C
OLONEL RICHARD IVEY came back to his elegant home, from his trip to the West.
He had telegraphed to have the carriage meet him at the railway station, but to his surprise it was not there, and so he sprang into a village hack and drove homeward.
It was dark ere he reached the mansion and his surprise was greater when he saw no lights to greet him.
"Why Ruby must have gone up to the city; but she wrote nothing of intending to do so, in her last letter," he said, as he sprang out of the vehicle and paid the driver.
Ascending to the piazza he rang the bell, and soon a light flashed within the hallway, and the butler opened the door.
"Well, Richard, what is the matter, that I receive such a bleak welcome?" he said.
"The madam is away, sir, and has been for some days; but she left a letter for you, sir, and it's on your table with the mail.
"I'll have lights, sir, at once."
The mansion was soon lighted up, and supper ordered for the master, who went into his library and took up the numerous letters that had arrived for him during his absence of several weeks.
All were thrown aside excepting one.
That one bore no stamp or post-mark, and was from his wife.
Hastily he broke the seal, and seeing that it was several pages in length, he threw himself into his easy-chair beneath the lamp.
As he read, he uttered a sound very like a moan, and, strong man though he was, his hands trembled as he held the letter.
When he had finished he slowly re-read it, and then bending his head upon his hands he sat thus, the picture of silent, manly grief.
What he read was as follows:
}
"Soldier's Rest,"September 1st, 18—.
"Dare I, in this letter that I now write you, address you as my heart would dictate and call you my own dear Richard?—for such you are to me and ever will be, though a cruel blow causes me to fly from you."The other night I sat alone in your library in your pet chair."Will was away in his yacht, on a cruise for a few days, and Pearl was spending the night with a little girl friend."Suddenly a visitor entered the library."To my horror, it was one I deemed dead, years ago!"But no not dead, alas! but alive, cynical, sneering, cold-hearted, cruel he stood before me."Dressed well, wearing diamonds, yet a begger for gold."Need I tell you that it wasmy husband?"Need I tell you that he had deceived me in his death, and told me that he had purposely done so, that I might, by my beauty—such were his words—win a rich husband and then he could force from me gold to keep my secret?"Such was his mission to me, and he demanded a large sum that he might dissipate it in his luxurious life."He promised to go from me, and never return if I gave him the sum he demanded."If I refused, he said that he would go to you, and you, for honour's sake, to save scandal, would buy him off."Again, he said he would tell you that I knew he was alive and yet married you."So, in my grief, I begged him to give me time for thought, though I then knew what my course would be."He gave me a week to consider, and, confident that I would yield, he left."He judged me by his own guilty heart and felt safe in his threats to divulge the secret of his being still alive."When he was gone I fell into a swoon upon the floor, and there Richards found me when he came to put out the lights."The maid revived me, and I passed a night of bitter agony; but I was decided as to what I should do, and I told the servants that I had heard bad news, and must go away, perhaps to be gone a long time."I did not care to say more, that I would never return, for your sake."Then I began to get ready, and that day Pearl returned home."The next day Will came back from his cruise and I told my children that we must go."I told them that it was no quarrel, no wrong of one of us against the other, only duty forced me away."I had in my purse something over a hundred dollars, which you had given me for charity, you remember, and I devoted it to charity to myself, for we go as poor as we came to you otherwise, and it is because I would not feel right in taking from you one dollar when I know that man lives."To-morrow we leave for New York in the early train, and I shall go to your city mansion and get our old traps there, and place in the Safe Deposit the jewellery and other valuables you have given to us."There is one souvenir I keep, the ring you and I supposed to beour wedding ring."That I shall wear, though the lie stares me in the face; but it was placed there in honour in so doing."Where I go you will not know, for I shall not wish you to find me, which your heart, I feel, will tempt you to do."I go my way as before, to earn our bread by my handiwork, and I am strong now and in good health, after the happiness that has come into my life, and I can bear much."Heaven bless you, will be my prayer and the prayer of my children, Richard, for you have been to us all in all, and to give you up is a pang that cuts deep into the hearts of us all."Farewell, Richard, and ever believe in the love, though it be in shackles, of
"Dare I, in this letter that I now write you, address you as my heart would dictate and call you my own dear Richard?—for such you are to me and ever will be, though a cruel blow causes me to fly from you.
"The other night I sat alone in your library in your pet chair.
