"What lawyer drew up the will?"
"Oh, he's been dead several years. His name was Evan D. Russell."
"Where was the will kept?"
"Hidden. No one but papa knows where."
The Bradys questioned her closely for a while longer.
While this was going on, Young King Brady had been holding the negro by the arm. But they became so interested in what Lizzie was saying that neither one paid much attention to him.
Sim soon observed this.
Filled with a desire to escape, he suddenly wrenched his arm free.
Quick as a flash he seized a chair, swung it around and knocked Harry down.
Old King Brady heard his partner's warning cry and turned around, but ere he could do anything the chair crushed down upon his head and he fell upon his back in the middle of the floor.
The delighted negro rushed to the open window and leaped out.
Up scrambled the chagrined detectives.
Both smarted from the blows, but were otherwise uninjured and they rushed to the window and jumped out into the front yard.
Rushing out to the street they gazed around, but failed to see anything of the fugitive valet.
He had hidden himself so completely that they could find no trace of him, although they scoured the neighborhood for an hour.
When they met again, both looked very much disgusted and Harry said:
"He has eluded us, it seems."
"Completely," Old King Brady answered, angrily.
"We may as well give up hunting for him."
"Yes. It's a waste of time at present."
They returned to the house and told Lizzie the bad news, and the old detective said:
"I expected to pump some valuable information from him about Ronald Mason. But that hope is gone. We shall have to watch out for that pair. In the meantime, if you wish us to recover your father's body, dead or alive, you must maintain the utmost secrecy of what we said, Miss Dalton."
"You can depend upon my discretion," replied the girl, quietly.
The detectives promised to exert every effort to find her father, and finally took their leave of her.
On the following day the Bradys went to the office of Solomon Gloom, the undertaker, on Seventh avenue, and met him in his office.
He looked nothing like the man who personated him.
It was just as the Bradys suspected.
Having described the man who had the wagon and carried off the body, Old King Brady asked the undertaker:
"Did you give that man one of your business cards?"
"I certainly did," replied Mr. Gloom.
"And rented out your wagon to him?"
"Yes, sir. I also got them a Health Board permit for small-pox, so they could remove their relative's body. The party died of small-pox."
That satisfied the Bradys to the means the abductors employed to personate the undertaker and carry out their plot.
The officers next went to the Union Club and made an effort to secure the telegram which brought Mr. Dalton from the clubhouse the night he was summoned away and vanished from view.
The steward found it in the rubbish-basket and gave it to them.
The message was worded as follows:
"Oliver Dalton: Meet me secretly, nine to-night, in house No. — West Thirty-sixth street, about mail robberies.Old King Brady."
"Oliver Dalton: Meet me secretly, nine to-night, in house No. — West Thirty-sixth street, about mail robberies.
Old King Brady."
Here was a startling surprise for the detectives.
"Did you send that message?" asked Harry, of his partner.
"No. It's a forgery!" declared the old detective.
"I thought so."
"Whoever sent it knew the broker was going to have us run down the thieves who were robbing him."
"As Ronald Mason admitted to us that he practically ran the business, he must have known that we were going to work up the case. Our chief told Mr. Dalton we would. Therefore it must be another example of Mason's perfidy."
"Come to the telegraph office. We'll see if we can trace the party who sent this despatch."
They hastened from the Union Club.
By dint of diligent inquiry the Bradys learned which office the forged despatch had been sent from, and went there.
Showing the message to the girl operator, Old King Brady asked:
"Do you remember sending this message?"
"Distinctly," she replied, "on account of the odd signature."
"Can you describe the party who sent it?"
"Oh, yes. I'm acquainted with the gentleman."
"Indeed! What was his name?"
"Mr. Ronald Mason."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, indeed."
The Bradys thanked the girl and departed.
"Gradually we are getting at the bottom of this affair," said Old King Brady.
CHAPTER VII.
THE MISSING MAN FOUND.
The Bradys kept Ronald Mason closely shadowed for several days. They saw that he was living the mechanical life of a sober business man.
He was at his desk every morning at nine o'clock, and departed at five in the evening for home, in a cab. He did not depart from the house during the night, and received no callers there.
But the detectives did not relax their vigilance.
They had a deep-rooted suspicion that Mason had been working a plot to get rid of his uncle so he could inherit part of Mr. Dalton's money, and win the broker's daughter for his bride without any opposition.
Old King Brady figured that he was bound to show his hand sooner or later.
Nor did his judgment err.
At the end of the week a telegraph boy delivered a message at the broker's residence, about nine o'clock at night.
Within a few minutes after the lad departed the front door opened and a man in shabby clothes, with a beard on his face, cautiously emerged.
He carried a big bundle under his arm.
He glanced up and down the deserted street and seeing nobody, he hastily ran down the steps and stole rapidly away.
Safely hidden in the area of an empty house opposite, the Bradys observed him, and a smile crossed Harry's face as he nudged his partner and whispered:
"There's Mason, now!"
"Very clumsily disguised!" Old King Brady commented.
"If he were not up to some mischief, he would not be so careful to conceal his identity," Harry remarked, drily.
They let the young man get some distance ahead before they ventured out in the street. Then they separated, to avoid attracting special attention.
Mason walked down Eighth avenue to Thirty-fourth street and boarded a horse-car going east. The detectives followed it afoot until they reached Broadway, and at Herald Square they secured a cab.
The chase then became comparatively easy.
Mason rode to the East river before he alighted and finally made his way afoot along the river front until he reached a pier.
The detectives were close behind him, as yet unseen.
Going out on the pier, Mason paused and whistled.
Instantly a man climbed up over the string piece from a rowboat in which sat a solitary individual, close to the piles.
As it was a clear night, the detectives had no trouble to see that the man who joined Mason was a negro.
And then they recognized him as Sim Johnson, the valet.
For a few moments the pair held a whispered conversation, and then climbed down the piles and got into the rowboat.
