Kitobni o'qish: «The Spruce Street Tragedy; or, Old Spicer Handles a Double Mystery», sahifa 3

CHAPTER V.
SETH STRICKET MAKES HIS REPORT

At length, rousing himself, Old Spicer turned to Stricket, and said:

"Well, Seth, I suppose you have something interesting to tell us?"

"I have managed to pick up a little information," was the modest reply.

"Very good; let's have it."

"George has been talking about the seven handkerchiefs. He has told you that some, if not all of them, belong to women. I can tell you what woman one of them, at least, belongs to."

"The deuce you can! Who is she?"

"Mrs. Otto Webber."

"What! the wife of the cigar-maker who lives directly over the barroom?"

"The same."

"You are sure you are right?"

"I have positively identified one of the handkerchiefs as belonging to her. And more than that, I have discovered parties who are ready to swear that they have seen the cloth found about Mrs. Ernst's head in the possession of the Webbers within the past forty-eight hours."

"You are getting on fast, Seth."

"I am not through yet."

"Well, what next?"

"Stairs, you know, lead directly from the apartments occupied by Mrs. Ernst to those occupied by the Webbers."

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, Monday night Mr. Webber called on the murdered woman and informed her that he was going to leave her house, but had found another tenant for her."

"I know he did."

"He admits now that he stayed in the saloon for some time, and drank liquor with the old lady; but he claims that she was in the best of spirits when he left her, which, he says, was before ten o'clock."

"Does Bollmann, or any of the regular force suspect Webber?"

"Yes."

"Have they let him find it out?"

"Yes."

"Thunder! how far have they gone in the matter?"

"Both Webber and his wife were brought to the police office by Detective Brewer early this evening."

"Do you know what followed?"

"Chief Bollmann, Coroner Mix, and the detectives questioned Webber for over an hour, and then subjected Mrs. Weber to a similar examination."

"Hum! What did it all amount to?"

"Not much. One of the officials informed me that when Webber was brought to the police office the expectation was that he would not be allowed to depart again until a jury had pronounced him guilty or not guilty of the crime of murder; but after the rigid examination was over, the coroner decided that it would not be best to place him under arrest at present."

"Webber was allowed to go home, then?"

"Yes; but policemen were detailed to watch his house all night."

"Do the authorities know all that you know?"

"No. I thought it wasn't best to give anything away just yet."

"Right; but I hope you also established a watch on his movements?"

"You may be sure I have the right man looking after him. And he isn't the only one I am having shadowed either."

"Is that so? Who is the other party?"

"August Strouse, a German Anarchist, who, until last week lived in the house occupied by the murdered woman."

"And you have good reasons for suspecting this fellow, you think?"

"Yes. I think so. You see, Strouse did not pay the rent of the rooms he occupied, and was told to move by Mrs. Ernst. He moved, but swore he would make trouble for the old woman before he was many weeks older."

"Is he a single man?"

"No, he has a wife and two children, but is considered a pretty tough character."

"Has he a police record?"

"Yes; a few months ago he was arrested for theft and was found guilty. I have no doubt that a more careful search would show that he has been up for other crimes."

"What put you on his track?"

"I came across a reliable party who, after giving me other valuable information, told me that he saw Strouse enter Mrs. Ernst's apartments shortly before nine o'clock last night. He further said that Strouse entered the basement by way of one of the rear doors – sneaked in, as it were – and probably hid himself in the old woman's bedroom."

"Have you seen this fellow yourself?"

"Yes, I started out after him, and after a long search, found him in Fred Siebold's saloon on State Street."

"How did he act?"

"He seemed to have plenty of money and was slightly under the influence of liquor."

"Did you speak with him?"

"Yes, I questioned him a little, in a careless sort of way."

"What did he have to say for himself?"

"He denied that he was in Mrs. Ernst's place last night, and said he had not been there since last week when he moved."

"He said that, did he?"

"He did."

"And the man who claims to have seen him enter one of her back doors is perfectly reliable, is he?"

"He is; I'll vouch for him myself."

