boys.
"I don't know wot yer mean," replied Barney, with some slight evidence of embarrassment. "Dere's no woman comes in here, is dere, Jerry?"
"Not much!" said Jerry, shortly, as he produced matches and lit his cigar.
"Well, I'll try again. Which of you boys found the box last night?"
He held up the tin box of papers handed him by Frank Mansfield a short time before.
"I found it first. And I gave it to Barney to take care of," replied Jerry. "I picked it up on Rector street, right in front of the bank, after I see'd the burglars run."
"Oh, you saw the burglars, did you? By the way, you are the newspaper boy that was with Frank at the Catherine Market this morning?"
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Jerry Buck."
"How did you come to see these fellows?"
"Why, I was coming down Rector street on my way here just as they were comin' out of the bank."
"Did they see you?"
"Not much," replied the boy, laughing and showing his teeth. "I'm too fly for that, mister. I hid in the shadow of the wall, and give them the bat call. Gosh! you orter seen them run! There was three of 'em—one had a big bag, another a carpet sack. It was the big feller wot dropped that box."
"What do you mean by the 'bat call?'"
"I didn't mean to say nothin' 'bout that," answered Jerry, hesitatingly, seeing that the Bats were regarding him with no pleasant eyes.
"Well, never mind," said the detective, indifferently. "I don't want to pry into your secrets, boys. All I want is to bring these bank robbers to justice, and remove suspicion from our young friend here. That's my business here to-night, and I've nothing to do with any other matters at all. I suppose you are all friends of his, or he wouldn't be among you. By the way, that was a mighty sharp trick, getting him away from the officer who had him in charge last night."
"Oh, we're fly every time, boss," replied Barney, with an air of conscious pride. "You can just bet your life on that."
Caleb Hook laughed pleasantly, and took an extra puff at his cigar.
"Frank, here's one witness to prove that you didn't rob the bank," he said, pointing carelessly to Jerry Buck.
"An' here's anoder," put in Barney. "I seen the fellers too."
"I'm sure both of them will testify to what they know, Mr. Hook," said Frank, somewhat puzzled to discern the detective's aim.
"Of course we will," exclaimed Barney. "Me an' Jerry has undertook to set you right, and we're de kind as goes de whole hog or none."
The reply came heartily, nor was the assent of Jerry Buck any less strong.
It seemed strange that these wild street Arabs had taken up his cause in the manner they had.
Strange to Caleb Hook as he sat scanning the faces of the "bats" about him. Doubly strange to Frank himself the more he turned it over in his mind.
But his situation was such that there was nothing for it but to drift helplessly with the tide, with Detective Hook for his rudder, to steer him to whatever haven of safety he might choose.
And the boy did well to place his reliance where he did.
Had he searched New York from end to end, he could not have found a shrewder ally or a better man.
"Good!" exclaimed the detective. "The testimony of two is better than that of one. Would either of you know the three men again?"
"Every one on 'em," said Jerry, decidedly.
"Good again. You saw the man over whom I tumbled in Catherine street this morning, when I tried to catch hold of your coat. Was he one of them?"
"Yes, he was, boss, an' a minute after another—the big feller wot dropped the box—went up the street."
"He did?"
"Sure's yer born. I know'd him the minute I saw him."
"I saw him, too, Mr. Hook," said Frank, eagerly, "and with him——"
"One moment," said the detective, throwing a warning look toward Frank. "I'm listening to Jerry now. You can tell your story by and by. Where did the man go, Jerry? Do you know?"
"No," replied the newsboy, shaking his head. "I went down to the house where the woman was murdered. You seen me there, you know."
This, of course, was true.
And yet the reader knows, as well as did Jerry Buck himself, that it was far, very far, from being the whole truth.
Of his subsequent adventures in Cagney's sanctum, of the conversation he had overheard while crouched behind the whisky barrels outside the half door, he said nothing at all.
Nor did he mention the little fact—and this the reader does not know—of his having followed the respectable Mr. Elijah Callister to the very door of his Fifth avenue mansion before allowing him to pass from before his eyes.
For reasons best known to himself Jerry Buck was silent in all these points, neither Frank nor the detective, as a matter of course, dreaming of the knowledge he thus held in reserve.
