TREASURE HUNTING.
"Hey, you Garibaldi!"
"Ay, ay! Alla righta!"
"Coast clear?"
"Beta your lifa!"
"Come on, then, fellers," said Barney, the bootblack. "If it's all right outside, we may just as well moosy along."
And the iron door of the old tomb set in the wall on the Trinity church-yard opened and closed with a bang—three "Bats in the Wall" stood upon the street.
They were our old acquaintances, Barney the bootblack and Sandy, the third being none other than Frank Mansfield himself.
Instantly a fourth lad came running across New Church street and joined them.
It proved to be Garibaldi, the Italian bat, who had been sent out of the wall to reconnoiter and report whether or no the coast was clear.
Evidently the "Bats" are bound upon some expedition, for Barney carries a spade, to conceal the true character of which a faint attempt has been made by winding newspapers about its blade; Sandy a similar package, while Frank Mansfield has under his arm that which greatly resembles a pick ax, tied up in a similar way.
To all outward appearance our hero stands upon a social level with his companions, and looks as little like Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Callister's new clerk, as that individual looks like the young man who was once assistant cashier of the Webster National Bank.
One day has elapsed since the visit of Frank to Miss Edna Callister at the house in Cottage Place, upon which occasion, the reader will remember, the missing parchment containing the secret of the hiding-place of the treasure buried by his grandfather was strangely placed in his hands.
Upon further examination, the parchment placed by the mysterious woman upon the window-sill proved to be the document named in the will of Jeremiah Mansfield.
Bidding farewell to the faithful girl—not, however, without having promised to see her again at the very first opportunity afforded him—Frank hurried to the Police Headquarters, where at this hour in the evening it sometimes happened that Detective Hook could be found.
The parchment, which he studied carefully, gave the most minute instructions as to where the buried treasure could be found.
With his soul filled with triumph, Frank hurried through the broad corridors of the Mulberry street building and entered the office where Mr. Hook was usually to be found when not engaged on duty elsewhere.
He was all eagerness to tell of his discovery and ask what, under the circumstances, had best be done.
But Frank was doomed to disappointment.
Caleb Hook had not been seen at headquarters since the night before.
Nor did he appear next day.
Frank, employing the messenger boys of the district telegraph freely, was unable to find the slightest trace of his whereabouts.
Mr. Callister was at his office as usual, and appeared more sleek and urbane than ever before.
He made no reference to the little affair at the elevator, treating the disguised Mr. Maxwell with even more politeness and consideration than was ordinarily the case.
Considerably alarmed by the unexplained absence of Detective Hook—doubly so from the fact that he had neglected several most important engagements that day—Frank resolved to confide the situation in part to Barney the Bootblack, and assisted by the Bats, whom he had learned to trust fully as the rough but honest lads that they were, to investigate the truth of the statements contained in the parchment for himself.
After the close of the day's business, therefore, he paid a visit to the vault and arranged to start upon their expedition that very night.
Thus it happened that we find the "Bats" leaving the wall in the manner described just as the clock of old Trinity rings out the hour of twelve.
"Now, then, where's de place?" asked Barney, as the four boys hurried along New Church street in the direction of the Rector street station of the Sixth avenue elevated road.
"It's at Fort Washington," replied Frank—"a good mile beyond the 155th street station. Up the steps, boys, and we'll start at once. Remember, Barney, if I succeed in this undertaking and in clearing my name before the world the 'Bats in the Wall' will never have occasion to regret their kindness to me."
An hour later the little party moving along the Fort Washington road might have been seen to steal quietly through the gateway leading up to the half ruined mansion once the home of old Jeremiah Mansfield, known as the Three Oaks.
The night was cold and cheerless—the wind sighed mournfully among the trees of the park-like inclosure—not a star was to be seen in the clouded sky.
Pursuing their way up the avenue, the boys came suddenly upon the house itself, standing half ruined and deserted among the overshadowing trees.
It was not without feelings of emotion that Frank Mansfield gazed upon it.
Many and many were the pleasant hours spent within the old mansion during the more prosperous days of his boyhood—days not to be forgotten so long as he lived.
And if that prosperity could be but in a measure restored? If the name of his dead father, to say nothing of his own, could but be cleared before the world?
The finding of this money would place a powerful weapon against the enemies surrounding him at once in his hands.
No wonder that his soul burned with impatience to grasp it. That he ought not to have moved in the matter without first consulting Detective Hook he instinctively felt, and yet——
But the impatience of youth is proverbial—than that no more need be said.
Familiar with the premises from boyhood, Frank, making no effort to enter the house by the regular way, and conducting his companions to the rear of the building, removed without difficulty a small window sash set in the wall close to the ground.
A moment later the four boys stood in the great cellar beneath Three Oaks, gazing about them by the light of a lantern which he carried in his hand.
It was festooned with cobwebs and green with mold. The floor was littered with boxes, old barrels, and rubbish of every sort.
Frank, setting the lantern upon a box, turned to Sandy and Garibaldi, who, not having been informed as to the nature of the undertaking in which they had engaged, were looking about them in a decidedly mystified way.
Barney he had taken into confidence, leaving him to tell the other "bats" what he pleased.
Having now reached the scene of their labors, however, it seemed necessary to make some explanation to these boys, who had come willingly with Barney to help him, and he accordingly briefly informed them of what he was about to do.
The eyes of the two boys open wildly.
"What! diga for golda?" exclaimed Garibaldi, in surprise.
"That's the size of it, boys, and it belongs to me by rights. How, it would take too long to explain; but help me out, and I promise that you shall have your share."
"You beta we willa!" cried the little Italian, throwing aside his jacket and seizing one of the spades. "Showa whera diga, I finda him, donta forget it."
