"Why, who gave you the news?" asked Harry, in surprise.
"Missy Lizzie, sah. She arrive heah ter-day, bress her heart, an' she seen yo' a-comin', an' done tell me fo' ter ask yo' right inter de parlor. She be downstairs in a moment, Massa Brady. Come right in, gemmen, come right in."
And he led the detectives into the parlor, flung open the blinds, and left the room.
In a few moments the door opened and Lizzie Dalton stepped into the room and approached them, with a smile and extended hand.
CHAPTER XIII.
NICK WIFFLES EXPLAINS A MYSTERY.
"So you found Ronald Mason prowling around the swamp, after you traced Sim Johnson down here from New York?" asked the broker's daughter, after the first salutations were over, and all were seated.
"We were under the impression that he had been making this house his abode," replied Old King Brady, in some surprise.
"No, indeed. George, the caretaker, declares that nobody but he and his wife have been in this house since you two gentlemen were here last."
"That is very strange," said the old detective.
"Why do you think so?" asked the girl, curiously.
"It puzzles me to account for Mason haunting the swamp and never coming near this house. Why is he hanging around that dismal swamp? What is the attraction that keeps him there with no friends or companions but those two negroes?"
"Was the other masked man a negro?"
"Yes. I saw the rascal's black skin plainly."
"Perhaps he is in the swamp to avoid arrest."
"No, no. He would not select such a malarious hole when there are so many pleasanter places for him to abide in. There is a deeper reason behind it. We must find out what it is."
"When he learns I am here, Mr. Brady, he may take it into his head to continue his persecutions."
"Not while we are here to protect you."
"Then you will be my guests?" eagerly asked the girl.
"Nothing would afford us greater pleasure."
"That makes my mind feel much easier."
"If your father should yet be alive and they should have him concealed somewhere around this swamp, it might account for their presence here."
"Yes, yes," she assented, eagerly. "You've proven conclusively that my poor father was not the man found in the river."
"In view of the fact that the game is up, so far as Mason is concerned, I can't fathom any object he may have in keeping your father a prisoner any longer. That is, of course, presuming he really has your father alive and imprisoned anywhere."
"Well," said the girl, reflectively, "I cannot give an opinion on that point at all. I can only keep on hoping that you may soon find my father, dead or alive. It would end this dreadful suspense and uncertainty about his fate."
At this juncture George's wife stuck her kinky head in at the door and announced that dinner was awaiting them.
The Bradys were shown to their rooms.
Having washed and made their toilets as best they could, they went down and joined Lizzie in the dining-room.
After that, several days and nights of hard work ensued.
The Bradys abandoned their disguises, merely wearing their top boots, and thoroughly scoured the swamp.
Not a trace of Mason or his two negroes was found.
It nettled the detectives, and finally drove them to the conclusion that the rascally trio had gone away.
Assured of this, the Bradys searched Swamp Angel.
No one there had seen anything of the men in question.
It therefore seemed quite evident that they cleared outof that neighborhood entirely, and assured of this, the Bradys started for home afoot that night.
"We shall have to leave here to-morrow," said the old sleuth, "and get upon their track elsewhere, Harry."
"It's a question how to find their trail," the boy answered, dubiously.
"As they more than likely went by rail, we could easily make inquiries of the passing train crews for some tidings of them."
Just then the pounding of horses' hoofs upon the road reached their ears, and they rushed behind a heap of rocks.
Parting some bushes growing there, they peered out.
The moon was rising in the cloudy sky, lighting up the dusty road, and the detectives caught view of two men on horseback.
They were coming from the direction of Pine Creek, the next railroad station beyond Swamp Angel, and carried bundles of provisions.
As Harry's glance fell upon the pair, he grasped Old King Brady's arm, and muttered in low, excited tones:
"It's Mason and Johnson, or some other negro."
"Hush! Keep quiet!" muttered Old King Brady.
Up came the horsemen, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the detectives were watching them, and Mason was laughing and saying:
"The fools were searching the swamp for us during the past three days, Nick, and they couldn't find a sign of us."
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed the negro. "'Specs dey am not so smart as dey fink dey am. An' what's mo', dey nebber find us."
Just then the detectives sprang from their covert.
Landing in the road in front of the two startled men, they grasped the horses' bridles at the bits, and the frightened beasts paused and reared up.
"Whoa!" yelled Mason. "What's that? Whoa!"
Old King Brady aimed a pistol up in his face.
"It's me!" he cried.
"Thunder!" roared the man.
"You throw your hands up."
"What for?"
"Because we want you!"