But whatever had been the motive of Caleb Hook in thus penetrating the retreat of the Bats in the Wall—the entrance to which let us say right here, his keen eyes had detected from the suspicious circumstances of the snow being cleared away around the great flat tombstone by the side of which he had come to a halt, when in company with Frank he had followed the strange apparition through the Trinity church-yard—whatever had been his motive, we repeat, it was evident that he had satisfied it now, for he leaped from the table and moved toward the foot of the ladder leading to the church-yard above.
"Well, good-bye, boys," he exclaimed, as carelessly as though his unexpected visit had been an every-day affair. "I'll call upon you fellows when I want your testimony. Never mind opening the door; I can raise the stone myself. Frank Mansfield, I want you. Come along with me."
He sprang up the ladder, Frank following him.
Completely carried away by the manner of the man, not one of the Bats even thought of interfering.
The flat tombstone was raised and lowered as they passed out.
It was of sandstone, much decayed, and only a light affair, after all.
What Caleb Hook had to say to Frank as they once more vaulted the fence, this time walking up Broadway together, we do not know, but it is a fact that the boy, who, had he fallen into the hands of a detective of the average density of skull, would at that moment, in all probability have been an inmate of the Tombs, spent the short remainder of the night upon a lounge in Detective Hook's own room, as comfortably as you pleased.
THE THREE OAKS.
The Three Oaks was haunted.
At least every one said so, and what every one says is supposed to be true.
To be sure, it would have been difficult to have found any person who had actually seen the ghost.
Nor was this necessary.
Strange lights moving about the old house at night, flitting from window to window, from the great parlor panes upon the first floor to the little diamond-shaped panes up under the roof, had been seen by the passers-by on the Fort Washington road at night, over and over again, and was quite enough for the neighbors who dwelt outside its crumbling walls.
But what was Three Oaks and where was it?
These are both proper questions, and should be answered at once.
Three Oaks was a house, and an old one at that. It still stands to-day on the road mentioned above, which is, as every one knows, in the north-west corner of Manhattan Island, and extends from the little village whose name it bears to the 155th street station of the elevated road.
It was a large house and an old house; it stood in the center of a thick growth of oaks, surrounded by a stretch of uncultivated ground, and divided from the road by a high stone wall.
A more gloomy, desolate-looking old rookery it would have been difficult to have found. And yet Three Oaks had been a handsome place in its day.
But that day had long since passed.
For ten years, at least, old Jeremiah Mansfield, its former owner had lived there alone. It was five years since he had been found murdered in his bed.
This was the work of burglars.
They had broken into the old house in the night, in the hope of obtaining a large sum in money, of which the strange old man, little better than a miser, was supposed to be possessed.
Whether they had succeeded in finding it no one ever knew.
The burglars were not caught—the dead lips of the murdered man never told the tale.
From that night Three Oaks had remained deserted, and was fast sinking to ruin and decay.
To whom it belonged few in the neighborhood could have told, but every one had seen the lights—seen them not only once, but again and again. And who but the ghost of old Miser Mansfield himself would think of prowling about the dust-laden rooms of Three Oaks at midnight?
That was precisely what the neighbors wanted to know.
You could not have hired one of them to have approached the old house after dark.
Indeed, some timid persons objected even to passing it on the public road after the shades of night had begun to fall.
Upon the evening of the day following the events of the last few chapters, at a little before midnight, a solitary pedestrian might have been observed picking his way gingerly along the Fort Washington road, opposite the moldering stone wall surrounding Three Oaks, sheltering himself beneath a large alpaca umbrella from the rain which all day long had been falling in torrents, rendering the snow of two days before a slushy mass beneath the feet.
Might have been observed, did we say?
The qualification was well put.
Surely no one save a person whose errand was most pressing would venture out in a spot so lonely upon a night like this.
The wind whirling down the road from the Hudson and the heights of the Palisades beyond played with the alpaca umbrella as with some child's toy, the rain coming down in what appeared in the darkness an almost unbroken sheet, has drenched the clothes of this unfortunate traveler as to make them cling like so many plasters to his body.