Creeping nearer, the Bradys now caught a good view of the boatman.
He was a little old man, in a blue blouse and felt hat, and his face was covered by a gray beard.
When Mason and the negro were aboard, the boatman rowed out on the river, shipped his oars and let the skiff drift with the tide.
The Bradys reached the end of the pier and watched them keenly.
There was something towing behind the skiff by a rope.
As the skiff paused, the three men pulled it into the boat.
It was a large object, but the detectives could not make out at that distance what it really was.
They saw the three men working over it for a while, and finally push it overboard again so the boat could tow it.
When this was done the light craft was rowed down the river and the detectives lost track of it altogether.
They felt rather disappointed.
"What the deuce were they doing?" Harry asked.
"Blessed if I could tell," replied Old King Brady, in perplexity.
"Let's go back to Mason's house and wait for him to come back."
Old King Brady assented.
They returned to the West Thirty-sixth street residence.
An hour later, as they stood on the corner, the man they suspected as Mason came along, and Old King Brady stepped in front of him.
"Hold on there, my friend!" he remarked.
"Let me pass!" growled the other in low, ugly tones, as he shot a savage glance at the old detective, and made an effort to go by.
"Wait a moment!" persisted the officer.
"I ain't got any time."
"Tut-tut!"
"Well, what do you want?"
"I've taken a violent interest in your whiskers, sir."
"Come, now, none of your guying——"
"Oh, I ain't fooling. I've taken such a huge interest in your whiskers that I'd like to have a handful as a keepsake."
And so saying the detective grabbed them.
A slight pull dislodged them from the man's face, causing him to recoil, giving utterance to a smothered cry of alarm.
Old King Brady chuckled.
Holding up a false beard, he glanced at the man.
"Why," exclaimed Harry, "it's Mr. Mason!"
"Bless my heart, so it is," added the old detective, feigning to be very much astonished at the discovery. "How strange! Why, Mr. Mason, what in the world are you going around masquerading this way for, at such a late hour of the night?"
The broker's nephew was furious over his exposure.
He knew it was useless to pretend he was not the man they mentioned and he swore at them, and cried, fiercely:
"That's none of your infernal business."
"How angry you are. My! My! Keep cool, Mr. Mason. Wrath isn't going to mend matters for you in any way."
"Get out of my path, you old meddlesome fool!"
"Now, don't get excited," laughed Old King Brady. "You must know, sir, that we are engaged upon very important business. Some time ago we saw you come out of that house, and thinking you were a burglar we followed you down to the East river."
"You followed me?" gasped Mason, with a guilty start.
"Oh, dear, yes. And we saw you meet Sim Johnson on the pier, and we saw you get into the rowboat with your bundle, and we saw the little old man with the gray beard row you out on the stream, and then we saw you all pull up the object you had towing astern, take it into the boat, work over it a while, toss it back, and row away."
Mason's face had grown deathly pale.
He eyed the detectives with such a vindictive look that they could see he would have knocked their heads off if he dared.
Finally, though, he regained his composure a little and asked:
"What object did you see us pull out of the water?"
"Really, I can't say. You were too far from the dock for us to distinguish exactly what it was. But it looked something like the corpse of a man."
"You must be crazy, Brady!"
"Do you think so? We don't. But you've aroused our curiosity about that mysterious trip on the river and we'd like to know what it all meant."
"You'll never learn from me."
"Oh, I suppose not—voluntarily. Anyway, you ought to tell us why you are so intimate with your uncle's negro valet——"
"You make me sick!" exclaimed Mason, wearily. "Sim told me all about your looney suspicions about he and I making away with my uncle. But I defy you to prove any of your crack-brained theories. You are on the wrong trail, Brady. And I advise you to leave me alone, or by jingo, I'll defend myself and make it very warm for you."
"Got a big political pull?" laughed the old detective.
"No, but I carry a gun in my pocket!" hissed Mason, furiously.
"Oh, pshaw! That don't scare me a bit, my boy. Then you won't confess——"
"I'll tell you nothing of my personal affairs!" roared Mason. "Clear out! Mind your own business. Leave me alone! I don't want to have anything to do with you fellows! Do you understand?"
And he scowled and stamped his foot on the pavement and rushed past them and hastily entered his house.
The Bradys laughed and walked away.
"He's getting afraid of us," said Harry.
"Yes. We are wearing on his nerves. He knows we are watching him, and it makes him very uneasy. However, when we get good proof of his guilt, we'll nail him, and that will end his rascality."
They felt confident that Mason would not come out again that night and therefore went home.
On the following morning a great surprise awaited them.
Harry was reading the daily paper and caught view of this item:
"The missing man found. Oliver Dalton, the well-known Broad street broker, found drowned in the East river. At ten o'clock last night Martin Kelly, an old junk dealer, picked up the mutilated corpse of a well-dressed man in the East river off the foot of East Forty-second street. Hetowed it behind his skiff to the morgue, and turned the corpse over to the authorities, with an account of his ghastly find. The body had been in the water so long it would have been unrecognizable if it were not for some private papers found in the pockets, by means of which the man's identity was established. A reporter was the first one to bring the news to the dead man's daughter, etc."
"The missing man found. Oliver Dalton, the well-known Broad street broker, found drowned in the East river. At ten o'clock last night Martin Kelly, an old junk dealer, picked up the mutilated corpse of a well-dressed man in the East river off the foot of East Forty-second street. Hetowed it behind his skiff to the morgue, and turned the corpse over to the authorities, with an account of his ghastly find. The body had been in the water so long it would have been unrecognizable if it were not for some private papers found in the pockets, by means of which the man's identity was established. A reporter was the first one to bring the news to the dead man's daughter, etc."
When Harry read the item aloud, Old King Brady cried:
"Harry, had Mason's trip on the river anything to do with finding that corpse?"
"Let us go down to the morgue and get the facts."
