OLD SPICER INTERVIEWS CORA BELL.
Old Spicer had no difficulty in finding No. 22 Sixth Avenue; and having gained an entrance to the house, he rapidly ascended to the third floor.
One glance satisfied him as to which were Miss Bell's apartments, and he knocked at the door of her reception-room.
After a moment's waiting, he heard light footsteps approaching from an inner room; then the door opened, and a young woman about twenty-two years of age, with a fine form and a very pretty face, stood before him.
She seemed struck with amazement as her eyes rested on the tall, spare form and somewhat aged face of the famous detective. Then his eyes—those wonderful eyes which had searched so many hearts and made so many criminals tremble—troubled her.
"Who—who did you wish to see?" she at length managed to stammer forth.
"Your own sweet self, and no one else," returned Old Spicer, with his most winning smile and in his most pleasing tones.
"Do you know me, sir?" asked the young woman, in surprise. "I don't remember ever having seen you before."
"Oh, yes; I know you very well, my dear. There are young ladies and young ladies, but therecanbe but one Cora Bell."
"Oh, sir, I fear you are a flatterer," exclaimed the pleased girl. "Will you walk in?"
"Perhaps it will be as well," and he entered the young lady's reception-room.
"Take a seat, sir," said Cora, sweetly.
"Thank you, my dear," and Old Spicer seated himself in an easy-chair.
Cora was about to sit down at some little distance from him, but pointing to another chair much nearer, he said:
"That is the place for you," and smiling pleasantly, she took it.
For a moment neither spoke. At length Cora, whose curiosity was greatly excited, asked:
"Where have I seen you before, sir?"
"Don't you remember, my dear?" returned the old man.
"No, I confess that I do not."
"Ah! how humiliating that is! To think that while I have had you so constantly in my mind, you have not given to me even so much as a passing thought."
"Good gracious! how could I, when I don't know you from Adam?"
"There! now that's an unkind thrust at my age. True, Iamsomewhat older than yourself, but if you only have a little patience, and don't get drawn into any serious scrapes—like murder, for instance—you may see the time when you will be as old-looking as I am."
Cora's face suddenly blanched, and she stared helplessly at her visitor. But he looked so innocent and unconscious that she at length mustered courage to ask:
"Why do you take the trouble to allude to serious scrapes? Do you think I am likely to be drawn into anything of the kind?"
"You lead a somewhat irregular life, do you not, my dear?" said Old Spicer.
"What do you mean by that?" asked the girl, quickly.
"You go to theaters, balls and parties, eat late suppers, and see a good deal of gentlemen's society, don't you?"
"Why—yes."
"The gentlemen of your acquaintance are not all saints, I take it?"
Cora gave a somewhat boisterous laugh.
"Anything but that," she said.
"Well, there it is. Haven't you ever heard the old saw, that you can't handle pitch without being defiled?"
"Yes, I have heard something like that."
"Well, probably you've never thought much about it, but I assure you it's true—both of pitch and persons."
"I hope you haven't come to preach me a sermon."
"Do I look like a preacher?"
"I hadn't thought much about it before, but I'm blessed if you don't. But then, you might be anything else that's grave and terrible. A judge, or a—a——"
"Well, a what?"
"Oh, never mind. Who are you, any way?"
"Let me ask you a question first."
"Drive on. What is it?"
Old Spicer took a pocket-handkerchief from his pocket and quietly spread it on her lap.
"Did you ever see that before?" he asked.
Cora Bell's face instantly became ashy pale, and had she not clutched at the table by her side, she must have sunk to the floor.
"Ah! I see you know it," said the detective, in his quiet, matter-of-fact tones.
"I knew it! I knew it!" she murmured, excitedly.
"I saw you did," he repeated.
But without paying any attention to his remark, she went on:
"I knew I was right the moment I thought of it. You're a detective."
Then, with a reckless—an almost despairing air:
"Well, what do you want of me, any way?"
Old Spicer regarded her in silence for a moment; and then, as if communing with himself, he murmured aloud:
"So pretty! and so young! Not above twenty-one or twenty-two, I should say. Sad, very sad. Enough to make a strong man weep."
"Oh! what is it—what is it that's so horrible?" gasped Cora, in an agony of terror.
"Ah! my poor girl, your own heart—your own conscience must tell you."
Cora started to her feet.
"Hear me, sir!" she cried. "I know nothing at all about it. I had nothing whatever to do with it."
Old Spicer quietly picked up the handkerchief, which had fallen to the floor, and holding it in one hand, while he pointed to it significantly with the other, said:
"That tells a different story, my dear."
"I know what you mean—yes, that's my handkerchief," she said, "but he took it that evening without my permission—that, and at least half a dozen others that I bought for him that day."
"And you didn't know what he was going to do with them?"
"Of course not. I never dreamed of what was going to happen."
"He said nothing at all to you about it then?"
"Yes, on the Saturday before he told me that he knew an old woman in the place he came from who had between thirty and forty thousand dollars in her house, and that he was going to get it."
"Ah, indeed? And what did you say to that, my dear?"
"I told him that he had much better go to work."
"But he wouldn't take your good advice?"
"No, he just laughed, and said he didn't propose to work all summer."
"Did you believe he would go up to New Haven and rob the old woman?"
"No, to tell the truth, I didn't believe he had the nerve to do it."
"He has, I believe, a good deal of what is called brute courage."
"Yes, but I hadn't discovered it before."
"How long have you known Chamberlain?"
"I can't tell that exactly."
"How long have you been intimate with him?"
"Some seven or eight months."
"Did you know, Monday night, that he had gone to commit this robbery?"
"No, I only knew that he had gone out of town."
"Did he tell you about it when he came back?"
"The way of it was this: Tuesday evening I was reading an account of the murder, when Chamberlain came in. Then the truth flashed upon me at once. I accused him of killing the old woman, and he admitted it."
"He had plenty of money then, I suppose?"
"Yes; he had a big roll of bills in his pocket."