Indeed, so utterly saturated has he become, that it seems a matter of wonder that he does not abandon the umbrella altogether and boldly face the storm.
Slump! Slump! Slump!
As he raises one foot from the pasty, dripping mass of melting snow the other sinks through it to the very stones of the road beneath.
As he approached the broken gate leading up to the clump of oaks behind which the dark outlines of the old Mansfield house could be dimly seen, the man paused, leaned for a moment against the dripping wall, and gave utterance to a single word:
"Rube!"
There was no answer.
"He has not come," muttered the man, impatiently. "Can anything have happened? Rube is generally punctual. Perhaps the wind sighing through those gloomy old oaks has deadened the sound of my voice."
Again he called more distinctly than before:
"Rube! Rube!"
At the same instant from out of the clump of oaks a man's form appeared.
"All right. Come on," a voice was heard to say.
Pushing up the avenue leading to the mansion, which now more nearly resembled a rushing river than the smooth graveled road its builder had intended, he of the umbrella joined the man from among the trees, and both ascending the steps of the piazza, stood before the door of Three Oaks, sheltered from the storm at last.
"Pah! what a beast of a night!" exclaimed the owner of the alpaca umbrella, petulantly, shaking the water from his garments and closing it with a vicious snap. "I've had Satan's own time getting here, Rube. But it's just the night for our work. No fear of interruption from any inquisitive neighbors in a storm like this."
"You are right, Lije," replied the other, striking a match upon his trousers and touching it to a cigar. "But somehow I wish we had chosen any other night myself. It reminds one of the night the old man pegged out. You remember—it rained harder even than this."
Dim as is the light of the match, it is sufficient to show us the faces of these midnight visitors to old Jeremiah Mansfield's former home.
It is Mr. Elijah Callister who grasps the alpaca umbrella, it is his friend the bank burglar who now puffs away at the cigar—Reuben Tisdale by name.
"Well, upon my word, if you ain't the greatest fellow to bring up unpleasant memories I ever saw," exclaimed the stock-broker, crossly, as he produced a large key from his pocket, and inserting it in the rusty lock, threw open the hall door. "Why the mischief can't you let sleeping dogs lie? No man wants to be reminded of his past sins."
"I need no reminding of mine, Lije," replied the man gloomily, as the door was closed behind him and the broker proceeded to light a lantern, which he took with apparent familiarity from one corner of the carpetless hall. "They are before me night and day. If I had the courage I'd kill myself, but I have no more than a mouse. I'm a doomed man, Lije Callister, I feel it more and more, but being past redemption must go on sinning to the end."
"Well, if you ain't positively the worst," exclaimed Callister, impatiently. "What ails you?"
"I should think enough ailed me. With poor Maria's blood upon my hands calling for vengeance—ain't that enough?"
"You ought to have thought of that before you struck her. What's done is done. Be your old self, Rube. We are likely to want all our courage before this bank affair quiets down."
"What's the latest, Lije?" asked Tisdale, in a low tone, and with some expression of anxiety. "I have not seen a paper to-day."
"Oh, you may speak as loud as you wish," replied Callister, taking off the top of the lantern, and picking up the wick with a pin. "There's no one within a quarter of a mile of us. There's no special news other than what you know, except so far as concerns Frank Mansfield."
"And what of him? Did the plan of Billy Cutts succeed?"
"Yes, and no. Frank was arrested just as he was entering the bank, but on the way to the police station he managed to escape."
"The deuce! How was that?"
"No one seems to know. I sent a party to interview the detective who arrested him—a fellow by the name of Hook—but could only learn that somewhere in the neighborhood of the wall of Trinity church-yard he managed to give the officer the slip."
"Was he handcuffed?"
"Yes, so I understand."
"And has not been caught since?"
"No."
"That is most mysterious."
"So I say."
"What do they say about the bank robbery?"
"They all believe Frank was in the job, of course. The bank has offered a reward of a thousand dollars for his arrest."
"And what about Joe Dutton?"
"He was sent to the Tombs this morning. My party saw him, and he swears by all that's holy he'll die before he gives us away by so much as a word."
"He'd better," muttered Tisdale, fiercely. "He'll be a dead Joe if he attempts to speak—don't let him forget that."