Old King Brady nodded and they hastened across town.
CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT THE BROKER'S WILL SAID.
When the Bradys entered the morgue they found Lizzie Dalton there, bitterly weeping, and the keeper showing her the body said to be her father's.
The man's head was gone, as if it had been severed by the wheels of a passing boat. The hands were nearly destroyed and the clothing was in a good state. The keeper was asking the girl:
"An' yer recognize him as yer father?"
"It must be," replied Lizzie, with a sob. "On the finger is a ring which I know belonged to him, the clothing certainly is his and the keys, papers and penknife found in the pockets belonged to him. As you can see, the envelopes have his name and address on them."
Just then the girl saw the Bradys.
They bowed to her and Old King Brady said, in kindly tones:
"We hope you will make no error, Miss Dalton. Let the identification be complete. Everything depends upon your verdict."
"Oh, I am positive it is poor papa," said the weeping girl, "for no one but he could have had the things found on this corpse."
The detectives examined the body and the effects.
They then left the Morgue with the girl.
She was deeply affected and they brought her home in a carriage.
When they left her at her door and departed, the Bradys were in a bewildered state of mind and the old detective said:
"Harry, I'm completely puzzled again."
"On account of the girl's positive identification of that body?"
"Yes. If it wasn't Dalton's corpse she would not declare it was."
"But how about the body we traced to the swamp in Georgia? Could it have been brought North again and thrown in the river here?"
"Such a thing might have occurred."
"It seems improbable, though."
"Very true. But there's no way to account for the finding of this body here unless that's what happened."
"Then we are beyond our depth again."
"So it appears. We may be deep enough to solve an ordinary mystery, but the depth of this one seems to be too much for us. At first we imagined we had the whole thing thoroughly sifted out. Now we've received a severe setback. It brings us to where we started, practically. All our theories may have been wrong. Sim Johnson and Ronald Mason may be innocent men. Perhaps we wronged them by unjust suspicions based upon circumstantial evidence."
"Then you think we had better drop the case?"
Old King Brady nodded, and replied:
"I don't see what else we can do now. If the man found in the river is Dalton, the body is in such a state that it will be utterly impossible to tell whether he was a victim of foul play, suicide, or accident. There is absolutely nothing about the body to indicate what the cause of his death was."
"I don't fancy giving up the case."
"Well, we never before found a job we couldn't finish successfully," said the old detective. "But how we are to unravel the mystery of this man's death is beyond my power of thinking."
Harry pondered a few moments in silence.
Several ideas passed through his mind and he finally said:
"Will you stick to the case a while longer if I do?"
"Certainly. Why did you ask that question?"
"Because we haven't satisfied ourselves about what Mason and the black valet were doing on the river with that boatman. If we find that the old gray-bearded fellow was the one who brought the body to the morgue, it would seem to indicate that Mason and the coon know something about how Mr. Dalton may have met his doom. Remember the object they had towing behind the boat may have been the old broker's corpse. We can find out by attending the coroner's inquest and gaining a glimpse of the man who picked up the body."
"Then we shall do so."
On the following day they went to the morgue again and there found the coroner and his jury.
The inquest was in progress.
As the boatman who found the body was the only witness present the Bradys saw him the moment they entered the building.
It proved that their suspicion was correct.
He was the same little old man whom they had seen rowing Mason and Johnson out on the river.
Satisfied of this and having learned his address, the detectives left the building with renewed hope in their hearts.
Outside, Harry said to his partner:
"It's the same fellow, sure enough."
"No doubt about it, Harry. But then, he may have found the body long before he met the negro and Mason.He may have learned whose corpse it was and telegraphed to Mason to come down to the river and identify it."
Harry shook his head.
"I don't agree with your view," said he.
"Why not? It's plausible."
"No, it ain't. It don't account for Johnson being there ahead of Mason."
"By Jove, I didn't think of that."
"I tell you, Old King Brady, the whole circumstance is so suspicious that I'm yet of the opinion that the whole thing is a deep-laid plot, and I'm convinced that we will get at the bottom of the mystery if we keep a watch on the foxy Mr. Mason."
"It won't do any harm to try a while longer."
Harry looked pleased to hear this, and they went downtown and put their plan in operation at once.
Within the next few days several important events occurred.
The body was taken from the morgue and was buried from Mr. Dalton's house, Lizzie and Mason being the chief mourners.
The Bradys had found out who Mr. Dalton's lawyer was.
Having called on him and explained their suspicions of Mason, they asked him if he had seen Mr. Dalton's will.
He told them that Mason had given it to him that morning, with a request that it be read at the house that afternoon.
It was then sealed up and according to Mason's story, had been in Mr. Dalton's safe a long time, in the Broad street office.
"We must hear the contents of that will," said Old King Brady. "As Mason is an unscrupulous man, we fear he may have tampered with it."
"You might disguise yourselves and go with me," suggested the lawyer. "I could tell Mason you were called on as witnesses."
"Very well. What time are you going there?"
"I'll leave here at four o'clock."
"We shall be on hand to go with you."
With this understanding they separated.
The Bradys went home and disguised themselves.
Both were expert at such work, and quickly made such a wonderful change in their outward appearance that they could safely defy recognition.
Harry was made up as a stylish young woman, and Old King Brady, in a black wig and beard, looked like a minister.
The lawyer did not know them when they returned to his office, and laughed heartily when he found out who they were.
"I never saw such skillful disguising done before," he exclaimed, admiringly, "and I can assure you that Mason will not know who you are."
They proceeded to Mr. Dalton's house and were introduced to Lizzie and the broker's nephew as two witnesses to the reading of the will.
Neither Mason nor the girl knew the detectives.
When all were seated and the lawyer had made a few remarks about his business, he opened the seals on the will and read it aloud.
By this paper the old broker left a fortune amounting to half a million, most of which was invested in stocks, bonds and mortgages.
But it was a peculiar will.