A sneering laugh pealed from Mason's lips.
He dug spurs into his horse's flanks, and the brute sprang forward, maddened with pain, and knocked the old detective down.
Over him bounded the horse, and the next moment it went galloping away into the woods a few yards ahead, and vanished.
Harry had been more fortunate.
As soon as he stopped the negro's horse, the black man raised a stick he carried and aimed a blow at the boy's head.
"G'way f'om dar!" he yelled.
Harry bounded out of reach of the blow.
The descending stick hit the horse and it gave a sudden leap that dismounted the man, and went plunging away at a furious rate.
The negro landed on his back on the ground.
In a moment Harry pounced upon him.
Pushing his pistol in the man's face, he cried:
"Surrender, you black fiend, or I'll bore you!"
"Don't shoot, boss!" roared the coon, frantically.
"Are you going to submit?"
"Yassah, yassah!"
"Without a fight?"
"Fo' sho' I is."
"Roll over on your face."
"Ober I go! Don't fire!" said the coon, turning over.
"Now, put your hands on your back."
"Heah dey am, boss!"
And the negro did as he was told.
Out came Harry's handcuffs, "click!" they snapped on his wrists, and in another instant the man was a prisoner.
When Old King Brady reached the boy he was pulling a big navy revolver out of the man's hip pocket.
"Got him, Harry?"
"Safe, Old King Brady."
"Get him upon his feet."
They raised the man, and now got a good square look at him.
He was a short, heavily-built fellow, clad in rags, and had as villainous a face as any they had ever seen.
The man was trembling with fear.
It was plain he was an arrant coward.
When the detectives looked him over, Old King Brady asked him:
"Say, what's your name?"
"Nick Wiffles."
"Where do you live?"
"In de swamp."
"Ain't you the man who built a bonfire on the railroad track some time ago, to stop a train from running into an obstruction?"
"I is."
"And you did it to stop the train?"
"He done telled me ter do it, boss."
"So you could steal a box containing Mr. Dalton's body from the baggage car during the confusion?"
"Dat's about de size ob it."
"And you got Dalton's body out of the box and carried it into the swamp?"
"I did."
"Into the hut?"
"Yassah."
"Were you alone?"
"All alone."
"When you got the body in the hut, what did you do with it?"
"I ain't a-gwine ter tell yer."
"All this was prearranged between you and Mason, wasn't it?"
"Yassah."
Old King Brady smiled. He had cleared up another mystery.
CHAPTER XIV.
EXPOSING THE SWAMP MYSTERY.
The Bradys were surprised at the prompt manner in which the negro answered the questions put to him. But they presently observed that he was keeping a wary eye upon their revolvers, and evidently feared to get shot if they caught him lying to them.
Moreover, Old King Brady showed plainly by the questions he asked that he was familiar with the true inwardness of the things he accused Nick of. It made the darky think the old detective knew more about the case than he actually did know.
Seeing his advantage, Old King Brady said:
"Now, see here, Mr. Wiffles, you know we are detectives, don't you?"
"Ob c'ose," admitted the coon, in gloomy tones.
"You tried to shoot us, and you tried to kill us in the quick-sand. That gives us the right to put you on trial for your life, charged with attempted murder. You are in a pretty bad fix, old man. I wouldn't give two cents for your life. You know what little evidence is required here to hang a Georgia nigger. Therefore you can realize what your fate will be."
Nick began to cry.
Big tears rolled down his cheeks.
Falling on his knees, he cried in despairing tones:
"Oh, massa officer, hab mercy on me!"
"We are inclined to pity you, as you were merely an ignorant tool in the hands of a very wicked man. But of course you can't expect us to be lenient unless you aid us to capture Ronald Mason, and recover Mr. Dalton, either dead or alive."
"What yo' want me ter do, boss?" eagerly asked the miserable coon.
"Tell us where to find Mason."
"He lib in dat hut in de swamp."
"Why does he live there?"
"So's he kin watch his prisoner."
"Who is that—Mr. Dalton?"
"Yassah."
"Oh! Then he's got Dalton in the swamp, eh?"
"Fo' suah, boss."
"In the hut?"
"Dat's whar he was."
"Why is Mason holding him a prisoner?"
"Dunno. But I 'spects it's kaze he am a-tryin' fo' ter git de ole man ter sign a paper, an' de broker won't do it."
"What sort of a paper?"
"A bank check."
"I see. He wants to get a genuine signature to it."
"Wants all ob Massa Dalton's balance what am left in de bank."
"How much does it amount to?"
"Ober $75,000."