"That's all very true, Rube," replied the stock broker, "but all the same his arrest is mighty bad for us. He's the first of our gang who ever fell into the hands of the law. When one goes, all goes—that's the old saying, you know."
"Then so much the more reason why we should succeed to-night. I tell you, Lije, as I told you yesterday. It would be healthier for us to leave town for awhile."
"Yes, or to put Joe Dutton where he can't do us any harm," replied Callister, in a fierce whisper.
"What! you wouldn't——"
"Wouldn't I? Well, never mind. Let's attend to the business we have in hand. Rube, old Mansfield's money is in this house. You know how the will reads. If Frank can be convicted of crime before he is old enough to inherit, which will now be in a very short time, the money comes to me in a regular course, and the parchment containing the secret of its hiding-place would have been delivered into my hand."
"Exactly. And not satisfied with the job you put upon the boy, you must rope me into a bank robbery, where all we get is five thousand for our pains. You must have that parchment, and this is the result."
"The result would have been quite different if you had managed to hold on to it instead of dropping it in the street," replied Callister, crossly. "That's where the folly comes in. But come, we've wasted time enough in talking. Let us go up-stairs to the old man's chamber. I've an idea that the treasure is hidden somewhere about the hearth."
He picked up the lantern and began to ascend the broad staircase leading to the rooms above.
"So you've thought twenty times before, but could never find it," growled Tisdale, following. "Didn't you examine this blessed old rookery from garret to cellar, not over a year ago?"
They ascended the stairs, and entered a large room at the rear of the house upon the floor above.
Ruin and desolation met their gaze wherever the feeble rays of the lantern fell.
Filled with rich and costly furniture, adorned with pictures, expensive cabinets, and rich hangings about the windows and doors, the chamber—once that of the master of the mansion—was a forcible illustration of the truth of that memorable warning against riches.
Upon earth Jeremiah Mansfield had heaped up treasures.
Moth and rust had corrupted—thieves had broken in to steal.
The rich carpet, the elegant hangings were worn and faded, the costly furniture heaped up in the corners rotting with dampness and decay.
From one side of the wall a large strip of heavy gilt had fallen away, green with mold, displaying the discolored plaster behind, dust covered the picture frames, the floor, the ceiling—in fact, everything in and about the room, and more than all the bedstead upon which the old miser had met his end.
This cumbrous piece of mahogany, tilted forward into the room, from the lapse of one decaying leg, was a dust heap in itself.
Tisdale looked about him shudderingly.
"Lije, it's enough to give a man the horrors!" he mutteringly said.
But the stock broker made no reply.
That he was in this chilling apartment for work, not talk, was evident from every motion he made.
Throwing aside his coat and hat, he placed the lantern by the side of the fire-place, and with a hammer and cold chisel, taken from the pockets of his overcoat, began to remove its back, brick by brick.
"Hold the lantern, Rube," he whispered, as he struck upon the back of the fire-place with the hammer. "There is a hollow space back of this—don't you hear? I tell you, man, we've struck it at last!"
Tisdale seized the lantern and stooped forward toward the fire-place, Callister ringing blow after blow upon the chisel, and prying out the bricks right and left.
Suddenly the whole back of the fire-place fell inward with a crash, raising a cloud of dust which nearly blinded them both.
Seizing the lantern from the hand of his companion, the broker thrust his head into the space revealed, a hollow in the chimney, large enough to hold a million in gold.
It was empty!
Save for the broken bricks and bits of mortar, the rays of the lantern shone upon empty space alone.
With a smothered curse, Elijah Callister drew back into the room.
"Fooled again!" he muttered, fiercely. "If the builders of this infernal den had constructed that place on purpose to raise my hopes, they could not have succeeded better. We'll have to try again."
The words had scarcely left his lips, when from the gloom behind them a strange sound fell upon their ears.
It was half-sigh—half-groan.
It seemed to come from behind the bed.
"My God! Lije, did you hear that?" exclaimed Tisdale, in a hoarse whisper, seizing his companion by the arm.
At the same instant from behind the bed there emerged the form of a woman, tall and thin, with pinched features, wild, restless eyes, and long gray hair hanging down her neck and shoulders.