Sandy likewise gave full assent.
"Then listen, boys," said Frank, pulling a paper from his pocket, and holding it up to the lantern on the box—it was a copy of a portion of the contents of the parchment—"this will tell us what to do."
He read as follows:
"Descend to the cellar. Measure ten feet from the north chimney, then five due west. Here a flat stone will be found, beneath which the treasure lies. It is for my grandson if he be found worthy, for my friend, Elijah Callister, if he is not. If it shall fall into the hands of Frank Mansfield, let him so dispose of it as to shed luster upon the name he bears."Jeremiah Mansfield."Three Oaks, January 1, 1879."
"Descend to the cellar. Measure ten feet from the north chimney, then five due west. Here a flat stone will be found, beneath which the treasure lies. It is for my grandson if he be found worthy, for my friend, Elijah Callister, if he is not. If it shall fall into the hands of Frank Mansfield, let him so dispose of it as to shed luster upon the name he bears.
"Jeremiah Mansfield.
"Three Oaks, January 1, 1879."
"Now for it, boys!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "This is the cellar, and we are here ready to work. Barney, the tape-line. Lay over to that chimney, now, while I run out ten feet."
The distance was measured off and marked upon the cellar floor.
"Now, then, five feet to the west. That's the idea! By gracious! here's the flat stone just as the paper says!"
It was as Frank had said.
Buried in the earth which composed the cellar floor a flat stone of a grayish color was discovered, above which all now stood.
"The spades, Barney and Sandy!" cried Frank, seizing the pick-ax himself. "Hold the light, Garibaldi, that we may see what we are about. Make what noise you like, boys, there's no one to hear us—this house has been deserted for years."
He struck the ground with the pick-ax as he spoke, the sound echoing upon the rafters of the floor above.
The earth once loosened, Barney and Sandy made short work of it with their spades.
It was of a light and sandy character, and yielded so readily to their efforts that Frank, finding the pick-ax useless, soon threw it to one side, and taking the spade from the hands of Sandy, joined Barney in the hole, now rapidly deepening.
Both boys had removed their coats, and were working with a will.
Around them the little mound of earth thrown out by their spades steadily grew, until a depth of four feet or more was reached.
And yet, they had found nothing. Nor was there any appearance that the earth had been ever disturbed.
"By thunder, but this is tough work!" growled Barney, straightening himself up. "How much further do you think we've got to go?"
"It is impossible to tell," answered Frank, working away vigorously. "It may be one foot, it may be ten—— By gracious! here's something now. I've just struck it with my spade."
A sharp, ringing sound was heard. The spade had struck something of a metallic nature at the bottom of the hole.
"I've found it, boys," he cried, in great excitement, stooping down and with his hands brushing back the loose earth from the lid of a great iron chest at the bottom of the hole. "The treasure is mine—mine at last! Let that wretched Callister now beware!"
"And 'that wretched Callister' bids you say your prayers, young man!" cried a deep voice behind them. "In digging that hole you have dug your grave. Prepare to lie in it now."
The four boys sprang back, Frank leaping from the hole.
There, amid the old boxes and barrels in the dim light, the forms of two men could be seen with cocked revolvers pointed—one directly at the head of Barney, the bootblack, the other at the head of Frank.
THE MYSTERY OF TRINITY CHURCH-YARD EXPLAINED AT LAST.
At the sight of Elijah Callister and his companion standing before him with cocked pistols in their hands amid the shadows of the cellar, Frank Mansfield sprang from the hole in which he stood.
Seizing the pick-ax, he advanced bravely toward the man who long had been the persecutor of himself and his afflicted family, heedless of the glittering muzzles of the revolvers pointed directly at his head.
Barney the Bootblack, Garibaldi and Sandy had meanwhile sought refuge among the boxes and barrels, the little Italian making the cellar ring again with his cries of fear.
"Shoot, if you dare, Elijah Callister!" cried Frank, with proudly curling lip. "You helped to kill my father, you drove my mother mad. Murder me, if you dare! There is justice for such as you. As God hears me, it will descend swift and sure upon your sinful head."
"Be careful, Lije," whispered the man by his side. "There are three of them—we can't kill them all. By Heaven! the lad is right, there has been murder enough. Beside, he is my nephew, poor Helen's son, and I say he shan't be killed!"
It was Reuben Tisdale, the burglar, the husband of the dead Mrs. Marley, by whose hand that unfortunate creature came to her untimely end in the little house in the rear of the Donegal Shades.
As he spoke these words, with one blow he struck the pistol from the hands of Elijah Callister, his own hand falling to his side.
"Meddling fool!" cried the broker, fiercely, springing upon him. "The treasure for which we have risked so much lies uncovered before us at last, and now you would spoil it all! That boy must die or we are ruined! I tell you he has been a spy upon us; he has——"
"Stop! He is my son, Elijah Callister, and he shall live! Harm one hair of his head at the peril of your life!"
Through the dark passages of the cellar the words resounded.
Instantly there burst upon the scene a blaze of light.
It rested upon the boxes and barrels, it fell upon the cobweb-hung beams overhead, and, glancing back, lit up the faces of Callister, Tisdale and Frank with a strange, unearthly glare.
With a loud cry the bank burglar, heedless of the blow aimed at him by his infuriated companion, sprang back.
"Lije! Lije! Look! look! It is Maria's ghost again!" he cried, frantically, clapping his hands before his face to shut out the light which met his gaze.
Before them standing by the side of the hole in which the buried treasure lay hidden, was the form of the mysterious woman who had played so stirring a part in this tale.
With one warning finger outstretched before her she glided forward and placed her form in front of Frank.