"It looks bad for Mr. Strouse then, it seems to me."

"That's the way I look at it. Indeed, I am confident that he knows something about the murder."

"You are having him shadowed, you say?"

"Yes, Ned Nugent, properly disguised, is on his track."

"Don't let him lose sight of him. This worthy anarchist may lead us to something."

"I've no doubt he will; and he may lead us to a point that will surprise you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Simply this: Not long ago Mrs. Ernst was visited by her brother, August Tepley, of Oxburg, Bavaria. Of course he was hard up and looking out for number one, otherwise he wouldn't have come. By keeping at her, he at last succeeded in inducing his sister to loan him three hundred dollars, and he obtained a good knowledge of her financial affairs.

"It was commonly reported that Mrs. Ernst was worth at least $50,000, and that most of her money was kept hidden about her apartments. Her brother believed this. He knew exactly how she had left her property, and he tried to induce her to change her will in his favor. She did not do so, though I think in time she might.

"But the man was greedy and anxious. As I have just said, he believed the greater part of that $50,000 was in the house. August Strouse was also in the house. Naturally these two met."

"It is said that August Tepley went back to Bavaria, but I have had it hinted to me that he was seen only a few days ago in New York, and, indeed, even nearer than that.

"The other August, the anarchist, went down the road a few evenings since. You can put this and that together as well as I can."

Stricket ceased to speak, and there was profound silence in the little back parlor for some minutes.

At length George Morgan exclaimed:

"Thunder! gentlemen, this case begins to wear a mighty ugly look."

"There does appear to be something pretty black about it," mused Old Spicer, "yes, there does, for a fact." Then abruptly:

"What are you going to do for the next hour or so, Seth?"

"Get a little rest, if the thing is possible."

"By all means, my dear fellow. And you, George?"

"Can I be of any service to you, sir?" asked George, quickly.

"It is quite possible you can."

"Then I am going with you."

"All right. Seth, you lie down on this lounge. George and I will be gone about two hours. After that we will see what it is best to do."

"Very well, sir," and throwing himself upon the lounge, in less than a minute Seth Stricket was fast asleep.

A moment later Old Spicer and George Morgan left the house, and hurried out of Home Place.

CHAPTER VI.
HORRIFIED WATCHERS – IN THE TUNNELS AND VAULT

"Where are we going, sir, if it's a fair question?" asked George, as they hastened up Court Street.

"To the Ernst House," was the brief reply.

"You expect to find out something there?"

"Yes, I expect to find out something about August Strouse, and I expect to learn something about that tunnel and vault from personal observation."

"Ah! you are going into it to-night, then?"

"Yes."

"But Bollmann's men are in the house."

"We must manage to hoodwink them."

"I don't see how it can be done."

"Nor do I; but we shall find a way."

At length they arrived in York Street.

"Now, then," said Old Spicer, "you have been over this ground."

"Yes," was the answer, "I think I know it pretty well."

"Then conduct me through the passage into the backyard of the Ernst House."

"This way, sir," and George led him through a narrow passage at the end of the brick block.

Presently they found themselves in the yard back of the basement saloon.

Old Spicer tried one of the basement doors.

It was locked.

He tried the next.

It yielded, and he entered, closely followed by George.

He led the way toward the room in which the trap door was situated. But in passing the bar-room, he saw, through the open door, three men grouped together in chairs, while a coffin, containing all that was mortal of Margaret Ernst, occupied the center of the apartment.

The darkness of the place was only dissipated in a small degree by an oil lamp, which burned dimly on the bar.

"Who are they?" asked Old Spicer, with his lips close to Morgan's ear.

"One's Cohen," was the answer; "another is – "

"Webber, isn't it?"

"By Jove! I believe it is."

"And who is the third?"

"I don't know; I can't see his face."

"Well, hark, then; let's hear what they have to say."

"Yes," the unknown was saying at this point, "it was the worst experience I ever had. I never want to be frightened so badly as that again."

"Tell us all about it, old fellow," urged Cohen.

