Kitobni o'qish: «The Spruce Street Tragedy; or, Old Spicer Handles a Double Mystery», sahifa 8
CHAPTER XIX.
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.
CHAPTER XX.
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.
CHAPTER XXI.
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 on me. 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."
"They say he burst out of the room like a mad bull, and knocked three of you fellows down."
"Well, if he did, I wasn't one of them."
"Where were you?"
"Standing over by the main staircase yonder."
"Then he didn't attempt to get away in that direction?"
"No."
"Where, then?"
"By the back stairs, I have heard."
"Know what the trouble was between Bissell and Chamberlain?"
"No."
"Is Bissell badly wounded?"
"I should suppose so."
"Is he unconscious?"
"Yes."
"Just let me take a look at him, will you?"
"I can't do that."
"For goodness' sake, why not? I won't eat the man."
"It's against orders to admit any one but the doctor."
"Well, is this the doctor coming?"
"Yes."
"Who's that with him?"
"Old Spicer."
"The deuce it is! But, yes; I would have known him by the descriptions I have seen of him. Queer looking cuss, ain't he?"
"He's – well, he's rather slender, to say the least."
"A sort of Wm. M. Evarts. Ah! good-day, Mr. Spicer. Good-day, doctor; glad to see you, gentlemen," and as the great detective and the surgeon entered the room with Crowley, the reporter followed after them, as a matter of course.
"Why, Crowley, where's your prisoner?" demanded Old Spicer, in startled tones, after a single glance at the blood-stained bed.
"He's – Great Scott! He's gone!"
"Gone?" exclaimed the reporter, in his usual brisk way. "How the devil did he manage to get away?"