Coarse, worn garments hung loosely about her, a cheap shawl was thrown carelessly about the shoulders and pinned across her breast.
With one long, white finger extended before her, she advanced slowly toward the villainous pair without uttering a word.
Could Frank Mansfield have seen her, he would have instantly recognized the mother whose death he mourned.
Could Detective Hook have seen her, not for one instant could he have doubted that Mrs. Marley, whose dead body he had raised with his own hands from the floor of that wretched upper chamber in the rear of the Donegal Shades, and this woman were one and the same.
With a cry of horror Reuben Tisdale sprang backward toward the fire-place.
"Keep back, woman!" he yelled, his eyes starting from his head in terror. "God have mercy! 'Tis the spirit of my murdered wife!"
With a deep sigh the specter, with a gliding motion, moved backward, disappearing in the gloom beyond.
And even as the last glimpse of her shadowy form had disappeared from the gaze of Elijah Callister, who, with whitened face, stood still, grasping the lantern in his hand, his companion fell forward with a deep groan, motionless upon the floor.
AN ADVERTISEMENT.
When Frank Mansfield awoke next morning he found Detective Hook standing by his side.
Indeed, it was the pressure of the detective's hand upon his forehead that had called him from sleep.
"Good-morning, my boy," he said, pleasantly. "It's time you were stirring, if you intend taking breakfast with me."
Frank sprang off of the lounge and began putting on his clothes.
"I could sleep all day, I think," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I never felt so sleepy in my life."
"No wonder, after the strain you have been under for the last forty-eight hours. That was one reason why I insisted upon your coming home with me. I want you to get thoroughly rested and refreshed; then you will be able to show what you are made of in working out our scheme. That hole in the wall may do well enough for newsboys and bootblacks, but it is no place for a boy like you."
"It served me a good turn the other night, all the same."
"I don't dispute that. By the way, how did you manage to get into the vault that night? Through the iron door on the New Church street side?"
"Yes, that was the way."
"I thought as much. I took a good look at the place and its surroundings before I entered. I thought I had sized it up pretty well."
"But how did you come to guess the entrance lay beneath that particular tombstone?" asked Frank, stooping to tie his shoes. "I didn't know myself where it was, although I knew there was some way of getting in from above."
The detective smiled.
"If I told you all I knew," he replied, pleasantly, "why, then you'd know as much as I do myself, and would have no further use for my services. No, no, young man, I am working for money. Under the will of your grandfather you are justly entitled to a large fortune, which through your own folly and the machinations of that man Callister has come mighty near slipping through your hands, if it has not already done so. My work now is to help you to the recovery of this fortune. Once you are in possession of it, I shall expect to be paid. Then ask me for my secrets, and I may tell you; meanwhile, we will see what kind of a breakfast my landlady has sent us up this morning, talk matters over together, and decide what is the first step to take."
He led the way into the room immediately behind the sleeping chamber, where a comfortable breakfast for two was already spread.
"I prefer to take my meals in private," said the detective, proceeding to help Frank to beefsteak, rolls, coffee and eggs. "It avoids all gossip among the boarders as to my movements and enables me to come and go as I please without exciting comment from any one, which is just the sort of an arrangement I need. Make yourself at home; if you don't see what you want, ask for it. There are the morning papers for you if you want to read."
Frank appropriated one paper, the detective taking another.
The first thing that struck the boy's eye was a full account of the robbery of the Webster Bank and the reward offered by the bank officials for his own arrest.
And over his mind there crept a feeling of renewed shame for the wretched position into which he had been led by his own folly.
He inwardly resolved that once out of this scrape—once clear before the world—that never, so long as he lived, should a drop of liquor pass his lips again.
"The papers seem to be making quite a stir about you, don't they?" said the detective, laying down the one he had been reading, and plying his knife and fork. "Wouldn't there be a fine kick-up if they knew I had you concealed here?"
"I suppose there would. I am entirely in your power, Mr. Hook. You can handle me as you please."
"Don't say power, Frank. I don't like the word. I know you to be innocent of any intention to rob the bank. Were it not so, I should give you up at once."
"And claim the reward?"
