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A TRAGIC MYSTERY
FROM THE DIARY OF
INSPECTOR BYRNES
BY
JULIAN HAWTHORNE
SOCIETY.
CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited,
739 & 741 Broadway, New York.


CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
Darkness, i
CHAPTER II.
Murder 12
CHAPTER III.
The Inspector's Room, 24
CHAPTER IV.
Will-o'-the-wisps, 41
CHAPTER V.
The Silver Cigarette Case, . . . . 51
CHAPTER VI.
A Night Hawk, 66
CHAPTER VII.
Insane, 79
CHAPTER VIII.
The Barber's Saloon, 92
CHAPTER IX.
A Domestic Earthquake, . . . .107
CHAPTER X.
The Cipher, 122


iv CONTENTS.
PACE.
CHAPTER XI.
GOOLEY'S, 137
CHAPTER XII.
Bal-Masque, 153
CHAPTER XIII.
Cross-Examined, 174
CHAPTER XIV.
Colonel Desmond, 183
CHAPTER XV.
Shadows, 198
CHAPTER XVI.
A Confidant, 213
CHAPTER XVII.
The End of a Clew 230
CHAPTER XVIII.
Capture 245
CHAPTER XIX.
Confession, 253


A TRAGIC MYSTERY.
CHAPTER I.
DARKNESS.
IN the year 1881, the western end of Twenty-sixth
Street, beyond Sixth Avenue, was undergoing a
process of growth, and of what (for lack of a bet-
ter term) must be called improvement. The old
houses were giving place to new ones: the careless
irregularity of the former age was yielding to the
precise uniformity of the present architectural dis-
pensation. Those who are familiar with the ways
and works of the chief city of America need not be
reminded that this process is not attractive from
the aesthetic point of view. Cities may be pictur-
esque in decay; but renovation is seldom beautiful,
however desirable or necessary. Mathematical
blocks of buildings have a merit of their own—the
merit of the architect's diagram, drawn by rule and
square ; but frail humanity loves broken and im-
perfect lines, and houses which seem to have adapt-
ed themselves to the foibles and peculiarities of
their inhabitants. The spectacle of such dwellings
sandwiched between crude, impersonal cubes of


2 DARKNESS.
brick and stone is especially unpleasant, foreshad-
owing, as it seems to do, a period when the preva-
lence of the democratic principle shall reduce men,
as well as houses, to a dead level of similarity, and
each one of us shall see the streets swarm with my-
riad counterparts of his own tiresome and insignifi-
cant self.
One of the oldest and most unconventional of the
antiquated order of houses on West Twenty-sixth
Street was occupied as a French wine shop. The
French, who have the name of being the most con-
ventional nation in Europe are in reality among
the most peculiar of peoples. Wherever they go,
they carry France with them; and French emigrants
resist assimilation as resolutely as the Chinese.
Whatever they touch immediately acquires a Gallic
look and flavor. They probably admire the Amer-
ican idea with quite as much favor as does any
other class of our adopted citizens; but they ex-
press it with a decidedly Parisian accent. Their
"liberty" conveys, somehow, an impression very
different from our liberty. Be all that as it may,
they are a very likeable part of the population,
quiet, orderly, and law-abiding; seldom getting
into trouble, either domestic or political. All their
ambition is to earn and enjoy an honest living and
to create a little atmosphere of the boulevards and
cates. They love nothing so well as the sound of
their own language, spoken by their own tongues;
and, as a general rule, they are not much interfered
with by other nationalities. There was quite a col-


DARKNESS. 3
ony of French people in the neighborhood of the
little wine shop ; and every afternoon and evening
groups of them might be seen there, seated round
the tables, sipping their wines, playing dominoes
and chattering and gesticulating after their kind.
The wine shop or restaurant was built of wood, and
was only two stories in height. It was bounded on
one side by a large edifice of brick, and on the other
by an old lumber-yard, crowded with piles of tim-
ber and heaps of junk and rubbish, and separated
from the street by a high fence. An old-fashioned
stoop decorated the front of the building, and be-
hind, a ramshackle balcony jutted over the yard,
array of bottles and framed signs in the shop-
Jow was enriched with some garlands of dusty
f faded greenery, the relics of Christmas orna-
*ation; for the period at which this story be-
tj^as the week between Christmas and New
* e^v,-
The door was low and narrow, the upper half
being of glass; and it was secured at night only by
a common lock and bolt; for the proprietor was
poor as well as honest, and, like the empty-pocketed
traveler of the proverb, considered that he had
no cause to apprehend burglary. If you went in
you would find yourself in a small but attractive
little room with a deal counter extending along one
side of it, and neatly papered walls. It opened
into an apartment at the back where there were
tables and chairs for the accommodation of guests;
bottles stood on shelves along the walls, and a cask


4 DARKNESS.
of beer, with a spigot in the end of it, was mounted
on a stand near by. In the front shop a few cheap
prints hung from nails under the cornice, and an
Italian plaster-cast stood on a bracket above the
money-drawer as if to keep watch over it. Oppo-
site the counter was a door giving access to the
hall-way, and so to the staircase communicating to
the upper rooms. Of these, the one facing the
street was occupied at night by the proprietor and
his wife, their children sleeping in the chambers at
the back. Underneath the building was a cellar,
containing kegs of liquor and cases of bottles, anr'
such odds and ends of things as had bee^'
from the upper regions. Although th
made to wear, upon the whole, a ch'
ance, the house was evidently feebf
its unfitness for a progressive age
rickety and its floor creaked, antf
at no distant date, to add its woouc
rubbish of the adjoining timber-yard. \,. mwiu
its rent was moderate and its custo u..s i' ,)
stipulate for external splendor so Ion ..=. the I
and absinthe were good and the price
There was very little traffic through this ;,-n
Twenty-sixth Street—the block between Sixth and
Seventh Avenues—and the roar of the city hardly
penetrated to the obscure wine room. The jingle
of the tramway bells could be heard passing and
repassing the ends of the streets, and the recur-
rent rush and rumble of the Elevated Railway
trains. But there was a kind of remoteness in these


6 DARKNESS.
his neighbors, and his prospects for the future were
reasonably promising.
Whether or not his sleep was sound, it was not
destined to be long. About one o'clock in the
morning Mrs. Hanier, who had slumbered but
lightly, awoke with a start and a feeling that some-
thing was wrong. At first, however, she did not
arouse her husband.
She sat up in bed and listened. In a house like
this, old and insecure, and especially on so windy
and stormy a night, there are certain to be all man-
ner of odd and inexplicable noises. Rats and mice,
the creaking of timbers, the falling of soot down
the chimney,—there are a score of causes to which
mysterious sounds can be ascribed. Mrs. Hanier
was aware of this, and she had lived here too
long not to have become accustomed to much that
would have alarmed a stranger; but on this occa-
sion her feeling was different. It was not only that
the noise had been of another character than usual,
but there was in her woman's heart an obscure in-
tuition of evil and danger. A woman with six
children who loves her husband seems to acquire
faculties keener and more alert than belong to other
human beings. Mrs. Hanier had a sickening con-
viction that mischief and violence had penetrated
into her quiet household that night. And one or
two episodes which had occurred earlier in the night,
and which now rushed in on her mind, seemed to
confirm her thought.
In a moment the noises became audible again.


8 DARKNESS.
that he might be of assistance to his father. She
was persuaded that there were thieves below, and
her desire was to frighten them away, not to con-
tend with them.
Having aroused the boy she hurried back to the
front bed-chamber to warn her husband to be cau-
tious and not expose himself. But the room was
empty: Hanier had already gone out into the hall-
way. The darkness was impenetrable. But she
heard a loose board creak under her husband's tread
and she knew he must be near the head of the
stairs. Meanwhile, the noises below had ceased for
a moment as if the intruders also were listening.
The rain continued to beat against the house, and
the wind to shake it; but otherwise there was a
brief interval of silence. Then, all of a sudden,
there was a quick shuffling of feet in the shop, the
yawning of a door on its hinges, and a gusty flurry
of the storm sweeping into the house. The thieves
were running away.
. So thought Mrs. Hanier. and Hanier himself
probably thought so too. He had by this time
groped his way to the top of the stairs which were
steep and so narrow that two persons could not
have traversed them abreast. Standing there, he
peered down into an abyss of blackness. Had he,
after all, been robbed, and had the robbers escaped
with the contents of his till? He had thought other-
wise until now; but, with the conviction, an impulse
to pursue the purloiners of his property came over
him, and he began hurriedly to descend the stairs.


io DARKXESS.
never look on her or speak to her again. How
could so great a change be so sudden? With
frantic persistence she strove to arouse him, lifting
the senseless body in her arms, and calling him by
name. Her hands and night-dress were smeared
with the blood that oozed from the wound in the
dead man's breast, which, in the darkness, she could
not see. It was not until several minutes had
elapsed that the poor creature began to realize that
the thing she held in her arms was indeed a corpse.
In the meantime her son, on hearing the detona-
tion of the revolver, had run out into the hallway,
and then returned to the back room, where he must
have passed his father without being aware of it.
He had perhaps heard the steps of the murderer
retreating below, and conjectured that he would
make his escape by the back yard. He slipped out
on the balcony and looked down. A ray from one
of the street lamps fell across a corner of !'« yard,
dimly denning it in the rain and blackness , and the
boy saw, or fancied he saw, a shadow that resembled
a human figure appear for an instant in the light of
this ray, and then vanish again. It was but a mo-
mentary impression ; and whether the figure were
tall or short, man or woman, or whether it were
any thing more than an illusion of the sight, he
could not determine. He shouted, " Stop thief!"
at a venture, but there was no response, and no
further apparition. The boy left the balcony
and made his way down stairs to the shop, where
a jet of gas, half turned on, was dimly burning.

^


DARKNESS. XI
There was no one there and he descended into the
cellar, lighting his way with some matches which he
had taken from the match-safe on the counter.
Finding the cellar also empty, he returned up-stairs
to the bedroom floor. As he entered the front
chamber, with a lighted match in his hand, its
radiance revealed a ghastly spectacle.
Huddled together on the floor beside the bed
were the figures of his mother and father, both
befouled with blood. It needed but a glance to see
whence the blood came, and that his father was
dead. It was the first intimation the boy had had
of what had occurred. Mrs. Hanier, too, had
hitherto been able to inform herself only by the
sense of touch, and the appalling sight that met
her eyes seemed to electrify her. She sprang to
her feet, threw open the window, and sent out into
the storm-swept and deserted street the awful cry
of "Murder!"
/


CHAPTER II.
MURDER.
THAT alarm is seldom long without a response:
yet here, in the heart of New York, the frenzied
woman's voice shrieked it out again and again,
apparently in vain; it seemed as if the hideous
night had swallowed up all life, and made a tomb
of the mighty city. But at length a couple of
Frenchmen who boarded with the Hanier's and
slept in a little shanty close at hand, were aroused
by the summons and entered the house. Not with-
out misgivings, they felt their way up-stairs. By
this time the boy had lighted a small lamp, and the
light nickered upon the bloody business that had
just been done. The two men paused in the door-
way aghast. Blood was every where; it drenched
the dead man's chest; it reddened the arms and
bosom of the widowed woman ; it had even stained
the night-dresses of the trembling and crying
children who had been awakened by the uproar;
and their feet had trod in the pool of it that glist-
ened on the floor. The men stood fascinated until,
in compliance with Mrs. Hanier's appeals one of
them departed to summon the police. A few minutes
later the noise of an officer's club rapping a signal
on the pavement outside was heard, and presently


MURDER. 13
three patrolmen, in waterproof cloaks and helmets,
tramped up into the room.
It was at once evident that no physician could
help Louis Hainer. He had been shot through the
heart, and was dead past all remedy. The officers
questioned Mrs. Hanier, and she told her story,
interspersed with sobs and gestures. The boy's
deposition was less confused, but was like the other
in suggesting no clew to the perpetrators of the
crime. After gathering all the information they
could, one of the officers went out to carry the news
to the nearest station-house, while the others sent
the mother and children into the back room, and
sat down beside the body to await the arrival of the
roundsman.
One of the officers had been on duty in this
precinct, and knew something about the dead man
and his family; the other had only lately been as-
signed to the post; and he was inclined to take a
somewhat unfavorable view of Mrs Hanier's con-
nection with the affair. Her confused statements
and dreadful appearance, and the inherent improba-
bility of several points in her story, seemed to him
to point to a knowledge of the circumstances of the
crime more intimate than she had acknowledged.
She was a French woman; French women sometimes
have lovers. Suppose that Mrs. Hanier's lover had
got into the house, and that Hanier had surprised
the two together. This was sufficient to explain the
tragedy. Moreover, Mrs. Hanier's assertion that
her husband had been shot on the staircase in the


14 MURDER.
dark, did not seem likely to be true. Except in
trained hands, a pistol bullet is apt to go wide of its
mark, in the most favorable circumstances; and
that it should find its way straight to the victim's
heart in a situation where neither party could see
the other, was certainly improbable. Again, if
Hanier had been shot and mortally wounded while
half-way down the staircase, how happened it that
his dead body was found lying beside his bed
twenty feet away? Would he not have fallen down
the stairs and lain at the bottom of them? These
were features of the case that demanded careful
consideration, to say the least of them.
The older officer, however, relying upon his
personal acquaintance with the Haniers, scouted
the theory of a lover, and declared his belief that
the woman would prove to be entirely innocent.
Her story might sound queer, and even be open to
correction in some respects; a person's impres-
sions of an affair that takes place in the pitch-dark,
and immediately upon being awakened from sleep,
are not generally marked by perspicuity; but that
what they had been told was true in substance and
intention, he saw no good reason to doubt. The
upshot of the argument (as of most arguments in
this opiniated world), was that each disputant ad-
hered to his own view : and they were still debating
the matter when the arrival of the roundsman re-
called them from speculation to reality.
The latter officer's voice came to them from the
foot of the stairs. "Come down here, one of you,"