"Well, you see, we had got the body in the way I hinted a moment ago; and in order not to attract too much attention, we laid it over on the back seat of the carriage, and my friend Jim and I took the front seat and drove off.

"By and by we came to a lonely road, leading through a piece of woods. As we entered the woods I thought I heard a slight sound just back of me, as of some one moving.

"Jim heard it too, and we looked back simultaneously.

"One glance was enough; then we gave a yell of horror and sprung from the carriage, Jim on his side and I on mine; and the way we legged it for the open country was a caution."

"Why," exclaimed Webber, "what the deuce was it that frightened you so?"

"Yes," added Cohen, "what did you see when you looked back?"

"See? We saw that confounded corpse sitting bolt upright on the rear seat, like any live man. And at the very moment our eyes rested upon him, he started forward, placing one hand on the front seat by my side, and the other on Jim's back, while his great wide-open eyes stared fixedly into mine."

"Good Lord! I should have thought you would have been frightened," exclaimed Webber.

"How did it all turn out?" asked Cohen.

"Why, this way," was the reply. "After running some distance, we stopped to consult. While we stood there, a man with a heavily-loaded wagon drove up and asked us what we were doing on such a lonely road at that time of night.

"I told him we were taking a dead body to the city for Dr. White, and that it had suddenly started up and driven us from our carriage.

"He said he couldn't swallow that story. We swore it was true. Then he asked where we had left the carriage. We told him about half a mile ahead. 'Come on and show me, then,' he said. 'I have a rifle and two revolvers here; I guess with those we are enough for one dead man, at least;' so we went forward with him.

"At length we came to our carriage; the horse had merely gone to one side of the road, and was quietly cropping the grass.

"The man took a lantern from his wagon, lighted it, and approached the carriage. Then we heard him laugh.

"'Come here,' he cried, 'and see what started your corpse to life.'

"We hastened forward, and saw at once that the dead man had not altered his position since we had so abruptly left him.

"Our new friend then pointed out to us how the wind had carried the ends of the loose robe in which the corpse was dressed on to the wheels. The motion of the wheels had then pulled the robe so that the corpse which it enveloped was raised to a sitting position, and at last drawn forward in the way I have described."

"And so – and so," murmured Webber, in a voice trembling with emotion, "and so you don't believe the fellow had come to life at all?"

"Of course not."

"I – I don't know. I've often thought – Good Lord! what's that?"

The three men were seated near the foot of the casket, Webber having his back turned to it.

At the head of the casket was a window, and this was raised to permit the circulation of fresh air in the interior of the basement.

A lemon-colored curtain was dropped over the window to regulate the force of the wind that came through the aperture.

A sudden and powerful gust came through, and the curtain rustled against the window, making a noise as if somebody's dress was rubbing against the side of a wall. The sound had landed on the sensitive ears of Mr. Webber as if it had come from the coffin.

There was not a soul in the room at the time but the three individuals, and they had been whispering in low tones. It is no wonder, then, that Mr. Webber promptly concluded, from the direction of the noise, that it came from the interior of the coffin, or that the pale glamour which one sees on the faces of painted women under an electric light quickly drove the flush of health from his face.

Then he suddenly turned, half in despair at the thought of seeing some movement in the casket.

He noticed nothing unusual, but for a minute he kept his eyes fastened on the face of the murdered woman, and his imagination, wrought upon by the story he had just heard, led him to believe that her eyes were fixed upon him with a steady and stern expression.

He grasped the arms of the chair, and half-way started up.

At that moment a deep, hollow groan, which was distinctly heard by all, came apparently from the lips of the corpse.

Webber gave a yell of horror, and dashing out of the bar-room, flew up the area steps into the street.

The other two, after one startled glance at the corpse, darted after their fleeing companion, and never even so much as stopped to breathe until they were far down George Street.

"Now, George," said Old Spicer, quietly, "I think we shall be able to get into the tunnel and vault without being seen."

"No doubt," responded young Morgan; "but how about getting out again? In ten minutes those fools will have a crowd here to see the murdered woman's ghost."