"Go, vile wretches!" she fiercely cried. "Go and work evil no more to me and mine! May Heaven's vengeance fall upon you both for your many crimes."
For an instant Elijah Callister stood regarding her with set teeth and eyes filled with snake-like glittering.
As he did so a mist seemed to rise before them, obscuring the woman and the youth, who now held her clasped tightly in his arms, from view.
And the light increased.
Through the cellar a loud crackling noise was heard as the light increased.
One glance behind him explained the sounds.
The rubbish which filled the cellar had burst out into a sheet of flame.
"It's all up with us, Rube, curses on your folly!" he whispered fiercely, as, grasping by the collar the man who had crouched cowering by his side, he dragged him toward the cellar stairs.
"Fire! Fire! Oh! missus! I've dropped the pan! and the hull business is a-burnin' up!"
Out from among the burning rubbish sprang a frightened boy.
It was Jerry Buck, with every hair standing up in horror, his jacket all ablaze.
"Take her through the window, boys!" cried Frank, springing toward the fleeing men. "Save her and save yourselves while I deal with these villains fate has thrown into my hands!"
He sprang toward Callister and seized him by the collar of his coat.
Too late!
With a sudden twist the stock-broker jerked himself free, and leaving the coat in the hands of Frank, had followed Reuben Tisdale up the cellar stairs.
To attempt to follow them was useless.
A wall of seething flames, bursting forth from the rubbish of years accumulated beneath the stairs, now intervened.
Meanwhile, Barney and Sandy had assisted the woman through the open window, gaining a place of safety without, while little Garibaldi was bravely but vainly endeavoring to pull the burning jacket from the back of Jerry Buck that he might be able to escape.
All attempt to follow Callister was useless.
Frank saw that at a glance.
"Let him go," he muttered. "Heaven will deal with him according to his deserts. After all, I cannot harm him, for he is the father of the girl I love."
He sprang toward Jerry, and wrapping the coat left in his hands by the fleeing stock broker about him, thus smothering the flames, drew him hastily through the cellar window, Garibaldi, the Italian, following with all possible speed.
The mysterious woman, Barney and Sandy stood upon the snow covered ground awaiting them.
With a low cry of joy the woman threw herself into Frank Mansfield's arms.
"My son—my darling boy!" she cried, wildly kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair. "Thank God I hold you in my arms once more! I have sought to prove your innocence, and though I have so far failed, come what will, we must not part again."
As she spoke these words behind the little group the roaring of the flames increased.
From the window of the first floor of the old mansion they now burst forth, illuminating the landscape for yards around.
"Mother, can this indeed be you?" cried Frank, gazing upon the worn features of the woman in mingled astonishment and surprise.
"It is, my son. And did you think me dead?"
"I most certainly did. I left you beneath the church-yard wall when—when I went into the bank. When I came out you were gone, and next morning I saw that which I could have sworn was your dead body lying in a house in Catherine street in the rear of a place they call the Donegal Shades."
The woman smiled sadly.
"Listen, Frank," she said, with more calmness than she had before displayed. "Listen to my story, to be told in a few brief words, and you will understand this mystery which has been puzzling you for weeks."
Here Barney was seen to glance at Jerry Buck, who stood quietly by, still wrapped in Mr. Callister's coat.
Neither spoke, however, and Frank stood breathlessly listening to what his mother was about to tell.
"I escaped from the asylum where Mr. Callister had placed me," began the unfortunate Mrs. Mansfield, "some weeks since as you know. I had been mad, but was so no longer, although no one would believe me when I told them so. My first care was to look for you, my son. With sorrow I heard of your dissipation and wrong-doing, and knowing well the interest Mr. Callister had at stake in leading you into crime, I determined to watch over you in secret and save you if I could. But this was after the time when, in desperation at what I had heard, I attempted to commit suicide by jumping into the river, from which I was rescued by this brave boy, known to you as Jerry Buck, but instantly recognized by me as the outcast son of my unfortunate twin sister, Maria Tisdale, the wife of that man who a moment ago stood in the cellar of yonder burning house by Elijah Callister's side. Stop! Do not interrupt me!" she exclaimed, seeing that Frank was about to speak. "A crowd will gather here before many minutes. Before it comes we must be far away. I knew the lad's features at a glance, and I told him who and what I was. In return he took me to the home of the 'Bats' in the old tomb beneath the church-yard wall.
"On the night of the bank robbery I followed you from the time you left Mr. Callister's office until I spoke to you in the street by the side of the fence which surrounds the grave-yard of Trinity Church.
"You would not heed my warning—you left me in the hands of those two young ruffians while you entered the bank to do the wrong into which you had been led by that young villain, Cutts, whom I knew to be a thief and an associate of thieves.
"No sooner had you entered than Cutts sprang back, and joining the two young men who had held me down, all three ran off down Rector street and disappeared.
"Meanwhile I slipped across the street and crawled beneath an empty truck, determined to follow you in secret the instant you appeared.
"There I found this good boy, Barney, who told me of the bank robbery and just how it had occurred. He had with him the tin box, also, which the burglars had dropped in the street. Examining the papers I recognized your grandfather's will at a glance.
"This I left with Barney, with instructions to give it to you, while I took the parchment myself, that by no combination of circumstances might it be lost.
"It was by my directions that Barney rescued you and took you into the vault, and when I knew you were safe I started to meet my unfortunate sister, Mrs. Tisdale—who had long been suffering from insanity from the brutal treatment of her husband—whom I had just succeeded in finding upon the morning of the day in which these events occurred.
"At the corner of Rector street and Broadway I met Detective Hook.