"No doubt he made you a handsome present?"
"There you're off, mister. Now, what do you really think he gave me?"
"At least one hundred dollars—perhaps two hundred."
"The mean wretch only gave me a paltry five dollar bill! What do you think of that?"
"If he got the big stake he is credited with having carried off, you have fixed the right name on him—he's a mean wretch."
"Big stake! my word for it, it was a big stake. He got all he went for, you can bet high on that."
"No idea what he has done with it, I suppose?" This was said carelessly.
"I have something of an idea," was the reply; "but I don't know for a dead certainty."
"Well, what's your idea?"
"He's got a secret friend somewhere here in town, but who that friend is I don't know, or whether it's male or female I don't know. All I can say is, find that friend and you'll find Margaret Ernst's money!"
"You think, then, he's placed the plunder in the hands of this friend to keep for him?"
"I'm sure of it."
A silence of some moments' duration followed.
At length the old detective turned to Cora and abruptly asked:
"Did you ever hear of such a person as Old Spicer?"
The girl started.
"Good Lord! yes, sir!" she exclaimed. "I—I hope you are not he?"
"Fortunately for you, my dear child, I am he," was the grave reply. "Now are you willing to take some good advice from me?"
"I'll do anything in the world you tell me."
"In the first place, then, if Chamberlain should visit you again, which I hardly think he will do, by the way, you are not to mention my being here."
"I will not—I swear it."
The old man raised his finger impressively.
"That's enough! I believe you," he said.
"I'm glad you do."
"In the second place, then, if any other detective comes here it will not be necessary for you to tell him all you have told me."
"I won't tell him anything at all, if you say so."
"Well, my dear, manage that the best you can."
"I think I can manage to hold my tongue."
"I hope so, my dear. By the way, are you acquainted with any members of the detective force?"
"Yes, sir; I know one or two."
"Who are they?"
"Sergeant Cosgrove, for one."
"And McGuire, perhaps?"
"Yes, sir. I know who he is."
"Well, if they, or either of them, make you a call, you needn't volunteer any information, you understand."
"I understand. And—and if I do just as you tell me, will you get me out of this awful scrape?"
"You have told me the worst—so far as you are concerned?"
"Indeed I have, sir."
"Then I emphatically promise to see you through it."
"Oh! thank you, sir."
"You're heartily welcome to all I can do for you, my dear. And now I must leave you."
"I am sorry to have you go. When shall I see you again?"
"That I cannot tell; but if you are threatened with any danger, you may be sure I shall be on hand."
"You are very good, sir."
"I am glad you think so."
Then Old Spicer arose and walked to the door.
As he turned the knob he looked back and said:
"By the way, where does Chamberlain make it his home in the city?"
"He boards at 305 West Twelfth Street, and rooms at Hudson and Morton streets," was the answer.
"Thank you, my dear. And now I must really say good-day," and almost before the girl could repeat the words of leave-taking the great detective was gone.
JIM TAYLOR IS ARRESTED.
Old Spicer had hardly left the building when he was joined by Killett.
"Thank fortune you are here!" he exclaimed in a tone of relief. "There are three places that must be shadowed instantly.
"What places are they?" asked his friend.
"The house I have just left, where Cora Bell makes it her home, the boarding-house No. 305 West Twelfth Street, and the building at the corner of Hudson and Morton streets."
"What is the last?"
"The place where Chamberlain lodges."
"Good! Slip into this saloon, and I will see to the matter at once."
Old Spicer went into the place designated, and Killett hurried down the street.
In a few moments he returned, and after giving Old Spicer an account of what had passed between Taylor and the two burglars, he listened to the other's account of his interview with Cora.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, when the old man had finished, "there's just one thing for us to do to make this the neatest and most perfect job ever handled by detectives."
"Yes," nodded Old Spicer, "just one thing."
"And that is to discover Chamberlain's unknown friend."
"Exactly."
"It can be done."
"Of course."
"And we'll do it."
"To be sure we will."
"We must manage to drive Chamberlain to him, I suppose?"
"Perhaps he will go without driving."
"Right! the moment he is out of funds he will go to him for more."
"That's it."
"We ought to have Stark and Rouse looking after him."
"Where are they now?"
"They are busy with Taylor and those precious worthies, Hawks and Klinkhammer. By the way, when had we better gather them in?"
"The moment they have led us to the scoundrel who hired them to murder poor Charley Way."
"They have made an appointment with him to meet them in the city to-day, eh?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, we won't have long to wait."
"I hope not. Do your men know where to look for you, Adam?"
"Yes; and, by Jove! here comes one of them now."
"That's so; and it's Stark himself."
"Right. Well, Silas, what is it?"
"I have a suggestion to make, sir."
"Out with it, then."
"I would recommend taking Taylor before he can see Chamberlain. They'll give us trouble if they get together."
"You're right. And so far as I can see, there's no reason why Taylor shouldn't be arrested at once."
"It must be managed quietly, then," suggested Old Spicer. "It mustn't be known that he's taken."
"Correct, old friend, I see the point. Is he still in the saloon, Silas?"
"Yes, sir; but getting ready to leave."
"Well, send a policeman in uniform in there, and have him tell Taylor that he is wanted at the excise commissioners' office."
"All right sir; and what then?"
"Why, follow and arrest him; say somewhere in the vicinity of Bond Street and Broadway."
"Very good, sir."
"Who's looking after the other scoundrels?"
"Quackenbush and Crowley."
"That's all right. And so, when Taylor is safe under lock and key, I wish you'd be on the lookout for Chamberlain," and Killett explained the situation.
"Oho! he has a secret friend, eh?" exclaimed Stark, when he had finished. "I should like nothing better than to hunt down that man."
"Why so?" asked Old Spicer, curiously.
"Because I believe it will turn out that he, whoever he is, has encouraged this crime."
"Very likely," returned Spicer, in a musing tone.