MURDER. 15
he said. "The place has been broken into and
ransacked."
The statement was no exaggeration. The ap-
pearance of the shop, which, though unpretending
in its appointments, had always been kept neat and
orderly, was now topsy-turvy in the extreme. The
gas, turned fully on, revealed chairs upset, bottles
smashed and emptied, pictures torn down from the
walls, the plaster figure above the money-drawer
broken, and the drawer itself rifled and left half
open. The whole interior had been wantonly
wrecked. One of the policemen who had set his foot
in a pool of dark liquid that had collected in a de-
pression of the floor near the wall, started back with
an exclamation. Was it blood that he had trodden
in? The scene up-stairs had prompted the idea;
but this was not blood: it was the contents of a
beer-cask from which the bung had been extracted.
There were signs of deliberate malice everywhere.
The very spirit of mischief seemed to have invaded
the place, and ravaged it for the mere delight of
destruction. The officers gazed about them in
mingled perplexity and astonishment.
"Let us see how they got in here, in the first
place," the roundsman suggested.
Upon this point there was no room for dispute
The street door had been forcibly burst open. A
stout lock and bolt had secured it ; but the timber
to which they were fastened was old and rotten,
and the pressure applied from without had been
sufficient to tear out the iron sockets into which the


16 MURDER.
bolts were shot. There they hung with the loose
screws protruding. The key was still in the key-
hole. All signs indicated that brute force rather
than professional skill had been at work. The
roundsman scrutinized the fastenings closely. There
was not a mark of a burglar's tool upon them : but
a fresh scratch upon the surface of the metal socket
showed where the edge of the bolt had rasped
against it as it was driven inwards.'
Beyond question, this was not the handiwork of
professional thieves. Such men attend strictly to
business; they do not waste time in smashing glass
and emptying beer-casks; nor do they burst in
doors which they can as quickly and more noiseless-
ly open with instruments made for that purpose.
Burglars do not conduct their operations with a
view to satisfying their private and personal animo-
sities, but in order to get money. The murderers of
Louis Hanier had emptied his till, it was true; but
it was difficult to imagine that they had broken into
his premises with no further object than that. For
that matter, the murder itself appeared, so far as
the present evidence went, wholly gratuitous. The
thieves had not been cornered; the way of escape
was open to them. It almost seemed as if they had
created a disturbance for the express purpose of
arousing Hanier and bringing him within range of
their revolvers.
Having concluded his preliminary examination,
the roundsman returned to his station to make his
report, leaving a patrolman on guard at the wine-


MURDER. 17
shop, with orders to let nothing be disturbed, as the
case was manifestly one for the Detective Bureau.,
The small hours of the morning dragged along, and
the storm gradually ceased. Morning broke cold
and gray. The news of the murder had spread
about the neighborhood and had reached the
offices of the metropolitan newspapers. Reporters
began to arrive early, and on presenting their cards
were allowed by the policeman to enter. They
went up-stairs and looked at the dead body, lying
rigid and ghastly on the bloodstained bed; they
examined the wreck of the wine-shop, took a glance
at the back yard, made a note of the position of the
staircase, scribbled some memoranda in their books,
and, after interviewing the sentry and one or two
of the spectators in the street, departed to write up
the tragedy. A crowd of curious people remained
in front of the house, staring up at its dingy front as
if they expected to read some explanation of the
mystery on its weather-stained timbers. The in-
habitants of the street felt their self-importance in
some way augmented by the fact that a dreadful
murder had occurred in their very midst; though
they regretted, of course, that so respectable a man
as Hanier should have been the victim.
At the Central Police Office in Mulberry Street,
the report of the crime had been under discussion
since long before most people's breakfast time : and
about nine o'clock a plainly-dressed man descended
the front steps, slipped past a group of loungers on
the pavement and walked rapidly in the direction


18 MURDER.
of Bleecker Street. One of the loungers glanced
after him and then turned to his companions with
a knowing wink. "There goes a fellow after a
clew !" said he.
The subject of this remark proceeded on his
way uptown. He was a trifle above the medium
height, with slightly rounded shoulders; but his
frame was well-built and vigorous. At a first glance
he might have been pronounced a young man; but
a closer examination of his countenance would put
this point in doubt. He might be anywhere be-
tween twenty-five and fifty; for although the lines
upon his smooth-shaven face might have been due
to the passage of years, they could as easily have
been imprinted there by trying experiences. You
would have judged him to belong to that type of
men who attain betimes a sort of dry, bloodless
maturity, and thenceforth, for the remainder of their
lives, undergo no marked alteration. He had the
eyes of a ferret in the meager visage of a dyspeptic.
His attire was not in any respect noticeable; and
indeed he was a person who was much more likely
to escape attention than to attract it. His one de-
scribable peculiarity was his walk—a queer, sham-
bling gait, something between a swagger and a
slide.
The Shambling Man (as he may, for convenience,
be called) took a Sixth Avenue tramway-car, and
traveled on it as far as Twenty-sixth Street. There
he alighted, and in a few minutes had reached the
scene of the murder. Here he paused, with the air


MURDER. 19
of one who perceives that he has chanced upon
something of interest, but does not know what it
is. He looked up at the house, remarked the stal-
wart policeman on guard in the door-way, glanced
at the broken lock, and finally turned his attention
to the various groups that were standing about.
The faces of these people expressed vacant curi-
osity, and nothing more. There was one woman,
however, apparently of a better class than the
others—though the long gray ulster that she wore
concealed the details of her attire—whose behavior
was less colorless. She had come rapidly up the
street, attended by a tall, broad-shouldered man in
a heavy dark overcoat, and with a visored sealskin
cap pulled low down on his forehead.
On arriving in front of the wine shop, she
stopped, as also did her escort, and looked across
at the house with a remarkable earnestness of at-
tention. She wore round her neck a sort of
muffler, which concealed the lower part of her face,
and the hat she wore overshadowed her brow; so
that all there was visible of her countenance were a
delicately moulded nose, and a pair of very expres-
sive blue eyes. These eyes—or so the Shambling
Man fancied—became suffused with tears as she
gazed ; and after a few moments she turned to the
man, and seemed to make some appeal to him; at
which he shook his head in a decided manner. He
appeared uneasy and anxious to get away ; and once
or twice he addressed some words to her that were
apparently an exhortation to proceed. But she re-


20 MURDER.
strained him and even made as if she would cross the
street and enter the house; whereupon he took her
arm beneath his with a commanding air—he was a
rather elderly man, with a thick iron-gray beard and
heavy black eyebrows—and almost forcibly com-
pelled her to return with him up the street toward
Sixth Avenue, from which direction they had come.
The Shambling Man was half disposed to follow
them; and he might possibly have been saved some
trouble had he done so; but he reflected that his
instructions directed him to investigate the cir-
cumstances of the murder; and the chances of
these two persons, or either of them, having any
connection with it were too remote to justify him
in postponing his mission on their account. Some-
what reluctantly, therefore, he turned away from
them and directed his attention to a group of
Frenchmen who were gossiping vivaciously to-
gether near the door of the house.
The Shambling Man had the advantage of being
familiar with the French language—a fact
which had been considered in selecting him for his
present duty. He joined the group, therefore, and
gave ear to their conversation, which concerned the
tragic death of their countryman. One had been
acquainted with Hanier in Paris where he had been
a manufacturer of liquors and a man of substance
and prosperity. But misfortunes had come'upon
him and he had emigrated. Another spoke of him
as a fellow-member with himself of a certain social
organization; and he foretold much lament when


MURDER. 21
this sad news should be communicated to the so-
ciety. The others had their say; and all alike
found something cordial and creditable to tell of
their murdered friend. Presently they were joined
by the two men who had been the first to respond
to Mrs. Hanier's summons the night before; and
they were immediately besieged with questions. It
appears that they had been among the last persons
to see Hanier alive, having spent the previous
evening in his shop, and left only a little while be-
fore he closed.
All at once, one of the two seemed to be inspired
by a new idea and raised his hand to command
attention.
"Tiens, mon ami!" he exclaimed to his com-
panion: "I have it now! Do you remember the
scamps? Beyond a doubt it was they!"
"But of whom do you speak?"
"Of whom? Of whom but of the villains who
entered while we were there, and who made the at-
tempt to steal the money out of the drawer! But
Hanier was too quick for them, and they ran away.
I see it all now! When they could not rob him in
that manner they afterward returned, and accom-
plished both the robbery and the murder!"
Hereupon, a dozen excited voices struck in, and
during several minutes there was a vigorous fusil-
lade of question, answer and surmise. It looked
as if something like a clew had really been hit
upon. The Shambling Man was all ears. After
canvassing the matter for some time, the two French-


22 MURDER.
men came to the conclusion that it was incumbent
upon them to enter the house and communicate
their suspicions to Mrs. Hanier. They were halted
at the door by the policeman ; but on their explain-
ing their position he permitted them to pass; and
the Shambling Man glided in after them and fol-
lowed them up-stairs.
There was no change in the disposition of things
in the bed-room, except that some one had thrown a
sheet over the body. Mrs. Hanier was seated be-
side it; the children were shut up in their room.
The widowed woman listened to what the two
Frenchmen had to say: that those men had entered
the shop on the previous evening, and, while two
of them attempted to distract her husband's atten-
tion the third had tried to lay his hands upon the
money-drawer, but had been detected, whereupon
all three had incontinently fled. She recollected
that her husband had mentioned the incident; but
she had not witnessed it herself, and would not,
therefore, be able to identify the rogues should they
be apprehended. She seemed dazed by the calam-
ity that had befallen her, and even the hope that
the murderer might be discovered scarcely availed
to stimulate her. In her present mood she was less
alive to the chance of inflicting just punishment
upon the criminals than overwhelmed by the effect
of their crime.
The Frenchmen departed at length, convinced of
the importance of their clew, and of their ability to
recognize the three thieves when an opportunity


MURDER. 23
should be afforded them. A description of the
rogues was taken down by the officer on duty, and
telegraphed in all directions; but there were thou-
sands of such men in New York, and the prospect
of laying hands upon the right ones was not very
bright. Meanwhile the Shambling Man, address-
ing Mrs. Hanier in her own tongue, proceeded to
inform her of the nature of his office and the object
of his visit. He explained to her that the circum-
stances of the murder indicated that it had been
committed by some one who bore a grudge against
his victim; and that the best means of finding out
who this person was, would be to go carefully over
all the events in Hanier's career, and recall, so far
as might be possible, the names of every one with
whom he had been on terms of familiarity. The
task of tracing back these various threads might
be long and tedious, but it was the only method
likely to be successful, and Mrs. Hanier, more
probably than any one else, would be in possession
of the requisite information.
Thus urged, the bereaved woman made an effort
to arouse herself from her lethargy, and, in reply
to her visitor's questions, she related the story of
Louis Hanier's life. A couple of hours later, the
Shambling Man, with a number of more or less
significant facts stored in his memory, returned to
the central office in Mulberry Street, and knocked
at the inspector's door.


CHAPTER III.
THE INSPECTOR S ROOM.
IN the center of the large building which presents
a face of stone to one street, and of brick to
another, and which is known as Police Headquar-
ters, there is a certain square room. It is lighted
from the interior court round which the edifice is
built.
This room is almost luxurious in its appointments.
The carpet, of rich but sober hues, is so thick that
the foot falls upon it without noise; the chairs are
so constructed as to afford the maximum of com-
fort with the minimum of display; the tables,
mounted with green billiard-cloth, are substantial
and handsome. In short, neatness and comfort
would be its prevailing characteristics were it not
for the large glass cases against the walls.
There are three of these cases, each extending
from floor to ceiling, and revealing to the incomer
a vision of strange and incongruous objects. Here
are a number of implements resembling steel crow-
bars; there an assortment of saws and winches.
In another place a bundle of metal knobs is sus-
pended by curious net-work of cord from a hook;


THE INSPECTORS ROOM. 25
and near it is a cluster of weapons of villanous
aspect, comprising every thing from a Malayan
creese to a sailor's jackknife or a Smith & Wesson
revolver.
The collection of fire-arms is particularly rich;
there are pistols, revolvers, guns and rifles. There
are five-shooters, six-shooters, ten-shooters and
twelve-shooters; and there are wicked-looking,
stumpy things, resembling the redoubtable "dogs"
of our great-grandfathers. Then there are packs
of cards, each with a history to it; and curious
hoods of black cloth, stretched out on frames, with
labels indicating that so-and-so was hanged in this
cap on such-and-such a date. Every object in this
grisly collection has its label, associating it with
one or another memorable crime. For this is New
York's criminal museum—the grand exhibition of
the arts and manufactures of rascaldom. Here
these sinister souvenirs of the enemies of society
are preserved as a constant witness that the
brand of Cain still darkens the forehead of
humanity.
In addition to the implements of outlawry and
violence there hung on the walls portraits of the
most noted outlaws themselves. There are faces
of all kinds, and not all of them, by any means,
answer to the popular conception of the criminal
physiognomy. For although there are faces which
betray evil, brutal, and desperate proclivities, and
others that are fierce, sullen, hard or haggard, and
still others that are cunning, sly, mean or cruel;


26 THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM.,
yet many of the countenances are bright, intellec-
tual, attractive, even refined. Indeed, if all rogues
bore the stamp of their roguery on their features
there would be less need than there now is of a
Rogues' Gallery. It is wickedness masquerading in
the garb of integrity that is really the menace to
civilization.
In this apartment—the private chamber of the
New York Detective Bureau—sat, on that forenoon
of the thirtieth of December, a well-dressed and
powerfully-built man of something less than forty
years of age. His face was pleasant and his ex-
pression combined in a singular manner the quali-
ties of frankness and impenetrability. He com-
monly wore an air of seeming abstraction, which,
however, disguised a rare faculty of close and ac-
curate observation. Quiet in manner and affable
in speech, he might, so far as appearances went,
have discharged any of the hundred functions
of prosperous business life. In fact, however, he
filled one of the most important and responsible
offices in the gift of the city—that of the chief of
the detective force. It was Inspector Byrnes who
was sitting at the study-table and busying himself,
just then, with a pile of written documents.
"Come in!" he said, in a full, strong voice, in
answer to the knock on his door; and forthwith
the door opened and the Shambling Man entered.
"Back already?" said the inspector, leaning
back in his chair. "Well, and what do you make
out of this Twenty-sixth Street affair?"


THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM. 27
"A great deal, and nothing at all!" replied the
Shambling Man speaking in a tone so low and
deliberate that he seemed to be communing with
himself rather than answering a question.
"A great deal, and nothing!" the inspector re-
peated. "What may that mean? You're not talking
in riddles, I hope?"
"When I say a great deal," returned the other,
"I mean that this murder appears to be a very
extraordinary one. And when I say, nothing, I
mean that there's little or nothing in the way of a
clew to work with."
"Let us have the extraordinary features first."
"One of them is, that the story of Hanier is so
commonplace. There's nothing in it to catch hold
of. As far as I can find out the man never had an
enemy and never was mixed up in any thing that
wasn't perfectly straight and above-board. For all
that appears to the contrary he was murdered with-
out any motive whatever. I could almost believe
that he had killed himself."
"Well, what sort of a story is it?"
The Shambling Man sat down and related to the
inspector the biography which Mrs. Hanier had
just imparted to him. Louis Hanier, it appeared,
was born in Picardy, in France, in the year 1842.
His birthplace, Vendreuil, was a little village close
to the Ardennes where his father cultivated flax.
As a boy, Louis received the training proper to his
station and grew up handsome, healthy and stalwart
His only sister, Marie, was three or four years


28 THE INSPECTORS ROOM.
younger than himself and was considered remark-
able for beauty and cleverness.
At twenty-one, Louis was a big, black-haired fel-
low with pleasing manners and a knowledge of the
world greater than falls to the lot of most youths
reared in so sequestered a section. He had the
roving instinct that belong to healthy young man-
hood, and had already visited Belgium, and traveled
in the northeast of France. In these places he had
acquired a competent knowledge of the mysteries
of the manufacture of cordials—hitherto an in-
dustry confined chiefly to the Low Countries—
and in the enormous consumption of liquors in
France he saw an opportunity to turn his knowl-
edge to account.
His pecuniary resources, however, were small;
and it was with difficulty that he got together money
enough to start in business ; and two years elapsed
before he found himself fairly embarked in the
liquor manufacture, at No. 30 Rue Allair-Chartre,
in Paris. Meanwhile his sister Marie had developed
a wonderful capacity as a singer, and some persons
interested in music had befriended her to the extent
of securing her the instruction of the best masters
in the Paris Conservatoire. Here she studied for
four or five years with great diligence, and finally
made her debut with genuine success. Her future
was thenceforth secure; she had accepted an engage-
ment in London, and, as Mrs. Hanier believed, had
there been sought in marriage by a gentleman of
good family and ample means, and, it was supposed,


THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM. 29
left the lyric stage, with its arduous glories, for the
ease and comfort of English domestic life.
Louis's fortune, though not so brilliant, was still
substantial: and, not long after his sister's disap-
pearance, he married the buxom daughter of a
Parisian manufacturer, whose dot proved of the
greatest value in his business. His wife was also
in all respects a faithful and able helpmate; and
the pair looked forward with confience to still
further bettering their condition and laying up pro-
vision for their children. In order to enlarge his
connection, Hanier removed to Brussels; and it
was from this point that his misfortunes began. A
number of small reverses, important only in the
aggregate, followed upon one another's heels; and
after two years of a losing contest, Hanier, much
dispirited, and with most of his money gone,
resolved to seek better luck in the United States.
After disposing of the remains of his business to
the best advantage possible, he embarked at Havre,
and a ten days' passage landed him with his family
at Castle Garden.
He had now to encounter the usual obstacles of
a poor foreigner, unfamiliar with the ways and lan-
guage of his adoption. There was no doubt a
market for liquors in New York, but the manu-
facturing apparatus was expensive and he had
neither cash nor credit. After many vain attempts
to establish himself in trade he was forced to
adopt the last resort of seeking such employment in
the homes of the wealthy as would enable him to


30' THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM.
turn some part of his professional knowledge to a
profitable use.
He put an advertisement in the paper for the
position of butler, appending to it his name and
address; and the next day he had an appointment
to call at a certain residence just off Fifth Avenue-
From this expedition he returned in excellent spir-
its. He had been engaged—so he told his wife—
by a wealthy family by the name of Desmond.
The master of the house was a gentleman of Irish
extraction, but a naturalized citizen; he had fought
in the war, and was connected with some of the
prominent political organizations of the city; and
was now living on his means. His wife was a
French lady, concerning whom Hanier said, with a
certain amount of mystery, that she was not
entirely a stranger to him having been concerned
in some way with the musical education of his sis-
ter. It was she who had seen his advertisement in
the paper, and, recognizing the name, had sent for
him. He was promised liberal wages, and lodgings
had been secured for his family in the near neigh-
borhood of Colonel Desmond's house.
So fortune smiled on the Haniers once more:
though far indeed from being as well off as at an
earlier period of their career, they were able to
keep out of debt and to lay by a moderate sum
every year. Louis seemed happy enough in his
duties, and was especially devoted to his mis-
tress; and she showed him many favors and kind-
nesses, and every Christmas gave him a handsome
"X


32 THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM.
his premises. The police had nothing that was not
favorable to report of him and his place. They
were never needed in the saloon, except to protect
him against the impositions of such mischievous
youths of the quarter as considered a Frenchman a
proper object of annoyance.
"And that is just the kind of fellows who are
most likely, on the face of it, to have committed
this murder," remarked the inspector at this point.
"They would bear Hanier a grudge for not catering
to them, and would plot together to pay him off."
"Still, murders are not often done on grounds so
slight as that," the Shambling Man answered.
"They may not have come with the distinct in-
tention to murder him. But when a lot of drunken
young ruffians get on a spree, and have weapons in
their pockets, murder will sometimes be done before
they are aware of it. However, go on with your
report."
"There is one circumstance that favors your
theory," said the other. "Last evening, about nine
o'olock, three young scamps came into the saloon
and tried to rob the till. Hanier chased them out.
It may have been they who returned later and did
for him."
"Can Mrs. Hanier identify them?"
"No, she did not see them. But the two French
boarders did ; and their description of them has
been sent out. Something may come of that."
"Has any other theory occurred to you?"
"No, I can't say there has. But while I was


THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM. 33
standing outside the house, watching the crowd for
points, I saw a man and woman—or they may have
been a lady and gentleman—stop on the sidewalk
opposite and look at the house as if they had some
special interest in it. The woman, particularly,
seemed-worked up about something. But they
walked off before I could get near enough to hear
any thing; and there wasn't enough in it to justify
me in following them."
"What sort of a man and woman?" demanded
the inspector.
"They were too much muffled up for me to see
much of them; but he was a tall, straight fellow,
with a grayish beard and thick eyebrows; and she
was about twenty years younger: with fair com-
plexion, and rather good-looking. I guess I should
know them again."
The inspector seemed to reflect for a moment,
taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger
and gazing at the inkstand on the table. At length
he roused himself and said, "What traces did you
find in the saloon?"
"Hardly a thing that you could put your finger
on. The door was burst in—the lock and bolt-
sockets torn away, which is not the style of ordi-
nary burglars. The money-drawer is empty as a
matter of course. But the puzzling thing is the
way in which every thing is smashed and tossed
about. You would think a gang from the Bloom-
ingdale Insane Asylum had been in there; or a
batch of apes from the Zoological Gardens. There


34 THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM.
is no sense nor method in it. They had no need to
search for the money; there it was in the till under
their noses. They either did it for the mere fun of
doing it or to pay off some grudge on Hanier. But
now comes the queerest point of all: Why should
they have wrecked his shop to spite him if they
meant to murder him afterward? It's like shaving
off a man's beard before cutting off his head. And
the murder was no accident. There was nothing
to prevent their getting clear off; but instead of
that, they as good as called him out and shot
him. The pieces of the puzzle don't fit to-
gether. The men who would rob the till wouldn't
wreck the shop; the men who would wreck the
shop wouldn't murder the proprietor. As I see
the affair there was either no motive in it at
all, which is hardly possible, or there was a very
much deeper motive that there is any thing on the
surface to show."
"For example ?" said the inspector, as the other
paused.
"Well, there might be some person or persons
who are in a higher position than the ordinary, and
who had some reason for wishing to get Hanier out
of the way. The man belonged to two or three
French societies in town : and though there is noth-
ing shady about any of those that were mentioned
to me, still it is possible that there may have been
something of that sort in the background. In that
case he may have made himself obnoxious to the
chiefs of the association, and they ordered his re-


3<> THE INSPECTORS ROOM.
murder, most minutely. He rehearsed all the gossip
he had picked up, and recalled not merely palpable
facts obvious to every one, but petty details, trifling
in themselves, but possibly significant when com-
pared with others. Evidently this man was no nov-
ice in his profession. Nothing seemed to have
escaped him. When he had finished, the inspector
nodded his approval.
"You have been careful," said he: "but from
what you have told us, I see no reason at present
to throw aside the theory that it was all the work of
a gang of blundering and malicious youngsters who
went on from one thing to another until they ended
in bloodshed. You say the alarm is out after those
three fellows who were in earlier in the evening?"
"Yes: but in my opinion there were four in this
affair."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because they had apparently had time to drink
while ransacking the place. When Hanier closed
up for the night, of course he must have put all the
glasses away—he was a very neat and orderly man
—but I found four glasses on the counter with
dregs of brandy in them."
"Well, say there were four. The first three
might easily have a companion, and their drinking
at such a time indicates that brandy may have been
mainly responsible for the whole business."
The Shambling Man looked doubtful. The ele-
ment of mystery in the case attracted him, and he
was reluctant to give it up. "There may have


THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM. 37
•
been only one man after all," he suggested. "Only
one was seen, and only a shadow of him. And he
might have arranged the four glasses just to put
the police off the scent."
The inspector smiled beneath his mustache.
"Louis Hanier was a Frenchman," he remarked,
"but we're not in France, for all that—nor even in
a French novel. You are quite right to keep your
mind open, but it is never safe to neglect an obvious
deduction until it has been proved wrong. When
the commonplace explanation fails, then is the
time to consider the abstruse ones. And there is
nothing as yet to negative the commonplace view.
These fellows have been on the spree all the even-
ing. They have spent all their money, and must
have more. The idea comes to them to rob the
Frenchman who turned them out a few hours ago.
They have no tools, but they burst in by main force.
They get the money, and then they will have a
drink. The brandy stirs them up, and then it is,
which is the biggest dare-devil of the gang! They
begin smashing and destroying. All of a sudden
there is a noise overhead—the Frenchman is com-
ing! Their line of retreat is safe: but shall they
turn tail to a stupid foreigner? The brandy is in
them and the wit is out: they'll give him a pill to
swallow before they go. And they do it. Respect-
able man as Louis Hanier was, it may after all have
been his own liquor that killed him."
The Shambling Man was too well trained not to
recognize the cogency of this reasoning: and he


38 THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM.
had little to advance against it, except his unwill-
ingness to give up his favorite mystery. But he
made a last effort to hold his position.
"If they were so drunk and reckless as all that,"
he said, "it is strange that they should have been
clever enough to go off without leaving a single
trace behind them. If they were blunderers, they
blundered in such a way as to completely conceal
their tracks."
"Come, come—you exaggerate !" returned the
inspector. "There never was a crime committed,
that I ever heard of, that left no clew of any kind.
The trouble is with the eyes that have not been
keen enough to perceive it. I'm not reflecting on
you," he added, as the other dropped his glance
abashed. "You have done your work well—very
well. But you will admit that they must have used
something to commit the murder with. They didn't
shoot Hanier with water.
"No ; but they carried the revolver off with
them."
"They carried off the revolver: but they left
something else."
The Shambling Man looked up inquiringly.
"What was that?" he demanded.
"The bullet!"
"The bullet? Yes, but—"
"Well, where is it?"
"Why, in Hanier's body, I suppose."
"Very well. The first thing to do is to get that
bullet."


THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM. 39
"And you think—"
"I think that bullet must show us the way to the
pistol."
The Shambling Man opened his mouth to reply:
but at this juncture a knock on the door interrupted
him. An officer came in with a telegram which he
laid on the table
The inspector broke open the envelope, unfolded
the telegram, and read it. As he did so, he
raised his eyebrows slightly, and emitted a soft
whistle.
"Quick work !" he said: "they think they have
got them already."
He handed the telegram to the Shambling
Man who grasped it eagerly. It read as fol-
lows:
"John H. Brady, age 23, birthplace, United
States; James Doyle, age 30, birthplace, United
States, and Michael Coogan, age 23, birthplace,
United States, have been arrested suspected of
Hanier murder. John H. Brady has been identi-
fied."
"And you were right after all !" said the Sham-
bling Man, with a sigh.
"It looks like it, certainly," returned the inspector,
smiling; "and in that case, what promised to
be a very awkward business, will have been very
easily and satisfactorily settled. Still, we mustn't
be too confident. Such prompt success is unusual:
and it may turn out that there has been some mis-
take."


40 THE INSPECTOR'S ROOM.
The Shambling Man was about to exclaim " I
hope so!" But he checked himself in time. "I
suppose I may as well take a look around ?" he
said ; and as the inspector nodded assent, he took
his hat and shambled out.