"He followed me, but at Park Row and Frankfort street, seeing my sister, who exactly resembled me, awaiting me, I slipped away while his eyes were for the moment turned, and saw him following her in my stead."
"Then it was she who was murdered?" cried Frank, lost in wonder and surprise.
"It was," replied Mrs. Mansfield, sadly. "Murdered beyond all doubt by the husband who drove her mad and made her life a curse."
"And he's the man I'll hang, even if he is my father!" exclaimed Jerry Buck, who, with whitened features and firmly-set teeth, had been listening attentively to the woman's tale.
"See here," he added, stretching out his hand in which a bundle of papers was grasped. "I've been looking at these 'ere while you two have been talking, an' can read well enough to know that they'll give me the grip on him an' his pal."
"Where did you find them?" cried Frank, eagerly.
He had seized the papers from Jerry Buck, and hastily examined them in the light of the burning house from which the flames were now pouring, illuminating the surrounding scene with the brightness of day.
They were small, but well-executed plans of the vaults of the Lispenard Bank, all marked "duplicate," and bearing upon them Elijah Callister's name.
"Where did I find them?" cried the boy. "Why, in the pocket of this here coat to be sure. Come, we must take 'em to the chief of police. If they ain't the fixin' of him what killed my mother an' the feller what's runnin' you down to earth, why, it won't be for want of tryin' on the part of the 'Bats in the Wall'—that's all I've got to say."
ELIJAH CALLISTER ADDS STILL ANOTHER CRIME TO THE LIST.
It was well on toward three o'clock in the morning when P. Slattery, the red-headed proprietor of the Donegal Shades, was aroused from his sleep in the back room behind his saloon by a loud knocking upon the outer door.
"Now who the blazes can that be?" he muttered. "It's too early for the market-men, I'm sure. Must be some drunken tramp who hain't got full enough widout disturbin' an honest man in his bed. Go way wid yez, ye spalpeen! It's not Pat Slattery that'll open the dure for yez the night."
Thump—thump—thump!
Upon the door the knocks were rained with redoubled strength.
"Begorra, an' I'm afeard it's break me dure in he'll be after doin'," muttered the saloon-keeper, tumbling sleepily out of bed.
He crept across the darkened bar-room, and pulling aside the curtains cautiously, peered out into the deserted street.
Two men stood without.
P. Slattery recognized in their faces Messrs. Callister and Tisdale at a glance.
The stock-broker was in his shirt sleeves and hatless. He was shivering with the cold, while Reuben Tisdale, pale and haggard, stood to one side with his eyes fixed upon the ground.
The sound of the movement at the curtain, slight as it had been, had not escaped Mr. Callister's ears.
"Open the door, Pat, for God's sake!" he whispered, pressing his face to the glass. "Rube's gone crazy, I think, and I'm almost perished with the cold."
"Be the pipers! an's there's suthin' gone wrong!" muttered the saloon-keeper. "It's the ould boy himself that's to pay, I'm afeard."
He hastily undid the fastening of the door.
Callister and Tisdale entered the saloon.
"Some whisky, quick, Pat," exclaimed the former, his teeth chattering as he spoke. "We have had Satan's own time of it getting here, and you must give us a shake down for the balance of the night."
"An' I'll do that same wid pleasure, Mr. Callister," cried the Irishman, with the good nature proverbial of his race, as he bustled behind the bar. "Howly mother! but yer gills is as blue as indigo. What happened ye that ye lost the coat an' the hat?"
"It's a story that'll take too long to tell, Pat. There, that's better"—he had emptied the glass of raw spirits at a gulp. "Now show us where we can sleep."
"It's no use, Lije," said Tisdale gloomily. "You had best light out and save yourself while you can. I shall have no peace until poor Maria's death is avenged. I'm going now to give myself up to the police; to see the spirit of my murdered wife again would kill me. I can't stand it any longer and I won't. As I told you before, I'm the Jonah of the gang."
The eyes of Elijah Callister blazed with evil light.
"You are, eh?" he hissed between his tightly set teeth. "So you are going to give yourself up, and ruin your friends, you soft-hearted fool—you man of putty—you—you—— Ain't it enough to have lost these plans, to have gone through what we have, without——"
He stopped, backed toward the bar, and, glaring at his companion, leaned heavily against it.
Unseen by either Slattery or Tisdale, his hand stole behind him like a flash, grasping a large cheese-knife which lay upon the bar of the "Donegal Shades," carelessly left there by the proprietor himself after cutting up the free lunch which it was his custom each night to spread.
"Is your mind made up, Reuben Tisdale? Will no argument bring you to reason? Speak—you had best be quick."
"No—I am resolved to do it, Lije, no matter what you say. I tell you still again I can't help it; I'm doomed to be the Jonah of the gang."
He stood dejectedly by the stove, his eyes fixed upon the sanded floor.
With measured step the man at the bar advanced toward him, one hand still held behind his back.
"And do you know what the men on the ship did to Jonah?" he hissed. "No? Then I'll tell you—they threw him overboard, as I now throw you, Reuben Tisdale, and the pit beneath this house, which already numbers its victims by the score, is the whale, and will swallow up the Jonah of the gang to which you and I belong, and you can bet your sweet life that from out of the depths of that whale's belly you'll never come forth to give my secrets away!"
The words had not fully left his lips when with a sudden spring, his now upraised hand descended, and Reuben Tisdale fell to the floor with a groan.
And while these events are transpiring how fares it with our old friend, Mr. Detective Hook.
"Why, he is dead!" did we hear some one exclaim?
Not at all.
Detectives, as a race, are hard to kill, and Caleb Hook offers no exception to his class!
Beneath the cellar of the Donegal Shades lies that brave man, neither dead nor helpless, but able to stand erect and move about, eagerly longing to escape.
