"Where?"
"I can't recall; possibly in some club."
Our hero had detected that he was dealing with a very smart man—a man of nerve and coolness—a man who went slow but sure. He also discerned that it was to be a play of skill and experience in roguery against experience and skill in detective work.
"Let's take a little of their whisky," said the man. "It's about all we can get out of this game."
Oscar, having set out to be led, rose from the table, cashed in his checks, as his whilom friend did, and followed to the sideboard where they were joined by the second man, and number one said:
"My friend Thatford. I don't know your name, sir."
"Woodford Dunne," answered our hero promptly.
"Yes, I've heard the name. I reckon you are acquainted with some friend of mine, for I've certainly heard the name."
The men had poured out their drink, when number one, who had announced his own name as Girard, said:
"That's mighty poor whisky. It's like the game—bad."
Thatford said:
"Let's go and have a little lunch and a good drink to wash out that vile stuff."
"Will you go with us?" said Girard.
"You must excuse me, gentlemen; I am a stranger. I cannot thrust myself upon you."
"It's no thrusting; we would be glad to have you joinus. Thatford and I are no strangers in New York. Really, I am glad to have met you. I know a good fellow when I meet him. I am a sort of mind reader in picking out thoroughbreds."
"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will decline your invitation. I thought I'd drop around to the theater and see the closing act."
"That ain't a bad scheme. We'll go with you and have a little cold snack afterward."
As the men had invited our hero to accompany them he could not well refuse to permit them to accompany him, especially in view of the little plan he had settled to act in regard to them.
The three men did proceed to a theater, and our hero was surprised to see one of the men, Girard, bow to a very innocent-looking and beautiful girl who was in a private box in company with quite a stylish party. Girard was a good-looking man and he dressed with faultless taste. No one would suspect him as a rogue on his appearance, and besides his manners were excellent—quite gentlemanly.
Oscar fixed his gaze on the fair girl between whom and Girard the nod of recognition had passed, and as he stood there in the theater he revolved in his mind the singular facts. He wondered how a man of Girard's polished exterior should have been chosen to act the spy on a common confederate rogue.
Later he was destined to learn why Girard had been selected.
When the curtain went down on the last act Girard said:
"Thatford, you will have to excuse me to-night. I see a lady friend here. I may receive an invitation to dine with the party she accompanies."
"I won't excuse you," said Thatford.
"Our friend here will keep you company."
"No, you must go with me."
"Where will you go?"
"To the Brunswick."
"I may join you later."
Oscar discerned the fine play that was being worked on him. He fell to the whole business, and more keenly appreciated what an excellent actor the man Girard really was.
"I fear I will have to beg off," said Oscar.
"No, no, gentleman, this will not do. I am as hungry as a bear, but do not propose to sit down to a solitary meal. Come, Mr. Dunne, you must certainly be my guest."
"All right, sir, as you insist. I did intend to go home and retire early to-night, but recognizing how your friend here has deserted you I will go with you."
"I am obliged to you, and we will have a meal that shall amply compensate you. Girard will lose it, and when we tell him of our good time to-morrow we will make him green with envy."
"I may be with you. I am not sure yet I will receive an invitation from the other party."
"That chap," thought Oscar, "is a quick thinker. He knows how to take advantage of the slightest incident when he is playing a game. All right, he is a bright player. We shall see how to scheme against him."
Girard went away, and Thatford and Oscar proceeded to the Brunswick. The former became quite confidential after the first glass of wine, and his confidences were conventional and natural.
"My friend Girard is a great chap," he said, "one of the biggest-hearted fellows in the world. He is very rich and generous."
"He appears like a very generous man," said Oscar.
"He is just what he appears to be. He has but one weakness—he is excessively fond of draw."
"Yes," thought Oscar, "he is playing a big game of draw with me, and he expects to draw me into some sort of a web. Well, he may succeed; we can't tell, Mr. Spider."
Oscar did not speak out just what he thought, but said:
"I am partial to a little game myself under the proper conditions."
"What do you consider the proper conditions?"
"My companions in the game gentlemen, who, like myself, play for the sake of amusement, and not to win for the sake of the money."
"Then Girard is your man, and I think he has taken a great fancy to you, Dunne. He is a queer fellow in some things, but when he takes a fancy to a man, he clings to him, and is always ready to do a good turn."
"That is a good trait."
"Do you know, or rather would you suspect, that he was a poor orphan, and the architect of his own great fortune?"
"No, he acts to me like a man born to wealth."
"On the contrary, he is the son of Irish parents. He was born out West. His father was a ne'er-do-well. Girard at the age of twelve started in to provide for his mother and brothers and sisters. He went to Chicago and got in with a firm on the produce exchange. He served them well for several years and saved money until he could speculate on his own account. He is an honorable fellow. He resigned his position the moment he started in to deal on his own account, and he moved right along, making little successes, until finally he had money enough to go in for a big strike. He caught the market just right and at the age of twenty-eight got out of business with half a million to the right side of his hank account. He then came on to New York, and here he has lead an easy life, just enjoying himself in a quiet way; and, as I said, his great weakness is poker. He don't play a heavy game,but loses with a good grace and wins with exceeding courtesy."
"I reckon he must be a pretty good fellow."
"He is, and hang me, if we are not going to have the pleasure of his company. That pretty girl did not ring him into her party, and he has come to make things pleasant for us. I am glad he is here."
Girard, looking as innocent and jovial as a "let her go easy," honest man, joined Oscar and Thatford, and started in with a pretty compliment, saying:
"Well, gentlemen, I got left, but I am stranded on a pleasant shore when my 'renig' sends me to such excellent company and such a bountiful repast."
THE GAME GOES ON AND FINE PLAY IS DISPLAYED ON BOTH SIDES.