42 WILL-Cf- THE- WISPS.
shoulders, but he looked haggard and anxious, and
he was known to be given to midnight prowlings,
and to making the rounds with the "boys." More-
over, the Frenchman identified him, and to make
matters worse, his mother, upon hearing of his
arrest, came to the station-house, full of tears and
entreaties, and declared that her boy was incapable
of harming a fly, and that not only was he not a
murderer, but he had been at home and in bed by
ten o'clock on the evening of December 29th, and
had slept the sleep of youth and innocence till
morning.
Evidently these two alibis could not both be true,
and this rendered it the more likely that neither of
them was so. It was evident, at all events, that her
story must be a fabrication, for if John Brady had
really been at home and in bed he certainly would
not have been at the pains to invent the Madison
Square Garden tale.
No. Brady was in all probability one of the
gang, and, if not himself the murderer, he could
tell who was, and a dispatch to that effect was
sent to the coroner's office, where preparations
were making for holding the autopsy and inquest
on Hanier's body. Upon the heels of this dispatch
came an unexpected incident: Mrs. Brady, the
mother, presented herself at the office, and after
again declaring her conviction of her boy's inno-
cence, proceeded to admit that her statement as to
his having slept at home was untrue. She had lied
on the spur of the moment, but now conscience


WILL-0- THE- WISPS. 43
asserted itself and she desired to recant. She con-
fessed that she did not know where he spent the
night, and that her conviction of his innocence
rested only upon her knowledge of his character
and disposition.
The coroner was a humane gentleman, and this
confession placed him in a painful position. Not
only had Mrs. Brady made her son's case look sev-
eral degrees darker than it already was, but she had
convicted herself of perjury and it would be neces-
sary to detain her. When this was explained to her
the unfortunate creature broke down completely,
and it was learned upon investigation that she
had a daughter dangerously ill, at home. Manifestly,
if the mother were in jail for perjury, and the son
for murder, the prospects of the moribund daugh-
ter, who was the only remaining member of the
family, would be decidedly gloomy. Upon con-
sideration, therefore, the coroner directed that
the woman should be allowed to go home (of course
under surveillance) until the jury had delivered
their verdict.
In the meantime, the autopsy was concluded with
the result of showing that the bullet passed entirely
through the body and lodged in the right arm,
from which it was extracted. It was examined and
its weight.taken. It had been made to fit a 32-
calibre revolver. The Shambling Man, who had
been present during the proceedings, looked at the
little lump of lead with curious interest. What a
tale it might tell if it could but speak! Would it


44 WILL-Cf- THE- WISPS.
carry death to Brady as well as the body lying
yonder?
The coroner's jury met in due course, and the
witnesses on both sides were carefully examined.
The police described the circumstances of the
arrest, and the Frenchmen testified that, to the best
of their knowledge and belief, Brady was one of
those men who had attempted to rob Hanier's
till on the evening before the murder. Then the
evidence for the defense was called.
Half an hour later the Shambling Man was on
his way to headquarters with a brisk step and a
jocund air. The verdict had been rendered. Six
persons of unquestioned integrity had supported
Brady's alibi, and his innocence was established be-
yond the shadow of a doubt. The Hanier murder
was a more impenetrable mystery than ever! for
the disproof of the Frenchman's identification not
merely freed Brady, but would hopelessly discredit
any further testimony that they might attempt to
offer.
*****
The effect of the relics of crimes in the Central
Detective Office was at all times gloomy enough,
but never more so than at night, when the warmer
tints of the room were veiled in shadows, and the
silence was deep and oppressive. The sinister faces
that looked down from the walls seemed on the
point of whispering evil suggestions; the muzzles
of the firearms met the eye with a deadly Cyclopean
Btare; the slung-shots and bludgeons had a mur-


WILL, ff- THE- WISPS. 45
derous aspect; the gaslight shining upon the blades
of the knives and daggers revealed the spots of
rust left there by human blood; wherever the
glance falls it encounters the hint of a dreadful
suggestion, or of a yet more dreadful secret. If
any room in the great city be haunted, it should
surely be this; here, more than anywhere else,
should congregate the ghosts of wickedness and
disaster.
Up and down in this chamber of specters, on the
first night of the New Year, paced a solitary man
whose brain was busy with all its resources of inge-
nuity and experience, in the attempt to penetrate
the latest of the city's mysteries. It was a mystery
darker than the night and deeper than the victim's
grave—a grisly legacy from the departed year.
Upon the table lay the notes of the Twenty-sixth
Street murder, as made by the inspector's agent,
and beside them a number of newspaper clippings
relating to the crime. Something else was there
also—the battered bullet which had taken Louis
Hanier's life. These were all, and truly they
amounted to very little. As yet they had thrown
no light whatever upon the problem which the
chief of the detectives was laboring to solve.
Chance and conjecture could not be trusted; reli-
ance must be placed upon logical reasoning, upon
a careful analysis of the methods and probable
motives of the crimes, upon a heedful comparison
of this crime with others analogous to it, and upon
trained familiarity with evil-doers and their ways.


46 WILL-CT- THE- WISPS.
Such were the instruments that must be employed,
and they were not such as to inspire sanguine
hopes of success. At the best, the investigation
bade fair to be a long and intricate one. The bullet
was the only real approach to a clew that had yet
come to hand ; could it show him the way out of the
labyrinth? With no overweening confidence, but
patiently and persistently, he set his mind to the
work of developing this atom of evidence into some-
thing cogent and substantial.
What was the class of persons most likely to have
committed this deed? Professional criminals? The
inspector shook his head. No professional tools
had been employed; there were no evidences of
caution or of trained aptitude. Nor would any
burglar worthy of the name have risked a long
term of imprisonment, not to mention his neck, for
the sake of a till a thousand times richer than that
of Hanier's poor little wine shop. A common
sneak-thief on the other hand might have robbed
the till ; but the common sneak-thief is almost never
a murderer : he shuns bold crimes, and is profoundly
careful of his carcass. Nevertheless, drink may
render even a dastard temporarily reckless, and he
will do a deed which his sober self would shudder
at the thought of. And then what?
He has murdered a man, and he has carried off
the weapon with which he did the murder. What
will he do with that weapon?
The answer to this question would depend (as the
inspector, versed in the intricacies of human nature,


WILL-O'-THE WISPS. 47
perceived) upon the social status and character of
the murderer. The cases are rare indeed where
even the most hardened wretch will retain in his
possession the instrument with which his deed was
done. It is too dangerous a piece of evidence, in the
first place ; and again, the associations attaching to it
are too hideous to be voluntarily endured. It
was safe to assume, then, that the weapen would in
any event be disposed of. But how?
It might be supposed, by such as have no practi-
cal experience in such matters, that the guilty man
would invariably throw the evidence of his guilt
into the river, or destroy all traces of it in some
manner not less effective. But, in fact, this course
is adopted only by what (for lack of a better term)
must be called the better class of murderers. On
the other hand, there is a low and sordid type of
ruffians who are withheld from it by the considera-
tion that they would thereby sacrifice the few paltry
dollars which might be obtained for the weapon at
a pawn shop. Such creatures are so far from being
uncommon, that, in three cases out of five, it will be
safe to resort to the pawnbroker for proof of their
crime. Now, according to the hypothesis of
Inspector Byrnes, the murderer of Louis Hanierwas
a person of this type. The chances were that he
had pawned his revolver within twenty-four hours
of committing the murder with it; and it was in a
pawnbroker's office that it must be sought.
But in a city like New York, the number of pawn-
brokers must be reckoned rather by the thousand


48 WILL- ff- THE- WISPS.
than by the hundred; and pledge* are often
accepted without either name, date, or description.
A score of revolvers might be pledged in a single
day; and what chance was there, in the face of
such difficulties, of tracing the weapon with which
this bullet was fired, to its proper owner?
The inspector, however, was not the sort of man
to admit himself defeated before the trial had
proved him to be so. If the weapon had been
pawned at all, it would probably be within a day or
two of the crime; and if the murderer was an
inhabitant of the neighborhood where his victim
had lived, the pawn shops which were most likely
to reward a search would be those that were near-
est at hand. These considerations narrowed the
field of profitable inquiry to practical limits. Cer-
tain important assumptions must, no doubt, first be
taken for granted; but a beginning at least would
have been made; and the principle was correct.
In answer to the inspector's summons the ser-
geant on duty appeared.
"Send me the men engaged on pawnbrokers'
offices."
"Yes, inspector."
A few moments later two detectives came in.
Meanwhile, the inspector had been writing some-
thing on a sheet of paper. He now looked up at
the men and said, " I have some work for you."
It was neither necessary nor desirable that they
should be made acquainted with the final object of
their mission. In order to its successful accom-


WILL-O'- THE- WISPS. 49
plishment the pawnbrokers themselves must be
kept in ignorance of this ; and in no other way could
such ignorance on the pawnbrokers' part be assured
than by allowing the detectives to share it with
them. Should the inspector let it be known that a
murderer's pistol was being sought, and this fact
came to the knowledge of a pawnbroker, the latter
might prefer to screen his customer rather than to
assist the police: for although many of the knights
of the three balls are respectable men, others of
them are little if at all better than the thieves and
vagabonds from whom they derive the bulk of
their profits.
Accordingly, the inspector based his instruc-
tions to the detectives upon the fiction of a rob-
bery.
"I have made a list, here, of some stolen articles,"
he said. "Among them is an enameled watch and
a 32-calibre revolver. These last have probably
been pawned. I want you to go to the pawn-
brokers' offices and examine the list of pledges
received between the dates of December 28th and
to-day. Make a note of every enameled watch and
of every pistol recorded on those days. Omit noth-
ing, and as soon as you have completed your work
report to me."
The two detectives took the sheet of paper and
withdrew.
"Now then," muttered the inspector to himself
as he put away in a private drawer the bullet taken
from Hanier's body, "let me find the revolver


50 WILL-O'-THE-WISPS.
which that ball fits and it will go hard if I don't lay
my hand on the man who fired it, as well."
It was now late and the chief detective, whose
mind had been on the stretch almost ever since the
murder, prepared to go home and get some rest.
But it was decreed that his vigil should hot yet
come to an end. He had just taken his hat to de-
part when the doorkeeper announced that the
Shambling Man desired an audience.
"Admit him," said the inspector laconically, re-
suming his chair.
The Shambling Man entered. There was a
sparkle of confidence and satisfaction in his eye.
"Any thing new? " the inspector inquired.
"Something rather new," returned the Shambling
Man, modestly.
"Important?"
"It may prove of very considerable importance I
think."
"From whom did you get it?"
"From a woman—a friend of Mrs. Hanier. She
has made a discovery which adds a very significant
chapter to the testimony. I have just come from
her."
"That sounds well," said the inspector, from
whom all traces of fatigue had vanished as if by
magic. "Sit down and let me hear it."
The Shambling Man sat down and cleared his
throat.


THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE. S3
come to him with twenty dollars in money inside
of it—instead of cigarettes.
"' I asked her how long ago Hanier had received
it?'
"She said it was on last Christmas Day. She
happened to be in at the time, but Mrs. Hanier was
up-stairs. It came by express. Several other
presents came at the same time, but nothing
approaching this in value. Hanier often received
small gifts on Christmas and sometimes on his birth-
day; the Desmonds, with whom he had formerly
lived as butler, occasionally sent him money; and
some of the wealthier French people whom he fur-
nished with liquors would present him with sou-
venirs. Once or twice he had received a "testi-
monial " from one of the societies of which he was
a member. It was because every body liked him,
she said.
"' I asked her who it was that gave him the ciga-
rette case?'
"She said that there had been nothing in the
package to show from whom it came. She and
Hanier had talked about it, but had come to no de-
cision. She thought that perhaps Hanier may have
had some idea of his own about it, but if so, she
had not known what it was. There had been a
great deal of business in the shop during Christmas
week, and he seldom had more than a few minutes
a day to himself until after business hours, and then
Hanier was too tired to talk much. She had in-
tended tc ask him about the cigarette case later.


THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE. 55
could be easily stolen, so he put it for temporary
safe-keeping in a place that was all the more secure,
for the very reason that it was so accessible. He
had put it there on the morning after Christmas,
and she believed that he had not taken it out after-
ward.
"I remarked that he might have taken it out
without mentioning the fact to her, and she replied
that she had a reason for thinking otherwise—which
was that he had spoken about it on the last day of
his life when she had come in to get a flask of
liquor. As nearly as she could remember his words
were, ' I shall take that thing out of the jar and
put it in the bank. It will be safe there, and later,
when I have a comfortable house of my own it can
lie on the center table for an ornament.'"
"It is an odd circumstance, certainly," observed
the inspector, "but I am not sure that it will be of
much practical assistance to us. Being of silver
and so easy of identification, the thieves would
probably melt it up at once, and as Madame Groux
can not tell where it came from we are not likely to
know from any other source."
"It is my opinion, however," said the Shambling
Man, earnestly, " that the same person who gave it
to Hanier stole it from him on the night of the 29th
of December, and murdered him afterward. And
there is reason to suspect that this person was a
woman."
The inspector lifted his eyebrows.
"I hardly follow you," said he.