"Will was away in his yacht, on a cruise for a few days, and Pearl was spending the night with a little girl friend.
"Suddenly a visitor entered the library.
"To my horror, it was one I deemed dead, years ago!
"But no not dead, alas! but alive, cynical, sneering, cold-hearted, cruel he stood before me.
"Dressed well, wearing diamonds, yet a begger for gold.
"Need I tell you that it wasmy husband?
"Need I tell you that he had deceived me in his death, and told me that he had purposely done so, that I might, by my beauty—such were his words—win a rich husband and then he could force from me gold to keep my secret?
"Such was his mission to me, and he demanded a large sum that he might dissipate it in his luxurious life.
"He promised to go from me, and never return if I gave him the sum he demanded.
"If I refused, he said that he would go to you, and you, for honour's sake, to save scandal, would buy him off.
"Again, he said he would tell you that I knew he was alive and yet married you.
"So, in my grief, I begged him to give me time for thought, though I then knew what my course would be.
"He gave me a week to consider, and, confident that I would yield, he left.
"He judged me by his own guilty heart and felt safe in his threats to divulge the secret of his being still alive.
"When he was gone I fell into a swoon upon the floor, and there Richards found me when he came to put out the lights.
"The maid revived me, and I passed a night of bitter agony; but I was decided as to what I should do, and I told the servants that I had heard bad news, and must go away, perhaps to be gone a long time.
"I did not care to say more, that I would never return, for your sake.
"Then I began to get ready, and that day Pearl returned home.
"The next day Will came back from his cruise and I told my children that we must go.
"I told them that it was no quarrel, no wrong of one of us against the other, only duty forced me away.
"I had in my purse something over a hundred dollars, which you had given me for charity, you remember, and I devoted it to charity to myself, for we go as poor as we came to you otherwise, and it is because I would not feel right in taking from you one dollar when I know that man lives.
"To-morrow we leave for New York in the early train, and I shall go to your city mansion and get our old traps there, and place in the Safe Deposit the jewellery and other valuables you have given to us.
"There is one souvenir I keep, the ring you and I supposed to beour wedding ring.
"That I shall wear, though the lie stares me in the face; but it was placed there in honour in so doing.
"Where I go you will not know, for I shall not wish you to find me, which your heart, I feel, will tempt you to do.
"I go my way as before, to earn our bread by my handiwork, and I am strong now and in good health, after the happiness that has come into my life, and I can bear much.
"Heaven bless you, will be my prayer and the prayer of my children, Richard, for you have been to us all in all, and to give you up is a pang that cuts deep into the hearts of us all.
"Farewell, Richard, and ever believe in the love, though it be in shackles, of
"Yours unhappily,
"Ruby Cluett."
Such was the letter that Colonel Dick Ivey read, and it was no wonder that he felt deeply the blow that had fallen upon him.
For a long time he remained in silent grief; and then he raised hisbowed head, and already suffering had made his stern, handsome face haggard.
"She is as pure as an angel, and she shall not leave me.
"I will find her, cost what it may, and to-morrow I will go to the city, and set the wheels of the Secret Service in motion to find her and her children.
"Then she shall get a divorce from this wretch, for, innocent thing that she is, she does not know that she can readily do so, under the plea of desertion.
"If not, why, I'll have to make a widow of her and then marry her;" and the face of the colonel proved that he meant what he said, while, after a moment, he added:
"It strikes me that a man who has been such a wretch as this fellow is, has done that which would place him behind prison bars, and perhaps stretch his neck, so I'll put the detectives upon his track, and see what they can discover of his past career;" and with this determination Colonel Ivey sought the supper room, now cheered with the thought that his separation from those he loved was but temporary.
S
CHUYLER CLUETT waited patiently for the time allowed his wife, in which to write to him, to pass, and no letter came.
What could it mean? Had she lost his address? Did she intend to defy him?
These questions chased each other through his mind over and over again, and he could find no answer.
But he waited another day beyond the allotted time, and then determined to solve the mystery.
To do this he would go to the house of Colonel Ivey.
He first sought the residence of the colonel in the city, and found it closed up.
This proved that the family had not returned to town.
So he started for the country, and in due time reached the station near Soldier's Rest, as the home of the colonel was called.
He took a hack and started for the villa, leaving the vehicle at the gate, while he advanced on foot, having told the driver to wait for him.