And no wonder.
The foul pit in which he found himself confined was damp and slimy—filled with a thousand noisome smells.
For an hour and more after the body of the unconscious detective had been dropped through the trap-door by Callister and Cutts he remained lying unconscious upon the muddy floor of the place into which he had fallen, an old sub-cellar, used in former days by the occupants of the building, but long since abandoned on account of its dampness and from the fact that it was filled to the brim with the water of the East River at every tide rising above the usual height.
But Caleb Hook was not dead.
No.
By a merciful Providence the ball from the burglar's pistol, missing by a hair's breadth a vital part, touched a certain nerve, well understood by the medical profession, glanced from the accompanying muscle and buried itself in a fleshy spot, leaving its victim in a state of suspended animation, practically unharmed.
Its action upon that nerve spent, and the eyes of Caleb Hook opened to life once more.
Where he was or how he came there were two questions which he was unable to decide.
Matches which he always carried soon revealed to him the nature of the place—damp, foul-smelling cellar that it was, with the only outlet the trap-door through which he had fallen, a good five feet above his head.
Beyond a feeling of great weakness, he felt neither fear nor pain.
That he had been thrown there as dead he understood perfectly well, and yet—brave heart that he was—he refused to banish hope.
The hours passed.
Caleb Hook has exhausted every means to reach that trap above him, but in vain.
Crouched in a corner we see him now, his head buried in his hands.
Through the foul place the rats scurry past, but he heeds them not—his thoughts are upon the strange case in following which he has come to this living death.
The robbery of the Webster bank—the following of the strange woman—the murder of Mrs. Marley and her singular reappearance in the church-yard later on, passed one after another in hopeless procession through his mind.
The capture of the burglar, Joe Dutton, the man who dropped the dollars at the Catherine Market—whom we should have stated before was arrested by a policeman on Cherry street before he had run a dozen yards—and his untimely death also rose up before him.
That he had been poisoned by his associates in crime the detective could not doubt.
And the thought gave him no courage.
If these scoundrels had no mercy to share to their own what hope was there for him?
Hark! What sound was that?
Surely there are footsteps walking on the floor above?
Springing to his feet he stares wildly at the trap-door above his head.
It moves! It opens! But alas! it opens not in aid to him!
There is a low murmuring of voices, and suddenly the body of a large and powerful man drops through the open trap, falling heavily at the detective's feet.
THE JONAH.
As the body of the falling man struck the slimy floor of the old sub-cellar beneath the Donegal Shades, Detective Hook sprang back against the damp and dripping wall.
It was well that he did so.
With a heavy thud the man fell at his feet half buried in the foul and pasty mud.
Instantly the trap-door was heard to close above him, followed by the sound of feet moving away.
"Oh, God—oh, God, have mercy on my sinful soul! Must I die here like a dog?"
From the man at his feet the sound went forth.
Caleb Hook kneeled by his side.
"Courage, friend!" he whispered. "Courage! God may help us yet!"
"Ah—ah! Keep off—keep off!" shrieked the dying man. "Is not one ghost enough to haunt me, that the voice of the man I helped to bury in this devil's den must come ringing in my ears? Keep off, I say! Detective Hook, I know your voice! I did not raise a hand to kill you! You know it well enough!"
Crack!
The last match possessed by the detective is lighted—he holds it to the face before him.
"Reuben Tisdale, you, the most successful maker of burglars' tools known among the crooks of New York!"
The man raised himself with difficulty, gazing with wild, staring eyes upon the detective's face.
"Alive—alive!" he gasped. "It is hours since we threw you here, dead, as we all supposed."
"But I still live, Reuben Tisdale, and so perhaps may you. Answer, man! Beside that trap-door overhead, is there no way out of this?"
"Yes—yes," murmured the burglar, sinking back upon the muddy floor. "There is a secret passage, and you shall escape; for me there is no hope; Callister has settled me; foul fiend that he is. But I will be revenged—I swear it! I will tell the truth, as I hope to meet my poor wife above. Ha—ha! Elijah Callister, did I not speak the truth? There is fate in this—it is written that I should live to be the Jonah of the crowd!"
"Speak!" cried the detective. "Show me the way out of this and I will save you if it costs my life!"
"No, no," moaned the dying man. "It's no use—it's all up with Rube Tisdale at last, but you shall be saved: the secret passage leading from this place can be opened by a pressure of hand. It shall be opened, and you shall live, it is within my reach to do it, even as I lay here now."
"Then do it! Do one good action before you die."
"I will, do not fear, but listen first to the confession of a dying man."
"Speak, I am listening," said the detective, quietly, raising the head of the sufferer and supporting it on his arm.
"Caleb Hook," began the burglar. "I am a man of many evil deeds. Listen to the story of my life."
"In my youth I was a machinist; I had two friends; Frank Mansfield was the name of one, Elijah Callister, the other.
"Our home was in the upper part of New York, now known as High Bridge.
"Near us lived two twin sisters, beautiful girls, both. Their names were Helen and Maria Dupont.
"I married Maria, my friend Mansfield Helen, and then the trouble began.
"Little by little, by Callister I was led into crime, and for years we have worked together, he making plans for burglaries, I furnishing the tools and assisting to carry them out.
"Frank Mansfield—I speak now of the father of the lad you know by that name—would not join us. In fact, he never suspected Callister, although he knew well what I was about myself.
"Time passed and he prospered, our families were separated and never met.
"Callister hated him. He had himself loved Helen Dupont, and when she married Mansfield swore to be avenged.
"By trickery and device he so worked upon Mansfield's father as to cause him to make a singular will——
"Yes, yes," interrupted the detective, "I know all about that, you need not stop to explain."