56 THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE.
"You will understand as soon as I have told you
the circumstances," rejoined the Shambling Man.
"It came out quite unexpectedly. Whem Madam
Groux got through telling me what Hanier had said
about his intention of putting the case in a bank,
she clapped her hand to her forehead and exclaimed
'Oh, that reminds me of something! It may, per-
haps be of some use!' And then she went on to
say that Mrs. Hanier had told her that just as they
were getting into bed—that is, a few minutes before
midnight—having locked up the shop and made all
secure for the night, there came a knock at the
front door. They thought it was some fellow who
had had too much, and only wanted to play them a
practical joke, so they took no notice of it; but in
a few moments the knock was repeated, quick and
imperative, and not like the knock of a drunken and
disorderly person at all. Upon that Hanier got up
and took a look out of the window and said that
there was a hack standing by the curb down below;
but he could not see who was at the door, on
account of the stoop being in the way. But he
made up his mind to go down and see what was
wanted : and he put on his dressing-gown and slip-
pers and went. Mrs. Hanier remained in bed, and
could not distinguish any words that were said,
though she could hear the sound of voices.
"She heard Hanier open the street door and let
some one in : and after a moment she heard them
pass through the shop and into the back room.
Then they talked together sometime—Mrs. Hanier


THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE. 57
thought for ten or fifteen minutes: and she was
quite sure that the voice of the visitor was that of a
woman. She wondered who it could be; and if
Louis, as she expressed it, had not been just the sort
of man he was, she might have felt something more
than curiosity. But in all their life together he had
never given her a moment's uneasiness on the score
of jealousy; and she felt no fears in that direction
now. Nevertheless, she was on the point of getting
up and going to the head of the stairs, when they
came out of the back room, and Hanier let the per-
son out of the front door, and locked and bolted it.
When he came up-stairs she asked him what was
the matter? He, however, seemed very sleepy, and
said,' Oh, it's a long story—I'll tell you tomorrow—
it's about a Christmas present.' And with that he
got into bed, and almost immediately fell asleep.
When he said 'a Christmas present,' she did not
know what he meant : and would have asked him
had he not been asleep.
'It was less than an hour afterward, she thought,
when she heard the mysterious noises down stairs
which preceded the murder. She was partly asleep
at the time, and roused up with the notion that the
visitor was still below : then she remembered that
the door had been locked, and she sat up in bed to
listen. At length she awakened her husband, and
said, 'Can it be that person again?' and he
answered, 'It is impossible '; but after listening a
while he said, 'I don't know: I may have been
mistaken : it is all right' ; and got up a second


58 THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE.
time. She also had arisen; and it was during the
minute or so following that Hanier was shot."
"That is a singular story," said the inspector;
"and it is singular that Madam Groux did not men-
tion it before."
"The murder seems to have driven it out of her
head, until the discovery of the loss of the cigarette
case reminded her of it."
"But, after all, Hanier did not explicitly say
that it was the cigarette case that was in question.
It may have been something else."
"I asked her about the other presents that Han-
ier had received, and she said that they were all
articles of household consumption, such as sugar,
butter, a pair of chickens, a roll of cloth for a gown
for Mrs. Hanier, and so on. The cigarette case
was the only thing that will be regarded as a sou-
venir—as something to be kept for its own sake
and the giver's; and it can have been only to that
that Hanier had alluded."
"Supposing the cigarette case to have been the
object of the person's—the woman's, if you like—
visit: the inference is that she came to get it back
—to take it away. She came alone, and in a car-
riage. Now, she either got it, or she did not. If
she did, she would hardly have returned an hour
later for the purpose of murdering Hanier. She
would have murdered him (if his death were neces-
sary or desirable) on the first occasion. On the
other hand, if she did not get it, her return is even
more incomprehensible. People do not endanger


THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE. 59
their liberty and necks for nothing. She had got
into the house the first time without violence: why
should she come again and break open the door?
Again, supposing Hanier refused to give her the
cigarette case on her first application, he certainly
did not refuse it on the second, for he was then
asleep in bed; she must have got it, for it is miss-
ing; why, therefore, after she had got it, should she
have called Hanier out and shot him? I say noth-
ing about the improbability of a woman having
wrecked the shop, and all the rest of it. My con-
clusion is," added the inspector, " that to connect
the first visitor with the murderer can only result in
muddling things. Both cases are mysterious and
important; but we had better separate them in our
minds before investigating them. It lies in a nut-
shell : if this supposed woman had come prepared
to get that cigarette case at any cost—even to
murdering Hanier—she would have made but one
job of it. Consequently, the murderer was another
person altogether."
"Well, inspector," said the Shambling Man,
after a pause, lifting his head, " all that you say
seems very sound, and it isn't for me to dispute it.
But, though I may be all wrong, it does seem to me
that there is a way of accounting for the two affairs
without assuming that there was more than one per-
son engaged in them."
"Let me hear your idea; every thing is conjec-
ture, so far," replied the inspector, leaning back in
his chair. He knew his subordinate thoroughly,


60 THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE.
and though he placed but limited confidence in his
judgment, he was satisfied of his acuteness and in-
genuity, and had not seldom derived some useful
hints from his fertile imagination.
"My idea," said the Shambling Man, with some-
thing of the glow of an artist creator, " is that Louis
Hanier, unknown to his wife and to his most
intimate friends, was affiliated with some secret
order aiming at radical political changes. He had
acquired the confidence of the leaders of this or-
ganization, and was personally known to some of
them—persons, probably, of social prominence and
reputation. In the course of events he had be-
come possessed of important secrets, or intrusted
with them; and the silver cigarette case may have
been in some way—I don't pretend to say what—
connected with these secrets; it may have been a
sign that the bearer was entitled to certain privi-
leges, for instance. But for some cause (no matter
what) he ceased to be trusted by the society; per-
haps they had selected him for some duty which he
was unwilling to perform. Therefore it became
necessary to get back the cigarette case, and also
to remove Hanier himself.
"But the society" continued the Shambling Man,
speaking with careful emphasis, "would be espe-
cially anxious to avoid all suspicion of being con-
cerned in assassination. If Hanier were found
murdered, and nothing were missing but the cigar-
ette case, the cigarette case and the murder would
be associated together in the minds of the police,


THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE. 61
and the perpetrator would run a double risk of being
tracked down and captured: for murder is a crime
which is more vigorously pursued than any other.
On the other hand, if it could be made to appear
that the disappearance of the cigarette case had
nothing to do with the murder, then the murder
would be supposed to be the act of some ordinary
ruffians, and the true clew—the cigarette case—
would not be followed up."
"Granting all this," interposed the inspector
somewhat impatiently, "you have shown no reason
for the second visit—for the breaking and enter-
ing. It would have been just as easy to give things
the appearance of an ordinary robbery and murder
without that."
"But," persisted the Shambling Man earnestly,
"how were they to know where the cigarette case
was? They would take it for granted that Hanier
would keep it in some particularly safe place, and
they must find out first what that place was. The
simplest way to do that would be to induce him to
reveal it himself. And to my thinking, it was for
that purpose that the woman visited him at mid-
night. She waited until he and his wife had gone
to bed in in order to have the wife out of the way.
He must of course have seen some one whom he
already knew as a member of the society. She
would come ostensibly to say something to him in-
volving an allusion to the cigarette case, and she
would lead him on to indicate its hiding-place.
Naturally she would be careful to give him no ink-


62 THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE.
ling of what was intended against him—on the
contrary, she would lead him to suppose that the
society was most favorably disposed toward him.
If he suspected any thing, he might mention it to
his wife, and so put every thing in jeopardy. Well,
having discovered what she wanted to know, and
put Hanier off his guard, she would go away. An
hour later the breaking and entering occurs. We
needn't suppose she did it alone; some man must
have been with her; she may even not have been
there at all, but only have told the other where the
cigarette case was to be found:—though there is
one point in the evidence of Hanier's son—that
figure he saw in the backyard looked as much like
a woman as any thing else—which favors the woman
theory. However, that may be cleared up later.
My supposition, it appears to me, would account for
the second visit being a sequel of the first, and for
the first being an indispensable preliminary of the
second ; it would account for the fantastic wrecking
of the shop, which looked as if it were done for
effect; and it would account, too," added the
Shambling Man, nodding his head significantly,
"for the agitation and strange conduct of the woman
whom I saw the same morning in the street opposite
the house!"
"You mean, then, to identify her as the culprit?"
demanded the inspector.
"She would be something to begin with, at any
rate."


64 THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE.
a coincidence, I don't see that it throws any light
on the matter."
"I should say it added to the obscurity,"
remarked the Shambling Man, with a pleased air.
"There is another point to be considered,"
resumed the inspector. "If the cigarette case has
the significance you attribute to it we shall not be
likely to find it in a pawn shop. It would either be
destroyed or retained privately. On the other
hand, if thieves stole it they would almost certainly
melt it up and sell it as bullion. In either case
there would be great difficulty in tracing it. A
thing so easily recognizable as you describe,
would, for that very reason, be handled very cau-
tiously by the persons implicated."
"That is true," said the other, knitting his brows.
"Well, I must take my chances in that respect. I
shall try to get hold of the hackman who drove
them. An advertisement for the man who drove a
lady to a place between Sixth and Seventh Avenues,
in West Twenty-sixth Street, at midnight, on De-
cember 29th, might bring him. Or a little private
inquiry among the men themselves might do better
still. Then there is the chance of my meeting the
man or the woman again, and if I do I will find out
all there is to be known about them—if I can."
"If there was any special cause for secrecy, the
hackman would probably have been paid to hold
his tongue," observed the inspector; "or, for all
that appears, there may have been no hackman at
all, but a private vehicle with a confederate to drive


THE SILVER CIGARETTE CASE. 65
it. However, you may go on with your investiga-
tions and see what comes of them. Is there any
thing more?"
"Nothing more at present, inspector."
"Good-night, then."
The Shambling Man departed; and the Chief of
the Detectives, after lighting a cigar, put on his hat
and coat and left the haunted chamber to the
society of its specters.


CHAPTER VI.
A N I G H T-H A W K.
IN the course of the next four-and-twenty hours
the two detectives whom the inspector had sent
out to search the pawn shops brought in their
report.
It included a list of about a dozen articles which
had been pledged since the day preceding the mur-
der of Louis Hanier. It was a miscellaneous list:
watches, rings, a gold-headed cane, an enameled
snuff-box, and three revolvers. One of the latter
was of the calibre of 38, the other two were both 32;
and either of them, therefore, would fit the bullet
by which Hanier died. It was fair to infer that one
or other of them was the weapon the inspector was
in search of.
Alone in his room he studied the descriptions
carefully, and transcribed them in his private note-
book:
"One Smith & Wesson revolver, 32-calibre, five
chambers, long barrel, white handle, nickel plated.
Pawned by — Evans, No. 310 West Thirty-fourth
Street.
"One French self-cocking revolver, 32-calibre,
five chambers, ebony handle, nickel plated. Pawned
by Edward McBride, Bowery and Sixth Street."


A NIGHT-HAWK. 67
Such was the information. The next thing to be
done was to hunt up Messrs. Evans and Edward
McBride. One or both of these names might be
assumed, and the addresses false; or again, they
might be correct and the owners might be able sat-
isfactorily to account for themselves. The chance
that the real culprit had given his real name and
place of residence was an off-chance; the odds
were against it. And what then? Why then
Louis Hanier's murder might remain a mystery
forever. But a poor chance was better than none,
and the inspector was not the man to neglect it.
He summoned one of his men and dispatched him
with instructions to verify, if possible, the two
names and addresses.
The detective speedily fulfilled his mission and
returned with the following report:
"No trace can.be found of the person calling
himself Evans. He pawned the weapon on the
morning of December 31st, about eleven o'clock.
No accurate description of his appearance was
given, except that he was a dumpish man, roughly
dressed. Nothing was known of any person of the
name of Evans, at 310 West Thirty-fourth Street.
"Edward McBride is known. The address,
Bowery and Sixth Street, is an east-side hotel.
McBride does not live there, but some frequenters
of the bar there were acquainted with the man.
They stated that he drove a hack and could be found
almost any night on Broadway. Upon this inform-
mation inquiries were made at various livery-stables.


68 A NIGHT-HAWK.
Edward McBride was not employed at any of them,
but it was learned that a man of that name occa-
sionally hired a hack and patrolled the streets in
search of belated passengers. Such irregular hack-
drivers are called night-hawks. McBride's actual
residence not known."
The inspector did not need to be told what a
"night-hawk" was. They are a familiar feature
of the night-side of New York, as of other great
cities. As a rule, they are a jovial and convivial
class of fellows, at odds with fortune and incapa-
ble of amassing property, but subject to occasional
attacks of energy. They possess an extensive
knowledge of the shady side of metropolitan life,
acquired by scores of odd experiences; they are
sharp and ready of wit, and prepared at any time
to make a dollar by means that would not always
be mentioned in polite society. Often they are well
paid by their patrons in consideration of under-
taking to lose their memories. Upon the whole,
the class does not bear a particularly fragrant repu-
tation. Not a few of them are unscrupulous scamps,
with a keen eye for plunder and quick to take
advantage of any customer who has put an enemy in
his mouth to steal away his brains. And some there
are who habitually consort with thieves and outlaws
of every description, and become active agents in
crimes which could scarcely be carried out without
their assistance.
"So Edward McBride is a night-hawk, is he?"
mused the inspector to himself. "That is a charac-


A NIGHT-HAWK. 69
ter not unlikely to be mixed up with just such peo-
ple as I am looking for. It will be worth taking a
good deal of trouble to find him."
It was a wet and murky night; but it is in just such
weather that the night-hawk finds it most profita-
ble to be abroad. Accordingly the inspector, in a
waterproof overcoat and accompanied by a single
attendant, issued from the Central Office and strolled
up Broadway. In spite of the inclement skies the
theaters were well filled—it was the heart of the
ball season and the people were in holiday humor.
Occasionally an empty hack would pass loiteringly
along the street, and the inspector would beckon
to the drivers of these and submit them to a brief
interrogation. Nothing resulted from this until
Grace Church was reached, when a hackman, in
answer to the question whether his name was
McBride, answered, " I ain't McBride, but I know
where you can find him."
"Where is that?"
"I just come down from Union Square, sir, and
left him there on the stand."
"Very well. Drive me up there and point him
out."
The man turned his horse and brought him up to
the curb. The inspector and his companion got
in and in a few minutes were trundling slowly
through the square. Presently the hack stopped,
and the driver spoke through the window:
"Do you see that carriage there with a white
horse next the lamp-post?"
"Yes."