After speaking of the high regard in which he held Ronald Mason, the broker went on to say that he earnestly desired his daughter to marry the young man. If she did so she was to receive half the fortune. If she failed to do so, every cent was to go to Mason.
The brokerage business was left to him to do with it as he pleased.
When the lawyer ceased reading, Lizzie Dalton was as pale as death.
Rising to her feet she bitterly denounced the terms of the will, and said:
"I don't believe my father ever wrote such a will. He always was opposed to Mason marrying me. So was I. And what is more, if I forfeit every dollar coming to me, I'll never marry that man!"
She pointed at Mason.
His clean-shaven face was convulsed with anger.
"So!" he sneered. "That's your answer, is it?"
"Yes!" she cried, hotly. "I hate you, Ronald Mason, and you know it."
"Oh, you'll regret your hasty decision."
"Never! Never!"
"Then if you reject the terms of that will you are entitled to nothing, and therefore you can clear out of here. This house and everything is mine. I am the master here now. You get out!"
"Hold on, there! I've got something to say about this," said Old King Brady, as he flung off his disguise and seized the disputed will.
CHAPTER IX.
FLIGHT OF THE GUILTY MAN.
When Ronald Mason saw that the supposed minister was his enemy, Old King Brady, a tigerish expression leaped to his eyes.
He recoiled a few steps and gasped, hoarsely:
"What! You here?"
"You can see for yourself!" replied the detective.
"What is the meaning of this trickery?"
"I denounce this will as a forgery!" thundered Old King Brady.
For an instant there was a deep, oppressive silence in the room.
The detective's words startled every one and the lawyer finally asked:
"Upon what ground do you make that remarkable statement, Mr. Brady?"
The old detective held up the will.
"In the first place," said he, forcibly, "the provisions of this instrument are entirely unnatural. Who ever heardof a kind, indulgent father disinheriting his only child for not marrying a man whom we all know he formerly refused to accept as a son-in-law? Who would believe Oliver Dalton criminal enough to leave his tenderly-nurtured daughter an absolute beggar, dependent upon the cold charity of the world? What has this girl done to forfeit her birthright? What has this man done that Dalton should leave his daughter penniless, for his sake?"
"It does look rather queer," assented the lawyer.
"Queer? Why, it's utterly ridiculous!" cried Old King Brady, in tones of supreme contempt. "It's beyond reason. Only an insane father would be guilty of such a deed. Moreover, I have my doubts about the signature attached to this paper. It looks similar to Mr. Dalton's signature which I have appended to a letter now in my pocket. But there are certain formations in the letters that lead me to suppose this signature on the will is a rank forgery. I'm going to prove that idea by giving the will and some of Mr. Dalton's signatures to a handwriting expert. He will magnify them and throw the image of the enlarged signatures on a screen by means of a magic-lantern. Any one can then tell at a glance if this signature is a forgery or not."
"You'll do nothing of the kind!" yelled Mason, furiously.
"Won't I? You'll see, sir. I shall."
"That will shall be filed for probate with the surrogate."
"So it shall," grimly answered Old King Brady. "So it shall. And this lawyer will contest it on behalf of Miss Dalton, and baffle your design to rob her. And if it is proven that the will is a forgery, you can rest assured that I'll arrest you for the crooked work the moment I get my hands on you!"
Mason gave a hollow, mocking laugh.
"Fool!" he hissed. "I don't fear you."
"But you shall——"
"Bah! Shut up! You make me sick!"
And snapping his fingers at the old detective, Mason rushed from the room, put on his hat and left the house.
When he was gone, Harry hastened after him.
Left alone with the girl and the lawyer, Old King Brady held a conference with them and settled upon a plan of legal action.
In the meantime Mason had gone downtown, with Young King Brady carefully shadowing him at a safe distance.
He entered Mr. Dalton's office and remained there until long after all the clerks had gone home.
Harry remained outside the building on the watch for him, and at about seven o'clock saw him emerge.
He dropped a letter in a lamp-post letter-box and rapidly strode across town and entered a liquor saloon.
Young King Brady divested himself of his disguise in a hallway.
While waiting for his man to emerge from the saloon, the boy made a bundle of the disguise and wrapped it in a newspaper.
Half an hour passed by.
Getting uneasy over the prolonged absence of the man, Harry strode into the saloon, glanced around and failed to see Mason.
"He must have given me the slip!" thought the boy, ruefully.
"Looking for any one, sir?" queried a bartender who was watching him.
"Yes. What became of a fellow of this description who came in here half an hour ago?" said Harry, and he minutely described Mason.
"Why, he went out the side door after getting a drink of whisky," said the bartender. "He seemed to be in a hurry to catch a train."
"How do you know?"
"Well, he asked me what time the train for Savannah left, and as I told him he only had a few moments to catch it, he hurried out."
Harry thanked the man and left.
"The villain is heading for the South again!" flashed across the boy's mind. "I'll see if I can verify this idea."
He went over to the railroad ticket office and closely questioned the agent, who admitted that a man such as the detective described had bought a ticket for Swamp Angel and gone.
Young King Brady was puzzled over Mason's actions.
He could not understand why the man was running away from New York so soon after the incident at Dalton's house.
"It looks as if he had a guilty conscience and feared exposure," muttered the boy, as he made his way home.
Old King Brady was there ahead of him and Harry told him about Mason's flight to the South.
It made the old detective laugh.
"Guess we've frightened him," he remarked.
The Bradys remained up late that night discussing their plans.
On the following morning a letter reached them from Mason, worded in the following manner:
"Messrs. Brady: By the time this reaches you I shall be so far from New York that you'll never catch me. I know very well that you are going to find out that Dalton's will is a forgery. If I remain you'll put the screws on me. So I'll baffle you by going in good season. Moreover, you will find out later in the day that all the funds in Dalton's business are missing. I've got the stuff, as I need it to get away. If the time ever comes for me to get even with you for all the trouble you've caused me, I'll make you pay dearly for your accursed interference."Ronald Mason."