"Dalton refuses?"
"Obstinate as a mule."
"I don't blame him. Now, where is Dalton kept hidden?"
"Dat I can't say, boss. Somewheres in de swamp."
"Is Mason forcing Dalton?"
"Torturing de ole gemman."
"What a shame! Now, tell me: On the night you got Dalton from the box, was the old gentleman drugged?"
"Only tied hand and foot an' gagged."
"Then he was uninjured?"
"Only half starbed."
"When you carried him into the hut, he fought with you?"
"Fearful! Yo' see, he had worked his hands free from de bonds. Done gib me a strong tussle when I was a-gwine ter take him into—into——"
"What?"
"His prison, sah."
"If you don't tell where it is, we shall shoot you, sir!"
As Old King Brady made this threat he pushed his revolver against Nick's forehead, and the coon gave a wild yell of terror.
"Fo' hebbin's sake," he groaned, "doan fire!"
"I'll solve the mystery of this swamp, or I'll murder you!" fiercely cried the old detective. "Do you hear me, sir?"
A cold sweat burst out all over the darky.
He gazed around in alarm, and gasped hoarsely:
"If I tell, will yo' gib me away?"
"To whom?"
"Massa Mason."
"Of course not."
"Den listen. Dar's a tunnel under de flo' ob dat hut."
"Where does it lead to?"
"A big cave under de island in de swamp."
"How do you reach it?"
"Froo a trap-doo' in one corner, covered wid earf."
"And that's where Mason is keeping his prisoner, eh?"
"Yassah. We free lib dar."
"Is that where you carried Dalton on the night you took him from the cars?" demanded Old King Brady.
"Ob co'se," replied the coon. "An' if Mason find out dat I done tell yo' about it, 'spect he'd kill me like a dog."
"No doubt he would," said the old detective. "He is capable of doing almost any kind of villainy. Where were you to-night?"
"Bringin' food fo' de cave, as our supply ran out."
"I thought as much."
Just then Harry muttered:
"Well, the great swamp mystery turns out to be a very simple matter, now that we fully understand it, Old King Brady."
"This man may be lying, Harry."
"We can easily prove what he has told us."
"Yes, indeed. And if we find Mr. Dalton kept a prisoner it will go mighty hard with Mason when we capture him. I'm glad to hear that the old broker had the nerve to resist his demands, for it looks to me as if his nephew were tryingto amass all the money he can get his hands on in order to escape from here as soon as possible."
They questioned Nick for a while longer.
Then they brought him to the town, and had him locked up.
Returning to the Dalton mansion, and meeting Lizzie, they told her what they discovered by pumping the negro.
She was, of course, delighted to learn that her father was alive, and was eager for the detectives to go to his rescue.
"We'll make the attempt to-morrow morning," said Harry.
"I don't see why you are putting it off so long," exclaimed the girl, petulantly. "I can get you all the help you may need."
"Let us work our own way," quietly answered the boy. "Knowing that we've captured Nick, and may have pumped him, Mason will very likely be on the lookout for us, and meet us with a hot reception. By waiting, it will lead him to think we don't know anything about his subterranean abode. Then, when we attack, we will have a better chance of taking him by surprise."
The girl pondered a moment.
Cool reflection showed her the wisdom of Harry's plan.
"You are right," she admitted, reluctantly. "I'm so anxious to have something done for my poor father's instant relief that I can hardly suppress my impatience, though."
"We understand your feelings in the matter," replied Old King Brady, quietly. "But we know best how to handle your cousin. If you will leave the matter to our judgment, we will stand a better chance of making a success of our plans."
It required no argument to convince the girl, and she sighed, and said:
"Very well, Mr. Brady. Do as you think best. All I ask is that you will not lose any time about going to my father's rescue."
They discussed the matter fully that night.
In the morning the detectives returned to the swamp.
A careful examination was made of the dreary waste of mud and water, but they failed to see any signs of their men.
It was a bright, sunny day, but a dense vapor hung over the marshy land, and the officers went through it to the island.
They expected by coming so early in the morning to catch their enemies sleeping. But a discovery Harry made dispelled this idea.
He caught view of a tiny stream of smoke rising from some rocks.
Upon examining the spot, he found a natural chimney coming up through the ground, out of which the smoke was pouring.
When he returned to his partner and told him about it, he said:
"That's evidence enough that there's a cave under the island, and the column of smoke shows that Mason and the valet have started a fire to cook their breakfast. When we get in, we are likely to find them at that occupation. Are you ready for the attempt?"
"Certainly," assented Young King Brady.