70 A NIGHT-HAWK.
"Well, that's McBride's; and that's him smoking
a pipe alongside of it."
The cab was dismissed and the inspector
approached the proprietor of the white horse, who
removed his pipe from his mouth and exclaimed
with professional promptitude:
"Hack, sir?"
"No, my man. I want a word with you."
As he spoke, the inspector placed himself under
the gas lamp, so that the cabman, standing in front
of him, was fully revealed by the light. He was
a short, heavily-built fellow, with a fleshy face,
twinkling gray eyes, and a mouth of enormous width.
His aspect and bearing announced a frank and
heedless good-humor, and his voice, when he spoke,
in answer to the question whether he was Edward
McBride, had the moist hoarseness of a fog-horn.
"That's what they call me," said he.
The inspector knew the value of a straight ques-
tion delivered before your interlocutor is prepared
for it. So, without further preface, he said:
"You pawned a revolver last week!"
McBride betrayed no symptoms either of sur-
prise or embarrassment.
"Faith, and so I did, sir," he replied readily.
"Where did you get it?"
The man glanced sharply at the inspector for a
moment, and then broke into a broad laugh, swing-
ing his arms and stamping his feet. "'Tis an odd
bit of a story, that," he said, recovering his gravity.
"The way it happened was this: I couldn't give


A NIGHT-HAWK. 71
you just the day, but it would be somethin' like a
couple of nights before New Years. I'd struck no
trade /or an hour past, and was about gettin' back
to stables, when there was a couple hailed me—a
man and a woman."
"What time was this?"
"Well, it wouldn't be far from midnight, one way
or 'tother."
"What place?"
The man scratched his head under his dingy
cloth cap. "I couldn't be sure to the yard," he
said; "but 'twas on Fif Avenoo, and I'd just
passed Stewart's house on the way down."
"A clear, cold night, was it?"
"That it was not, sir. 'Twas a night like this,
only worse, and the wind blowin' all ways to onct.
So I draws up, and in the two gets, and says I,
'Where to?' and the man he says, ' Drive down
Twenty-sixth Street past Sixth Avenue,' says he,
'and I'll tell you where to stop,' he says."
"Twenty-sixth Street, between Sixth and
Seventh?" repeated the inspector, not a little
surprised at this unexpected turn. "Well, go
on."
"Well, I takes the first turn to the left, till I
comes to Sixth Avenue, and then down to Twenty,
sixth, and around the corner and along till the fel-
low raps on the window, and hollers, ' Hold on!'
We was just this side of the old lumber-yard, if
you know the' place, sir."
"Did they get out there?"


72 A NIGHT-HAWK.
"The woman, she got out, but the man staid
inside, and told me to wait."
"What did the woman do?"
"There's an old house standin' there, on the
south side of the street; there was no lights in it,
and the folks had gone to bed; but she goes up on
the porch and rings the bell. Nobody didn't come;
so after a bit she rings again. By and by I see a
light in the shop, and some one opened the door,
and in she goes, and the door is shut after her. We
waits may be a matter of fifteen minutes, and then
out she comes again, and into the hack, which the
man he holds the door open for her. Then he says,
'Drive us back to where you took us from,' he says.
So back I goes; and when they get out, he hands
me a two-dollar bill, and that's the last I see of 'em."
"Could you find the house on Twenty-sixth
Street again?" demanded the inspecter, keeping
his eyes steadfastly on the other's face.
"Faith I could, thin!" exclaimed the other
unhesitatingly. "More by token 'tis the same house
a murder was did in a few nights back; I misre-
member the name, but 'twas a Frenchman. And
sure enough," he added, " it was the next evenin'
they had the story in the paper; so 'twould be that
same night he was kilt!"
"Should you recognize the couple again?"
The hackman appeared to meditate. "I'd may-
be know the man," he said at length; "he was as
tall as you are, sir, but older like, and had a beard.
The woman she was wrapped up in a cloak, with a



A NIGHT-HAWK. 73
veil over her face, and what she looked like is more
than I can tell you, for I didn't see her, only the
clothes of her."
"What has this story to do with the revolver?"
"Indeed, and I'd like to have forgotten that part
of it!" returned Mr. McBride with easy self-posses-
sion. "Here was the way of it. After I left 'em I
drove to the stables, and when I got there I opened
the door of the hack to pull out the blanket. Some-
thing drops out of it and I picked it up; 'twas a
revolver with a black handle to it. Well, sir, not
knowin' their address and havin' no use for the like
o' them things myself, what does I do next day, but
takes it round to the spout shop and raises a few
dollars on it. And that's all there is about it."
"What time do you say it was when you drove
the couple to Twenty-sixth Street?"
"It would be about twelve o'clock, sir."
"How do you know it wasn't later?"
"Well, I'd be maybe ten minutes drivin' them
down there, and fifteen minutes to wait, that's twen-
ty-five, and ten minutes back again; and from
there to the stables is twenty minutes more, and by
the time I had the horse in the stall it was one
o'clock. That's the way I reckon it."
"When the woman came out of the house did she
have any thing in her hand?"
"She might have and she mightn't. She'd her
cloak wrapped round her, and her hands was inside
it. If she'd any thin' with her 'twould be nothin'
large any way."


A NIGHT-HAWK. 75
avoid being identified, had visited Hanier's shop on
the stormy midnight of December 29th. It could
only have been an urgent errand that sent them
there at such an hour and in such weather. The
man carried a revolver. There was no evidence
that it was discharged in the wine shop, and if Mrs.
Hanier's story and that of McBride were both true
it certainly could not have been discharged there.
But on the other hand it would hardly have been
taken by the unknown visitors if they had not con-
templated the possibility of using it; and again, it
was quite conceivable that McBride might be lying
and that he knew more about the pistol than he had
chosen to tell.
"Whether or not he lied about the pistol, how-
ever," continued the inspector to himself, "his
story, so far as it related to his carrying the two
persons to Hanier's house, must have been true:
for it is confirmed in every detail by Mrs. Hanier
herself. He may afterward have found the re-
volver in the carriage, and have gone back to the
wine shop alone, broken open the door, and mur-
dered the proprietor. That is possible.
"But if he did that, is it likely that he would
have said any thing about going to Hanier's at all?
There was no necessity for his saying it. He might
as easily have stated that he drove the pair to
Forty-sixth Street or to One Hundred and Fiftieth.
I could not have proved the contrary ; and a guilty
man will say nothing tending to incriminate himself
if he can avoid it.


A NIGHT-HAWK. 77
have something to go on. But nobody could inform
us on that point except Hanier, and he is dead.
"As to the prospects of identifying the unknown
man and woman, they are no better than they were
before. The detective got a glimpse both of the
man's face and of the woman's—McBride of the
man's only—that is, assuming that the pair who
were driven to the wine shop, and the pair who were
seen on the sidewaik opposite it the next morning,
are the same persons ; which is by no means certain.
Upon the whole I doubt whether this clew has
brought us a step nearer to the solution than we
were at first."
Having arrived at this negative conclusion the
inspector contracted his brows with an air of an-
noyance, and walked onward with a brisker step.
In a few minutes, however, he had fallen into
another train of thought, and his pace slackened
again.
"There is still that Evans's matter to be con-
sidered," he muttered. "There is no person of
that name at the address given, and that of itself
is suspicious. Now let us see! The pawn shop
where the white-handled revolver was pledged is
kept by a man named Rosenthal. He lives in
Ninth Avenue—not more than two blocks from
Hanier's house—and has a fair reputation. The
man calling himself Evans probably lives in the
neighborhood of that pawnbroker. If he is a dis-
orderly character, the likeliest place to come upon
traces of him would be among the rum shops of that


78 A NIGHT-HA WK.
quarter. If he is a decent fellow, on the other
hand, the fact that the bullet fits his revolver is a
mere coincidence: and we are still astray. But at
all events we must keep an eye on the saloons in
the vicinity of Twenty-sixth Street: and instruct
Rosenthal to detain any person who may call for
the pistol, or to devise some pretext for witholding
it until I myself can be communicated with."
When he arrived at the Central Office the inspector
sent for McBride and caused his testimony to be
taken down in writing and signed. The man did
not vary from the statements made in his first story,
nor did he add any thing material thereto. Upon
reviewing the matter the inspector came to the de-
cision that it was unnecessary to hold McBride, the
rather since the people at the stable had confirmed
his assertion that he was there with his hack at a
few minutes before one o'clock on the morning of
December 30th. He was allowed to go, therefore,
with directions to hold himself in readiness to
appear when wanted; and orders were issued to keep
him under surveillance in the meanwhile.
The upshot of all the pains which had been taken
up to this point was not very gratifying. But the
interest which the inspector felt in the case strength-
ened with the difficulties that he encountered ; and
his determination to succeed in the end was more
resolute than ever.


CHAPTER VII.
INSANE?
•
IF the inspector was resolute, the Shambling Man,
also, did not lack persistence, in his way. He had
the scent of a sleuth-hound : and his pride was
stimulated to prove that his theory of the facts was
the correct one.
At the same time, he fully recognized the serious-
ness of the obstacles in his path. Sagacity and judg-
ment can do much, but there is a point beyond
which they can be of little service ; and that point
would soon be reached in the present case. The
chapter of accidents was likely- to afford quite as
much assistance as the most careful logical deduc-
tions. The hypothesis that the silver cigarette case
had not been taken by thieves, but by persons
whose aims and purposes were far higher and wider
than those of the most ambitious robbers—this
assumption at once cut off the investigator from all
the customary sources of information. When a man
steals for gain his efforts to dispose of his plunder
lay him open to attack on every side; but it is quite
another matter when a person of social position and
means chooses to become a culprit. The purloiner
of the silver cigarette case had got away without


80 INSANE?
leaving any traces of his or her individuality ; and
it was a hundred to one that he or she would do
nothing hereafter to attract suspicion. How, then,
was the crime to be brought home to the criminal?
Even should the detective happen to meet again the
man and woman whom he noticed on the morning
of the murder, he had no proof to connect them with
the cigarette case. He could not follow them to
their home and search there for it. Nor, had that
been possible, was it in the least likely that he would
find it. The intrinsic value of such an object must
be utterly insignificant to wealthy people; or, if
there were any special reason for preserving it from
destruction, what was easier or more natural than
to pass it from hand to hand until its hiding-place
became hopelessly inaccessible?
In such circumstances, specific exertion seemed
thrown away ; one might almost as well walk up and
down the streets in the expectation of seeing the
cigarette case, with the explanation of its mystery
written out on a piece of paper and stuffed inside of
it, lying in the gutter. The search might as well
begin in one place as another. Why not start with
an investigation of the city's ash-barrels and dump-
ing-grounds?
"I guess I'll drop the cigarette case business for
the present," said the Shambling Man to himself, as
he shambled disconsolately up Third Avenue, on
the morning after his interview with the inspector.
"It's easier to find a face than a trinket; and if I
can set my eyes on that man or woman again, I'll


INSANE? 81
wager that I will .trace out a connection between
them and it before I am done with them!"
To accomplish this result, the most promising
plan seemed to be to visit constantly the various
theaters and churches frequented by people of
wealth and fashion, and patiently to await the
appearance of the individuals whom he sought. This
course, together with a turn in the park during
driving-hours, and a stroll down the avenue on
Sunday afternoons, ought sooner or later to yield
fruit. In other words, the Shambling Man must
himself act the part of a fashionable man about
town. It was a somewhat novel role for him to play,
and he smiled sardonically at the prospect. But
success was not so problematical as it might appear
at a first glance. Although New York numbers
considerably more than a million and a half of
inhabitants, the arrangement of its streets and ave-
nues, and the habits of its well-to-do class, render it
practically much smaller than it seems. Fifth Ave-
nue, and the blocks immediately adjoining it on the
east and west, contain the dwelling's of nine-tenths
of the more prosperous citizens; and their daily
round of existence seldom takes them far outside of
that narrow tract. A week spent in careful and
assiduous watching could scarcely fail to bring the
seeker and the sought together. In this respect the
task was easier than if the person wanted had be-
longed to the criminal part of the community.
Of course it was only a surmise that they did not
belong to it, and in democratic America the differ-


82 INSANE?
ence between the classes of society is, outwardly at
least, much less than in Europe. But a trained
observer is not easily misled; and the Shambling
Man, though he had seen the couple he suspected
for a few moments only, and under unfavorable con-
ditions, was confident that he had placed them
aright; he judged less from the clothes they wore
and the fashion of their features than from their
bearing and unconscious movements. He was
willing to give odds that they were people who had
lived easily if not luxuriously all their lives, and
that they resided within less than a hundred yards
to the left or the right of Fifth Avenue.
He had now reached the corner of Third Ave-
nue and Twenty-third Street and paused there de-
bating with himself whether to continue in the same
direction or to turn toward Madison Square. He
had nearly made up his mind to the latter course
when he happened to notice a man with whom he
was acquainted emerge from a restaurant in the
block above, and walk leisurely northward.
"It's Solomon Sibley," he muttered to himself.
"I'll have a chat with him."
Solomon Sibley was a pawnbroker with whom the
Shambling Man in his official capacity had often
had dealings. His reputation for integrity was of
the best, and he had more than once given assist-
ance in the tracing of criminals who had left pledges
at his shop.
Hastening his steps, the Shambling Man over-
took Mr. Sibley just as the latter reached the door
1*