"Messrs. Brady: By the time this reaches you I shall be so far from New York that you'll never catch me. I know very well that you are going to find out that Dalton's will is a forgery. If I remain you'll put the screws on me. So I'll baffle you by going in good season. Moreover, you will find out later in the day that all the funds in Dalton's business are missing. I've got the stuff, as I need it to get away. If the time ever comes for me to get even with you for all the trouble you've caused me, I'll make you pay dearly for your accursed interference.
"Ronald Mason."
"So he's gone," said Harry.
"In good season."
"And he left a black record behind him."
"We probably haven't heard the worst yet, Harry."
"Let's go to the office and see how much he stole."
Old King Brady was eager for the facts, and they passed out together.
In half an hour they reached Dalton's office and founda policeman in charge, all the clerks frantic with alarm, and the safe open.
"There's been a robbery here," said the policeman to the detectives.
"How much was taken?" asked Harry.
"Thirty thousand dollars in cash and bonds."
"Well, we know who did the job. The clerks must go, and we must close and lock the doors after I secure a few papers."
They had a talk with the chief clerk, got all the details, and the place was then vacated and locked up.
Returning to the street the detectives strode down Broad street toward the Battery, and the old sleuth remarked:
"He made quite a rich haul."
"As we know about where to find him," answered Harry, "we may be able to recover the booty when we go after him."
Just then a little old man with a gray beard came waddling out of Bridge street, clad in a blue jumper and an old felt hat.
The moment Harry saw him he sprang forward, clutched him by the arm, swung him around, and said:
"Martin Kelly, the junk man!"
"Gosh!" exclaimed the old fellow. "Ther detectives."
"Yes, and we are going to arrest you, Martin, for your connection with the case of the drowned man you brought to the morgue."
"What fer?" tremulously asked the old man, beginning to get frightened.
"Oh, we saw you, Ronald Mason and the coon fooling with that corpse in your boat on the river before you brought it to the morgue, and we want to know what you were up to."
"I'll tell, if yer don't jail me, Mr. Brady."
"That's a bargain. Out with it, then."
"Well, that there nigger was aboardin' with me. The other night him an' me was on ther river carryin' some scrap iron from a boat where I bought it an' we found that dead body. As soon as ther coon saw it, he tied it to ther boat an' said he an' his boss would palm it off for somebody else. So he went ashore an' telegraphed to Mason to fetch down a suit of Dalton's clothes an' things to make it look as if the body was Dalton's. When Mason come, we rowed out on the river, stripped the corpse, put on him the things Mason brought, chucked him overboard and I set them ashore down the river an' towed the body to the morgue where I left it. They paid me ten dollars to keep my mouth shut about what they done."
The Bradys were amazed.
His story cleared up a great deal of mystery and left the real fate of Oliver Dalton a matter of doubt again.
CHAPTER X.
WHAT THE HANDWRITING EXPERT SHOWED.
Realizing the importance of Martin Kelly's confession, Harry now turned to his partner and said, significantly:
"We'd better get what he says in the form of an affidavit."
"By all means," assented the old detective, eagerly.
"Say, yer ain't a-goin' ter do nuthin' to me, are yer?" demanded Kelly.
"Oh, no; merely going to make you swear to the facts you gave us."
"I'll do that willin' enough, sir."
They brought him before a notary public, and having written out his statement and secured his signature and oath, they let him go, after learning that Johnson did not return to his house since the body was found.
The Bradys were delighted.
When they reached the street, Harry cried:
"That Mason was a clever schemer. But we've foiled his plan to palm off a stranger's body for that of the missing broker. We must let Lizzie Dalton know how she was duped. There's every possibility yet that her father is still alive. With this doubt pending, the will need not be probated yet."
"Steps have already been begun to test the signature," said Old King Brady. "By this afternoon we shall know positively whether that signature to the will is a forgery or not."
"And if it is?"
"We'll have to run down Mason and make him pay the penalty of his crime," replied the veteran detective, decisively.
They then went up to the Dalton house.
Lizzie was at home and heard what Kelly confessed.
Her joy and astonishment knew no bounds, and she cried:
"Then there is some probability that my poor father yet lives!"
"Yes, indeed," replied Harry, "and it is our belief that he is still concealed down South in the big swamp on his estate. We are going back there to investigate the matter."
"And I sincerely hope you will be successful in finding him," fervently replied the girl. "In fact, I am so anxious about the matter that I shall go down to Swamp Angel myself as soon as I can get my affairs so regulated here that I can go away."
"Then we shall meet there."
"I hope so. And if your work is going to keep you in the vicinity of our place, I want you to make your headquarters there."
They thanked her for the invitation and after some further talk they left the house and headed for the writing-expert's office.
The professor was located on Broadway near Chambers street.
He was in when they called.
They had furnished him with several check-vouchers, and other specimens of Mr. Dalton's handwriting procured at his office.
He greeted them warmly and asked, with a smile:
"I suppose you are curious to learn the result of my labors?"
"We are," assented Old King Brady, taking a chew of tobacco.
"I've finished my investigations."
"And what is the result?"
"That signature is a rank forgery."
"A poor one?"
"Very."
"Let us see."
"I'll magnify the writing."
He had a projecting machine, and, lighting it, he placed the signature on the will and several more signatures of Mr. Dalton in the machine.
The names were reflected on a sheet, in enormous proportions.
Three were exactly alike, but the fourth was entirely unlike them.
Magnified, the finest lines of the writing were now as coarse as a broom handle, so that every little mark was plainly visible.
"Explanations are useless here," said the expert, smilingly. "You can easily see for yourself all I could tell you. The three signatures which are alike are taken from a check, a letter and a bill. You will notice there isn't the slightest deviation in any of the lines from the fixed method Mr. Dalton had of signing his name. The odd-looking signature is the one affixed to the will. Here you will see that the loops, straight lines, curves and angles are all entirely unlike the original; the width of the lines and shading are different, and the angle at which the letters are set is not the same as that in the others."