They walked over to the hut, and entered.
Nick had explained where the trap was located, and they soon found a cunningly hidden ring, and pulled it upward.
A door, covered with earth, was raised.
It revealed a flight of damp stone stairs.
The Bradys drew their pistols, got their dark lanterns ready for use, and descended the stairs for a distance of fifteen feet.
They found themselves in a big natural cavern, and as they flashed their lantern lights around in the gloom, a cry of the most intense astonishment burst from their lips.
CHAPTER XV.
THE PRISONER IN THE CAVE.
"Harry, this is the most astonishing place I ever was in in all my life."
"It certainly is wonderful, Old King Brady."
The detectives were gazing in amazement where the lights of their lanterns rested, and beheld a wonder of nature very seldom seen.
In the first place, they were in a huge cavern of circular shape.
The flight of stairs wound around one of the walls, and beside the bottom step there was a yawning hole in the ground fifty feet in diameter.
It seemed to go straight down into the earth.
Harry picked up a big stone and dropped it into the opening.
They listened intently, but failed to hear it strike bottom in the pit.
"This hole must be of enormous depth!" the boy exclaimed, "else we would have heard that stone hit the bottom."
"Look at the church organ rising up from the depths against that side of the abyss," said Old King Brady, pointing across the chasm.
His light rested upon a number of stalactites forming what looked exactly like the pipes of an enormous organ.
Beneath them was a bank of keys.
The silence of death prevailed.
Nature had wrought a wonderful formation there.
The entire interior of the cave was pure white, looking like camphor.
Huge pendants like great icicles hung from the ceiling, and similar formations rose from the floor.
In some cases the ends of the pendants nearly touched the points of the stalagmites rising from the bottom, and not a few were dropping pure, clear water, which formed little pools that ran in rivulets to the great well, and there vanished in the bowels of the earth.
It was quite cold there, yet there was a strong, fresh, invigorating taste to the air, which was agreeable to the lungs.
At various parts of the walls were other natural formations, and among them, in a niche, the figure of a woman holding a child.
"For beauty, the Mammoth Caves of Kentucky cannot compare with this place," said Young King Brady, in tones of delight.
"We are forgetting our object," said the old officer.
"True. But no one is in this place."
"Let us see if there are not adjoining caverns."
"Explore those openings in the wall."
He pointed at an arched aperture, and they crept into it on their hands and knees, and went ahead a dozen yards, then paused.
They were on the brink of another chasm.
A rift split the passage in two crosswise.
It looked as if some convulsion of nature had ripped the earth apart, and they crept back to the main cavern and tried another opening.
It was possible to stand upright in this place.
The passage wound and zigzagged.
Following it for some distance, they suddenly caught view of a lurid glare ahead as they turned an abrupt bend, and halted.
"Put out your light," whispered Old King Brady, in warning tones.
"See them?" asked the boy, complying.
"No, but they must have kindled that fire."
"Advance carefully now."
They got down on their hands and knees again, and went on to the spot where the passage opened into a smaller cave.
Here the sight was prettier.
The floor, walls and ceiling were a delicate shade of pink, and the icicles formed many fantastic shapes that sparkled in the firelight.
Pausing, the detectives now saw that the place was about fifty feet in diameter, with a vaulted roof, through a hole in which the smoke from a big log fire was pouring upward.
Upon the floor there were some skins of animals, benches, boxes, dishes and other articles used for cooking and comfort.
Two men were lying upon the ground smoking pipes before the big fire, and as the lights glowed upon their faces, the detectives observed that they were Roland Mason and Sim Johnson.
Both were conversing.
"Sim," the white man was saying, "are you quite sure the detectives have got Nick locked up in jail?"
"Dat's whut I heered dis mornin' in de town, Massa Ronald," replied the negro, in serious tones.
"He may give us away, Sim."
"If he do, Ise gwine ter gib it to him."
"You won't have the chance if he's locked up."
They both laughed heartily at this grim remark.
When Sim's mirth abated, he said thoughtfully:
"Peahs ter me, if dem yere 'tectives wuz a-gwine ter pump any news outen dat coon, dey would hab done it las' night, an' come right heah aftah us, sah."
"Their absence is all that relieves my mind, Sim. I quite agree with your idea. Still, Nick may weaken later on, and make a clean breast of it."
"Hab we got ter stay heah much longer?"
"No. Old Dalton is losing his nerve."
"Gwine ter sign dat check?"
"Yes. He hasn't had anything to eat for three days, and his spirit is broken entirely. He's begging me for food."
"What yo' tell de ole fool?"