"Well," exclaimed Killett, abruptly, "we shall see by and by, and now be off with you, my good friend," and Stark hurried away.
He soon fell in with a policeman.
"How are you, Tompkins?" he cried, slapping the officer on the back. "Fine day."
"Hallo!" returned the man in blue, looking round. "What the deuce—— Oh, is it you, Stark?"
"Yes, it's me, old boy, and I have a little job for you."
"What is it?"
"Walk along with me and I'll tell you."
The policeman fell into step with the detective, and after a moment, said:
"Well, drive ahead."
"Know Jimmie Taylor's place, down Hudson Street?" asked Stark.
"Know it? Well, I should say so!"
"All right; he's in there now. I want you to go in and just say to him that he's wanted up at the excise commissioners' office right away; and then, in as unconcerned a manner as possible, come out."
"I understand. But, I say, Stark, what's the row?"
"Nobody knows that yet, but you'll hear, I fancy, before you're much older."
"All right. Here we are, and I'll do your little job for you," and Tompkins entered the saloon.
Taylor was in earnest conversation with his barkeeper.
He looked up on hearing footsteps, and when he saw the policeman, he started.
Tompkins appeared not to notice this, but walking up to where he was standing, said, carelessly:
"What's the matter, Jemmie? What's the hitch between you and the folks at the excise office?"
"Didn't know there was any," was the quick reply. "I run this saloon on the square; and so far as I know, there's no chance for any one to find fault."
"You're all right, for anything I've ever seen to the contrary, but something's up and you're wanted at the excise office at once."
"At once, eh?"
"Yes, they want to question you, I suppose, and if you'll take my advice, you'll get around there with the least possible delay."
"I'll go this very minute. Jerry, give Mr. Tompkins whatever he calls for," and snatching up his hat, which was lying on the bar, Taylor left the saloon.
"What is it to be, sir?" asked Jerry, when they were alone.
"Whisky straight, if you please," was the prompt reply, "and, Jerry, I'll just step inside this door to drink it," and pushing open the door which led to the little stall-like rooms, he waited for Jerry to bring him his whisky there.
Mr. Tompkins was a cautious policeman, you see. He was careful—indeed, most anxious, not to bring reproach on the excellent body of men to which he belonged.
Jerry soon made his appearance with a liberal dose of "poison," which Tompkins swallowed as if he loved it, and then, with a cheerful good-day, he went out.
Neither Taylor nor Stark was in sight. The first, on emerging from the saloon, had hurried down the street. The other had let him get some distance ahead and then had followed him.
They kept on in this way until they had reached the vicinity of Bond Street and Broadway, when quickening his pace, Stark came up with Taylor, and slapping him on the back, said in a matter-of-fact tone:
"Mr. Taylor, I should be pleased with the favor of your company for a short distance."
"Who the devil are you?" exclaimed Taylor, turning upon him with a start.
"I am an officer of the law and you are my prisoner," was the stern reply.
"I don't know about that."
"Ido. And let me tell you, Jimmie, it will be best for you to go along with me quietly, understand?"
"Where are you going to take me to?"
"The central office."
"What for?"
"Mr. Byrnes is anxious to have a good look at you."
"He won't get much out of me."
"That's all right. Every man has a right to keep his mouth shut and his tongue still if he can."
"Well, I can."
"It's nice to have a good opinion of one's self, Jimmie. And now step off a little faster, if you please."
Taylor apparently had given up all thoughts of resisting, and walked on by the detective's side without another word.
On arriving at the central office he was locked up, and a letter purporting to be signed by him, was sent to his saloon, informing Jerry that he had suddenly been called out of town on business and would not be back that night.
All this having been accomplished, Stark hastened back to the place where Old Spicer and Killett had established their headquarters, and reported.
He then went out to make the rounds between the three points at which it was suspected Chamberlain would be most likely to show up, namely, Cora Bell's rooms, his own boarding-place, and his lodging-house.
Shortly after he had gone out Crowley made his appearance, and a single glance at his face convinced both Killett and Old Spicer that something of importance had happened.
"Ah, sir, you're welcome," said Old Spicer; "take a seat at the table here."
"Thank you, sir," and stepping forward, the new-comer sat down.
OLD SPICER'S SPEAKING-TUBE.
"Well, Crowley, what have you to offer?" asked Killett, with a great show of interest.
"We have tracked Hawks and Klinkhammer, by different routes, to the same hotel—a quiet affair uptown," was the answer.
"And are they there now?"
"Yes; closeted in No. 24 with a guest."
"Is the guest a new arrival?" asked Old Spicer.
"I was told not—that is, he has occupied his room, off and on, for several months."
"Off and on, eh? That is, he goes and comes as he pleases."
"Exactly."
"Humph! What's his name?"
"Bissell—E. E. Bissell he signs himself."
"Young or old?"
"Young—that is, under thirty."
"Who's on duty there?" asked Killett.
"Rouse and Quackenbush."
"Well, Old Spicer, one of us ought to look after this matter, while the other waits for news of Chamberlain here."
"I believe I'd better go up to the hotel," said Old Spicer, after a moment's reflection.
"Very good, then, I'll stay here."
"We can keep each other posted as to our movements, eh?"
"Certainly, and we should be careful to do so."
"All right; I will go with Crowley, then, unless you want him here."
"I was just going to suggest that I might want him."
"All right, you keep him, and I'll find my way to the hotel alone;" and Old Spicer went out.
He took the elevated road up town and soon arrived at the hotel.
He found Quackenbush on the lookout, and learned from him that Rouse was endeavoring to catch some fragments of the conversation that was going on in No. 24.
"What!" he exclaimed, "isn't he in the next room?"
"No," was the reply, "there is no chance for that. On one side there is a short hall, a passageway, and on the other a room that is occupied by a gentleman and his wife."
"Hum. Well, there must be a room overhead."
"Lord, yes. I never thought of that."
Old Spicer hurried to the landlord, who happened to be in the office.