"Most assuredly. That's the way I earn my living; but I have no such intention. I feel interested in your case, and would like to see you righted, if I can. Besides, it will pay me better to help you recover the money than to choose any other course. I make no secret of my motives. They are purely mercenary, you see."
"I am just as much obliged to you, all the same."
"You have reasons to be. The ordinary detective would have marched you off to the station-house. False witnesses would have been brought against you beyond a doubt; you would have been convicted, and under the provisions of your grandfather's will could never have inherited a cent."
"I don't seem likely to in any case, now that the parchment describing the hiding-place of his buried money is lost."
"Don't be too sure. I have a feeling that we shall yet succeed in finding that parchment. But now for a question or two. How came those boys—what do they call themselves—to lend you a helping hand?"
"They call themselves the 'Bats in the Wall.' Barney has been in the habit of blacking my boots at the bank. That was the reason he gave for helping me as he did."
"'Bats in the Wall,' eh? A good name. That accounts for the bat-like cry Officer Schneider heard. As for the reason, that don't amount to anything. Depend upon it, these boys would never had let you into their secret for any such reason as that."
"What do you think was the reason?"
"Blest if I know. If I did, I am certain that I would have the key to much that is now mysterious about this strange affair. What do you know about this Jerry Buck?"
"Nothing at all, except meeting him in the wall as I did."
"There is something that boy is keeping back," said the detective, musingly. "Now what is it? That's the question. Have you noticed, Frank, how much he resembles you?"
"No, I'm sure, I haven't. Do you mean to say he looks like me?"
"Enough like you to be your twin brother. I never saw a more marked resemblance in my life. But that is always the way. A man can rarely see a resemblance to himself in the face of any one else."
"Well, now you speak of it, I can see some points in which we are alike. His hair is the color of mine; his eyes are not unlike——"
"Eyes, nose, mouth, everything," replied the detective, quickly. "But never mind that now. Tell me something of your own past—something concerning that mother of yours."
Tears gathered in the boy's eyes.
"It is a sad, sad story, Mr. Hook," he replied, brokenly. "After my father's misfortunes she lost her reason, as I have already told you. Mr. Callister, who had charge of our affairs, had her removed to a private asylum, where she has been most of the time ever since."
"What asylum was it?"
"Dr. Belding's, St. Nicholas avenue and 150th street, up near the Fort Washington road."
"I know the locality. You say you went there yesterday, and they told you she had escaped."
"Yes. She disappeared one night, some three weeks ago."
"And you were not informed?"
"No. Mr. Callister had the matter in charge. I visited the asylum from time to time, but they would rarely allow me to see my mother, and never at any time leave us alone."
"Was she very bad?"
"Well, pretty bad at times. She was particularly violent in the presence of Mr. Callister."
"Humph!" muttered the detective, "I'm not much surprised at that."
"She always had the idea that he was the cause of my father's misfortunes, though I'm sure I don't know why."
For a few moments the detective maintained silence.
"What was the name of your mother before your father married her, Frank?" he asked at length.
"Helen Dupont."
"Where was she from?"
"She was born in the upper part of New York, in what was then the village of Fort Washington."
"Has she any relatives?"
"I don't know. I never heard her speak of her past life at all."
"Then you have no idea why she should seek such quarters as that house in the rear of the Catherine Market, where we found her?"
"Not the slightest, Mr. Hook. When I first saw her in the street on that terrible night I never was more surprised in my life. I ought not to have left her even for a moment. I never would have done so had I been myself."
"There, there. Don't think anything more about it," said the detective, kindly, seeing that Frank could no longer restrain the tears. "Whisky makes fools of us all, my boy. Finish your breakfast and we'll talk about these matters later on."
He resumed the paper, leaving Frank to his own bitter thoughts.
For the space of a few moments neither spoke.
Suddenly, with an exclamation of surprise and satisfaction, Caleb Hook brought his hand down upon the table with a thump which made the dishes rattle.
"The very thing!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Frank Mansfield, fate is playing into our hands."
He passed over the paper to Frank, with one finger pressed upon the advertising columns.
"Read that," he said briefly, "and tell me what you think of it."
It was an advertisement under the head of "Clerks Wanted."