"I told him I'd feed him the moment he signs that check."
"An' he gwine ter do it, hey?"
"I'm going to tackle him once more. I'm sure he will obey now. You see, there's a balance of $75,000 in Dalton's bank, in ready cash. It can't be drawn without a check, and I'm bound to get such a check. Once I have the money I'll let him go."
"Whar yo' go den?"
"England."
"An' take me?"
"So I promised you."
"De quicker yo' settle dat business, de better."
"Yes. It's too dangerous to remain around here much longer."
"Let's go and hab a look at de ole fellow now?"
"Very well. Light your lantern, and I'll get a fountain pen and a blank check."
They got upon their feet.
While the negro was procuring the light, Mason got his check, and they crossed the cavern, entered a narrow fissure in the wall, and vanished.
The detectives glided from their place of concealment.
Every word uttered had been heard by them.
They entered the fissure.
Some distance ahead was the light.
It suddenly disappeared around a bend, and the officers observed, its dim rays illuminating a small chamber, as black as midnight.
Reaching the end of the passage, the Bradys glanced through the big opening and saw a small cavern of the same crystal formation as the two other caves, excepting that everything here was black and dark brown from some chemical discoloration.
It was a gloomy place.
In the middle of the room was a huge rock.
An iron ring was mortised in the side of it, to which a short, rusty chain was fastened. This chain held a human being a prisoner by being padlocked around his ankle.
The man was Oliver Dalton.
But the detectives scarcely recognized him.
His face was pale and haggard, his eyes deeply sunken in their sockets, his hair dishevelled, and his face covered with a short beard.
From privations his figure was so shrunken that his clothing hardly fit him, and the garments were so dirty and torn that he looked like a tramp.
Mason and the negro had paused near him.
The villain stood looking at the pitiful object he had so basely wronged with a cold, calculating glance, and finally said to him:
"How are you feeling, Dalton?"
"Oh, you miserable cur——" began the old broker, bitterly.
"Shut up!" roared Mason, roughly interrupting him. "No raving!"
"You'll kill me yet."
"That makes little difference to me."
"For mercy's sake give me some food; I'm starving."
"Not till you obey me."
"Have you no pity left in you?"
"I'm simply determined to carry my point."
"This is horrible—inhuman!"
"Oh, I know very well it's unpleasant," testily answered Mason, "but you might have spared yourself all the suffering you have been undergoing for the past three days had you done as I asked. You know me, Dalton. I've started a desperate game to get your money, and I've been baffled at every turn by those accursed Bradys. This is my last resource to raise money enough to get out of the country, and, by Heavens, I'll win, or you'll die!"
The broker gazed steadily at him a moment.
In the hard, cruel expression of Mason's eyes he read his doom, and he was so overcome with absolute misery of mind and body that he leaned against the rock and cried like a child. All hope had left him.
He was broken down in body and spirit.
A cold, cynical smile hovered over Mason's face.
He was not moved by the signs of weakness his prisoner showed. On the contrary, he gloated over it.
This was the surest indication to him that Dalton was upon the verge of collapse, and intended to give in.
He waited for his victim to get over the first paroxysm of grief, and watched him as closely as a cat watches a mouse.
Finally he asked in sharp, metallic tones:
"Well, which shall it be—obey me, and sign a check, or remain chained here like a wild beast, and perish of starvation?"
For a moment there was a deep silence.
Slowly the prisoner removed his trembling hands from his wan, pinched face, and said in reproachful tones:
"I can't stand this any longer."
"Then you will sign the check?" eagerly asked Mason.
"Yes. And you will then give me my liberty?"
"The moment you affix your signature to this check, we will give you food. And the moment I get the money, you will get your liberty."
"Give me the check."
Mason drew the pen and paper from his pocket, eagerly strode over to the poor wretch, and held them out to him.
But instead of taking the pen, Dalton gave one mighty leap, clutched the wretch by the throat with both hands, and, choking the villain till he grew black in the face, he yelled frantically:
"I've got you at last, you dog; and by the eternal, I'll kill you, if it's the last thing I do on earth! Die, confound you, die! And this is the vengeance I've been craving all through the moments of torture you've put me to in the past!"
He hurled Mason upon the floor, pinioned him to the ground, with a knee on his chest, and Sim, with an oath, rushed to his master's aid.
CHAPTER XVI.
ESCAPING FROM THE CAVES.
The Bradys were very much astonished by the violent turn affairs had taken. In the prisoner's desperate attack they saw the last expiring act of a wronged man thirsting to avenge his injuries.