It was a lordly place, a grand mansion, surrounded by spacious, ornamental grounds on one side, flower gardens in the rear, a lawn in the front, and a park upon the other side.
The grounds sloped down to the walk, and there were pleasure boats to invite to a sail or a row.
The view from the piazzas was beautiful in the extreme, and altogether a more charming country home could not be found than was Soldier's Rest.
"A place for a gentleman of my taste to live, this," said Schuyler Cluett, as he walked up the grand path to the mansion.
"By jove! a bright idea strikes me, and I hope I am not too late to carry it out.
"Let me see: if I should keep in the back-ground, that is, out of sight, and get rid of this gallant colonel, that is, let him meet with some accident to cause his death, why my wife would be his heiress, of course.
"Then I could come in, and after half a year's mourning I could force her to marry me, for appearances' sake, and I'd have all.
"I was a trifle too fast in appearing as I did, and not thinking of this little game before.
"Now it may be too late, she may have told the colonel about me, as she has not appeared, and he may simply back her up in getting a divorce from me, which she can do.
"Well, here I am, andthere he is.
"Now I must put a bold face upon the matter and survey the fort to see if I can take it."
He had dressed himself up in his best style, and Colonel Ivey, seeing a well-dressed stranger approaching, arose to meet him.
The colonel had that noon returned from the city, where he could find no clue to the where abouts of Ruby and her children; but he had set the best detectives on the track and was hopeful of soon discovering them.
Bowing to the visitor, the colonel advanced to meet him.
Schuyler Cluett bowed politely and asked:
"Is this the home of Colonel Ivey?"
"It is, sir, and I am Richard Ivey, at your service.
"Be seated, pray, or will you enter the house?"
"Thank you, sir; my name is Cluett, sir, and I am an old friend of your wife, and have called to see her, being in the neighbourhood."
"Indeed, sir; I am really glad to meet you, Mr. Cluett, so be seated, pray, for it is pleasanter here than indoors."
Schuyler Cluett sat down. But he hardly knew what to say.
It seemed evident, from the colonel's manner, he thought, that his wife had kept her secret, for he did not appear to be known.
"I hope Mrs. Ivey is well, sir?" he volunteered.
"Well, sir, as to that I cannot just say, as she is not at home; but I hope so."
"Indeed! she is absent then?"
"Yes, sir, she has gone far away, she and her children, and, as you are an old friend of hers, I do not mind telling you that it is on account of a grand scamp whom she once married."
"No!"
"Yes, Mr. Cluett; she was infatuated in her girlhood by some wretch whom she ran off with and married, and soon found him out to be a worthless vagabond, a gambler and all that was bad.
"He robbed her, deserted her, and sent her word, through a confederate in guilt, that he had been killed, and so believing him to be dead, she married me.
"But he turned up during my absence West, tried to get her to rob me, to pay him off from telling the secret of his still being alive, and she, too noble to do so, fled from my home, from me, and has gone far away, while I am left alone."
"But you can find her, sir?" eagerly asked Cluett.
"Yes, I hope to do so, for, I'll tell you a secret."
"Yes, Colonel Ivey."
"I have the detectives at work, tracking down this rascally husband, and I have found out enough about him already, to give her a divorce, by sending him to State's Prison."
"Oh, sir, can you do this?" and Schuyler Cluett turned deadly pale.
"Oh yes, I hope to; and more, for I don't mind telling you, my dear Mr. Cluett, as you are my wife's friend, but you must keep the secret, that there was a mysterious murder some time ago, for the murderer cannot be found.
"But this husband—I do wish I could recall his name—"
"Raymond, sir."
"Yes, Raymond, that's the name, thank you.
"Well, he was in the vicinity when this murder was committed and I think men can be bribed to swear that he was guilty, you know and I'll give a fortune to buy a jury up, so that he can be hanged, and—but why do you rise, sir, for surely you are not going?" and the colonel looked up with surprise, as Cluett arose as though to depart.
"Yes, sir, I must go, for I just recall an important case I have to try, as I am a lawyer, colonel, and your story of your wife's former husband recalled it to my memory."
"But you will remain my guest, sir, for the night at least, and I'll go up to the city with you in the morning, as I will have this rascal arrested at once, and I think the law will make short work of him."