After a moment's conversation, he asked:
"What's the number of the room over twenty-four?"
The landlord considered the question for a moment and then said:
"Thirty-six."
"Good! give me the key to thirty-six."
"What do you want of it, sir?"
Old Spicer gave him a hurried but plausible explanation.
The key was at once handed to him.
He went back to Quackenbush.
"Come with me," he said. "I shall take Rouse up to thirty-six with me, and I want you to remain in the vicinity of twenty-four, so that, in case they leave the room, you can follow them."
"All right, sir," and the two went upstairs.
They found Rouse in the little passage at the side of the room. He had been at work boring a hole through the plastering, but unfortunately had chosen the wrong spot, and so his hole had come out in a closet on the other side.
"Come with me, Reub," said Old Spicer; "Quackenbush will remain here."
"It would be worth big money to know just what is being said in there," returned Rouse regretfully.
"Of course, and that's what I am bound to find out."
"How do you propose to do it?" asked Rouse, in surprise.
"There is a room overhead."
"Undoubtedly."
"And in that room is a ventilating flue, which runs down through the room below and out through the roof above."
"I see! I see!" exclaimed Rouse, in high glee. "We have only to reach the ventilator to hear all that is going on in Bissell's room."
"Right, provided the ventilator in twenty-four is not closed."
"I've no fear of that—they're never closed."
"Very good; then we are likely to hear something to our advantage."
By this time they had reached room No. 36, and, thrusting the key into the lock, Old Spicer opened the door.
His eyes at once sought the ventilator.
It was over the mantel-piece and at a considerable distance from the floor.
"How can we get at it?" asked Rouse.
Old Spicer cast a rapid glance about the room.
"Nothing here that will answer the purpose," he muttered. Then catching Rouse by the sleeve, he exclaimed:
"Come with me," and he conducted him to a private sitting-room opposite, the door of which was open.
A strong and fair-sized table stood in the center of the room.
"Take hold of it," said Old Spicer, and within one minute that table was standing in front of the mantel-piece in Room 36.
"Now, then," continued the old detective, "bring a couple of stout chairs, these in this room are too frail to stand on."
Rouse vanished, but soon returned with the chairs, which he placed upon the table.
Old Spicer then locked the door, and the two men mounted on to the elevated chairs and placed their ears to the ventilator.
The next instant a smile of satisfaction spread over both their faces.
"A regular speaking-tube," whispered Rouse.
"Remember that!" returned Old Spicer in his ear; "and on no account utter a word above the lowest whisper."
Rouse nodded, and both gave their undivided attention to what was being said in the room below.
It was Mr. E. E. Bissell who was speaking. There could be no doubt about that, and he was talking right to the point.
"There's no use continuing this interview a moment longer," he was saying. "The man's dead, I admit that fact; but such a bungling piece of work I never heard of before."
"It wasn't a job to be proud of," muttered Barney.
"I should say it wasn't! However, heisdead; and while Reed, of the Consolidated Road, has hit pretty near the mark, neither he nor any other live man suspects that I am mixed up in the affair; hence, so long as you two keep your mouths shut, I am satisfied."
"We're as dumb as oysters," asserted Barney.
"Dot's schust vhat ve are," chimed in Jake.
"I'm glad to hear it. And now I am going to pay you in full, and add a couple of thousand on one condition."
"Vhat vos dot condition, Mr. Pissell?" asked Jake eagerly.
"That you both solemnly swear never, as long as you live, to enter the State of Connecticut again."
"Hem, dot vos schust a leetle hard, Mr. Pissell."
"May be it is; but how can you earn a thousand dollars a piece so easily?"
"Dere vos somedings in dot, I confess."
"Of course, and so you swear do you?"
"Vell, vhat you say, Parney, schall ve swear?"
"Of course," answered Barney, impatiently, "you know as well as I do, there's nothing else for us to do."
"Ah-ha!" exclaimed Bissell, "you never intended to return to Connecticut."
"Not likely," responded Barney, dryly. "I fancy our necks are worth as much to us as yours is to you."
"Put," Jake hastened to ask, "you vill gif us der extra dousands all der same, eh?"
"Youbethe will!" growled Barney.
"Oh, yes," exclaimed Bissell, with alacrity, "I don't care what motives keep you out of that state, or, better still, out of the country. I am only too willing to pay you, so long as youdokeep out. And now here's your money. Adding the $2000 it makes $12,000, or $6000 apiece. Pretty good pay for one night's work, eh, boys?"
"No more than we fairly earned, sir," retorted Barney; "though, as you say, there was a little bungling."
"I find no fault, you understand," said Bissell. "Indeed, it was I who set the price, and if it only leads to what I hope and expect it will, I am a good deal more than satisfied."
"The lady has heard of the—theaccident?" said Barney inquiringly.
"Ye-yes, I believe she has."
"How did she take it?"
"Made a great fuss at first, but I hope that's over by this time."
"Oh, she'll come round, never fear. She had to make a little fuss, you know, for appearance sake."
"That's it, exactly."
"Well, we wish you luck, Mr. Bissell, and now, good day."
"Good-day, gentlemen—but stay! one word: When do you leave New York, and in what direction?"
"We leave this very day, and we're going to Mexico or Central America."
"You couldn't have chosen more wisely. I wish you the best of luck and continued prosperity."
"Thank you, sir."
"I shall always feel an interest in your welfare. Write to me, when you get settled down there."
"We'll do it, sir.
"You know my address?"
"Yes, Emory E. Bissell. But shall we direct to this hotel?"
"You may as well. But never mind the Emory; perhaps we've used that name too freely already among the wooden nutmegs, E. E. Bissell will do."
"All right, sir, we'll remember. And now is there anything more to say?"
"I wish you could tell me how Conductor Mason and Peter Coffey are coming out in this affair?"
"That's more than we know ourselves, sir. They were so closely connected with Way in the illicit liquor trade and otherwise, that it's more than likely to go hard with them."
"I'm sorry; but I see no help for it."