It pleased them to see Mason caught in a trap.
But when the negro showed signs of attacking Mr. Dalton, they realized that it was about time for them to act.
Harry had a revolver in his hand.
Aiming at Sim, he fired.
The sudden report startled every one.
A yell of agony escaped the negro, and he paused and staggered back with a wound in his side which filled him with pain.
The shot caused Dalton to relax his awful grip.
Hoarsely gasping for air to breathe, Mason sprang to his feet.
"I'm shot!" groaned the coon.
"It's the detectives!" gasped Mason, seeing the Bradys.
"We'll get hung!" screamed Sim, in tones of horror.
"Run for the swamp passage!"
"Put out de light!"
Mason seized the lantern and hurled it to the ground.
There was a crash, a jingle of broken glass, then dense gloom.
The Bradys paused.
They heard the patter of rushing footsteps crossing the floor, and made violent efforts to get out and unmask their lanterns.
Only a few moments passed before they had a light flashing on the scene, and they swept it around the cavern.
But they saw nothing of the two villains.
They had made good their escape.
Mr. Dalton stood by the rock, trembling and anxious, and after a few moments of silence, he asked, eagerly:
"Who is that?"
"Friends," cheerily replied Harry.
"Thank Heaven for that!"
"Harry, the villains are gone."
"Can you see how they got out?"
"Yes. There's another tunnel."
"Let them be for the present, and help me liberate this man."
"Wait till I get something from the other cave to break that chain."
He hastened back to the living room.
After the lapse of a few minutes he returned with a file.
While he was cutting open the padlock, Mr. Dalton asked:
"May I ask who you are, gentlemen?"
"The Bradys," replied Harry, quietly.
"What!" gasped the prisoner, in astonished tones.
"We've been hunting for you a long time, and found you at last."
"This is wonderful!"
"Perhaps to you, but not to us."
"For mercy's sake explain matters."
Harry complied as concisely as he could.
When he finished the old broker was thoroughly amazed at the great crime Mason committed in order to rob him.
That it was a failure was due to the detectives, he easily foresaw.
He thanked them again and again, and said, sadly:
"Poor Lizzie! She was faithful to me through all."
"No one will be gladder to see you than she," said Harry.
"And she's so near me now?"
"Yes. In a quarter of an hour you can be with her."
"I feel renewed hope now."
"Will you please tell us how your rascally nephew first managed to get you into his power, Mr. Dalton?" asked Harry, in curious tones.
"It was a very simple plan," replied the old broker. "He knew that I was going to get you to run down the thief who was robbing my mail. But he did not know that I suspected him of the crime. At any rate, on the night you mentioned, I had gone to the Union Club. A telegram reached me, saying you wished to see me at a house in Thirty-sixth street. I went there. Mason and my valet were waiting there for me. They attacked me. I shouted for help. They chloroformed me, bound and gagged me, put me in a box they had prepared for my reception, and—well, all became a blank."
"They had the box and wagon ready ahead, eh?"
"It was a prearranged plot," the broker replied. "That was evident. I came to my senses in the box, and realized that I was being carried off on a railway car. Then you opened the box. The next thing I knew, the box I was in was thrown from the car. The shock stunned me. When I recovered I found myself being carried over a swamp into a hut. The gag was off my mouth, and I shouted for help."
"Yes; we heard you."
"The negro who carried me brought me down here and secured me this way. Then Mason made his appearance. For the first time I then learned that he was the author of all my trouble. He was bound to secure my bank balance, and I refused to sign a check so he could get it. Infuriated over my persistent refusal, he tortured and starved me. The rest you probably know."
"We heard all they said this morning."
Just then Old King Brady finished cutting the lock, and the man was free and able to walk.
He was very weak, though, and the detectives had to support him.
"Do you know anything about the passage by means of which the villains escaped from here?" asked Old King Brady.
"Oh, yes. I've often explored this place," replied Mr. Dalton, readily. "It's a passage leading under the swamp to the mainland."
"Show us the way, and we will follow it."
"Come along, then, and in a few minutes we'll be out of here."
They entered the tunnel, and Old King Brady said to the broker:
"When I entered the Thirty-sixth street house the night you were abducted, I found a curious dagger lying on the floor, and blood-stains on the boards. These clews led me to suppose a murder had been committed there. Do you know anything about those things?"
"Yes," replied the broker. "The dagger was one I had purchased as a curiosity that evening from a shop in Fourth avenue. When those two men attacked me, I drew it, and cut the negro before they got the best of me by knocking it from my hand. Sim bound up his wound, and then they knocked me down and drugged me."