"It should, sir, it should, and I have no doubt it will; but good-by, Colonel Ivey, good-by, sir," and Schuyler Cluett hastened away from the mansion, reached his waiting hack, and taking out his watch said:
"Driver you have just twenty minutes to catch the Express up to the city, and if you do it I'll give you a ten-dollar bill extra."
"I'll do it, sir," replied the driver, and the horses were sent along the highway at a pace that surprised them, as their usual gait was a jog.
And looking after the rapidly disappearing vehicle, Colonel Ivey muttered to himself, as his face wore a grim smile:
"Well, I think I frightened him so that he'll hunt a hiding-place in the far West, and I only wish I did know that he was deserving of the penitentiary; but I'll telegraph the detective chief to have men at the station to meet him and see just where he goes, and what he does, so as to be prepared for him should he remain in New York," and entering his library Colonel Ivey wrote a long dispatch to the chief of the detective service, telling him to have men on the watch for Schuyler Cluett, giving a full description of the man, and by what train to expect him.
This message was then sent post-haste to the station-agent to rush through with all dispatch, and Colonel Ivey felt relieved at having, as he believed, got rid of Ruby's rascally husband, from whom she could now easily get a divorce, under the plea of desertion and non-support for years.
L
ET me beg the kind reader, who has followed me through my story thus far, to recall an important personage who was left a prisoner in the hands of a band of wicked men who were evidently hiding from the officers of the law.
In that boy captive the reader has doubtless recognized Will Raymond, for his mother had not taught him the name of his father, Schuyler Cluett.
When he had been addressed upon the street by a gentleman, and sent on an important mission, he had been entrapped, for his face and age just suited a purpose that was to be carried out through him.
What that purpose was will soon be made known.
The time of Will's capture was some months after the flight of the mother with her children from the elegant country mansion of Colonel Richard Ivey.
So well had Mrs. Raymond, as I must now again call her, concealed herself, that the police and detectives, put upon her track by Colonel Ivey, had been unable to find her where abouts, and it was believed that she had left New York for another place.
In an humble home, in a cheaper quarter of the city, the poor woman had found an abiding-place, for it could not be called a home.
The rooms were but three in number, and not so pleasant as those where she had lived in poverty before; but they were kept scrupulously clean, and were not uncomfortable.
As soon as she was fully settled, Mrs. Raymond paid her rent for six months in advance; then she laid in a store of provisions, and purchasing painting materials, again began to paint little pictures for sale, for she had but a small sum left of that which she had brought with her, and she must begin to earn more, she knew.
But the shock of her husband's return, as though from the grave, had been a severe one, and she felt that she was by no means as well as she could wish.
Gradually her nerves failed her, the mainsprings of life, and she became almost a confirmed invalid, unable to do but little.
Will and Pearl had again began attending the nearest public school, but, as the spring drew near and Mrs. Raymond's health failed her more and more, her little daughter had remained at home with her, while her brave boy had given up his studies to earn what money he could, and this was but little, hardly enough to give them food, and, but for Mrs. Raymond having paid the rent, it would not have been sufficient to meet all demands, moderate as they were.
It was while Will was skirmishing around in search of a stray penny to earn, that he had struck what had appeared to him a "bonanza," in the promise of a couple of dollars for delivering a letter and keeping his mouth shut, at the same time afflicting himself with loss of memory, as the one who paid him for his alleged services had demanded that he should.
When, therefore, Will found himself a prisoner, the reader can well imagine his feelings.
Brave boy that he was, his first thought was of his sick mother's distress at his absence, and his second of himself.
It flashed upon him, from the words of Jerry, the Night Hawk, the secret manner of his gaining admission, the letter which had led him into a trap, that he was meant for some mysterious purpose of villainy.
The room in which he found himself had but one door, that by which he had entered, and the ceiling ran up with the peaked roof, in which were skylights for light and air.
It was a large room, occupying one side of the house, excepting where the little ante-chamber, or hall-way was taken off, and about the sides were baths such as one sees in a steamboat's cabin.
A cupboard was in one end of the room, filled with dishes, and next to it was a dumb-waiter that came up from the lower depths somewhere.
On the opposite side a door was opened to what appeared to be another cupboard, but in which Will saw at a glance a ladder, leading to an open skylight above.
In the centre of the room was a large table with chairs about it, and seated in various attitudes about it were a dozen men, who scowled viciously upon the boy as he was dragged into their presence by Jerry, the Night Hawk.