"Do you? It may be so, but you do not know that it was Callister and myself who killed old Jeremiah Mansfield in his bed hoping to gain the buried treasure which we never found. You do not know that we robbed Mansfield's store of the funds intrusted to his care, and casting suspicion upon him drove his wife mad as was mine already, and sent him with a blackened name down to a defaulter's grave.
"We did that, Caleb Hook, and more. We robbed the Webster bank, and concocted the conspiracy to throw the burden of that crime on Frank Mansfield's son, the lad arrested by you."
"And you did all this," said the detective, sternly. "Reuben Tisdale, you are justly punished, you——"
"Hush, hush! If that were all I might still wish to live.
"Listen, for my breath grows short. You saw a woman dead in an upper room in the house in the rear of this evil den?"
"Yes, yes, Mrs. Marley—what of her?"
"Mrs. Marley was not her name. She was Maria Tisdale—my wife. Detective Hook, it was my hand that struck her down. I did it in anger, God forgive me, poor insane creature that she was. I saw her hovering about the Webster bank—I thought she had found in the street certain papers which I dropped, and——"
"And you killed her?"
"I did; I—ah! Take her off! take her off! There she is bending over me! Her hand is above my throat now!"
"Hush! hush!" whispered the detective. "There is no one here but ourselves.
"My God, the man is dying!" he exclaimed, as the eyes of Reuben Tisdale closed and the head rested more heavily on his arm.
"No—I—I—still live."
The words came faintly from the parted lips.
"Drag me to the wall—there—right—behind—you. Stop—them—they rob the—Lispenard bank—at—twelve—to-night. Callister—made plans—I—revenge—revenge—oh! God have mercy on my sinful soul!"
They were the last words of Reuben Tisdale on earth.
Even as they were uttered, dragged across the slimy floor of the cellar by the detective, he stretched forth his hand and pressed a groove in what appeared to be a wall of solid stone.
It moved, it opened, a door flew back, displaying a dark and narrow passage at the very moment the man breathed his last.
Laying him gently down. Caleb Hook, trembling with weakness and excitement, moved toward the secret passage now disclosed.
"Saved—saved!" he murmured, faintly. "Means of escape are open before me, but—oh, God! how weak I am! This mist before my eyes—this trembling in my limbs! I—I—help—oh, help!"
The "Jonah" has spoken.
Have his revelations come too late?
Apparently, for the trembling form of Caleb Hook sinks lifeless across the very entrance to the secret passage.
A FRUSTRATED CRIME—THE END.
Since the startling events at the Three Oaks, terminating with the complete destruction of that gloomy old mansion by fire, another day has passed, and night has settled down upon the city of New York once more.
It has been an eventful day for many, no doubt; of its events for our hero, Frank Mansfield, his mother restored to reason and the world, and his faithful friends, the "Bats in the Wall," we have no time to speak.
Meanwhile, the virtuous Mr. Callister appeared at his office as usual, and figured prominently in several large transactions on the floor of the Stock Exchange.
The new clerk, Mr. Maxwell, however, did not appear at the office, nor had Detective Hook been seen by any one.
The police authorities, now thoroughly alarmed by his continued absence, caused a general alarm to be sent out, and during the entire day his brother detectives searched for him in all directions, but in vain.
Now, upon the night of the day in question, had any one chanced to stand upon the bulkhead of the East river front at a point somewhere between Catherine street and the Market slip, they might have observed a man of most singular appearance creep apparently out of the solid wall of the bulkhead itself, and, with evident effort, leap to the deck of a little sloop lying within arm's-length of the street line.
Once upon the deck of the sloop, he did not pause, but seizing the string-piece of the bulkhead, drew himself to the ground above, and standing erect, gave vent to a sigh of relief.
And no wonder.
From head to foot he was a mass of dripping mud.
"Safe—safe at last!" he muttered; "safe and free to act once more. It still lacks something of twelve—if my strength holds out I may make it yet. I will make it. Let Elijah Callister beware, for the day of his reckoning at last has come."
Turning abruptly he crossed South street and disappeared in the dark shadows of the great warehouses which cluster around the East river shore.
Who is this man who swears vengeance upon so worthy, so pious a member of society as Mr. Elijah Callister of the Tenth Baptist Church?
His name is Caleb Hook.
His business is that of a police detective.
Reuben Tisdale was right.
Out of the whale's belly the avenger has come.
Fate had indeed willed that he should prove the Jonah of the band.
"Now, then, Billy, you slip up the steps and try the door. If the watchman has not gone back on us, it ought to open at the first touch."
Before the Lispenard Bank stood three men, well disguised in great coats and low slouch hats, one carrying a small grip-sack in his hand.
They are Elijah Callister and the two Cutts—father and son.
It is the stock broker who speaks, and Billy Cutts, the renegade detective, is the one who creeps up the steps of the Lispenard Bank in obedience to his command.
"Is it all right, Billy?" whispered Cutts, the elder. "We want to get off the street as soon as we possibly can."
"All right, dad, come on."
The two men moved stealthily toward the steps of the bank.
"Squeak! squeak! squeak!"
Behind them a low, bat-like cry went up for one instant only, and then all was still.
"What the deuce was that?" whispered Callister, drawing back in alarm.
For the space of a minute all three stood motionless, Billy Cutts at the top of the steps, Callister and Cutts the elder at the foot.
The street was utterly deserted.
Nor was this strange.
Lower New York is always deserted at night, and the hour of twelve had already passed.
Before them rose the grim stone walls of the Custom House on William street—that upon which the Lispenard bank is situated—from Wall to Beaver, as far as the eye could reach, not a living thing could be seen.