INSANE? 83
of his establishment. "'Morning, Sol," he said,
laying his hands on his shoulder, "how's trade now-
a-days?"
The pawnbroker, whose immense nose seemed to
have monopolized the growth that average men
distribute over their persons—for he was not above
five feet three inches in height—turned with the
quickness of a mouse, and recognizing his accoster,
smiled, shrugged his shoulders and replied, "mid-
dling to dull—nothing more. Upon my word the
people are getting too well off for my business.
Before long we shall be brought down to six per
cent, rates and then I think I will sell out and go
on Wall Street, eh?" And the little man chuckled.
"When you sell out I'll buy you up," returned
the Shambling Man, with a smile. "Wasn't that Mr.
Vanderbilt I saw coming out of your shop a moment
ago?"
"Upon my word, I'm telling you the truth," as-
severated Mr. Sibley, shaking his head and blowing
his vast nose on a red silk pocket-handkerchief.
"The folks come to me out of pure charity and
nothing else. Yes, upon my word! Wait till I
tell you. There was a man came here a few days
ago and he put down a silver tobacco box—"
"A what?" demanded the Shambling Man,
sharply.
"Eh? Come inside, I catch my death of cold
out here," said Mr. Sibley, again having recourse
to his handkerchief. He led the way to his inner
sanctum, the Shambling Man following him with


84 INSANE'
his heart in his mouth. The pawnbroker placed a
chair for his visitor and brought out a box of cigars
of huge size and blackness. "We'll have a little
smoke," said he.
"I don't use tobacco," replied the other. "But
you were saying—"
"Oh, you have nothing to trouble you," observed
Mr. Sibley, pensively, lighting a weed that seemed
nearly half as long as his own body. "The anxieties
of my business make it necessary I have something
to soothe my nerves—eh? Yes, upon my word!"
And he enveloped himself in a volume of smoke.
"A silver tobacco box did you say?" persisted
the visitor. "What's a silver tobacco box? I never
heard of such a thing."
"Oh, that box? Well, I call it a tobacco box;
I don't know; you could not say a snuffbox,
it was not like that. It was more a cigar case, but
it would be too small. It would be hardly four
inches. I don't know."
"Why not a cigarette case, then ?" suggested the
Shambling Man, in a voice he strove to make sound
indifferent.
"A cigarette case?" repeated Mr. Sibley, medita-
tively. "Well, yes, it might be that; and now I
think—it was of Russian make, what they call
Niello work; and those Russians, they will always
smoke cigarettes. It is a bad habit."
"Russian Niello work, was it? A pretty bit of
work, I suppose? Engraved, and all that?" said
the other, who was quite pale with excitement.


INSANE) 85
"Oh, yes, it was pretty, replied Mr. Sibley, with
professional lack of enthusiasm. "But wait till I
tell you! This man, he put down the cigarette
case—if you like to call it a cigarette case—I don't
know—and he says, 'How much?' So I took it
up and I looked at it, and I weigh in my hand—so—
and I shrug my shoulders and say ' Five dollars.' I
would have given five and a half or six, upon my
word."
"I don't doubt it. Well?"
"Well, he said 'All right,' like that: he don't
care if I said one dollar—eh? So I take a ticket to
write it out: and the pen was so bad I called Isaac
and told him to bring me a fresh one. A bad pen
is the worst thing in the world."
"Of course it is," said the Shambling Man, with a
shiver of nervous suspense.
"So Isaac, he goes off to get the fresh pen. But
that man—you should have seen him, my friend!
He stand first on one foot, then on the other. He
take his mustache in his mouth—so—and bite it.
He drum with his fingers on the counter: and at
last he unbutton his overcoat, and he take out—"
Here Mr. Sibley interrupted himself to inhale and
emit another volume of smoke, and to knock the
ash off his cigar.
"What did he take out ?" demanded the Sham-
bling Man, breathlessly.
"He take out a watch," said Mr. Sibley, impres-
sively. "But ah ! my dear friend, that was such a
watch! You don't see them like that, not in one


86 IN SANE t
year. It is made of the latest style, gold, a chro-
nometer, so large across as two inches, stem-winder,
and you make the hours strike by pressing the
spring. You buy such a watch for five hundred—
six hundred dollars."
"I dare say, but what has that to do with—"
Mr. Sibley waved his hand. "Wait till I tell
you," said he. "That is not yet the best. The back
of that watch, my dear, is all covered over of
precious stones. In the middle, a diamond of ten
carats, and all round rubies and emeralds. You
don't buy that watch for two thousand dollars. I
would advance him one hundred dollars for it
myself."
"Did he pledge the watch too, then ?" demanded
the Shambling Man.
"That was just the point, my friend," returned
Mr. Sibley, laying his short finger beside his long
nose. "He doesn't pledge that watch—not he, I
give you my word. He only say, ' Hurry up, will
you? I must be down town by eleven o'clock,' and
then he put that watch back in his pocket. Now,
I ask you just one question: If that man carry in
his pocket a watch for two thousand dollars, what
for does he come to me for five dollars on that
tobacco box? Eh? It is of pure charity, and noth-
ing else. Yes, upon my word."
With that Mr. Sibley leaned back in his chair and
took a pull at his cigar with the air of a man who
had triumphantly vindicated his position.
The Shambling Man was certainly impressed;


INSANE? 87
though not entirely on the grounds adduced by Mr.
Sibley. After a pause he said:
"What sort of a looking man was he? Was he
a youngish fellow, rather short, with light hair and
smooth face?"
"No, no, no! He's nobody you know," replied
the pawnbroker, shaking his nose. "That man
was fifty years old, and perhaps fifty-five: he have
a gray beard and black eyebrows all across his face
—so. He was a very tall man—taller than me," he
added, as if fixing the limits of human altitude.
"Oh, was that the sort?" rejoined the other,
who, now that there was no longer any doubt that
he had got hold of the right thing," was rapidly
recovering his composure and falling back into the
habit—almost a second nature with him—of disguis-
ing his real purpose and attitude even when there was
no particular necessity for it. "Then I must have
been thinking of another party. A few days ago,
you said? That wouldn't be as far back as Christ-
mas, was it?"
"Not so much—no. But it would be just before
New Years," said Mr. Sibley, fixing his eyes
reflectively upon vacancy.
"Ah, I see !" said the Shambling Man. "But it's
curious, too. Russian Niello work isn't so common
hereabouts. Could you let me have a look at it?"
". With the greatest of pleasure my dear friend—
there is no obligation that I would not do for you,
as you know already; but there is one reason why
I can not show you the silver tobacco box."


88 INSANE?
"You can't! Why not?"
"Because it is no longer in my possession."
"What!" cried the Shambling Man, almost
springing from his chair. "You don't mean to say
that you've * * * what in the name of Moses
do you mean?"
"Eh? It seems you are interested then?" ob-
served the little pawnbroker in mild surprise. "If
I had known that before"
"Not at all! nothing of the sort," replied the
other, controlling his agitation by a violent effort.
"But if it was pawned just before New Years, why
—who took it out again?"
"It was the very same gentleman that pledged it;
at least I did not see him myself, but Isaac, my
clerk, he received the ticket from him and returned
to him the box. Yes, it is curious ; but not so curi-
ous as for a man with a watch of two thousand
dollars to pawn a box of five — eh? No, upon my
word!"
"When was this?" inquired the Shambling Man
in a faltering tone.
"Isaac!" called Mr. Sibley through the open
door leading into the office. Isaac presently made
his appearance. "Isaac," said the merchant,;
"when has it been that the gentleman redeemed
the pledge of the silver tobacco box, eh?"
"Half-past eight o'clock lasht efening," replied
Isaac promptly.
"Half-past eight o'clock last evening—that's
what I thought," said Mr. Sibley. "Is there any


INSANE? 89
thing else you would like to know, my dear
friend?"
"What name did the man give?" asked the
Shambling Man, more for the sake of concealing
his mortification than from any expectation that the
answer would throw any light upon the affair.
"Isaac, you hear the gentleman's question," said
the pawnbroker with a wave of his hand.
"Hish name was Mr. Louis Hanier, Vone Hun-
dred and Forty-four Vest Dwenty-six Shtreet," said
Isaac as promptly as before.
"Louis Hanier, One Hundred and Forty-four
West Twenty-sixth Street," repeated Mr. Sibley
again, as if Isaac had spoken in a foreign tongue.
"Is there any thing else ?" he added, turning to his
visitor.
"No, that's all," said the latter feebly.
"Isaac," said Mr. Sibley majestically to his
assistant, "that is all; you can go." And Isaac
promptly disappeared. "That was a clever boy,"
remarked his employer with a sigh, when the two
were alone ; " one of these days he buy the business
over my head and turn me into the street. Yes,
upon my word!"
The Shambling Man said good-day somewhat
abruptly; he wanted to be alone. His brain was
in a whirl and he needed an opportunity to collect
himself. The silver box had been within his grasp
as it were, and then had slipped out again; the
mysterious personage whom he had all along sus-
pected had, contrary to all expectation, pawned the


9° INSANE?
thing, and not satisfied with that had, a few days
later, contrary not only to expectation but to proba-
bility and reason, redeemed it from pawn. What
did this mean?
But this was not all, nor the most extraordinary
of all. This incomprehensible criminal, coming
red-handed from the slaughter of his victim, had
actually had the audacity to appropriate the name
of that victim as his own! Was it audacity? or
was it profound cunning! or what was it? It
seemed very like sheer insanity.
Insanity! The word arrested the Shambling
Man's attention. What if the murderer of Louis
Hanier were in fact a maniac? Would not that ex-
plain a great many otherwise inexplicable things?
For that matter, what was there that it would not
explain? The whole affair from beginning to end
Jiad a crazy look. The double visit to the wine
shop; the objectless appearance in front of the
scene of the crime the next morning; the pledging
of the silver box for which the crime was commit-
ted; the redeeming of it a few days later; the
giving of the name and address of the victim; yes,
and the fantastic wrecking of the shop—all these
things marked the conduct not of a sane man but of
a confirmed and dangerous lunatic. Why had he
not thought of this before?
He hurried along the streets without heeding
where he was going or whom he met. He felt as
if he were in some danger of becoming insane him-
self. Should he go to Bloomingdale and inquire


INSANE? 91
whether any of the patients had lately escaped?
He was almost ready to do this when another per-
plexity occurred to him. Admitting that the man
was a maniac, what about the woman? It was too
much to suppose that she was a maniac too!


CHAPTER VIII.
THE BARBER'S SALOON.
AT the period of these events there lived in
the suburban seclusion of Jersey City a
quiet and reputable young man who answered to
the unassuming name of Robert Johnson. When
I say that he lived there, I speak conventionally;
in fact he only slept and breakfasted there. The
rest of his time he spent in the heart of the metrop-
olis across the river.
Young Mr. Johnson was a man of agreeable
manners and pleasing exterior. He was slightly
above the medium height, well made and active,
with a countenance that told of health and intelli-
gence. The very hue of his cheeks, his bright gray
eyes, and the cut of his short, brown side-whiskers
indicated a transatlantic origin ; and these signs
were confirmed by the accent and fashion of his
speech, which was of the species known as cock-
ney. Nor did Mr. Johnson seek to disguise-the fact
that he was an Englishman, born in London.
He was a comparatively recent importation,
having landed in this country six or eight months
previous to the date at which this story begins.
According to his own account he had been driven
westward by the pressure of competition and the


THE BARBER'S SALOON. 93
lack of opportunities of advancement at home. He
was of an energetic and enterprising constitution,
and was not satisfied to spend his life on a tall stool
in a clerk's office at a salary rising ten pounds every
year. So he had cut loose from ties of relation-
ship and drudgery of routine, and had sailed for
New York with a little money in his pocket and a
large determination to make a fortune.
In addition to the determination and the money,
he had brought with him something else which was
perhaps of as much practical value as either. This
was a knowledge of engraving—not in the higher
artistic branches of the profession, but in its humbler
but more generally useful phase. A capable engraver
is always in demand, and within a few weeks,
Robert Johnson had become an employe of a
Printing and Engraving Company in New York
city. Here his abilities and executive capacity
soon brought him into prominence, and he was
intrusted with the duty of overseeing the fulfill-
ment of large orders, and was thus brought into
occasional contact with the directors of the com-
pany—chief among whom was Colonel Hugh Des-
mond, a wealthy New Yorker, whose name the
reader will perhaps recall. Between Colonel Des-
mond and Robert Johnson a kind of friendly regard,
as between superior and subordinate, was insensibly
established, and their conversation sometimes
passed beyond the limits of business routine and
touched upon a wide range of topics. Johnson was
a man of good education and by no means inclined


94 THE BARBER'S SALOON.
to abuse the liberties which were accorded to him.
But Colonel Desmond in his earlier years had lived
in London and knew it well, and it was a pleasure to
him now to interrogate Johnson as to the changes
which had occurred in the world's capital since his
departure, and especially as to the political aspects
of the times. Johnson appeared well-informed upon
this as uporrother matters, but he betrayed a tendency
to think for himself, and often in opposition to the
prevailing English political dogmas, which attracted
the colonel's attention and did not seem to displease
him. In regard to the Irish movement, then in its
earlier stages, their coincidence of view was par-
ticularly marked; indeed, Johnson seemed inclined
to go further in this direction than the colonel, and
occasionally expounded opinions the vigor of which
seemed to go beyond even the avowed views of the
Land League. "I know England," he once said,
"and I know that logical argument and moral con-
siderations will never influence her where she con-
siders her interests to be at stake. Violence is the
only mode of reasoning that she is capable of
appreciating, and whatever may be said against the
Fenians, a year of their methods will do more to
free Ireland than ten years' talk and obstruction in
the House of Commons."
"That's a queer way for an Englishman to talk,"
remarked the colonel, smiling.
"I consider myself an American now," replied
Robert Johnson, " and besides, my mother was born
in Ireland."