But Will, in spite of his perilous position, kept up a brave manner.
"What did ther kid come here for?" asked a man with a scowling face.
"Captain Cruel sent him, and writes that he'll do for the little job to play on the Philadelphia man whose son died on our hands, and thus cut us out o' the reward," said Night Hawk Jerry, who seemed to be leader of the band of ruffians.
"He looks it sart'in, and I thought it were Billy come ter life ag'in when I seen his face; but will he do it?"
"He'll have to, Jack, or—" and the look and action of Night Hawk Jerry were most significant, and did not escape the eyes of Will Raymond.
B
EFORE more could be said by any of the band, a bell rang over in the dumb-waiter, and two men at once stepped to the cupboard and began to place dishes upon the table, preparatory to having supper.
Will was told to sit down on a chair, and the coming meal, rather than the boy prisoner, seemed to occupy the thoughts of the rude gathering. By the time that the table was set, with a plate, knife, fork, teacup and spoon for each, and a dish of butter and large bowl of sugar in the centre, a second ring came at the dumb-waiter, and up from the depths below appeared the supper.
The two men, whose duty it seemed, put the supper on the table, and it was by no means a repast to be refused, for there was hot coffee, milk, hot biscuit, steak, potatoes and preserves.
Will was told to "Take a seat youngster, and pitch in, for you don't know how soon yer rations will be cut short."
He had eaten but a light breakfast, and nothing since, so he obeyed the injunction with a gusto, winning the admiration of the men at his pluck in not losing his appetite when his fate hung so in the balance of uncertainty.
But Will had made up his mind that though he was in a tight place, he would not despair, but find some way to get out, and the means of doing so did not worry him until the time came for action.
He had read the papers, and he knew that almost under the eyes of the police there were bands of evil men who would rob and kill without mercy to gain gold.
That he had fallen into the hands of some such wicked men he did not doubt; but he did not despair of working out his own salvation in some way, when he was assured just what their game was that they intended to win by playing him as a trump card.
So Will ate his supper with apparent relish, and rising, thanked them politely and resumed his former seat.
"You've been well raised, boy," said Jerry. "What is your name?"
"Will Raymond, sir," said the boy, returning to his old name, for while with the colonel he had taken that of Ivey, at his request.
"What do you do?"
"Anything I can earn money at to support my sick mother and little sister."
"Well, how would you like to become a rich man's son?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"The captain sent you here because you resembled somebody, didn't he?"
"He gave me a letter to bring to you, and said you would give me two dollars for doing the errand."
"Well, that was a bait to get you here; but if you do as I say, you'll do better by far than make two dollars."
"What must I do?"
"Do you see this photograph?" and he held up a picture before Will of a small boy, perhaps seven years of age.
"Yes, sir."
"This photograph looks just as you did six years ago, and then your name was Willie Rossmore. Your home was in Baltimore, or rather near it, and these are photographs of the place, and a handsome one it was.
"You went out in the grounds, just here, running away from your nurse, and two men, passing along the highway in a buggy, took you with them.
"They carried you far away, treated you well, and took you to a farm in the West, where one day I found you, and you told me your story and I immediately recognized you as a boy stolen years ago, and whose photograph I had often seen published in the papers.
"Your father, Mr. Rossmore, is a very rich man, and he has offered fifty thousand dollars for your return, and I will get it.
"Now, my boy, I wish you to study these photographs of your old home, and here is the name of the servants who were at the house then, and your nurse was an old coloured woman, Auntie Peggy.
"These are the clothes you had on when you were stolen; they are ragged now, for you wore them a long time, and when you got others you kept these. You had this ring on your forefinger then, but you can wear it now on your left hand little finger—see, it just fits."
"What has become of the real little boy that was stolen?" asked Will, quietly.
The men all exchanged peculiar glances with each other, and one said: "Tell him, Jerry, so that he'll know we won't stand any nonsense."
"Well, he would not behave as we wished him to, and he would remember too much, and so we dared not take him back to get the reward, you see."
"And is he dead?"
"You've hit it, he is, for one day he left our camp, as we were crossing the prairie in Nebraska, not very many miles from Fort McPherson, and we found him lying under a solitary tree, mighty near dead from starvation; and he died, and we buried him there, cutting his name into the tree, as a monument, as any emigrant folks would who had lost a young one.