"I shouldn't at all wonder, my boy. But never mind the getting out. If necessary, you know, we can wait in there till the crowd is gone."

"Yes, and all that time Stricket will be waiting for us."

"I fancy he'll sleep till we get back, even if it isn't till morning."

"All right, then, I'm ready to dive into the bowels of the earth."

"I'm glad to hear it. Come on. But, by Jove! I've forgotten my dark-lantern. What shall we do?"

"There's that light on the bar there."

"That'll do, bring it along."

"But what'll they say when they come back and find it gone?"

"No matter what they say. Most likely they'll think Mrs. Ernst's ghost has hidden it."

"By Jove! I shouldn't at all wonder," and, with a laugh, George entered the barroom, and securing the oil lamp, returned to the so-called reception-room.

Old Spicer now raised the trap-door.

With some little difficulty he climbed over the ash-heap, and taking the lamp from George, waited until he had closed the trap and joined him.

Then together they moved forward through the tunnel, which they found much wider and higher than the opening had given them any reason to expect.

At length, after walking some distance, they came to a door that closed up the end of the tunnel.

"Great Jove!" exclaimed Morgan, "suppose it should be locked!"

"I don't think it is," replied Old Spicer quietly, and taking hold of the knob he pulled it open.

The door was of iron and quite heavy, but it moved on its hinges with the utmost ease.

"Oh, ho!" said Old Spicer, "those hinges have been oiled, and that quite recently."

He then examined them, and found he was right.

The key – a large one – was found in the lock.

The two detectives now entered the vault, which they found, as Morgan had already been informed, was a very large one.

It was plainly to be seen that the place had once been fitted up for a barroom; but it was also quite evident that it had more recently been used as a secret rendezvous, and to some extent as a sleeping-room; indeed, there were sleeping accommodations for at least half a dozen men.

Old Spicer looked about him with a thoughtful expression of countenance.

"What are you thinking of?" suddenly asked Morgan.

"This place is deep down under ground," answered Old Spicer, "and yet men have assembled here and slept here. That they could not do without plenty of fresh air. Now the question is, how is the place ventilated?"

Morgan hesitated a moment, then he exclaimed:

"Why, by means of the tunnel, of course."

"What tunnel?"

"The one through which we reached this vault."

"Wrong, George; the trap-door closes tightly, and the tunnel has no aperture in all its length."

"Then I give it up."

"That won't do, my boy, we must find the opening."

"All right, sir," and George immediately began the search in earnest.

But Old Spicer had already started with the same end in view, and rightly judging that the most likely place would be about opposite the door through which they had entered, he began his examination there, and almost immediately found what he was in search of.

It proved to be an opening about a foot square, close to the ground, and was concealed by a fixed table.

On searching further, Old Spicer found, just in front of this aperture, a trap-door, which opened under the table, and could be fastened to it.

On lifting the trap a flight of five steps was revealed. These the two detectives descended, and immediately found themselves in another tunnel, leading toward York Street.

This they followed, and presently came to another door, which, with some difficulty, they opened, and found themselves in the sub-cellar of a spacious house.

"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Old Spicer, in a tone of great satisfaction, "I thought it would turn out something like this. Now let us make certain of the way out, and then return and examine the big vault more at our leisure."

"What's this?" asked Morgan, pointing to a small sheet-iron door.

"That must open into a coal vault, I should think," returned Spicer; "but let's see," and he opened the door.

A glance showed that the place had in fact been built for a coal vault, but it was quite evident it had not been used as such for a long time. It contained only a very high step-ladder, which was standing directly under the coal-hole, which was closed with an iron cover and fastened on the under side.

"That's our way out," said Old Spicer, pointing to the hole.

"But where will we find ourselves when we get out?" asked George.

"In the narrow passageway you led me through less than an hour ago, if I am not greatly mistaken," was the answer.

"I believe you're right, by Jove!"

"Yes, I think I am."

"Then that matter is settled."

"Yes. But hold up a moment, George."