Old King Brady laughed.
"Another mystery solved," he muttered.
"You thought I was the victim, eh?"
"I did. But I see my error now."
"Daylight ahead," interposed Young King Brady just then.
"That's the exit from this tunnel," explained Mr. Dalton.
They left the passage among some rocks in the grounds above the house, and saw Lizzie Dalton near by.
She sat on a log gazing away toward the big swamp with a sad expression upon her pretty face.
Mr. Dalton became excited.
"Lizzie!" he shouted hoarsely.
She sprang to her feet as if electrified, glanced around at him with a joyful look beaming all over her face, and cried emotionally:
"Oh, papa!"
The next moment they rushed into each other's arms, and kissed and wept over each other, their hearts too full for utterance.
The Bradys turned away from the affecting scene.
"Guess everything's all right, Harry," muttered the old detective.
"Looks that way," replied the boy.
"We've got very little more to do now."
"Only to get the nippers on Mason and his black pal."
"Where in thunder could they have gone?"
"Let's notify the authorities along the line of the railroad in both directions to keep a lookout for the pair."
Acting upon this suggestion, they quietly stole away, leaving the reunited and happy father and daughter talking over past events.
Proceeding to Swamp Angel, and learning that neitherof the villains had yet put in an appearance there, they got the telegraph instrument operating, and flashed a warning message all along the line.
News reached them that neither Mason nor Johnson had made any attempt to get away on the cars yet.
In discussing this on their way back to Dalton's the old detective came to a wise conclusion, when he said:
"After all, they ain't apt to show themselves for a while yet, Harry. Both know the game is up, and that we'll be on the lookout for them to escape. They'll expect us to make a bee line for the railroad depots the first thing. Therefore, they'll shun the stations."
"You think they'll remain concealed around the swamp a while?"
"It's more than likely. Now that we've got the railroad guarded so they can't escape, it will be best for us to watch the swamp, and I think we'll find them lurking there until they think the excitement blows over. They won't expect us to look for them there. That will make our task all the easier, Harry."
"Suppose we secrete ourselves there to-night, then?"
"I'm agreeable. If we can pounce upon the pair while they're asleep, we will be spared the difficulty of a fight in taking them."
They finally reached the Dalton house in time for luncheon.
Both the old broker and his daughter greeted them warmly.
The detectives advised him not to go to New York, or to let on to any one that he was alive, until they had captured his enemies.
After supper, the Bradys departed for the swamp.
When they got around on the south side of the swamp, they heard the murmur of voices coming from a dense thicket.
"Hark! What's that?" muttered Harry, holding up his finger.
"Part the bushes and look through."
Harry moved the tangled shrubbery aside.
They had a clear and uninterrupted view of the broad expanse of swamp, and to their delight saw the two men they were hunting for.
The villains were only fifty yards from where the Bradys crouched.
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION.
The waters of a lagoon washed the swampy shore directly in front of the place where the two detectives were crouching.
A flat-bottomed boat was tied to a log, and Sim Johnson was just in the act of casting it loose, when the detectives saw him.
Roland Mason sat in the stern, a big felt hat on his head, the wig and false mustache adjusted, and he was laughing heartily, and saying:
"Sim, we'll fool those detectives yet."
"Ise mighty glad we know wha' dey's gwine ter do," the coon answered.
"We wouldn't have known their plans if I hadn't gone over to the house to-day and listened outside the open window, to all they were saying to Oliver Dalton," replied the rascal.
Harry gave his partner a nudge.
Just then Sim exclaimed:
"De boat am free, sah."
"Jump in, then, and we'll row across the swamp."
"Yo' gwine ter hire dem horses to-night?"
"Of course. We must ride away from here on horseback, and get back into the interior, as the railroad stations here are being watched for us. Once we are a day's travel from this accursed place, we can board the cars of some other road, and get down to New Orleans, where we'll be safe."
Sim chuckled audibly, for the plan pleased him immensely.
He was just about to jump into the boat, when Harry cried:
"Now!"
The Bradys rushed from their covert.
The two desperadoes were completely surprised by the sudden appearance of the two noted detectives.
"The jig is up, boys," said Old King Brady, as he covered his man.
Sim raised both hands above his head.
"Don't fire! I gibs in!" he roared, in terrified tones.
At the same moment Harry aimed his pistol at Mason and cried:
"You surrender, or I'll kill you, Mason!"
"Drop that gun, Brady!"
"Not till you give in," replied Harry.
"Then——"
Bang! went Mason's pistol.