"Poor little fellow, he had better have done as you wished, and so been able to get home."
"Boy, you've got wisdom above your years, and you'll play our little game for us with a handful of trumps and a card or two up your sleeve, I can tell you.
"I guess you've been nipped by hunger, and wish a soft thing of it for life, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you'll talk our way, won't you?"
"Oh, yes, sir; only it will be very sad for my poor mother and sister to lose me."
"No, for you can write them that you had a chance to go West, and I'll take the letter and some money to them, and you bet we'll keep them from want and send them lots of things, while if you don't like it where you go, you can just skip out after you've got together a nice little sum of money, for we don't care so long as we get the reward for your return, and you shall have five thousand of that, for I'll keep you posted where we are, and you can have the money any time you call for it."
"This looks fair, sir; but I hate to leave my mother and little sister, though I do want to make money."
"Well, you write your mother a letter, and I'll see that she gets it to-morrow, and I'll put a cool fifty in it for her, too.
"Now, write your letter, and then study over those photographs, this list of names, and the lesson I have here for you," and Jerry handed Will various slips of paper.
"Now, lad," he continued, "if you play this game right, you'll get all I say; but if you play us false, you'll be knifed sure, so just bear that in mind."
"I don't wish to die, and I'd rather be rich than poor, if I can take care of my mother and sister, and they don't find out I am deceiving them."
"They'll never know it, lad, and it was a lucky find the captain made in you, for you look just what we want, and have got the sense to play the game through.
"I tell you, though, we had a time with Willie Rossmore, up to his death three years ago, for we had to travel about with him, hide him, watch him, and were going to take him to an Indian camp to live for a year or so to make him forget, when he ran off and died on the prairie. But you look like him exactly, though you are older by a year or so, but that don't make any difference. Now there's a pen and ink, and here's your lesson to study, while we play a game of cards."
Will sat down at a shelf that served as a desk, and began to "study his lesson," as Night Hawk Jerry had called it.
He wrote a letter to his mother, and at last the men began to turn in, each one going to his bunk, while the boy was also given one, and crawling into the berth, appeared to be sound asleep, while the last man retiring put out the lamp, and only the light from the stars, twinkling through the skylights, pervaded the large room, and the sonorous breathing of the sleepers soon showed that, guilty beings though they were, no twinges of conscience kept them awake.
L
YING in his little bunk, which was an upper one, Will Raymond did not go to sleep.
He saw the men drop off one by one, from their card playing, he watched the last one up draw on the ropes, to raise the skylights and let in more air, and, as he came to the one near him, he feared he was going to see if he was asleep, so he closed his eyes and breathed hard.
But the man drew on the rope, that raised the skylight, some ten feet above Will's head, and then putting out the lamp he went to bed.
Still gazing upward Will saw the stars fade from view, and the skylights rattled, showing that the clouds had obscured the sky and a wind was springing up.
Until all seemed to be asleep, Will lay quiet as a mouse; then he bent over the edge of his bunk and looked about him.
Raising himself then to a kneeling posture, he saw that the ladder, before referred to as going up to a skylight, was right by the foot of his berth.
Softly he arose, grasped one of the rounds and drew himself up.
Without the slightest sound he ascended the ladder, crept up through the skylight and found himself upon the peak of the high roof.
Standing up he glanced about him, and his eye fell upon nothing but roofs.
He saw that the building on which he stood ran back some distance from the street, was very high, narrow, and ended fifty feet away in a large chimney.
On each side of the sharp roof were slats, a foot from the top, evidently placed there to serve as foot guards in a walk toward the chimney.
The clouds, black as night, were now flying low, and skurrying along before an approaching storm. The lightning came in vivid flashes, and it was enough to appall the heart of a seaman, there on that high perch, where the slightest misstep would hurl him to death, the tremour of a nerve would dash him to his doom.
But there was death behind him, sure, and a struggle against death before him, with chances of the boy's triumph, so he held on in his determination to escape.
He knew that the men had placed those slats along the roof for some purpose, and that there was a way to escape from the roof he did not doubt, so he determined to find it.
With the bundle at his back, tied with a string about his waist, bare-headed, bare-footed, jacketless, the brave boy stood on the dangerous perch, to return to the outlaw band certain death, to advance a chance for life, while the lightning fairly blinded him, with its vividness.