"Come on; it's only a blasted bat!" whispered Billy Cutts, from the top of the steps. "We have no time to fool away, I tell you. First thing we know a cop will be along. The goose is ready for the plucking, and we want to be about it. It's blame strange Rube didn't show up!"
"Oh, never mind him!" answered Callister, hastily. "Probably he's off on some other lay. Open the door, Billy, and we are with you. We must and shall put this job through successfully. There's enough in that vault to make us all independent for life!"
"Go on—go on, you make too much talk," whispered Sam Cutts, leading the way up the steps. "Lead on there, Billy, if the door is open. We've nothing to fear."
Billy Cutts opened the door softly without reply.
Followed by his companions, he entered the bank.
"Hey, Mike!" he whispered, hoarsely.
It was the bank watchman he called who, faithless to his trust, had been bribed to assist them in their work.
There was no reply.
Within the bank all was dark; by the feeble rays of the street lamp without the outlines of the desks could be just discerned.
"Hey, Mike! Mike!" whispered Billy Cutts again, stealthily advancing.
The words had scarcely left his lips, than through the interior of the Lispenard Bank there shot out a blaze of light.
"Throw up your hands, there!" cried a stern voice before them. "Up with them, or you are dead men!"
With a low cry, Elijah Callister sprang toward the door.
Before them, in the full blaze of the lighted gas, stood Frank Mansfield and five policemen at his side, with glittering revolvers in their outstretched hands, aimed directly at the burglars' heads.
"Halt, there!"
Behind them, entering by the door through which Callister had turned to flee, a second posse of police was seen, headed by the pale determined figure of Detective Hook, while following close behind were three ragged street boys, easily recognized as our old friends Barney, the bootblack, Sandy and Garibaldi the Bats in the Wall.
"Those are your men, officers!" cried Frank, in clear, ringing tones. "That's Callister—the tall one by the door—that's the head of the gang who robbed the Webster bank, and sought to throw the crime on me!"
Morning dawned upon the city of New York with clearer skies so far as Frank Mansfield was concerned, than he had known for months.
The end had come.
The mystery of the robbery of the Webster bank was a mystery no more.
The rising sun found the virtuous Mr. Callister and the two Cutts snugly ensconced in the Tombs.
Before a force so overwhelming they had not even tried to resist.
And then the whole thing came out, and the newspapers rang with it next day.
It appeared that the first information of the intended robbery of the Lispenard bank had been given by Frank Mansfield, who walked boldly into the office of the Chief of Police, told his whole story and placed the plans found in the coat of Callister in his hands.
It was upon information thus received that the police secreted themselves in the bank after nightfall, stationing the "Bats" to watch outside and sound the alarm of the approach of the burglars by their usual cry.
The arrival of Detective Hook had been an entirely independent affair.
Reviving at last from his swoon, this brave officer had escaped by the secret passage—an old sewer beneath the Donegal Shades, used doubtless by the scoundrels who frequented that den for the conveyance of stolen goods—as we have seen, and hurrying to the Oak street station had made his story known, and started with a number of policemen for the Lispenard bank.
Of their timely arrival we are already informed.
That the arrest of Callister made a tremendous stir in financial circles need not be told.
But Frank Mansfield stands to-day rich, happy and prosperous, his name justified before the world.
The officers of the Webster bank now understand his innocence, and would be only too glad to receive him again into their employ.
But Frank has no need for further toil.
From beneath the ruins of the Three Oaks there came forth a golden treasure which has placed him beyond all fear of want.
For a round half million will do that and leave some to spare, even in these expensive days, and such proved to be the value of the gold and gems buried by that strange old man, Jeremiah Mansfield, in the cellar of the great house where for so many years he dwelt alone.
During the search which took place at the ruins, both Detective Hook and Frank's new-found cousin, Jerry Buck, whose true name proved to be Dupont Tisdale, assisted.
By Jerry the presence of Mrs. Mansfield at the Three Oaks was made perfectly plain.
Familiar with the house and its secret passages for years, she had, assisted by the boy, played the ghost most successfully, gliding in and out of the chamber of its former owner by means of a secret panel set in the wall, while the light—nothing more than the usual stage fire—was used to add effect to the scene at the suggestion of Jerry himself.
They found the iron chest without difficulty, and the will having been placed in the hands of the Surrogate of New York County, its contents were turned over to that official to be dealt with according to the law.
By the confession of Tisdale, all stain being removed from the name of our hero, in due time he came into his own.
And these two important points being settled, nothing remains but to dispose of the principal actors in this strange but true narrative of events growing out of the robbery of the Webster bank.
The body of Reuben Tisdale was recovered from the sub-cellar beneath the Donegal Shades upon the morning of the burglars' arrest.
In some unexplained manner, P. Slattery had got wind of the affair, and deserting his saloon, has never since been seen.
In due time, Elijah Callister, exposed in his true colors before the world, paid the penalty of his many crimes upon the scaffold in the yard of the Tombs, which event occurring as it did only a few months since, after a long and much talked of trial, must still be fresh in the minds of all who read this tale.
The Cutts, father and son, were sentenced to Sing Sing on the testimony of Caleb Hook, for a term of years.
Between the detective and Mr. Billy Cutts this most effectually squared accounts.
For his services, so kindly and faithfully rendered, as may be well believed, Frank Mansfield saw this brave member of the New York detective force fully repaid.
Indeed, it is rumored that so liberal was this compensation, that there is no actual need for Caleb Hook to continue on the force.
The papers given by Mrs. Mansfield to the detective in the room in Cherry street proved to be simply a desultory description of the history of that unfortunate woman's past life.