"There is no help for it—if we're to get off scot-free."
"Well, you'd better do that—if you can."
"We mean to. And now, once more, good day."
"Good day," and the two worthies were gone.
DETECTIVES IN A TIGHT SPOT.
"Come," exclaimed Old Spicer, and, lightly springing from the table, he and Rouse hurried from the room.
They rushed down-stairs, through the office, and overtook Quackenbush just outside the hotel door.
"Where are they?" asked Old Spicer, breathlessly.
Quackenbush pointed them out just as they were turning the next corner above.
"Go back and watch Bissell," he whispered. "Rouse and I will follow them up."
Quackenbush returned to the hotel, while Old Spicer and Rouse followed the murderers.
They walked across town till they reached Third Avenue, then taking the elevated road, they proceeded to Grand Street, where they alighted.
Hurrying down Grand Street, they turned into a side street, and, after walking some distance, stopped before a dingy-looking building; then, with a hasty glance around, they entered the basement, which, to all appearances, was fitted up as a saloon.
"Come," said Old Spicer, starting to descend the steps.
"Hold up a minute!" exclaimed Rouse, "I know this place. It's about the worst in town."
"No matter, we must enter it."
"All right. But, if you're bound to go in, we'd better disguise ourselves, and we'd better have help."
"That's reasonable enough."
"Then come around the corner. There's a cop that'll keep an eye on the place till we get back."
"Beckon to him."
Rouse did so, and the policeman crossed the street to them.
An arrangement was soon made with him, and the two detectives hurried away.
In less than ten minutes they were back, thoroughly disguised as sailors, and accompanied by two friends—shipmates.
They now entered the saloon, and looked about them.
Not a soul did they see but a sleepy-looking boy sitting on a box behind the bar.
"Got a place where we can sit down, and have a social glass?" asked Old Spicer.
The boy looked up, considered for a moment, and then, pointing to a door, nodded.
Old Spicer at once opened the door, and, followed by his party, entered the inner room.
Here were about a dozen tables, each with four chairs about it.
Three of the tables were occupied; two of them with the full complement of four, the other with but three men.
Two of these three men at the third table were Barney and Jake; their companion was clearly the proprietor of the place.
Old Spicer selected the next table to that occupied by the trio, and placed himself where he could both see and hear what was going on among his nearest neighbors. His comrades quickly took the other seats.
The proprietor and his two friends at once ceased speaking, and regarded the quartet of sailors with looks of suspicion and surprise.
"Where's that sleepy boy we saw in the cabin, and who ordered us into this devil's hold?" demanded Old Spicer. "Is he going to keep us waiting all night for our grog?"
The proprietor slowly arose to his feet.
"You want grog, do you?" he asked, drawing near their table.
"That's just what we want," answered Old Spicer, emphatically—"rum, mind ye, cap'n, genuine St. Croix rum."
"That's it, shipmate," exclaimed Rouse; "no belly-wash for us."
"It's rum all around, is it?" asked the proprietor, eying each one of the party in turn.
"It is that," answered Rouse. "And say, skipper, you may as well bring a bottle."
"A bottle from which the cork has never been removed," added Old Spicer.
"All right, I have just what you want;" and the proprietor quietly left the room.
Barney and Jake watched the quartet narrowly, but hardly spoke while their friend was away.
Presently he returned with a bottle and four glasses on a good-sized waiter.
"What!" exclaimed Old Spicer, as he set down the waiter, "ain't you going to take a toothful with us for sociability's sake?"
"Why, of course, if you wish it," was the reply, and slipping over to the other table, he took up his own glass, which was still partially filled, and raised it to his lips.
"None of that!" cried Rouse, sharply. "Throw that stuff away and fill fair of this bottle."
"Stuff?" retorted the proprietor, "Why, this is good French brandy, man."
"The deuce it is! How cursed lonesome it must be!"
"Lonesome? Why?"
"Because it ain't likely there's another thimbleful in all America."
"What're givin' us? Do you mean to say that I haven't got plenty of French brandy in my establishment?"
"I mean to say just this: There is more brandy used in the one city of Paris alone than is manufactured in all France. How, then, is it likely that much of the pure stuff can pass our custom-houses."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Barney, "if any of the Simon Pure could get as far as the custom-houses, I'll warrant it wouldn't get any further. Our government officials know too well what's expected of them to let it slip through their fingers."
"Right, shipmate!" exclaimed Rouse, "they'd prefer to let it slip down their insatiable throats."
"Well," exclaimed Old Spicer, suddenly, "pure or impure, I see you've disposed of your brandy at last, landlord, and so now come over and help us out with our rum."
The landlord, drawing his chair after him, joined them at their table. Rouse filled his glass, gave a toast, and was careful to see that the old man drank it off. Then a suspicion that the liquor might have been tampered with was removed.
"What ship do you fellows belong to?" asked the proprietor, while Rouse was refilling his glass.
"No ship at all," was the answer.
"What craft, then?"
"The three-masted schooner Miranda, in the West Indian trade."
"Oh! ah! that's why you think so much of St. Croix rum, eh?"
"Exactly. We know the taste, and we know how much of the stuff we can stand, don't you see?"
"I see; but it seems to me you are confoundedly cautious for sailors."
"May be so; but they say a burnt child dreads the fire, and we've been caught a time or two."
"Been taken in and done for, eh?"
"Yes, but no matter, you're an honest-looking set here, and seeing that the grog's good, we'll throw caution to the wind and enjoy ourselves," and the bottle circulated freely, indeed, so freely that it was soon empty and another ordered.
The landlord being now convinced that the sailors were all right, and better, that they were getting very drunk, returned to Barney and Jake, who had remained all this time quietly at the other table.
At first they conversed in low tones, but soon almost all they said reached the ears of the detectives.
"Yes, old pal," were the first words Old Spicer distinctly heard, "I think I can manage the matter for you. I don't know the chap, but from the description you've given of him, and the directions as to where he may be found, I think I can get at him, and produce him in the place you name."