Step by step the boy advanced toward the chimney, for he dared not tarry there long, as any moment the storm might awaken the Land Sharks, as Will had heard the band speak of themselves, and, if missed, he would be pursued and taken.
But he had arranged his bedding so as to look like a form in his berth, and placed his jacket, shoes and hat so as to be seen, if he was suspected, which he did not believe.
As he took the first step the rain began to descend in torrents, and a sound behind him caused him to turn his head quickly.
He saw that the skylights were being lowered by someone in the room and he breathed more freely as he felt that he had not been discovered.
But the rain driving into his face, blinded him, as he had no hat to shelter his eyes, and the slats and roof being wet, rendered his position far more perilous.
But on he went, step by step, until he reached the chimney. It was breast high to him, and he noticed that it was very large.
From there down to the ground was a long way, and he saw no means of descending.
Perhaps upon the other side there was a ladder, he thought, and again it came to his mind that the men might have a rope ladder to bring with them.
If this was the case he was doomed, and, the thought in spite of the driving cold rain made him break out into a dense perspiration.
Leaping upon the chimney, for his experience as an amateur sailor had helped him, and he had often gone on board ships at the wharf and ascended to the highest point he could reach, he gazed over the side of the brickwork to see if there was aught to aid his descent.
But he saw that the roof was even with the chimney, so no ladder could go down it.
"They must hook a rope-ladder into the chimney in some way," he muttered, and he ran his hand around inside to find the hook, determined to tear his clothing in strips and make a rope, so that he might escape.
"Ah!" he said, as his hand touched a piece of iron.
"A ladder inside," he cried, joyously, as he felt rods of iron going down as far as he could reach. Instantly he lowered himself into the chimney and commenced the descent.
Feeling with his feet he found the rods, two feet apart, and down he went into the gloom.
One thing was certain, the chimney was not used as a smoke-conductor, for there was no soot in it. Down, down he went into the darkness, only a shadowy light showing the opening in the top of the chimney.
He had counted twenty rods, and so knew that he must have descended some forty feet.
Then his feet touched bottom, and turning, he saw the glimmer of a light through a crack.
Stooping, he gazed through the crack and looked out into a room dimly lighted, the gas being turned down low.
He saw that a fire-board hid the open chimney in which he stood, and moving it out he beheld the interior of the room distinctly.
There were two windows, one on either side of the fire-place, and he heard the wind rattling the sashes furiously, and the rain pattering viciously against the panes of glass.
There was a stove before him, but it was evidently there for show, as the smoke-stack entered the chimney, yet no soot was in it, which proved that a fire could not have been lighted in it.
A table with books on it, some pictures on the walls, a clothes-press, and over on one side of a door was a bed, while horrors!there was a man in it!
The occupant of the bed was asleep, that was certain, his face turned toward the wall, as Will could see by the dimly-burning gas-jet over the table.
To escape, the boy saw that his only chance was to get out of his hiding-place, cross the room, unlock the door, and thus get out; but when out of the room would he be free?
This was the startling question he asked himself, as he grasped the fireguard to push it one side, determined to at once make the venture, for he did not know at what moment he might find a pursuer coming down the chimney on his track.
T
HE reader can fully appreciate the peril of Will when they know what was behind him, and that he had a room, unknown to him, and with an occupant asleep in it, to cross, before he got out,while he little knew where the door would lead him, or whether he would be any nearer escape than where he then was.
Cautiously he raised the fireboard from within and began to move it outwardly as though it swung on a hinge.
He did this noiselessly, and soon had space enough to get through.
This he did and rose to a standing posture, the little bundle still at his back.
Then he put the fireboard back in its place and stepped forward.
The floor creaked and startled him, and he walked quickly to the door.
As he reached it the sleeper started, turned in bed, raised his head, and glanced toward the window, while he muttered: "What a deuce of a storm is raging."
Then back dropped his head, and he did not see the boy crouching down within two feet of him, and who held, grasped firmly and ready for use, a boot-jack, that his hand accidently touched.
Had the man attempted to get out of bed, or had he glanced toward the boy, he would have felt the weight of the boot-jack, for Will was determined to escape at all hazards, even if he had to strike at human life, for he did not doubt, coming to this room as he had from the den of the Land Sharks, that the occupant was one of the band.