THE GAME GOES ON AND FINE PLAY IS DISPLAYED ON BOTH SIDES.
"Well, you are a good one," thought Oscar, and he mentally questioned whether or not he was coming out ahead of such a bold schemer, for the detective was well aware that the invitation business was a misleader—what is called a "fake." The fellow really intended to gain time to put up his job for "doing" our hero, in case it was decided that he was to be "done up." Herein Girard had the advantage. He had fixed his plan and our hero was going it blind, not having had time to arrange a trick against the one he well knew was being set up for him.
Girard sat down and commenced a lively talk. He spoke in glowing terms of the lady who had recognized him in the theater. Indeed, he was as jolly and pleasant as a man who had no evil design in his heart.
The meal was finally concluded. Oscar had placed his end of it well and appeared about as jolly as a man should appear who had imbibed his share of several bottles of wine.
"What shall we do?" asked Girard. "I don't wish to go to bed; I prefer having a nice time. Can't we go somewhere and have a jolly little game of draw?"
Oscar was not loath. He desired to let the men draw him, believing that while they were playing their little trick he might work a little on his own hook.
"Hang it!" said our hero, "I am not in the habit of staying away from my home all night, but since I've started in I don't care what I do for the rest of the night."
"Where can we go?" asked Thatford.
"To some hotel. We will take a room," suggested Oscar. His suggestion was only a "flyer." He knew the men did not wish to go to a hotel. It was a part of their game to draw him to some place where they could open up the scheme they had in their minds.
"I have a friend who always keeps open house."
Thatford laughed and said:
"Yes, a pretty close friend. You want us to go to your bachelor quarters."
"Well, why not at my rooms? We can play as long as we please and turn in when we get ready."
"I have taken advantage of your hospitality so often I'd rather cry off," said Thatford.
"Oh, nonsense! come on. What do you say, Dunne?"
The intimacy under the influence of the wine had progressed so far that the men addressed each other as though they had been friends for years. Wine softens down the austerities and makes apparent friends with great readiness. It was decided to go to the bachelor rooms of Girard, and the three men passed to the street. Oscar meantime became quite gay and very plainly showed the effects of the wine,but really he was fearfully on the alert, and when we write fearfully we mean it just as we write it; for he did not know at what moment one of the men might plunge a knife through his heart or send a bullet through his brain. He knew that their purpose was a dire one, and the only question was, how would they work out their plan? Keen were his glances under his seeming inebriety, and he beheld the men exchange glances, and also recognized looks of triumph, intimating, "We've done it well. He is ours."
The three men walked on and at length halted in front of a house which our hero had once had under suspicion.
"Here we are," said Girard.
"All right," responded Oscar.
"Say, my friend," suggested Thatford, "we must not play for large stakes. Remember I am not a rich man; I can't lose like some of you golden bucks."
"I never play for big stakes," said Girard.
The men entered the house and Girard said:
"My gambling box is on the top floor. There I don't annoy my neighbors."
"All right," said Oscar. Our hero was seemingly in a very complaisant mood. The men ascended to the top floor. Girard ushered his guests into a room which contained a full equipment for a game of draw. There were shaded lights, a polished table, and by touching a button he summoned a lackey to serve in attendance, and our seemingly half-boozed Oscar scanned the face of the lackey and perceived that indeed a very cunning game was being played. Cards, cigars, liquor, and all the paraphernalia were introduced, even to chips, and the game commenced. Our hero had started in to buy a big wad of chips, but he was restrained.
Indeed, the rascals were working the game for all it was worth in the way of a total blind, until the moment when they intended to open up.
The game had proceeded for about half an hour when the attendant entered the room and made a whispered announcement to Girard. The latter appeared to be annoyed, but said:
"All right, show them up;" and turning to his guests he added:
"It's awful annoying, but a couple of my friends, knowing my habit, have dropped in. They will want to come in the game."
"The more the merrier," said Oscar.
Thus he spoke, but he realized all the same that the chances for his escape were lessening. Two more men would make it five against him, including the attendant, whom our hero had set down as a "stool" in disguise, and the inquiry arose in his mind:
"What can their game be? They have certainly gone carefully about it and have made great preparations to do me; but how do they intend to do it?"
The two men were introduced into the room. They came in seemingly in quite a merry mood, but a moment later one of them fixed his eyes on our hero, stared in a surprised way and finally asked:
"Girard, where did you come across that individual?"
There was a tableau at once.
"What do you mean? Of course you know the man."
"Here, my good fellow, I'd like to know whatyoumean?" demanded Girard.
"Do you call that man your guest?"
"I do."
"Do you know him well?"
Girard appeared very much confused and did not answer.
"Answer; do you know that man well?"
"No, I met him to-night."
All this time Oscar sat silent, but really appeared like a man who had been detected in something mean.
"You don't know him well?"
"I do not."
"You met him to-night?"
"Yes."
"Who introduced him to you?"
"No one. We became acquainted by chance. But see here, this gentleman is my guest and I want you to explain."
"Oh, I'll explain."
"Please do."
"I denounce that man."
"You denounce him?"
"I do."
"On what ground?"
"He is a spy and a sneak. He will report you for keeping a gambling house. He is a sort of detective pimp, does all their dirty work. That is the man you are entertaining. Let him deny it if he will."
This was a bold accusation, and all the men glared at our hero, and finally Girard said:
"Dunne, what have you got to say for yourself? If this is false call that man a liar. It is your right, for he makes very grave charges against you."
"With your permission," said Oscar, "I will withdraw. That man's charges are not entitled to a reply from me."
"But see here, mister, that won't do."
"What won't do?"
"If his charges are true you have been playing me."
"I have been playing you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Well, you understand your purpose. I don't. But one thing is certain: you must make a full confession, or I will hold you responsible for any interpretation I may put upon his charges."