CHAPTER VII.
TWO IMPORTANT AND INTERESTING CHARACTERS

"What's the matter?" asked George Morgan, wonderingly.

"It strikes me," replied Old Spicer, "that there must be some other means of entrance and exit to this sub-cellar known to and controlled by the frequenters of the great vault."

"What makes you think so?"

"Look up there. What do you see?"

"Why, the coal-hole and its iron cover."

"Is the cover fastened over the hole?"

"Certainly."

"If any one has gone out by that way lately could they have fastened down the cover after them as we see it now?"

"Of course not."

"If any one expects to visit the great vault to-night, for instance, could they do so by way of this coal-hole?"

"Certainly not."

"Then isn't it evident that there must be some other way to reach the sub-cellar known to the frequenters of the vault?"

"It would seem so. And yet, if no one has visited the place since the murder the thing is easily explained."

"How do you explain it?"

"Why, the murderers possibly entered through this coal-hole, and fastened the cover after them. If so, they went on to Margaret Ernst's basement, through the vault and the other tunnel. They killed the old woman, and, as a blind, filled up the entrance to the tunnel with ashes, which they found close by, and then escaped, probably through her back-yard."

"That's all very well so far as it goes, George; but, unfortunately for your theory, some one has visited that vault since the murder, and they have neither entered nor departed through Mrs. Ernst's basement."

"Thunder! how do you know that?"

"By means of a piece of to-day's newspaper, which I picked up in the vault."

"Well, sir, you've got me this time, sure."

"You admit, then, that there must be another entrance from this side?"

"Of course."

"Let us find it, then."

"I'm with you, sir," and the search began.

It lasted close on to half an hour, when Old Spicer suddenly uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction, and Morgan at once knew he had found what he was looking for.

He at once joined the old detective, who silently pointed to a dark opening in the front foundation wall, below the level of the cellar bottom, and partially concealed by some empty barrels.

"What is it?" asked George, eagerly.

"Don't you understand?"

"By Jove, I do not."

"Well," said Old Spicer, "I can see it all as plain as day. That opening leads into an abandoned sewer, which is connected with a catch-basin at the next corner, where, undoubtedly, there is a ladder, or iron spikes are driven into the walls, by means of which those making use of this peculiar passage, enter the cellar, or reach the street."

"By thunder! this is a shrewder thing than the other."

"That's a fact; but unless we are driven to it, I prefer to use the other exit."

"So do I."

"Well, now that we know exactly how the land lies, let us return to the vault."

"All right, sir," and they hastened back.

On crawling out from under the table that concealed the trap, they began a regular and systematic search of the place. Not a bunk, not a drawer, not a box, not a corner was neglected, and before the search was well over, Old Spicer was abundantly satisfied with his success.

He had found several bits of evidence that were likely to prove important in more than one great criminal case; and behind a tier of bunks he found a door leading into a smaller vault, originally intended, no doubt, for the storage of liquors, but which for some time had been abandoned, and possibly forgotten.

"Ah!" exclaimed Old Spicer, as he surveyed the smaller vault, "this may prove useful, George, before very long."

"I don't see how," replied the younger detective, in a tone of surprise.

"If I am not very much mistaken, you will see, and that very soon. Hark!"

Morgan listened and distinctly heard the sound of footsteps in the tunnel leading from York Street.

"Go in there," whispered Old Spicer, pointing toward the smaller vault.

Then, hastily closing the trap-door under the table, he squeezed his way behind the tier of bunks, moved them back to their place, and joined George in the inner vault, leaving the door slightly ajar, and so was prepared to both see and listen.

Hardly were his preparations completed, when the trap-door under the table was raised up and a man, of no very prepossessing appearance, showed his head.

No sooner had he crawled out from under the table than another and younger man appeared.

"Shust help me out, Parney," said this last. "I've got my goat caught mit this hook here."

Barney unhooked his companion's coat and helped him to his feet.

"You thundering fool," he growled, "why will you persist in wearing that great, heavy, conspicuous-looking coat at all times and seasons of the year? It will get you into some cursed trouble yet."