But, fortunately for the man he dropped off to sleep again, and fortunately, too, for Will, who might have made a miss blow and then been killed or captured.
As soon as the heavy breathing of the man indicated that he was once more asleep, Will turned to the door and placed his hand upon the key. He turned it slowly in the lock, and yet it creaked loudly to his ears; but the noise of the storm without drowned the sound as far as waking the sleeper was concerned.
Taking hold of the knob he drew back the latch, and moved the door. It creaked loudly, so he shut it to quickly as he saw the man move uneasily. He kept still, and the man once more breathed naturally in his slumber.
Drawing the key from the door Will then opened it quickly and stepped outside, closed it after him, though trembling at the loud creaking sound it made.
At the same time he thrust the key in the door and turned it, just as he heard the man spring out of bed.
Where he was he did not know, for all was blackness about him, but he at once moved away from the door, feeling his way cautiously, while he could hear the occupant of the room moving hastily about, and then grasp the knob of the door.
A smothered curse followed the words: "The key is gone!"
Then there was a shaking of the door, and Will nearly fell down a flight of stairs; but caught himself on the rail.
As he hastily descended there appeared a crescent-shaped light before him, and he knew that it was over a door, and a moment after he reached it.
It was locked, but the key was on the inside and hastily he turned it, and he could hardly restrain a shout of joy as he found himself out in the street.
The storm was at its height, the rain was pouring in torrents and the narrow street was flooded; but the daring boy cared little for that and turning noted the house and number.
Then he darted away, unmindful of the rain.
At the corner he saw the name of the street, and once more pressed on, seemingly acquainted with the locality and aiming for a certain point.
Not even a policeman was seen out in that driving rain, so the boy met no human being as he ran along up to his ankles in water.
Here and there a light burned dimly, evidently in some sick-room, and all else was darkness, excepting the flickering street-lamps at the corners. Turning into another street he came in sight of a coloured lamp, jutting out from a large brick house.
Toward this he ran and a moment after, dripping wet, bare-headed, shoeless and jacketless he darted into a room where sat several officers in police uniform, while one wearing the badge of a captain of the force sat behind a desk in a small adjoining room.
The boy appeared like an apparition to the officers, but he gave them no time for thought, as he said: "Is not that Sergeant Daly?" and he pointed to the officer in the other room.
"Yes, it isCaptainDaly, for he's been promoted," answered an officer.
"Ho, Murphy, any one to see me?" called out the captain.
"Yes, sir, a boy that looks as if he'd just swum across East river," was the reply.
"Ah! I know that face, you are Will Raymond, who captured the convict for me over a year ago," said Captain Daly coming out.
"Yes, sir, and I've come to tell you a strange story, and guide you to the den of a band of outlaws that call themselves Land Sharks for I just escaped from them," and Will spoke quickly, though with not a particle of excitement in his manner and voice, so well did he control his feelings.
The name of Land Sharks caused the police present to gather near at once and appear deeply interested, while Captain Daly said: "If you know the hiding-place of that gang, my lad, you know more than any policeman or detective in New York has been able to find out."
"I do know it, sir, and two ways of getting there; but what you do, you must do now, as they will escape, so I'll tell you all I can while you get your men ready, and there are over a dozen in the band."
"Murphy, call up twenty men and a sergeant at once."
"Now, Master Will, for you see I have not forgotten your name, let me have your story."
In as few words as possible, Will told of his having been stopped by a well-dressed stranger and then sent to the den of the Land Sharks, as an excuse to get him into their clutches.
His manner of getting there, and his reception he made known, together with his acquiescence, as the outlaw supposed, in their plot to get the reward offered for Willie Rossmore, the little son of the Baltimore millionaire.
His escape, bringing with him in a bundle, the photographs, and well-worn clothing the kidnapped boy had on when taken, he also made known, and they were displayed before the police captain, who said: "These can wait, and will dry by the time we get back; but Will, you are a natural born detective, and you shall have work as such, that will keep your mother and sister from want; but here are my men, my brave boy, and we will start at once—ho! I forgot that you were wet and shivering but I'll soon make you comfortable."
An order to an attendant brought from a package room a thick suit and india-rubber coat, into which the boy had no difficulty in getting, as they were nearly double his size, and a policeman's hat sheltered his head.
Then, side by side with Captain Daly, and with a score of policemen following, they stepped out into the driving rain to go upon the raid against the Land Sharks.