Oscar apparently began to sober up, and he said:
"I do not choose to make any explanations."
"What do you know about this man?" demanded Girard, addressing the accuser.
"He is a reward seeker—a man who will ingratiate himself into the company of gentlemen. If he gets into a private game of cards he reports a gambling game and has gentlemen arrested. He is a general spy and sneak—a man who will go into court and perjure himself for a bribe, and he has made trouble for many a good fellow. He has hired witnesses, perjurers, at his beck and call. He is always up to some game. He is, in short, a lying, miserable rascal; that is what he is, and I know him."
"These are very grave charges," repeated Girard.
"Yes, and I will not remain to listen to them."
"But you will remain."
"I will?"
"Yes."
"Who says so?"
"I do. You shall not steal into my house to spy and sneak on me, and get away."
"What will you do about it?" asked Oscar coolly.
"What will I do about it?"
"That is my question."
"Do you admit the charges?"
"I am too much of a gentleman to deny them: they are so gross."
"Oh, you intend to get out of it that way, eh? Now who are you?"
As Girard spoke he rose from the table and presented a pistol directly at our hero's forehead. Oscar did not flinch, but asked:
"Do you intend to murder me?"
The detective was in the worst dilemma of his whole career. He knew the men were playing a game, that thechances were all against him, and that the possibilities were that under one pretext or another they intended to kill him.
"No, I don't intend to murder you. I am no murderer, but I do not intend to let you get away with any sneaking purpose you may have had in working your way into this house. Are you a gentleman?"
"Yes, I am a gentleman."
"Then you shall have a chance. I challenge you; yes, sir, you must fight me."
"This is murder," said Oscar.
Our hero believed his last moment had arrived. He had braved fate too far in his enthusiasm. He had walked into a trap from which there was no escape. The duel which had been proposed he knew would only be a pretense in order to murder him. He knew he had walked right into a trap, but he determined to die game. Yes, even at that moment he did not wholly despair. These men did not know his mettle, and could he once get a weapon in his hands he would make a desperate fight. He was armed, but thought that possibly the men might go through the farce of a duel. This would give him a chance. He had his club and he knew he must take them by a grand dash, a magnificent surprise. He had encountered as many men on several occasions in desperate conflict, but these men had the "bulge" on him. They were prepared and on the alert. The chances were that every man was well armed and ready to "pull." He must get a vantage ground from where he could take them by surprise—throw them off their guard; but even then the chances were against him, for these were no ordinary men. They were a lot of cool, nervy criminals, well prepared, as stated—men who had their plans well arranged, their signals also. Possibly each man had his appointed work. They were men who could and would carry out theirorders. It was a desperate moment, and all the chances were against him.
It was at this most critical moment that an extraordinary incident occurred. Oscar saw but little chance; still, as intimated, he was determined to make a desperate fight even in face of the odds against him, and there he sat revolving the matter in his mind when suddenly there sounded a little tick-tick like the tick-tick of a telegraph machine. The men did not notice the tick-tick, it was so low and sounded like the involuntary cracking that is sometimes heard from dried furniture when a fire is first ignited in a room. To our hero, though, this very singular tick-tick came with a wonderful significance; indeed, to him it was a language. It was a telegraphic message, and he knew that he was all right. Indeed, he received full instructions as to what he might expect; he learned when and how he was to give a signal at the extreme moment when he needed help. We will not at present attempt to describe his surprise and his admiration of the faithful one who like his shadow must have followed on his track to do the succor act when succor was needed. Oscar did not change his demeanor. He acted as though he still feared the terrible ordeal which confronted him.
"You must fight me," said Girard, "and I show you great mercy in giving you a chance for your life."
"Why must I fight you?"
"You are a sneak. You have imposed upon my confidence. You have forced your way into my rooms, having in mind a treacherous purpose."
"I did not seek you. No, sir, you sought me; you invited me here. I declined to come. You forced yourself upon me. I did not force myself in here."
"I thought you were a gentleman."
"I am a gentleman."
"You must fight me all the same."
"I can see," said Oscar, "you men are a gang of confidence men—robbers. You have inveigled me here to rob me. I will not be robbed. I will yell for the police."
One of the men aimed a revolver at our hero and said:
"Open your mouth to utter one cry and you are a dead man."
"You men dare to threaten me?"
"Yes, we dare to threaten. You shall not betray us."
"Aha! I see my conclusions are correct. You are thieves and fear betrayal."
"We only fear being belied by a rascal like you. We're all gentlemen; we have reputations. We do not desire to rest under a false imputation of being gamblers. Now then you have one chance. Tell us just who you are and your purpose and we may spare you; otherwise—" The man stopped.
"What will you do otherwise?"
"Kill you."
"See here; you men cannot double-bank me. I am not here to be robbed. I see through this farce. You rascals cannot scare me."
"Hear!" exclaimed one of the men. "He is insulting."
"Yes, he has insulted every one of us. He must fight."
Oscar laughed and asked:
"Do you wish me to fight the whole gang?"
"Hear him! he denominates us 'the gang'!"
"Certainly, you are a gang of thieves. I can see that I have been inveigled in here. This is a trumped-up charge against me; but I repeat, I defy you. Do your worst."
"Get the swords," called Girard.
"Who will fight him?"
"I will," said the attendant suddenly stepping forward. "Yes, gentlemen, I will fight him. It is not proper thatgentlemen like you should besmirch yourselves by fighting with a low-bred scoundrel like this fellow. I am his match; he belongs to my class. He and I will meet on equal terms. I will settle him, gentlemen, and afford you some rich and excellent amusement."
"Henri," said Girard, "you are not a swordsman."