Before his final resignation of the case he turned them over to Frank, who having revised them in the light of later disclosures, gave them to the press, thereby clearing the name of his dead father from all stain, Tisdale's confession rendering it absolutely certain that the funds placed in the hands of that unfortunate gentleman for safe-keeping had been stolen by Callister and himself.
The watchman of the Lispenard Bank, and Flaherty, the "crooked" policeman on the beat covering the Webster Bank, were tried together for aiding and abetting the gang of burglars.
Against Mike, the watchman, the evidence was conclusive, and he was sent to Sing Sing to keep company with his friend Detective Cutts, but Flaherty escaped for want of evidence, although he was dismissed from the police force in disgrace.
Jim Morrow and Ed Wilson, Frank's fast companions, who assisted Billy Cutts to betray him, we presume remain still in California—at all events we have heard nothing of them since.
Nor is this to be regretted.
Frank plays poker no more, and has no use for any of their sort.
In an elegant mansion on one of the avenues, Frank Mansfield lives with his mother, whose reason is now fully restored.
With them dwells a young lady who seldom appears in public, and dresses in the deepest black.
It is Miss Edna Callister, who, while admitting the justice of her father's punishment, still deplores his fate.
Time, which cures all things, has, however, already done its work for her, and it is commonly rumored that at the expiration of the prescribed year of mourning, her marriage with our hero will be duly announced.
With them also dwells Jerry Buck, who is now attending school, and endeavoring to make up by hard study for the time lost during the years spent as a waif in New York's streets.
The old vault beneath the grave-yard of Trinity Church is deserted now—restored to its original use, a burial place of the dead.
After the newspaper disclosures the boys could not return there, of course, and Frank, mindful of his promise, not only rewarded Barney, the bootblack, Sandy and Garibaldi by a substantial gift from his newly acquired wealth, but provided for all the boys a comfortable home.
"For the result of these strange events," as he remarked to us the other day, when we visited him at his elegant home for additional particulars to be incorporated in this tale, "might have proved to be a very different affair had it not been for the timely assistance afforded my mother and myself by those kind-hearted street boys, the 'Bats in the Wall.'"
[THE END.]
Added table of contents.
Retained some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. second hand vs. second-hand).
Changed Lige to Lije for consistency (twice).
Removed unnecessary quote before "Now, in thus demanding...."
Changed "neerest" to "nearest."
Changed "to night" to "to-night" for consistency.
Changed "Detetective" to "Detective."
Changed comma to period after "she will ruin all."
Added missing quotes after "try the door" and before "Mistake added...."
Added missing comma after "better by and by."
Changed "Schnieder" to "Schneider" (twice).
Added missing quote after "bats in the wall?"
Removed unnecessary quote after "P. Slattery's Shades."
Changed "That was the true meaning" to "What was the true meaning."
Changed "clastered" to "clustered."
Changed "fasionable" to "fashionable."
Changed "suddenly appear within" to "suddenly disappear within" (error found inNew York Detective Libraryedition but not inBoys of New Yorktext).
Added missing "it" to "Frank took the document from his pocket and placed it in his hands" (based on consultation of originalBoys of New Yorkappearance).
Added missing long dash after "who was said--who" (based on consultation of originalBoys of New Yorkappearance).
Changed "churchyard" to "church-yard" for consistency (twice).
Changed "cotemplating" to "contemplating."
Removed unnecessary quote after "And yet——."
Changed "boys's" to "boy's."
Added missing quote after "return it some of these days."
Changed "Garabaldi" to "Garibaldi."
Changed "familarity" to "familiarity."
Removed duplicate word from "clump of of oaks."
Removed unnecessary quote after "Reuben Tisdale by name."
Removed unnecessary quote after "even had they been so disposed" and "sort of an affair I like."
Added missing quote before "exclaimed the stock-broker."
Changed "familarity" to "familiarity."
Changed "but the name" to "by the name."
Added missing quote after "this is the result."
Changed "Mansfied" to "Mansfield."
Swapped ? and ! in "Now, where is that sealed parchment? That's the question before the house!"
Changed "supposing your" to "supposing you."
Changed "couse" to "course."
Added missing quote after "what's the matter with this room?"
Changed "forhead" to "forehead."
Added missing quote after "within our grasp."
Changed "suburbam" to "suburban."
Changed "goverment" to "government."
Removed superfluous quote after "Who are you, sir?"
Removed unnecessary quote after "How——."
Added missing quote before "there's the fellow."
Changed "monment" to "moment."
Changed "got got" to "got."
Changed "Are your not" to "Are you not."
Changed "similiar" to "similar."
Changed "that was ordinarily" to "than was ordinarily."
Changed "weeke" to "weeks."
Changed "at steak" to "at stake."
Changed "cuting" to "cutting."
Changed "Hook Spring" to "Hook sprang."
Changed "murder" to "murderer" in "A strange murderer, for a fact." (Based on consultation of originalBoys of New Yorkappearance).
Changed "Deeective" to "Detective."
Changed "tremling" to "trembling."
Changed ! to ? in "Well, which way are you going?" and "Won't they give you away?"
Changed "Tree Oaks" to "Three Oaks."
Changed "floor" to "door" in "The rapping was upon the door...." (Based on consultation of originalBoys of New Yorkappearance).
Changed "seeen" to "seen."
Changed "Ruben" and "Rueben" to "Reuben."
Removed unnecessary comma from "Elijah, Callister."
Added missing comma in "Rube, Cutts and myself."
Changed "Mansfied" to "Mansfield."
Changed ! to ? in "My slight to you, dearest?"
Removed unnecessary quote before "With them dwells...."
Added missing end single quote to final "Bats in the Wall."