The Bradys saw all this and more, too.
In fact, they had every evidence before them that the will was a base forgery and they were well satisfied.
With this fact established, they went to the Central office.
Here they encountered their chief.
Old King Brady detailed to him all that transpired, and he listened very attentively until the detective finished.
Then he pondered a moment, and said:
"The whole thing is a big plot on Mason's part to get his uncle's money and daughter at one swoop."
"We've clearly established Mason's guilt, sir."
"Very true. He's a bad egg. Capture him and you may find out what he has done with Oliver Dalton."
"I've become convinced of another fact since finding out what a villain that fellow is," said Old King Brady.
"To what do you allude?"
"Well, you recollect that when we began this case it was for the purpose of finding out who was stealing money from the broker's mail," said the detective.
"I'm aware of that."
"In view of all that happened, it begins to look as if Mason was the guilty party the Federal Government is after."
"It wouldn't surprise me a bit if you brought home that crime to his door," said the chief. "If, as you say, he had such extensive control of the business, he must have handled all the mail. It would then have been an easy matter for him to purloin the contents of many of the envelopes without being detected."
"The misfortune now is that he's gone so we cannot set a trap to catch him in the act," said Old King Brady. "If anything now is found out about the matter, it will only be learned from Mason himself making a clean breast of the crooked work."
"Convict him of his other misdeeds," said the chief, lighting a cigar, "and you'll have evidence enough to send the villain to jail for a long time. If Mr. Dalton is dead, you can lay the crime at his door, for he was the only person in the world who hoped to be benefited by the demise of his benefactor."
It was late when the Bradys took leave of the chief.
On the following afternoon they were ready to depart from New York, and they each wore a clever disguise.
While Old King Brady in boots and whiskers might have passed for a respectable old farmer, Harry had every appearance of being a typical Texan cowboy.
They proceeded downtown by separate routes.
Harry crossed over to the west side of the city and boarding a Belt Line horse-car, he paid his fare and glanced around.
The boy's picturesque costume and fierce big mustache attracted the attention of all the passengers.
He returned their curious stares with interest, and looking from one to the other, his gaze finally rested upon a negro sitting in a corner of the car with a big black-enamel valise on his lap.
Young King Brady could hardly repress a start.
The negro was Sim Johnson!
"Great Scott!" he muttered. "It's Mason's friend, the valet. Where is the black rascal going with that big valise? Shall I put the nippers on him? What is he doing over here on West street?"
He thought it over.
Harry's first impulse was to arrest the man.
Cool second-thought restrained him, however, and he muttered softly:
"No. I'll shadow him and find out where he is going. It will be time enough to arrest him when I find he's trying to get away."
He kept a wary eye on the coon after that.
Johnson rode down to the foot of Liberty street and alighted.
To Harry's astonishment he saw the darky buy a ticket for Swamp Angel, and then the truth flashed across the boy's mind.
"He's going to the very place I'm heading for," thought the boy, "and he must be doing that at the request of Ronald Mason. In that case he's sure to meet the man. What a good decoy duck he will make! By Jove, I've only got to shadow him and he will lead me right to the very place where his employer is concealed. Then we'll be enabled to arrest Mason right away."
The coon crossed the river, with Harry on the same boat.
Old King Brady met Harry on the Jersey side and Young King Brady told his partner about Sim.
A smile of intense satisfaction crossed the old detective's bewhiskered face, and he strode along behind the valet and saw him board the train.
The Bradys followed.
Shortly afterward the cars started.
On the following night they all alighted at Swamp Angel and the negro took to the railroad track and started to tramp in the direction of the swamp where Mr. Dalton's body had disappeared.
There was plenty shelter from the negro's gaze for the detectives, and they silently and stealthily sped along in pursuit of their decoy.
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE QUICKSAND.
"Halt, or you're a dead man!"
It was a stern command, in a rough voice.
The Bradys paused near some rocks and saw two rifle barrels aimed over the top of them, in the hands of two masked men.
Hearing the voice, Johnson had come to a sudden stop and glanced around.
Just as the detectives were about to reach for the revolvers they carried, the same rough voice sang out, quickly:
"Hands up!"
The sharp click of the rifle hammers followed.
It would have been sheer folly to disobey that command, for the masked men had a bead drawn on the officers.
In that lonely place no one would know they got killed.
They felt chagrined over the careless way in which they walked right into the ambuscade, and raised their hands.
"Goldurn yer!" cried Old King Brady. "What on airth dew yer mean by holdin' up a feller citizen this way?"
One of the masked men emerged from behind the rocks.
He was nicely clad, wore a big felt hat, had long hair hanging down on his shoulders and a brown mustache on his upper lip.
This man looked like a southern planter.
A hideous half mask of black hid the upper half of his face and the Winchester he carried was aimed at the officers.
He intently studied Old King Brady's face a few moments, then asked:
"What were you skulking along after that negro for?"
The moment the officers heard his voice they recognized him, despite his disguise, as Ronald Mason.
Affecting an indignant air, Old King Brady growled:
"Goldurn it, who wuz afollerin' that nigger?"
"You were."
"No, we wuzn't!"
"I'll find out about that! Hey, Sim!"
"Am dat yo', Massa Ronald?" cried the coon, running back.
"Yes, and here are two fellows sneaking along on your trail."
"Wha' fo'?" demanded the darky.
"Hanged if I know. Look at them."
"Fo' de Lawd sakes, dey was on de train wif me, sah."
"They were, hey? That's suspicious."
"Oh, go 'long!" said Old King Brady. "Can't a man walk along here without bein' held up like a burglar by you chaps? Gosh durn it, if it's robbery yer up ter, it's mighty little money you'll find on me."