"I will prove to you, my master, that I am swordsman enough to fight this wretch who has forced himself into your presence to act as a spy. Yes, sir, I will teach him a lesson."
Oscar could not discern what the real purpose of the men was. It appeared somewhat like a farce to him, and yet their trick was one that has often been played. They could in case of need make out that it was a case of assault, where one man had sought the life of another. Indeed, there had been several cases of a like character in New York. In one case the men had claimed that a duel had been forced upon another; and again a case had been known where it was made to appear that there had been a murderous assault, and of course there were plenty of witnesses, and the law is compelled to accept the testimony of unimpeached witnesses. While in both cases alluded to the police were convinced a cold-blooded murder had been committed, they were unable to prove it, however, and the assassins went free. Here were four men who could testify as they chose, and the chances were that as far as the courts were concerned they were reputable witnesses. The latter was the game our hero calculated the men meant to work on him. They had deliberately planned his murder, and the chances would have been dead against him but for the little tick-tick, and that singular tick-tick told a wondrous story; but even with this in his favor the chances were against Oscar when he conceived a plan as cunning as the one that was being played against him.
OSCAR CONCEIVES A PLAN AND A REMARKABLE DENOUEMENT FOLLOWS—COOLNESS AND PLUCK WIN AGAINST SCHEMES AND CUNNING.
OSCAR CONCEIVES A PLAN AND A REMARKABLE DENOUEMENT FOLLOWS—COOLNESS AND PLUCK WIN AGAINST SCHEMES AND CUNNING.
Our hero finally decided upon a plan. He determined to convert an impending tragedy into a farce.
The detective smiled when the lackey volunteered to "do him up," and said:
"I see you wish a little amusement, you fellows. You shall have it. Get the swords. I am a gentleman and I will enjoy slaughtering this ambitious cocky-doodle-doo. He wishes to become mincemeat; I will gratify him. Yes, gentleman, get the swords and the fun shall begin."
The men stared. This was a turn in the affair they had not anticipated, but they were evidently prepared to meet the emergency.
"Who will act as this fellow's second?" asked Girard.
"You need not trouble yourselves, gentlemen."
"Oh, no, you must have a second. Although you are not entitled to any consideration this affair shall be conducted as though you were really a gentleman. Thatford, will you act as the fellow's second?"
"I must respectfully decline," said Thatford. "I am not acting as second in an affair of honor for a low-bred spy and sneak."
The lackey meantime had prepared himself for the affray, and Girard had produced two dueling swords. It looked serious indeed, but there was also an element of farce in the whole affair.
"I will excuse Mr. Thatford from acting as my second."
"Will you accept me?" demanded Girard.
"No, I will not accept you. I anticipated that youfellows might be part of a gang of thieves and I prepared to meet you. No, no, gentlemen, you have not got this all your own way. I do not propose to be murdered like a caged rat, I assure you."
The men glared. There had come a complete change over our hero, and indeed Oscar had laid out his whole campaign.
"You fellows are thieves," he said, "thieves and murderers. I believe you are the parties who murdered a young man who has been missing for some months, and I further believe he was made a victim in some such way as you planned to make a victim of me; but, my dear rascals, I won't have it."
The men began to assume menacing attitudes, while exchanging glances.
It was evident they were surprised, but a greater surprise was in store for them as our hero exclaimed:
"The opening act is over. We will now bring on the tragedy."
Oscar stamped his foot, the door opened, and to the surprise of the men a boyish-looking youth stepped in the room. Indeed they did stare, and Oscar said:
"See, I anticipated your moves. Here is my second; this young man will see that I have fair play."
Girard here spoke up and demanded:
"Who are you? How dare you enter my house uninvited and unannounced?"
The youth assumed a merry demeanor and said:
"I thought there was going to be some fun here and I dropped in; that's all. I like a fight—a good square fight."
The men were evidently unmanned. There was something going on that they evidently did not understand. They were very shrewd men—great schemers. They believed they had played a good trick, but suddenly therecame a change in their belief. There had followed a succession of strange and remarkable developments which they did not understand. The mystery paralyzed them; the boldness of the move terrorized them. Indeed, Thatford, who was usually a pretty nervy man, edged toward the door, but Oscar called out:
"Hold on, mister, don't go. Remember this lackey here was to afford you some excellent amusement. He looks as though he were just the man to keep his word. He shall keep it, and afford you the amusement he promised. I will aid him. See, he is all ready; he is stripped for the fun. I do not need to strip. Give him a sword, give me a sword and we'll have gore; yes, we'll have gore. I will punish him, and then, gentlemen, I will be prepared to mix the gore. Yes, we shall have lots of amusement; it will be a roaring farce."
One of the men appeared to recover his nerve and said:
"Say, mister, you call us thieves, but I reckon you are a thief. You have undoubtedly arranged a good little game of your own."
"Oh, yes, I've arranged a good little game. I invited yonder fellow to my house to engage in a game of draw. I had three dummies ready to run on and make a trumped-up accusation. I attempted to force a duel on the man I had inveigled into my house. I had a disguised swordsman in the garb of a lackey to do the murder act. Oh, yes, I am a thief, and I planned well—so well that I have you gentlemen all at my mercy. Just witness how well I planned."
Again Oscar stamped his foot on the floor and three men entered the room, and they were fully equal to the part they were called upon to play. The rascals thus overmatched realized the neat manner in which they had been beaten. Terror filled their hearts, for they did not at the moment know how well they had been trailed down.One fact was patent to them, and that was that they had put up, as they supposed, a great trick on a detective and had been outwitted in the most complete manner. There was no way out of the hole for them. Bad as they were, they knew they were not a match for the five individuals who faced them. The three men who had entered the room last were Jim terrors right on their looks, and their easy, offhand manner froze the blood in the veins of the conspirators. Girard attempted to face the matter by a display of nerve, but his attempt was pitiful in view of the situation as it at the moment confronted him.