This was the way it read:
"Wanted—A young man for a responsible position in a broker's office. One familiar with a general stock brokerage business preferred. Apply to Elijah Callister, Room 62, —— Building, Broad street."
"Wanted—A young man for a responsible position in a broker's office. One familiar with a general stock brokerage business preferred. Apply to Elijah Callister, Room 62, —— Building, Broad street."
"What do you think of it?" asked the detective.
"It's Mr. Callister, certainly; but I don't see how it concerns me?"
"You don't? What we want in this little scheme of ours more than anything else is to set a watch on this man; to trace out his movements, to learn who his associates are, and what interest he has with bank burglars and thieves, such as the man in whose company you saw him at the Catherine Market yesterday morning."
"Do you propose to send one of your men to apply for the place?"
"One of my men! Why, I mean that you shall apply for it, and get it, too."
Frank laughed.
"He'd know me at a glance," he said.
"Would he? We'll see about that. After a certain costumer with whom I am acquainted is through with you I don't think he would. But, supposing you were so effectually disguised that he could never recognize you, do you think you could fill the position and play your part?"
"Yes, I'm sure I could. At all events I'm not afraid to try."
"Good! That's the way to talk. I've been studying you closely, my boy, and feel sure that you could carry the thing through as well as any actor living."
"Always providing that I can get the place. I have no references, you know."
"That is easily fixed. The president of the Stock Exchange is a cousin of mine. You shall apply for that position this very morning with a letter from him. Do you understand the duties of such a position well enough to fill it?"
"Oh, perfectly. I learned all that in the bank."
"Then come with me at once," exclaimed Detective Hook, springing to his feet. "If you want to clear your name before the world—if you want to avenge the wrong done by that man Callister to you and yours—embrace this opportunity which fate has thrown in your path, and never rest until you have read his secrets through and through."
THE GHOST OF THREE OAKS APPEARS AGAIN.
For an instant Elijah Callister stood riveted to the floor.
Then, springing forward with a fierce imprecation upon his lips, he approached the door of the deserted chamber in the direction of which the ghostly figure of the dead Mrs. Marley had disappeared.
It was firmly locked.
He had himself thus locked it upon their first entrance, not from fear of intrusion—that was not to be expected in a mansion so utterly given over to rats and the dust of neglect as this—but from the natural tendency of a suspicious evil-doer to perform his acts behind barred doors.
And even as he had left it so remained that great oaken door now.
There had not been sufficient time for the woman, were she living, to have even turned the key, providing it had been in the lock.
But the key was not in the lock—it snugly reposed at that very moment in the pocket of the man himself.
Now, Elijah Callister did not believe in ghosts.
Search the length and breadth of New York City over, and in all probability no less superstitious man than the stock broker himself could have been found.
He shook the latch fiercely.
It had not been disturbed—there could be no doubt of that.
No other means of entrance to the chamber existed save by one of the windows, forty feet from the ground, at least.
A strange sense of fear seemed to creep over him—a tightness about the heart.
There lay his villainous companion stretched senseless upon the floor.
Neither window could have been approached without passing directly by the place where the man lay, where he himself had stood.
And yet the appearance had been a reality.
The figure of Mrs. Marley had advanced from behind the broken bedstead, whose high headboard offered an effective shield to the movements of any object behind it, had moved forward across the room, and retreated in the direction from whence it came.
Seizing the lantern, Mr. Callister swept its light underneath the bed.
The dust that everywhere filled the room was there plentiful enough, but that was all.
There were no signs of its having been recently disturbed—it lay in one unbroken sheet upon the floor.
At that instant a terrific gust of wind swept the rain fiercely against the panes.
And amid its moaning of the oaks without, and the rattling of the rain upon the glass, a low, mocking laugh was heard, seemingly from the floor itself, which sent a chill to the very marrow of his bones.
"This thing must be investigated," muttered the man, striding toward the fire-place. "Either that woman lives, or—but, pshaw! Don't I know she is dead? I saw her killed with my own eyes. I know that at this very moment her body lies waiting identification in the Morgue. There is some infernal trickery in all this; what it means I must know and will."
Setting down the lantern by the side of the hearth-stone, he seized the shoulder of the unconscious man and shook it with all the violence he could exert.