"Ah, my tear Parney, dot vos a goot goats – it vos a perfect goats; shust think uf all der bockets, und vot er lot uf shwag I vos able ter garry avay mit 'em."

"Well, well, I see you're stuck on the blamed coat, and so I'll say no more about the outlandish-looking thing just now. But come, sit down there, and let's get to business."

"Vate a minute, Parney. Let's make sure der bolice hain't struck der blace since ve vos here," and the young Hebrew picked up the dark-lantern Barney had placed on the table, and disappeared in the tunnel, in the direction of the Ernst basement.

He was gone some minutes. When he returned he exclaimed, somewhat excitedly:

"So 'elp me gracious, Parney, dere vos somepody peen in der tunnels since ve vos 'ere pefore!"

"How do you know that, Jake?"

"Dot ashes; you remember?"

"Yes."

"Vell, it vos kicked apout like anything."

"Hum! then they've found the trap-door for certain; but they may not have come very far into the tunnel."

"Dey vos comed a leetle vays anyhow; I see der tracks."

"The deuce you say! Then they may come further next time."

"Dot's vot I vos dinking, Parney."

"Well, it isn't at all likely they'll come to-night, so let's get ahead with our business and then dig out."

"All right. You got somedings to trink, Parney? I don't feel shust right."

"Confound you, Jake Klinghammer, you are always sponging on somebody – if you can. Where's that flask of whisky I saw you take from behind McCarthy's bar to-night?"

"I didn't dake no vhisky at McCarthy's, Parney. I didn't, so 'elp me gracious."

"Well, you took something. What was it?"

"Oh! I remember now, Parney. It vos shust a leetle drop uv prandy – nodding more. I bledge you my word."

"By heavens, Jake, you're a pretty fellow."

"Dot vos vot my girl dinks."

"She's an excellent judge, no doubt."

"You shust pet she vos, Parney."

"Well, pass the brandy, and let me see if it is fit for a gentleman to drink. If it is, I may be induced to take some."

"All right, I give you a daste," said Jake, handing him the flask. "I vosn't so mean as you, Parney."

"Oh! you ain't, eh? Well, that's all right. Here's good luck to your liberal soul," and placing the flask to his lips, he poured about half its contents down his throat.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he set down the flask, "that's pretty good; must be some of McCarthy's best. Better get some more of it when you're there again. Don't forget, Jake."

"So 'elp me gracious, Parney, dot vos an awful cheek you've got."

"Think so?"

"Think so!" echoed Jake, as he put up the half-emptied flask. "Holy Moses! if I have dot cheek, I vos rich. I vould always have blenty ov 'prass' apout me, you see – ha! ha!"

"Well, I admit it has been of some service to me, and I fancy it will assist me through the remainder of my life – to a considerable extent."

"Dere vos no doubt of dot, you pet."

"Not much, I guess. But then, you know, Jake, I need a little cheek to travel with you!"

"By Father Abraham!" muttered Jake, meaningly, "I pet you need somedings after this, my poy, so it vas pest you look out."

"What are you growling about now?" demanded Barney, sharply.

"Noddings, Parney – shust noddings at all. Now vot you got to told me apout dot leetle schob down pelow?"

"A good deal, so prepare yourself to listen."

"Vill it dake a goot vhile, Parney?"

"Some little time. Why?"

"Pecause, I vosn't anxious to stay in this hole any longer than vos necessary."

"Well, the fact is, in order to act intelligently in the future, you have got to know exactly how matters stand at present."

"Dot fellow vos dead fast enough, eh?"

"Great Cæsar! yes."

"Und I subbose dot rich young duffer vos ready to bay vot he agreed like an honest man, eh?"

"Of course."

"Vell, vhat more do I vont to know apout it, then?"

"A good deal – if you have any desire to keep your neck from a hempen collar."

"Holy Moses! vhat do you mean, Parney, my tear poy?"

"Listen quietly, and I will tell you."

"Go on, Parney, I will pe dumb."