"We ain't thieves."
"Wall, I'm blamed if yer don't look like it."
"Sim, take a good look at those gents and if you happen to find any guns about their clothes just relieve them of them."
"Yassah," said the coon.
He got so close to Old King Brady that he suddenly detected the fact that the detective was wearing a wig and false beard.
The cunning negro did not let on what he had seen.
But he suddenly grabbed them and pulled them off the old detective.
It effected a startling change in Old King Brady's appearance, and Mason recognized him at once, and roared furiously:
"I'll be blest if it ain't those cussed detectives again!"
"Lawd amassy!" groaned Sim, all his courage departing, and he made a sudden dash for the swamp and rushed away, spattering up showers of mud and water.
The Bradys swiftly drew their pistols.
It was clear that a fight was imminent.
The man with the rifle pulled the trigger, intending to shoot the old detective, but his weapon missed fire.
"Run!" yelled his companion behind the rocks, and he shot at Harry just as Mason made a dash for shelter.
A bullet whistled by dangerously close to Young King Brady's cheek, and he discharged a shot at the running man.
It carried off his hat.
The next moment the three rascals vanished.
Harry and his partner made an effort to find them, but failed.
All hands had gone plunging among the weeds and shrubbery, and in an instant were swallowed up by the verdure.
"A warm welcome, Harry," said Old King Brady, when they met on the railroad track five minutes later.
"I'm sorry Mason caught us shadowing the valet."
"It gave our presence here away, and will put them on their guard."
"Can't be helped. We know Mason is really here, however. He's desperate now, and won't hesitate to murder us if he can, to avoid arrest."
"Who was the other masked man, I wonder?"
"Must be the party who helped him to get the box off the train, and carry the body of Mr. Dalton to the house in the swamp."
"Oh, Mason hadn't a hand in stealing the box from the baggage car. He got off before the cars reached this point of the swamp, I'm sure."
"Then that fellow must have had other helpers, as he could not very well have done the job unaided," said Harry.
"Let us get around to the board walk, and try to reach the hut. If they are heading for that building, we can meet them there."
"Here's a quicker way," said the boy, pointing at a boat.
It was a crude affair, half hidden in the reeds.
They embarked, and rowed out through the lagoons.
The water was mostly quite shallow, but there were places where the detectives could not see bottom.
In a short time they reached the island in the swamp, and, leaping ashore, they ran over to the hut.
One glance inside was enough for them.
"The place is deserted," was Harry's comment.
"Wait for them. We may have headed off the rascals."
"If they saw us coming here, they will shun the place."
"There was no way to conceal our movements."
An hour went by quietly enough.
Not a soul ventured near the place, and Harry grew restless.
He made a circuit of the island, scanning every section of the swamp, and finally returned to his partner, and said:
"We've had our labor for our pains."
"No sign of them, eh?"
"No. Could they have gone to the Dalton residence?"
"More than likely. As Mason is skulking about this neighborhood, he, of course, must be living in the big house."
"Come on over there then."
"Get in the boat. It will save us making a detour of the swamp."
They saw numerous channels by following which they could reach the mainland quite close to the big house.
Gliding slowly over the water, the boat finally touched the shore, and the two detectives debarked and pulled the punt up on the bank.
There were rocks, trees and bushes all around.
As they stood looking for a path, a voice reached their ears, saying:
"Sim, where are you?"
Then the negro answered:
"Near de sho', Massa Ronald."
Old King Brady held up his finger warningly.
"There they are!" he whispered.
Just then Mason's voice was heard again:
"Keep on shouting, Sim, so I can locate you."
"Dis way! Dis way!" cried the darky.
The detectives glided in the direction of the voice, and, passing through the shrubbery, they parted the bushes, and entered a clearing.
A little brook was gushing from the midst of the verdure, and emptied its waters into a shallow pool, the bottom of which was composed of pure white sand.
Pausing on the brink of this pool, the detectives glanced searchingly around, and heard the negro laughing amid the shrubbery.
"He's over there!" said Harry, pointing across the pool.
"Watch a moment, and we may locate him," Old King Brady whispered.
Standing stock still, they listened intently.
In fact, they were so absorbed in looking for the negro that they did not see two men crouching in the bushes close behind them.
They were the two masked fellows who first assailed them.
As stealthily as tigers, they crept from their covert.
When but a few feet separated them from the Bradys, they made a combined rush, with their hands outstretched.
The alert detectives heard them coming, and glanced around.
Before they could defend themselves, however, the on-comers struck them heavily, and knocked the detectives into the pool.
Too late the Bradys realized that the negro had been decoying them purposely to that dangerous place.
For, the moment they fell into the pool, they sank in the sand.
Trying to scramble to their feet, the Bradys found their legs going down in the treacherous sand rapidly.
Then the truth flashed across their minds, and Harry cried:
"By Heavens, they've thrown us into a bed of quick-sand!"
"Try to reach the shore—quick!" panted Old King Brady.
They made the most desperate efforts, but only floundered around helplessly, and each moment got caught more firmly in the deadly sand.
CHAPTER XII.
AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND.
The moment Ronald Mason and his companion hurled Old and Young King Brady in the bed of quick-sand, they ran away.
Dodging behind the rocks, they hid themselves.
By this time the sun was rising.
Finding it impossible to extricate themselves from the deadly grip of the treacherous sand, the detectives ceased their struggles.
"It's useless, Harry," said the old sleuth, despairingly.
"If we remain passive, we'll soon sink beyond our depth, and perish."
"Yell at the top of your voice. Some one may hear us."
"Help! Help! Help!" shouted Harry.
They were shouting this way when Mason came from behind the rocks, pulled off his mask, and grinned sardonically at them.
Finally he said in sarcastic tones:
"Well, how do you like dying by inches?"
"This was cowardly of you, Mason," said Old King Brady, bitterly.
"It's my way of gaining revenge."