"And you will do it?"
"If you think it worth the sum I want."
"It's a tamned pig brice, Pill Punce," exclaimed Jake.
"Ay," was the reply: "but if we can manage to give the detective the slip, I'll warrant he'll be willing enough to pay it."
"Of course, of course," assented Barney; "we won't dispute your price, Bill."
"Then we understand each other, do we?"
"I suppose so; but to make certain just go over the programme, will you?"
"Well, after I've found this fellow, Chamberlain, I'm to get him over to the bay, where the Bouncing Betsy lies, and where you will meet us. In case we don't find you at old Flipper's, I am to take the lad on board the schooner at once, which, when you're all aboard, will sail for the quarries, eh?"
"Yes, for the island, so-called."
"Correct. And there, in Canter's Hole, all will be safe till the schooner sails for the Gulf, when you can all get out of the country without any one's dreaming how it was managed."
"Right, by Jove! that is——" And here Barney came to an abrupt pause.
At this time there were not less than a dozen men in the place, besides the four detectives, every one of them desperate characters, and warm friends of Bill Bunce, the proprietor.
At the moment Barney paused his eye happened to rest on the quartet at the next table, and he was struck by the eager interest depicted on one or two of the faces.
"What's the matter?" demanded Bunce, turning sharply round.
"The matter is," cried Barney, starting to his feet and drawing a couple of revolvers, "that these fellows are a pack of cursed spies, and I know it!"
"Spies!" echoed every man in the room. "Spies! Kill the bloody wretches! don't let one of 'em escape!"
"We're in for it, by Jove!" exclaimed Rouse. "Let us keep well together, and shoot to kill."
"Ay!" said Old Spicer, "but I should awfully hate to have the gallows cheated of its lawful prey. I wish I could take those two villains back with me unharmed."
By this time Bill Bunce and his friends had got between the detectives and the outlets, and were preparing for a deadly fight.
"Do you really mean to say that you will be so rash as to fire upon us?" asked Old Spicer. "You must know that sooner or later you will have to pay dearly for it if you do."
"We know mighty well that we shall have to pay for it devilish soon if we don't," retorted Bunce; "and that's enough for us to know. Let 'em have it, boys!" and at least half a dozen shots were fired, and one of the detectives was slightly wounded.
"Fire!" exclaimed Old Spicer, in a determined voice, and as each detective had two revolvers, eight shots rang out, and two of the enemy fell dead, while four more were wounded, Jake Klinkhammer being among the latter.
The firing now became general, and it was difficult to say who was getting the best of it, when the door from the saloon was suddenly thrown open and the boy's voice was heard to exclaim:
"Scatter! the cops are coming!"
Almost in an instant the place was cleared of Bunce's men, and a moment later a sergeant of police, followed by six men, entered.
JAKE KLINKHAMMER'S POCKETBOOK—OLD SPICER SURPRISED.
"Ah! sergeant, you never were more welcome," cried Rouse. "Grab that young whelp in the saloon, and then let's see who's hurt here."
"The boy's all right," returned the sergeant. "One of my men has him fast; but who the deuce are you?"
Rouse explained.
"Ah! And this gentleman?"
"Is Old Spicer. You've heard of him?"
"Heard of him? I should say so! Are you hurt, sir?"
"Slightly; nothing to speak of, though. But our comrades, I fear, have suffered."
"What! these two? Are these our men?"
"Yes."
"Who's this one?"
"Matt Quinn," answered Rouse.
"Well, poor fellow, he's as dead as a door-nail. And this?"
"Nat Skinner."
"He's badly hurt, but I reckon he'll come out all right in the end. Now let's look at this pile of carrion," and he turned to where the dead and wounded of the enemy were lying.
"Lord! gentlemen," he exclaimed, "you did mighty well for the time you were at it. How many were there against you?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve? And seven of them are here—four dead, and the rest badly wounded. Who's this one?"
"A Jew," said Rouse.
"A Jew, eh?"
"Yes," explained Old Spicer, "a noted rascal, Jake Klinkhammer by name."
"Oho! he's saved your state a trial. Do you know any of the rest?"
"Not one. The two greatest villains have got away."
"Who are they?"
"Barney Hawks, and Bill Bunce, the proprietor of this place."
"That's a pity. How did they manage it? Where did they go to?"
"Haven't the slightest idea. It seemed as though they vanished through that wall yonder."
"Probably they did. Bring an ax, Finch."
An ax was brought, and used with such reckless effect, that soon an opening into a passage leading into a building fronting on another street, was discovered.
"They're off for this time, sure," said the sergeant, when he had examined the passage; "but we'll take possession of this place, and if Bunce ever ventures back, we'll nab him anyhow."
"Well," exclaimed Old Spicer, suddenly, "as Hawks has got away from us, there are one or two others who must be looked after without an instant's delay and so we must be going."
"One moment!" exclaimed Rouse, "haven't you forgot something?"
"What?"
"The Jew—he ought to have something about his clothes."
"Ah, yes. Sergeant, help us search the Jew's body: there ought to be a big pile of money on him."
They searched the body, and a trifle over $6000 was found.
"There must be more than that," said Old Spicer. "He had a very large sum of money before that $6000 was paid to him—I am sure of it."
"How much?"
"About $15,000, I should say."
"How'd he come by it?"
"If my suspicions are correct, he and Hawks were engaged, just before they left our city, in one of the boldest robberies, and in one of the most cowardly double murders ever perpetrated in this country."
"What! do you mean the Marsden affair?"
"I do."
"Great Jupiter! and so this is one of the villains?"
"Yes; from a private dispatch put into my hands only a little while ago, I am sure of it."
"What can he have done with his share of the plunder, then? There don't seem to be any of it about him."
"Hold up a moment!" exclaimed Rouse, suddenly thrusting his hand into an inside vest-pocket of the dead man, "let's see what we've got here," and he drew forth a pocket-book.