The lackey meantime gave signs of terror. He was a swordsman, but realized that all his skill would go for naught, seeing that the game was exposed. Indeed, a most remarkable tableau was presented, but Girard tried to play out to save hisconfrères. He said:
"Well, well, Dunne, I expected to work a big scare on you, but I see you have been too smart. The next time I attempt a practical joke I will measure my intended victim better."
"Ah, you will?"
"Yes."
"Then this was all a joke?"
"Certainly; but you have proved yourself the best joker."
"You think so?"
"Yes, I am dead beat."
"And as you say it was all a joke."
"Certainly, you know it was."
"And what license had you to attempt to play such a broad joke on me?"
"Joking is my delight."
"Is it?"
"Always."
"Good enough; you tried your joke, I will now try mine.I'll teach you to pick up a stranger in the street to make him the victim of your joke. Oh, yes, we will call it a joke, a good joke, but the joke is not played out yet. You have had your fun. I must have mine, and here goes!" Oscar whipped out a club. He leaped forward and down went Girard, and the other detectives also got in and there was a very lively time in that upper room for about three minutes. The thieves did not dare offer any resistance. They took their medicine and yet they were all brave men. They were only too glad under all the circumstances to get off with a good sound clubbing, and they got it. Then Oscar and his forces drew off, leaving the men to think over their discomfiture at their leisure. We say the officers withdrew. They did, all but Oscar. He thought to take a little advantage of his success, and dodged into a room adjoining the one where the remarkable scene we have described occurred. He knew the men were all well done up and would not in their bewilderment be prepared for the latest trick of the detective. Our hero's friends descended the stairs, making a great noise, and they kept addressing themselves to our hero, asking him questions in a loud tone, but he was not present to answer them. The questions were a part of his scheme to mislead the men, and his purpose was to overhear what passed between the men after they supposed that he and his companions had departed. He relied, as stated, on the demoralization of the scoundrels, and his position, as it proved, was well taken. The men did assume that he and his party had departed and they commenced talking, and our hero was at hand to overhear them talk. Girard was the first speaker.
"Great Scott!" he ejaculated, "who was looking for this? We are boys—greenhorns—compared to that fellow and a tale is told."
"Yes, a tale is told," said Thatford. "We thought wehad everything dead under cover. We were proceeding in fancied security, but these fellows have been on our track. This is not the scheme of a night. We have met a setback that will keep us poor for six months. We will not dare move until we ascertain just how far they are on to us."
"I knew something was up when we discovered that fellow shadowing Wadleigh. It was a lucky discovery, and our experience to-night, although rough, is a good play out in our favor. We know now just where we stand; that is, we know to a certain extent our danger."
"Not altogether, nor do they know all. Otherwise there would have been a close-in. They are on to us, but have no real points. Yes, Girard, this little experience is a good one for us. All operations must cease until our enemies are removed. We must go back to the old game and do a little dropping out and make the road clear again."
"That is just what we must do. We certainly have some information for our friends."
"We have; and there must be a meeting. All work must stop. Word must be sent out all along the line."
"Yes, sir, and at once. When will Redalli return?"
"He should be in New York within two days."
"We need his headwork; that is certain."
"We do, and you say he will be in the city within a few days."
"Yes, and one more fact: we must throw up the lease of this furnished house and seek new quarters. They have this place down."
"Well, this is only a fancy resort for us anyhow. Fortunately, there is no evidence in this house."
"No, no; I never would have brought that fellow here if we had had any evidence in the house, although I did not think for one moment that he would do us up the way he did."
"He has our identities."
"He has."
"That is his advantage, but where does ours come in?"
"We have his identity."
"He will change."
"So will we, but I will know that fellow under any cover. He will not know us unless we have forgotten how to do it."
"It is easy for us to change."
"You bet; he fell to us in our best rôle."
"He did."
"But how did he get on to us at all?"
"I must have time to think that out, and mark my words: he is a shadower. He got his points down well. I am a shadower; I will be on his track, and the next time I will have my points down well. Whatever happens, that fellow must be put away."
"He is a terror."
"He is, but he had it all his own way this time. We were groping in the dark, but he had a good flashlight on us."
"He did."
"Boys, we have had our ups and downs before. We have been in bad holes, but we always managed to get out. We have had better men than this young fellow on our track, and we have always got the best of them in the end. Remember, we have for years baffled the best officers in the United States. We have no reason to be discouraged. This is only an incident; we know they are not down to facts, and before they get there we will get in some of our good work."
"You bet! How will we start in?"
"Our first object will be to identify every man who is in this raid against us. When we succeed then we will know just what to do."
"Then we know how to employ our time until Redalli arrives in town."
"Yes."
"And we will lay everything before him. In the meantime there is no danger."
"Unless he may get on to Wadleigh. How much did he learn from that fellow?"
"I can give it to you that he learned nothing, for Wadleigh said nothing; it was a lucky escape."
"You have seen Wadleigh?"
"Yes, and he had something to tell me. I did not have time to talk with him because I had this scheme on hand with that fellow. Oh, I only wish I had known his game, and I would have laid a different course. He had it all his own way, as I said, when we thought we had it ours. It would have been a big thing, however, if our little trick of to-night had not miscarried. We would have had that chap in a hole that only a full confession would have gotten him out of, and then it is doubtful if we would have let him off alive."
Oscar had overheard enough, and he did not give the rascals the credit he would have done had they suspected his little dodge in listening to what they had to say after the shindy, and again, as they were to follow him he knew he could get on to them when the time came. It was to be a game of hide-and-seek, and he felt assured that with the brave and magical Cad Metti he could give them points on a double shadow. He stole down the stairs, gained the street, and as he walked away he was joined by Cad, and he said:
"Well, sis, you appeared at the right moment."