"Why don't you give us a fair show to fight for our lives?"
"Because you are so dangerous you might beat me."
"Help us out of here, and act like a man."
"I won't. See all the harm you've done me. In the first place, you've cheated me out of a fortune. In the second place, you prevented me from getting the girl I loved. In short, you've baffled me at every turn, after I made the most elaborate preparations to succeed."
"We did our duty."
"Oh, that be hanged! You'd kill me to do your duty, and I'm justified in ridding myself of such enemies as you two are."
"If you hadn't done wrong you would not have had us after you."
"Well, I know that very well. It's stale news. But I had an object in what I did, and you interfered and foiled me. I didn't do any one much harm, and——"
"You robbed Oliver Dalton and put him out of the way."
"Robbed him?"
"Yes. You pilfered money from the mail."
"How do you know I did?" asked Mason, with a startled look.
"Dalton employed us to expose you, and we'd been at his house on the night you and Johnson were posing in Thirty-sixth street as undertakers."
"The deuce! I didn't know Dalton knew."
"You admit, then, that you did rob his mail?"
"No use denying it now," laughed Mason. "I freely admit that I did get away with thousands of his dollars in that way. No use trying to conceal it. You'll never get out of there alive to prosecute me. And even if you do, you've got enough other evidence against me to send me up as high as a kite."
Despite his peril Old King Brady felt triumphant.
They now knew who the mail thief was.
By this time the Bradys were sunk in the quick-sand to their hips, and were unable to move in any direction.
They kept sinking every moment with horrible rapidity.
"Well, we can't arrest you now for that crime," said Old King Brady, "but I've got a feeling that we shall do so yet."
"Humbug! You are getting dopy. You can't escape from there."
"Are you going to abandon us to our fate?"
"Yes; I wish you a merry voyage over the River Styx!"
And with a mocking bow and a jeering laugh, he strode away.
The Bradys began to shout for help again, and Mason paused, and, darting an angry look at them, he shouted threateningly:
"If you don't shut up we'll shoot you!"
"So much the better," replied Old King Brady. "It will end our misery."
"Oh, we won't shoot to kill," growled the scowling rascal, "but we will riddle your carcasses with painful wounds."
"Mason, you're a fiend."
"Am I? That's a compliment."
And with a short laugh he disappeared in the bushes.
Once more the detectives began to call for assistance, for they now were sunk to their armpits in the sand.
Their voices sounded hoarse and smothered, and a despairing feeling was creeping into their hearts, but they kept on shouting.
Presently Mason shouted at them from the bushes in angry tones:
"Are you going to shut up?"
"No!" roared Old King Brady.
"Then I'll pepper you!"
And bang! went his rifle, and a bullet whistled by their heads.
"Keep on yelling, Harry!" gasped the old detective.
"Help! Help!" shouted the boy, obediently.
Bang! went Mason's rifle again.
The ball grazed Harry's cheek, and stung like a bee.
Just then the shots and yells were heard by an old track-walker of the railroad, and he rushed around the swamp shouting:
"All right! I'm coming!"
This unwelcome voice to Mason caused a look of alarm to flit over his pale features, and, fearing arrest, he sped away.
The villain calculated that the detectives would be buried out of sight long before assistance could reach them.
But the Bradys were cheered up wonderfully.
They kept on shouting, and the track-walker finally found them by being guided by the tones of their voices.
Only their heads stuck above the water.
He stared at the pair in astonishment a moment, and cried:
"What in thunder are you doing in there?"
"Buried in quick-sand!" gasped Harry. "Help us—quick!"
The old fellow was startled and rushed in among the trees.
For a minute the detectives thought he deserted them. But he soon reappeared with a sapling he had cut with his pocket-knife.
Standing on the embankment, he reached out the end to Old King Brady, who lifted his hands above the water and grasped it.
"Pull!" gasped the detective.
The track-walker used all his strength, for the sand clung to the old detective tenaciously, and dragged him up.
Around him the sand stirred up and the water bubbled and eddied as it rushed into the opening left by his body.
After a fearful struggle Old King Brady was dragged free of the sand, and drawn to the shore, panting and drenched.
Harry had sunk to his chin.
It was only by keeping his head thrown back that he kept his mouth above water, and his two hands were raised.
Quick to act, and paying no heed to his own exhaustion, Old King Brady grasped the pole and thrust it out to the boy.
Half gone, Harry took hold.
Between the old detective and the track-walker he washauled up and pulled ashore in a half-fainting condition. It was some time ere he revived.
But when his faculties returned, and the old track-walker had been thanked, the boy told their benefactor all that had happened.
He was surprised and indignant.
"That man Mason is a devil!" he exclaimed.
"We'll make short work of him for this terrible deed," said Harry.
"And I wish I could help you."
Shortly afterward the track-walker departed to resume his lonely tramp along the road-bed with a sledge over his shoulder to replace any spike or frogs dislodged by the passing cars.
Left alone, the Bradys glanced at each other, and Harry remarked softly:
"Our time hasn't come to perish yet, partner."
"I felt sure of that, even before that man came to our rescue."
"We've found out now what a desperate man Mason is."
"And we'll have to resort to drastic measures to get the best of him."
"How do you feel?"
"In a good humor to fight."
"Then let's go up to the house and tackle him."
"He will be surprised to see us alive."
They were thoroughly rested now, and, having examined their pistols and found them in working order, they proceeded up the hill.
Within a short time they reached the house, and rang the front door bell for admittance.
George Scott, the big negro whom they had met at the gate when they were there before, opened the door and grinned at them.
"Hello, George!" said Harry. "How are you?"
"Right smart, sah, thank you," chuckled the darky.
"Is Mr. Mason in?"
"Good Lawdy, no," replied the colored man. "An' de blame rascal better not come in dis yere house, or I'll blow de roof ob his head off, sho's yo's bo'n. I done know all he's been a-doin', I does."