He did not raise it to aim, but took the young detective unawares, and the ball grazed Harry's skull, and stunned him.
Dropping his pistol, he flung up his hands, reeled back, and fell over the side of the boat upon the mud, unconscious.
At the same moment Sim, electrified, sprang convulsively at Old King Brady and knocked the pistol aside.
It was discharged in the air.
The coon seized the detective's wrists, and in a moment a terrific struggle ensued between the pair.
Old King Brady thought his partner was killed.
It made him frantic with rage.
"You treacherous dogs! We might have expected such crooked work as this!" he cried. "But you won't escape me, I can tell you!"
"Help, Mason, help!" yelled the coon.
But Mason had discreetly seized the oars, and was then rowing away with all his strength, in a violent effort to escape.
The negro fought with the courage of despair.
But he was no match for Old King Brady.
The great detective gave his wrist a sudden twist that tore it out of the darky's grip, and caught hold of Sim by the throat.
His fingers closed like a vise on the darky's windpipe.
"Down on your knees with you!"
"Oh, golly! Yassah—I go down!"
And down he went.
Out came the old detective's handcuffs, and the next instant they were snapped upon Sim's wrists behind his back.
"Now, don't you budge an inch till I tell you to!" panted the old man-hunter threateningly, as he aimed his pistol at Johnson.
"Ise a dead niggah!" groaned the rascal, dismally.
"That's what you'll be if you stir!" grimly said Old King Brady.
He strode over to Harry and picked him up.
First he was overjoyed to find that the boy was alive, then he carefully examined the wound on his scalp and saw it was only skin deep.
He court-plastered it, to stop the bleeding.
With a hatful of water he bathed the young detective's temples, and while so employed gazed around in quest of Mason.
The man was far away in the boat by that time.
Harry rapidly recovered, and finally got upon his feet again.
His head was very sore, but otherwise he suffered no ill effects from the wound he received, and cried eagerly:
"Can't we head off that villain?"
"I'm going to make an effort. Grab the prisoner."
While Harry took possession of the scared darky, Old King Brady ran around the swamp at the top of his speed toward the spot Mason was heading the boat for, and kept out of the rascal's view.
In this manner Old King Brady reached the grounds surrounding Oliver Dalton's house, and suddenly caught view of Mason.
He had landed, and was kneeling down beside a rock, under which was a hollow space from which he was drawing a package.
Hearing the old detective coming, he bounded to his feet, and raised his revolver to fire. But he was not quick enough.
A sharp report came from the detective's pistol.
The bullet lodged in Mason's leg.
With a yell of pain he fell.
In a moment more the officer pounced on him.
"I've got you at last, Mason!"
"Curse you—shoot! Kill me!" yelled the maddened man.
"No. I'll reserve your life for a prison cell, so you may repent of your sins at your leisure, and ultimately become a reformed man!"
He held the rascal down by main force.
The shot brought Mr. Dalton and his daughter from the house, and as they rushed over to the spot, the broker cried joyfully:
"So you've got him, eh?"
"Yes; got both," replied the detective.
"Thank Heaven for that!"
"Mason, what's in that package?"
"Money. About $30,000," growled the man in surly tones.
"Is that the money you stole from Mr. Dalton's office?"
"Yes. I may as well own up to it now."
"Mr. Dalton, take your property."
"I shall," replied the broker, seizing the parcel.
Just then Harry came along with Johnson in tow, and the two prisoners were handcuffed together, and were taken to Swamp Angel and locked up.
As Mr. Dalton was anxious to get back to New York, the detectives got their three prisoners and accompanied the broker and his daughter north a few days later, and they finally reached the metropolis.
Of course everybody was surprised to see the broker appear alive and well, after believing so long he was dead and buried.
In due time Roland Mason and his two negro pals were put on trial for their many offenses, and the testimony of the Bradys convicted them.
Their sentences were the extreme limit, and they went to Sing Sing.
Mr. Dalton soon had his business re-established, and found that after all his losses by Mason's peculations were not very heavy since the time he was supposed to have been found dead.
It is safe to say the forged will was destroyed.
From that time onward the Bradys had the warmest friends in Lizzie Dalton and her father. But they certainly earned their esteem.
They had gone beyond their depth several times while unravelling the great swamp mystery, but success crowned their efforts in the end.
Praised for the good work they did by their chief, and lauded to the skies by the press, they became more celebrated than ever.
But their work for the Secret Service was not ended with the happy finish of the Dalton case. They were soon busy with a new piece of detective work that taxed all their ingenuity.
But we have reserved a history of their exploits while so engaged for another story.