"Rube, Rube!" he cried, "what ails you, man? For Heaven's sake, stop this nonsense and try to be something like yourself!"
Slowly the eyes opened and Reuben Tisdale, raising himself to a sitting posture, looked wildly around.
"Lije, did you see her, or was it only meant for me?"
"See her! Of course I saw her. There's some infernal jugglery going on in this house, and I propose to find out what it is."
The man shook his head.
"No, no. It was Maria's spirit," he muttered. "I killed her and she haunts me, and no wonder, in this evil room."
"Well, and what's the matter with this room?"
"Can you ask?" said the man, shudderingly, rising with difficulty to his feet. "After the crime committed here on this very bed, can you ask why this room should be evil to me?"
"I don't see what that has to do with it. If that is your mode of reasoning it ought to be the ghost of old man Mansfield, not of your wife, that should appear to you here."
Again the man shuddered, glancing at the same time nervously about him.
"I don't know what came over me," he muttered. "I believe I must have fainted for the first time since I was a boy. Lije, for heaven's sake let's get out of this. I shall be of no more use to you in this house to-night."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," replied the stock-broker, decidedly. "I shan't leave the house until I've searched it from garret to cellar and found out what this thing means. If it were not that I know that she is closely confined I might almost think——"
But what Mr. Callister might have almost thought was destined never to find expression in words, for, at that moment, his companion pressing his hand to his forehead, reeled heavily forward and would have fallen again had not the broker caught him in his arms.
"Rube, for Heaven's sake," he exclaimed, "what on earth ails you, man? One would take you for a nervous woman instead of the man you are from the way you act. Here, drink this. It will put some heart in you, and then we'll search this old barn together. If there is a ghost in it, I'll warrant you I'll have it out."
He passed a whisky flask to the trembling Tisdale, who pressed it to his lips.
"There, do you feel better?"
"Yes, somewhat, but I'm as weak as a rat still."
"Well, then, come along. I'm bound to see this out."
Striding toward the bedstead, he seized hold of the headboard and tried to move it out into the center of the room.
Weak and decayed before, this action proved too much for the dilapidated piece of furniture.
With a loud crash it fell a mass of broken rubbish to the floor, causing Tisdale to spring back with a startled cry.
"Confound the old trap!" exclaimed Callister. "But one thing is settled—what we saw is neither under it nor behind it, that is clear. Where the mischief it could have found means to hide beats me. The door is locked, and the rest of the room is all clear before us. There is no place in which a cat could lie concealed."
He flung open the door of the closet as he spoke.
It was empty.
Nothing but a heap of dust met his gaze.
"Come," he said, shortly, picking up the lantern and producing the key from his pocket; "there are rooms below and above. Let us examine them all, and see if we can find trace of her ghostship there."
He unlocked the door and led the way out into the deserted hall.
To the right and left opened other doors, connecting with the various chambers upon the floor.
Opening each in turn, Callister and his companion examined the rooms in silence.
One was a large guest chamber, containing various articles of antique furniture; another was a small bedroom, entirely vacant, and another still a bath-room, filled with rubbish of various kinds.
In neither one nor the other was there the slightest trace of the form of the woman which had appeared before them, nor evidence that the dust which covered everything had been disturbed for years.
Nor was their examination of the floor above better rewarded.
Here piles of old lumber were found, broken furniture, boxes, and bales.
Evidently years had passed since this portion of the house had been occupied. From the appearance presented there could be little doubt that it had been used for storage purposes by its miserly owner, who met death by violence on the floor below.
The parlor floor, the kitchen, and even the cellar itself, did not escape examination.
Equally to no purpose.
Some of the rooms were furnished, others were not.
Everywhere the furnishings were green with mold and sinking rapidly to decay.
No trace, not even so much as a footprint on the dust-covered floors of the ghostly visitant was anywhere found.
"It's no use, Lije," said Tisdale, hoarsely, as they paused at length in the great hall at the foot of the staircase which they had ascended upon their first entrance to the house. "You may search all night, but you'll find nothing. It was poor Maria's spirit that we saw."
"Nonsense, Reuben Tisdale! Do you mean to tell me that at your time of life you are going to give way to a belief in ghosts?"