"Yes, Oscar, I feared they had some desperate game to pay. I knew your rashness. I fell to your track and when you entered that house I sought out some of our friends and had them at hand to drag you out of a bad scrape."
"Sis, I was in a pretty bad scrape, and you appeared on deck at exactly the right moment."
"That is what I intended to do, but what was their purpose?"
"Cad, to tell the truth, I don't know."
"How did they get on to you?"
"They caught me peeping on the fellow Wadleigh. There is where they played it nice on me."
"What have you learned?"
"I have only picked up some leaders. We have a tangled skein to unravel, and we have got to do some pretty smart work. Those men are good ones; we are guarded at every point, and yet we have made a big stride toward a grand close-in some day, but our chance may come in some months from now."
"What lead have we?"
"I have the names of some of the king-pins. I have their identity; I know the name of the great master of this lodge of criminals. I will have his identity, and then our work will begin. They will shadow us; they have my identity. They are good shadowers, and as they said I worked in the light last time they may work in the light next time, but if they do, Cad, it will be when our lights are smashed."
Cad and Oscar proceeded to their several homes; both had worked hard, they needed rest, and it was late on the following day when they met. Before parting from Cad our hero had given her some specific orders, and when the two met they were prepared in case of an emergency to work some wonderful changes. They were prepared, as intimated, to do some magic trick detective work of the first order. Oscar had had a chance to think matters over and lay out his campaign, and when he parted from Cad he went to meet Wise, the great government special. He found his man at a hotel where he was masquerading inthe rôle of a merchant from St. Louis, and he also knew well how to play any rôle he started out to assume.
"Well, Oscar," said Wise, "I've been expecting you."
"Certainly."
"When will you start in?"
Oscar smiled and said:
"I thought you had started me in."
"I did, but not having heard from you I thought you might be laying back to finish up some old business."
"No, sir, I went right to work."
"You did?"
"I did."
"Well?"
"I've made some progress."
"You have?"
"I have."
"Let's hear about it."
"I've shadowed down to several of the men."
"Oh, you have?"
"Yes."
"Well, my dear fellow, we did that, but it's the king-pins we want."
"So you told me, and it was the king-pins I went for."
"Eh! what's that?"
"I know the name of the chief center of the whole gang. I am on his track; I've got the identity of his aids."
"You think you have."
"I know I have."
"Oscar Dunne don't talk unless he knows what he is talking about."
"I know what I am talking about this time."
"Let's hear your tale of woe."
"Not yet. I only came to tell you that within three days I hope to introduce you to the king-pin—the chief man—the director of the whole business."
"If you can do that you have accomplished one of the greatest detective feats of the age."
"I will do it, sure. I've got all the lieutenants identified, got their names and their muggs. I've got them shadowing me. Within an hour they will be on my track. How is that?"
"It's great."
"Watch them on my track. You know what it means."
"I think I do; you will really be on theirs."
"Yes, and I've some big surprises for them. I've learned their plans, they are ready to spread a flood of counterfeits of every description. They have got all their plans complete. I will be on to their plans in a few days, and we can close in on them just as they let go their first dove."
"If you are correct you are at the top of the profession. I'd like particulars."
"In a few days, I'll give you all the particulars and your men."
Oscar went away. He had gotten up so as to be recognized. He sauntered on to Broadway when a lady approached. She was veiled and she asked:
"Is this Mr. Oscar Dunne?"
The detective was taken a little aback, but answered:
"May I inquire why you ask?"
"If this is Mr. Oscar Dunne, the detective, I have some business with you."
"We will suppose I am the man you seek; what is your business?"
"Will you accompany me?"
"No."
"I thought you were a detective."
"Suppose I am."
"It's your business to listen to one who seeks your aid."
"Go on, I am listening."
"There are reasons why I do not wish to talk on the public street."
Oscar was only sparring for time; he was measuring the woman, and he had not gotten on to her purpose when he said:
"Where do you wish me to go?"
"To any public place where we can sit down and I can relate to you my strange and remarkable experience. You will decide that I need aid and advice. I have been told that you are just the man to aid and advise me."
"Who sent you to me?"
"A friend."
"What is your friend's name."
"A Miss Lamb."
Oscar did know a Miss Lamb. He had once done her a great service, and the woman's answer rather threw him at sea in his conclusions.
CAD METTI AND OSCAR PERFORM SOME GREAT TRICKS AND AT EVERY STEP GAIN INFORMATION LEADING TOWARD A THRILLING DENOUEMENT.
CAD METTI AND OSCAR PERFORM SOME GREAT TRICKS AND AT EVERY STEP GAIN INFORMATION LEADING TOWARD A THRILLING DENOUEMENT.
The detective was compelled to think quickly, and yet he sought a little time.
"Miss Lamb sent you to me?"
"Yes."
"You are a friend of Miss Lamb?"
"I am."
"Tell me about her."
"She is a deserving young woman working honorably for an honorable living."
"And she sent you to me?"
"She did."
"You desire my services?"
"I do."
"Madam, I am very busy."
"You will have time to advise me."
"Is advice all you need?"
"That depends."
"Upon what?"
"Upon what you may conclude after you have listened to my narrative."
Our hero had decided on his course. He decided to go with the woman and permit her to tell her tale, for as the matter stood he could arrive at no positive conclusion concerning her.
"Where shall we go?" he asked.
"We will go to some prominent restaurant."
"But, madam, I have not seen your face."
"There is no reason why I should not remove my veil. I will do so when we are seated at a table. Let me tell you my experience is a very strange one. I have a very extraordinary story to relate. I know you will become interested; I know you will decide to serve me if you will only let me narrate my startling experience."