He opened it, and found within a few hundred dollars in gold and bank-notes, and a bill of exchange for fifteen thousand dollars.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Rouse, "this sharp fellow, while he was on his roundabout way to Hudson Street this morning, stopped at a brother Jew's in Bond Street; and he must have managed in the few minutes he was there to exchange his money for this bit of paper."
"That's it," nodded Old Spicer.
"Well," said the sergeant, "who shall take charge of his effects?"
"I wish you would, sergeant," returned Spicer, "and hand them over to the inspector for safe-keeping, for we have really got warm work before us."
"All right," and after a few friendly words, Old Spicer and Rouse went out.
"Now, then," said the former, in some perplexity, when they had reached the sidewalk, "the question is, where to go to first?"
"I'll answer that," replied Rouse, quickly. "I'm for getting on to the track of Barney Hawks again. Go you to Killett, and with him hunt down Chamberlain."
"That will be best, I think," and so the two detectives parted.
Old Spicer hastened to the point where he had left Killett. He did not find him there, but he found one of his men, who informed him that he was to conduct him to his friend.
The old detective intimated that he was ready to start, and the two set out at once.
Old Spicer was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not think to ask his conductor where he was taking him, and so he was greatly surprised when he once more found himself before the hotel where he had listened to the conversation between Emory E. Bissell and Barney and Jake.
"What!" he exclaimed, "is Killett here?"
"Yes," was the reply.
"What is he doing here?"
"We followed Chamberlain to this hotel; we heard him ask for E. E. Bissell, and on his being informed that the gentleman was out, heard him say that he would go up to his room and wait for him there. We saw him enter room No. 24, and heard him lock the door. Then one of us remained here to watch, while the other went back to report to Killett."
"But Quackenbush—where's Quackenbush?"
"Here I am, sir," answered that detective, suddenly coming up.
"You were left here to watch Bissell?"
"Yes, sir."
"You haven't lost sight of him?"
"Hardly for a moment."
"He left the hotel soon after his visitors went away?"
"Yes, sir."
"You followed him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where did he go to?"
"To several places of no great importance, and finally he fetched round to the hotel again."
"How long ago was that?"
"Just now; he has just gone up to his room."
Old Spicer turned to the other detective.
"Where is Killett?" he asked.
"In room 36," was the reply.
"Ah! he saw that was his best chance to learn what was passing in 24. I wonder how he happened to tumble to that racket."
"I suspect the landlord put him up to it."
"No doubt. I had forgotten I told him what I wanted of the key. I think I'll go up to 36 at once. And you gentlemen be on hand in the neighborhood of 24, in case we may want you."
"All right, sir," and the three detectives ascended the first flight of stairs in company.
At the landing Quackenbush and the other detective left Old Spicer and placed themselves in the vicinity of Bissell's room. The old man ascended to the third floor, and, hastening to No. 36, knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" came in a low whisper from the other side.
"It's me, Adam—Old Spicer."
"Thank goodness!" and the door was hastily opened and the old detective admitted.
"I'm mighty glad you've come," whispered Killett, "you're just in time. Chamberlain has been waiting in the room under this ever since I've been here; but the man he came to see was out and has only just returned."
"I am fortunate, then," said Old Spicer.
"Yes, jump up on the table and mount one of the chairs."
Old Spicer did so, while Killett took possession of the other chair.
In another moment they were listening at the ventilator.
CHAMBERLAIN'S MYSTERIOUS FRIEND—A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
"Of course, I'm making myself at home here," Chamberlain was saying. "Why shouldn't I, I'd like to know?"
"Well," returned another voice—Bissell's—"the fact is, when a gentleman goes out, he likes to feel that his private room is held sacred, even by his friends. I don't see what the landlord could have been thinking of to let you come up here."
"Why, he knew me—knew that whenever you were stopping here I had been in the habit of coming and going as I pleased; and so, when I told him I was tired and would like to come up here and rest while waiting for you, he made no objection. That's how it was."
"Well, I don't know that any great damage has been done this time, but I wish, Hen, as a general thing, you'd keep out of my room when I am not in it."
"Look here, Em Bissell, ain't you putting on more frills than your shirt front'll carry?"
"I fancy I know my business, sir. And now permit me to ask to what fortunate circumstance I am indebted for the pleasure of your company to-day?"
"Thunder! What's come over you, Em? Don't your food agree with you, man?"
"I'm all right; but to be plain with you, I should like to be alone."
"Oho! that's the way the wind sets, is it? Well, so far as I'm concerned, you'll be alone pretty blamed sudden. We've a little matter of business to transact first, however."
"What is it—if I may ask?"
"What is it! You know blamed well what it is. Just fork over that money I gave you the other day."
"Money? What money?"
"Look here, Em Bissell, don't you undertake to play any of your funny business onme. I gave you $22,000 on Monday to keep for me. I want it now, and by the Eternal! I'll have it, if I have to cut your black heart out to get it!"
Old Spicer turned to Killett, and a look of deep meaning passed between them.
"Move from your tracks, or lift a finger, Hen Chamberlain, and I ring this bell," exclaimed Bissell hastily, "and as sure as I do, I give you up as a murderer!"
"Pshaw! what do I care for your cursed bell and your threats? There's a dozen ways out of this hotel, and before a man could get to the top of one flight of stairs, I'd be at the bottom of another, and lost in the crowd on the avenue."
"Well, sir, if you are not out of this room inside of two minutes, you will have a chance to try that experiment provided you're alive to try it."
"Oho! you threaten my life, do you? See here, Bissell, before we go any further, just tell me why you have pretended to take such an interest in me during all these years; why you have nursed all my evil inclinations; why you have tempted me to commit crime after crime, and why, now that I have, at your suggestion, committed one that puts a noose about my neck, you turn against me?"
"Why does any man do such things?"
"From self-interest, I suppose, or, perhaps more often, to revenge some wrong."
"Exactly, and those two are the motives that have influenced me."
"But great Scott! man—I never injured you."
"Personally, you have not."
"Then what do you want to bring me to ruin for?"
"I want to strike another through you."
"Who, in the fiend's name?"
"Who do you suppose?"
"I can't think. There are but two persons on earth who care a tinker's button what becomes of me."
"And who are those two?"
"My father and mother."
"Who do you mean when you say your father and mother?"
"Why, Henry A. Chamberlain and his wife."
"The worthy couple who live at No. 10 Franklin Street, New Haven?"
"Certainly."
"Do you really think they are your father and mother?"
"They are all the father and mother I have ever known."
"Ha! ha! Well, I might tell you that they are no more your parents than they are mine. I might tell you that your name is not Chamberlain, but Curtis. I might tell you that there are certain persons—one in particular—who are deeply interested in your welfare. But what's the use? I will only tell you that there is one person whom, for years, it has been my aim and purpose to crush; that I saw I could best accomplish my end by striking at you; that, therefore, I sought you out when you were but a mere lad at Eton school; that I took you in hand and led you, step by step, to——"
"The devil! I see it all now, curse you!"
"Ah! you do see it at last, do you?"
"I do; and now give me my money before I tear you limb from limb."
"Nonsense, boy: don't you see that I wheedled the money out of you on purpose, so that you might not have the means to escape from justice? Why, my revenge wouldn't be complete if you escaped the gallows. And do you think I will deliberately give you the means to escape?"
"Look out, man. You'll drive me too far if you ain't careful."
"Why, Hen, I planned every move you made, and you never moved but to put the halter more surely about your neck. Can't you guess now why I introduced you to Cora Bell? Can't you see why I took you to Jim Taylor's place? A good fellow enough, Jim is; but I knew mighty well that if he worked with you all he'd want would be a little squeeze from somebody to give you away as quick as chain-lightning. See if I'm not right."
"You're an infernal villain!"
"Oh, may be so; but I can afford to be whatever I please. You nor no living soul on earth can touch me."
"Can't, eh?" and there was a rush forward, a yell, a loud ringing of bells, the sound of hurrying feet, and general confusion.
Old Spicer and Killett sprung from their chairs to the table, from the table to the floor, and rushing from the room, flew to the stairs, and descended without hardly touching a step. In another moment they were at the entrance to No. 24, where quite a little crowd had already gathered.
Quackenbush and two other detectives were in the room. Bissell was stretched upon the bed, to all appearance dangerously wounded.
Chamberlain was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Chamberlain?" asked Old Spicer, eagerly.
"Got away," answered Quackenbush.
"Got away! In the name of the great Lecoq, how did he manage it?"
"Knocked me down, threw a hall-porter on top of me, and was gone before I could get the fool off."
"But these men, what were they doing?"
"Lord! I don't know."
"I was at the head of the stairs yonder. We were attracting too much attention standing here together," explained Crowley.
"And I," said the third detective, "was at the back stairs."
"Did he make off in that direction?"
"Yes, sir."
"You tried to stop him, of course?"
"I did."
"What did he do?"
"Why, just knocked me clean down the stairs, that's all."
"You were there, then, when he came down."
"Yes; but I didn't feel much like stopping him just then."
"I suppose not. Well, Quackenbush, clear the room, and let Crowley go for a doctor. Frank, you stay here. This man is quite as important a prisoner as either Chamberlain or Taylor."
The wounded man slightly raised his head and pricked up his ears, at this announcement.
It is a great pity that some of the detectives did not detect this movement.
Old Spicer and Killett drew a little to one side, and conversed in eager whispers.
"Chamberlain must be captured at once," said Old Spicer, emphatically.
"He shall be!" returned Killett, decidedly. "This man is badly wounded, no doubt; so we can spare two of the three we have with us, and I'll telephone to Byrnes to send out Maguire and Frank Mangin; they'll find him, if anybody can."
Quackenbush and Frank Starr were sent out on the hunt, and Killett went down to the office, to telephone to headquarters.
Crowley now came back, and announced that a surgeon had been summoned, and would shortly arrive.
Old Spicer, who had for some time been anxious to get a message to Stricket and Morgan, merely said:
"All right; stay here for a few moments, please," and hurried down-stairs.
Crowley stepped softly to the bed, and took a look at the wounded prisoner.
"Asleep, or unconscious," he said to himself; and then, taking up a newspaper and seating himself by the window, he prepared to take it easy, till Old Spicer and Killett should return.
Just then some one knocked on the door; and, not wishing to disturb Bissell, he quietly arose, crossed the room, and opened the door.
The caller was one of those society fiends yclept a reporter.
"Hello, officer!" he exclaimed, briskly; "I understand there's been something of a row up here. Let's know the merits of the case."
"I don't know them myself," returned Crowley, evasively, at the same time slipping out into the corridor and closing the door behind him.
"Oh, pshaw!" urged the reporter, "you must know something about it. Tell me what you do know."
"What little I know isn't worth telling. Just wait till Old Spicer and Killett come up, then you can question them all you've a mind to—if they'll let you."
"What! is Old Spicer in this hotel?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Down in the office, I believe."
"Did you say he was coming up here soon?"
"Yes; but if you want to see him, perhaps you'd better go down to the office."
"No, I reckon I'd better wait here till he comes up."
"Very well, then you'll excuse me for leaving you, for I must go in and look after my prisoner."
"Hold up a moment! What's his name?"
"Bissell."
"Emory E. Bissell—is that it?"
"Yes."
"Badly wounded, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Who did it?"
"I'm not sure that I know."
"Who do you think?"
"I don't know that I am at liberty to tell you that."
"The landlord says he let a fellow named Chamberlain come up here while Bissell was out, and that he was still waiting for him when he returned. Was that the man?"
"It's possible."
"Don't you know he was the fellow?"
"How the deuce can I be certain about it? I never saw Chamberlain enter the room."
"But didn't you see him come out of it?"
"No, I did not."