"You shall certainly have an opportunity to relate your experience, madam."
"Miss Lamb told me I could rely upon your generosity, but let me tell you I do not expect that you will serve me simply in a spirit of chivalry. If you can extricate me from my very singular entanglement I will be in a position to reward you in the most munificent manner, but it will require brains, courage and coolness to release me."
"Madam, I will not claim any of these qualities in advance, but I will accompany you and listen to your strange tale. I am interested in odd experiences; it is my infirmity."
"I have been informed that you have no infirmities; that you are a bold, resolute, keen, level-headed gentleman."
Our hero smiled and said:
"Shall I select the place where we shall go?"
"If you please."
"You do not seek privacy?"
"Only so far as I can relate my story and be heard by you alone, and let me tell you I may do you a great service while you are serving me."
"That will be splendid," said Oscar.
He walked with the veiled woman to a well-known restaurant. He led her to a table in a remote corner, and the moment they were seated she removed her veil and disclosed a very beautiful face. She was evidently an American woman, and our hero had detected a Yankee pronunciation, but he was thoughtful enough to know that the down east idiom might be assumed. We will here say that his suspicions of the woman had not relaxed, but when he beheld her fair, beautiful face his suspicion was just a little staggered.
As indicated, Oscar had not dismissed his suspicions entirely, and he waited wonderingly for the woman to open up her business.
"You have never beheld my face before?" she said.
"Never."
"It may seem bold for a positive stranger to ask a favor, but as I said this is a matter which requires very delicate manipulation. I cannot trust every one, not even among the corps of detectives."
"And yet you feel that you can trust me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I believe that combined with shrewdness, courage and cunning you possess a sympathetic nature."
"You are very complimentary."
"My informant was Miss Lamb."
"Miss Lamb has evidently spoken very kindly of me."
"Yes, she thinks you are a fine type of honorable manhood."
"Miss, please do not compliment me any further through your acquaintance with Miss Lamb. Please explain the nature of the business that led you to seek me."
"Before I explain my business to you I must exact a promise."
"I am careful about making promises."
"Yes, I know as a detective you are not at liberty to make promises off-hand, but my case is a very peculiar one."
"What do you wish me to promise?"
"I have a very remarkable disclosure to make; probably one of the most remarkable disclosures you ever listened to during the whole course of your professional career. It is a disclosure that will call for very prompt measures on your part. It is a disclosure that will make you professionally one of the most famous detective officers in the world."
Oscar stared and wondered what could be the nature of this thrilling disclosure. He said nothing, but kept upon a line of intense thought, and the woman proceeding said:
"Some very prominent people will be involved—men who stand high, who will be torn from their high estate. I am willing that you should perform your full professional duty, save as concerns one individual, and I want you to promise that you will save that one individual, though he may be the most guilty of the whole gang of criminals."
The woman's proposition was suggested, and it was a most remarkable one.
"Can you promise?" she asked.
"I cannot."
"Then my lips must remain sealed."
"I am sorry, miss, but I cannot promise to spare a criminal. I am bound by professional honor to close in on every criminal whom I can convict."
"Then, as I said, my lips must remain sealed."
"What are your relations to the individual who is a criminal and whom you desire exempted from the consequences of his acts?"
"He is my brother. Yes, sir, and in coming to you I am betraying my dear brother; but I would do so only to save him from the consequences of his crime. If I cannot save him I cannot betray him, but I do think that when I reveal to you the plot and identities of many criminals in return I should receive the promise of the exemption of one of them—that one, my own brother."
"I will not positively declare that I will not make the promise; it will depend upon the nature of the disclosure. Will you indicate the character of the disclosure you have to make?"
"I will."
"Do so."
"There is existing in this city a band, an organized gang of the most skillful criminals on earth. Their organization is so complete that a discipline as perfect as military order prevails. These men have defied the police for years; they are doing more harm to the commercial world than ever was suffered before in many years. My brother is a member of this gang. Misfortune overtook him, and in a moment of desperation he became a member, a sworn member. He is very useful to them, owing to his skill in certain directions. He has made a confidant of me. He has told me everything and I, after a long struggle with myself, determined to save him if I could by betraying his confederates. I know all their identities.I know all their plans. I can place them bound hand and foot in your power, but my brother must be saved. It is to save him that I am prepared to make the terrible disclosure. You will become famous; you will achieve a professional victory where all other detectives have failed. You will do the country a service such as no detective ever before performed, but the price of my disclosure is the salvation of my brother."
"Why do you not cause your brother to withdraw from these criminals?"
"I cannot. I have exhausted my persuasion with him. He is mad, mad, believes he is on the eve of the acquirement of great wealth. To be rich is his mania. He is really insane. I wish to save him. I can do so only by a betrayal of his confederates, and a disclosure of all their plans and devices as revealed to me by my brother."
Oscar was amazed in spite of his inurement to surprises. He was aghast at the suggestions involved in the woman's proposition, and he had cause for deep study. It was a singular fact that from the first moment the beautiful woman spoke to him he associated her with the matter he had in hand, but did not anticipate that her connection with the subject would come in the strange, weird shape that it did.
"It is your brother you wish to save?"
"Yes."
"And he is associated with this gang of criminals?"
"Yes."
"He has revealed everything to you?"
"He has."
"And you wish to betray these men?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"In order to save my brother."
"You have no other motive?"
"I have no other motive."
"But you told me there might be a large reward for me."
"I did."
"What did you mean?"
"The government has offered a large reward for the arrest and conviction of these men."
"How did you learn the fact?"
"My brother told me."
"Tell me more about yourself."
"I may, on one condition."
"What is the condition?"
"Can I hope?"
"Hope in what manner?"
"That you will agree to save my brother, and—" The woman stopped short.
"Proceed, miss, you have another proviso."
"I have."
"State it."
"Can I hope that you will save my brother under any circumstances, and share the reward with me? for without my aid you cannot earn it. I should be entitled to at least one-half of the reward."
"Miss, if through any information you give me I earn the reward I will share with you."
"And my brother?"
"I may be led to recognize that I can promise to spare your brother on the ground that criminals are sometimes promised immunity upon turning state's evidence."
"My brother is not a criminal," answered the beautiful young lady in an earnest tone.
"He is not a criminal?"
"No."
"But you have admitted that he is a member of this dangerous gang."
"He is, but he is not a criminal."
"How will you demonstrate that?"
"In a moment of desperation, while actually insane, he was seduced to become a member of the gang, but he is an honorable young man. Were it not for his trouble he never would have dreamed of converting his wonderful skill to the services of these bad men."
"He is skillful."
"He is."
"In what direction?"
"Alas! I must have your answer before I tell you."
"And I must know about you and your brother before I give the answer."
"Can I hope?"
"Yes."
"You will entertain the proposition to save him and divide with me?"
"Yes, I will entertain the proposition, but I will not promise until I know more."
"Under any circumstances you will not use the information against my brother if I only partially explain to you?"
"I can make no promises."
"I must have some guarantee."
"I can give no guarantee until I know more."
"Oh, what shall I do?" exclaimed the woman.
"Trust me; trust in my honor."
A moment the beautiful lady meditated and then said:
"Yes, I will trust you. I can do nothing else."
"I do not think you will have reason to regret trusting me."
"My father lives in Massachusetts. He is an engraver. My brother inherited a marvelous talent for engraving, but he detested the employment. He went into other business, and met a very beautiful and accomplished girl. He was to be married when he lost his position. It maddened him, and in a desperate moment he fell in with one of the members of this gang. He was beguiled into betraying the fact of his wonderful skill as an engraver. He had no idea at the time of offering his services, but they induced him to show them a specimen of his handiwork. Then they offered him splendid inducements to join them, promising him a fortune. He was dazzled; he saw a way to win a fortune and his bride, and he yielded to the temptation. He has produced some wonderful plates. I do not believe his equal lives on the face of the earth at his craft."
The story told by the woman was probable and reasonable, and it did appear that our hero was about to secure men and evidence in a most strange, remarkable, and complete manner.
"Where do you reside?" asked Oscar.
"I am temporarily residing in New York. I am studying typewriting. I hope to be able to earn my own living as a typewriter, but it would be a grand thing for me if I could secure a few hundred dollars out of the reward."
"Is it your desire to obtain the reward, or is it your main purpose to save your brother?"
"It is my main purpose to save my brother. I do not care for the reward on my own account solely, but with it I can send my brother away. I believe he will learn a lesson that will last him all his life when those men are arrested and punished. And with the money he will have a chance to make a fresh start in some other city."
Oscar thought the matter over, and we will admit that there was no doubt in his mind as to the genuineness of the story he had listened to. It did not appear that there was the least possibility of its being a false tale. It was not the beautiful face of the narrator and proposer that had led him to this conclusion. It was the probability and reasonableness of the story itself; but with his usualcaution he determined to investigate. He was not prepared to accept any statement, no matter how probable and reasonable, without absolute proof. Still, as intimated, there was no question in his mind as to the genuineness of the information and the sincerity of the proposition.
"How do you intend to proceed?" he asked.
"In order to obtain the reward you must not only secure the men but convict them," said the beauty.
"That is true."
Oscar was a little disturbed here at the girl's singular knowledge and shrewdness.
"These men have constant meetings with my brother."
"Where?"
"At the little house where I and my brother reside."
"Where is that house located?"
"In Brooklyn."
"And these men go to your home?"
"Yes."
"Do they know you are acquainted with the purpose of their visits?"
"No."
"Are the plates in this house?"
"No."
"Where are they?"
"I do not know. I only propose to furnish you the opening clues and let you follow them up and find the plates and all the evidence."
"Your brother knows where the plates are concealed?"
"He does."
"Can you not secure the information from him?"
"I cannot. I have tried to do so, but he tells me he is bound by terrible oaths not to reveal where the workshop is located."
"He never works at your home?"
"Never. He is often gone away all night. I think they work at night."
"Then how can I locate them?"
"You can trail my brother. Shadow the men also whom you will meet at our home."
"I am to go to your house?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Any time you may elect."
"And then?"
"I will conceal you. You can see the men who come to talk with my brother. You can overhear all that passes. You can identify them and shadow them. I think they go from our house to the secret workshop."
"I will arrange with you to go to your home."
"When?"
"At some future time."
"Very soon?"
"Yes."
"Within forty-eight hours?"
"Yes."
"And I have your promise that under no circumstances is my brother to be arrested?"
"We may arrest him and let him turn state's evidence."
"No, no, never. I am only anxious to save him from disgrace. I am revealing this to you in order to save him from disgrace. Yes, it is for this purpose I am betraying his confederates."
"Can you meet me to-night?"
"I can."
"I must have time to think this matter over."
"We must act quickly."
"Yes."
"It would be better were you to make arrangements to go to my house by to-morrow night at the latest."
"Yes, I will."
"Where shall I meet you to-night?"
"Here. We have dined together; we will sup together."
"We will meet near here?"
"Yes."
A corner was named and a little later the woman, who did not give her name, and our hero separated. Later Oscar called upon Miss Lamb. He learned from her that she had met a lady at the typewriting school where Miss Lamb was a substitute teacher, and Miss Lamb had really referred the lady to our hero upon gaining her confidence, and having learned that she had need of a detective in a very delicate affair, the nature of which had not been revealed to Miss Lamb.