THE BARBERS SALOON. 95
The colonel shook his head, still smiling. "Feni-
anism is dead," said he; "and constitutional
measures are always safest."
"It's not a question of safety but of freedom,"
returned the younger man; "and I don't remem-
ber any country that ever freed itself from oppres-
sion by strictly constitutional means. Certainly this
country did not."
"America is a continent and Ireland is an island,
and England is separated from the first by three
thousand miles, and from the other by scarce fifty.
It's another thing altogether. Your ideas may be
sound enough in the abstract; I am an Irishman
myself and not in love with England, but Fenian-
ism is a forlorn hope. No one with any regard for
his own welfare and happiness would enroll himself
among Fenians."
"Well," said Robert Johnson, lifting his chin in
a way he had, " I like peace and comfort as well as
any body, but I have no one but myself to look out
for, and if I were asked to join a Fenian society I
should feel very much inclined to do it."
"In that case," answered the colonel with a
laugh, and laying his hand in a friendly way on the
young man's shoulder, " I must hope, in the interests
of the company, that the offer will not be made to
you. All the same, I like your spirit and one of
these days we may have some further talk about it."
If Johnson was a favorite in the office he was
also on excellent terms with his associates in Jersey
City. He had taken up his quarters in a private


96 THE BARBER'S SALOON.
house in the upper portion of the town removed by
a mile or thereabouts from the smoke and dirt of
the more thickly populated region adjoining the
river. Pacific Avenue was the name of the street
on which his house stood ; a broad and handsome
thoroughfare crowning the Heights and shaded by
large trees. The house was detached and some-
what withdrawn from the road. Johnson occupied
two rooms on the first floor—a sitting-room facing
on the avenue, and a bed-room looking out on the
garden at the back. His landlady allowed him a
night-key, for his duties at the office frequently
kept him out till late at night, so that he was en-
tirely independent in his movements. This confi-
dence on the landlady's part was justified by her
lodger's unexceptionable habits; save for the
occasional late hours, which were unavoidable and
which inconvenienced no one except himself, there
was absolutely nothing to be said against him.
Nor were his virtues negative merely. He was
always cheerful and good-humored, with a good
word for every body ; and he was a very handy man
about the house. If a chair was broken, Johnson
could mend it; if the water pipe leaked, he could
solder it; if a door wouldn't shut", he could persuade
it; if the baby had the colic, he could relieve it; if
the apple-tree in the garden needed pruning he
knew where to apply the shears. He was always
adequate to the occasion and always willing. Be-
fore he had been three months in the house Mrs.
Pond, the landlady, regarded him almost as one of


THE BARBER'S SALOON. 97
the family, with the additional merit of paying a
good price for his accommodations, and paying it
with unfailing regularity. She lost the habit of
counting her tea-spoons and allowed him to drink
as many cups of tea as he wanted without a mur-
mur. Lizzie Pond, the landlady's daughter, a
pretty girl of seventeen, with confiding eyes and a
frank laugh, was (secretly, as she imagined) of the
opinion that Robert Johnson was about the finest
man that ever lived, and her mother (who knew the
secret but pretended not to) did nothing to coun-
teract Lizzie's impression. Altogether, Mr. John-
son's American career was opening with favorable
auspices.
Although the young man, as he said, had no one
dependent upon him, and although his espoused
sympathies were less with the country of his birth
than with free America, or down-trodden Ireland,
yet he received every week a good number of let-
ters bearing the London postmark. Miss Lizzie
sometimes improved an opportunity of examining
the external aspect of these letters, and derived a
maidenly pleasure from the fact that none of them
appeared to be addressed in a feminine handwriting.
Johnson said they were from men with whom he had
been associated while practicing his profession in
the old country. Whether or not he answered them
all regularly there was no sure means of determin-
ing; at all events he posted his mail himself and
the names and addresses of his correspondents were
unknown; and though he was very open and


THE BARBER'S SALOON. 99
One day Robert Johnson happened to hear Col-
onel Desmond say that his wife was looking out
for a companion ; and he bethought himself that
Lizzie Pond was just the person for the place. He
therefore took it upon himself to acquaint the
colonel with the fact of her existence, and to add
such commentaries as his heart or conscience dic-
tated. The colonel lent a favoring ear to his sug-
gestions, and having considered them, informed
Mr. Johnson that he would speak to his wife about
Miss Pond, and that it might be advisable for Miss
Pond herself to call upon Mrs. Desmond, and afford
that lady an opportunity of forming an opinion of
her own on the matter. Mr. Johnson willingly ac-
ceded to his proposal; and when he imparted his
news to Lizzie, though she was at first inclined to
shrink from the idea of embarking thus precipitately
upon what might be considered a worldly career,
yet Robert employed such arguments that she per-
sonally consented to take advantage of the opening
he had afforded her; her mother also was won over
to the scheme; the call upon Mrs. Desmond was
made ; and the upshot of it all was, that within a
week Lizzie Pond was domesticated at the colonel's
house, where she gave great satisfaction ; and that
Robert Johnson thenceforth spent more evening's
in New York than a strict attention to business
demanded of him.
The Desmonds occupied a large house on one of
the most fashionable thoroughfares; it stood on a
corner lot, and rejoiced in one of those elaborate
entrances which are the pride and (so to speak) the


102 THE BARBER'S SALOON.
when she happened to mention any of Colonel
Desmond's peculiar sayings or doings, he would
listen intently, and question her closely; and she
occasionally wondered why. At other times he
would ask her to observe whether certain things
occurred in the household; or to ask her mistress
certain questions, and to note her answers. Lizzie
did not altogether relish some of these commissions;
but when she hesitated, Robert always had a reason
ready which accommodated her doubts. "Human
nature is a queer thing, Lizzie," he would say, "and
the Desmonds seem to have a good deal of it."
Thus it happened that Lizzie became, for Robert's
sake, very observant, and noticed many things which
she would otherwise have passed over without
comment.
Autumn passed away. Thanksgiving came and
went, and the Christmas holidays were at hand.
Christmas Day of that year fell on a Tuesday. On
Friday afternoon, just before the close of business
hours, Colonel Desmond summoned Johnson and
handed him a sealed note.
"I want you to go up to the house, Johnson,"
he said, "and give this note to Mrs. Desmond. I
shall not be home till late to-night, and it is import-
ant she should get my message. It won't be much
out of your way, will it?" he added with a smile:
for the young man's devotion to Lizzie was no
secret to the colonel and his wife.
"I shall be glad of the opportunity," replied
Robert frankly.


104 THE BARBER'S SALOON.
book-shelf containing a number of volumes bound
in legal calf. A small stove stood at one end of the
room with a fire burning in it, and a kettle boiling
on it. The remaining appointments consisted of
three or four stout chairs, a large trunk in one
corner, and a closed cupboard in another.
Johnson, who seemed to be at home in the place,
drew up a chair in front of the stove and seated
himself in it. He then took Colonel Desmond's
note from his pocket and held it in such a position
that the steam from the spout of the kettle came in
contact with the sealed face of the envelope. In a
couple of minutes the adhesive substance was dis-
solved and the envelope opened at a touch. John-
son took out the inclosed letter and read it eagerly.
It was not long, and on coming to the end of it, a
shade of disappointment passed over the young
man's face.
At this juncture the door opened and the dark
jnan came in.
"Well, is there any thing this time ?" he said, in
a low tone.
"Hard to say whether there is or not," replied
Johnson. "If there's nothing more in it than what
there seems to be, I might have spared the trouble.
Try for yourself."
He handed the letter to the dark man as he
spoke. The latter read it, and scratched his chin
thoughtfully.
"It looks innocent enough, certainly, said he at
length. "Still, I don't see why he should make


THE BARBER'S SALOOfi. 105
such a point of her bringing it down to him herself.
He could trust you with ten dollars' worth of silver,
couldn't he?"
"I should make sure it is calling something im-
portant by another name, but for two facts,"
returned Johnson. "The first is, that he could not
have expected me to open this letter, or he wouldn't
have given it to me; and the other is, that she is
not in any of his secrets. My information has sat-
isfied me as to that."
"He thinks you are rather of his way of thinking,
doesn't he?" asked the dark man.
"So much so that he would swear me in, if I
made a point of it."
"Is he up to any thing particular to-night?"
inquired the other, after a pause.
"I have reason to think there's going to be a
meeting."
"Well, I don't know as it would be safe to try
on any thing decisive to-night," said the dark man,
after a few moments' thought "But find out, if you
can, whether she takes this thing, or something else.
If it's this, then you can keep an eye on it, and
look out for another opportunity of examining it.
This girl has scruples, you say?"
"Yes; but, for all that I'd rather have her there
than a rascal. I can depend on every thing she
says, and she's very observant."
"All right. But you've been on the job for some
time now, you know, and we ought to have some-
thing definite pretty soon."


106 THE BARBER'S SALOON.
"If this turns out to be any thing, I shall have
something definite within a week."
"I hope you may. Well, you may as well be
moving. I must look to the shop."
With this the dark man went out, and Johnson,
with the aid of a bottle of mucilage on the table,
resealed the envelope so that no one would know it
had been tampered with. Then he left the room
and the saloon, and returning to the Eighth-Street
Station, was soon at the door of Colonel Desmond's
house.


CHAPTER IX.
A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
PERHAPS Lizzie had been expecting Robert
Johnson ; perhaps it was a mere coincidence,
or a lover's intuition; certain it is, at all events,
that she was standing at the window of the boudoir,
on the first floor, as he came up the avenue; and
that she ran down stairs and had the door open
before he could touch the bell.
This front door was itself approached through a
covered portico, or small ante-room, open to the
street, but yet sufficiently protected from it to allow
of a little ceremony being transacted there, which
left Lizzie with a pair of very rosy cheeks. Then
the two entered the hall demurely, and softly closed
the door after them.
The hall, like the halls of most New York houses,
was dark, being lighted only from the fanlight
above the door. It was about eight feet in width:
on the left was a door opening into the front
drawing-room, which again communicated by fold-
ing doors with another room beyond it. On the
right side of the hall, opposite the drawing-room
door, was a hat-stand, and in the midst of the hat-
stand, which surrounded it like a frame, was a
large mirror, six feet high by four feet in breadth,


Io8 A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
Now it so happened that the drawing-room fire-
place was just opposite the door, and, therefore,
also opposite the looking-glass in the hat-stand;
and there was another looking-glass on the mantle-
piece above the fire-place. Consequently (to come
to the upshot of all this topographical description)
an observer stationed in the hall and facing the
hat-rack, could see reflected in that mirror the
miror over the mantle-piece; and in that, not only
most of the drawing-room, but, when the folding
doors were open, a part of the rear room likewise.
Whether or not this arrangement were intentional,
it was at all events very convenient for curious per-
sons in the hall, if such there happened to be ; and
Mr. Robert Johnson, might at this moment, be
classed in this category.
Mr. Johnson and Lizzie Pond were standing in
front of the hat-rack, and the former was asking
the latter how she had been since he saw her last,
when his eyes caught the reflection of something in
the miror which caused the question to die away
upon his lips. He silently directed Lizzie's atten-
tion to what he saw, and they both contemplated it
with varying emotions of astonishment and per-
plexity.
The spectacle which thus attracted them, con-
sisted of two persons, who were standing together
in the rear drawing-room. One was a woman, the
other a man. The woman was Mrs. Desmond. The
man was unknown to Johnson. He was under the
medium height, with a thick growth of black hair


A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE. 109
on his head, black, quick eyes, and a swarthy com-
plexion. His dress was plain, and his appearance
that of a man of the lower class.
Robert and Lizzie saw Mrs. Desmond, the great
lady, the refined and beautiful woman, throw her
arms round the neck of this man, and kiss him on
either cheek ; and they saw the man return her
caress. Then they held each other by both hands,
and conversed in low tones barely audible to the
spectators in the darkened hall.
"Lizzie," said Robert, in a whisper, "have you
seen any thing like that before?"
"Never—I wouldn't have believed it!" replied
Lizzie, with manifest agitation.
"Do you know that man?"
"No; but he has been here several times; I
believe he used to be a servant here, before I
came."
"Has he ever been here when Colonel Desmond
was in the house?"
"I think not."
"Very well. I shall find out about him. Mean-
while, my errand to you is this: Take this letter"
—he put the colonel's note in her hand—" and
give it to Mrs. Demond. Be sure you notice how
she looks and what she says when she reads it.
Soon after reading it, she will probably put on her
bonnet and go out. I want you to find out whether
she goes into her husband's room and gets any
thing from his table or drawer, and carries it with
her when she goes out. If so, tell me what it is.


no A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
That's all for the present. I will explain another
time. That fellow is leaving now, and I want to
see more of him. Good-by!"
"Oh, Robert, this has made me so unhappy!"
"Never mind, my dear. Very few women in
this world are as good as you are, and you mustn't
expect it."
With this Robert withdrew, as noiselessly as he
had entered, and running down the steps crossed
to the other side of the avenue and waited. In a
few moments the Desmond's door opened and the
unknown man issued forth. He was a good-
looking fellow enough, but decidedly he belonged
to the lower orders. His age might be between
thirty-five and forty. His black clothes, evidently
his best, fitted him ill, and were not in the fashion.
As he came down the steps, he was fitting on his
head a silk hat that appeared to be too small for
him. Robert Johnson said to himself that the man
looked like a French cook in his Sunday attire.
What a lover for Mrs. Desmond!
The man, upon reaching the sidewalk, turned
southward and walked at a brisk pace, with his
head down and his plump hands swinging at his
sides. Johnson kept along with him on the other
side of the avenue. So they continued for about
half a mile, which brought them to the Delmonico
corner, on Twenty-sixth Street. Here the man
turned to the right and the Englishman followed
him.
They crossed Broadway, and still keeping west-


112 A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
"Well, I have had experience. But who told
you that?"
"Oh, a lady—an acquaintance of mine—Mrs.
Desmond," said Johnson, fixing his eyes on the
Frenchman. Hanier looked aside in apparent
embarrassment. "She spoke very highly of you—
of your taste and so forth " continued the other.
"You are acquainted with her, you say?"
inquired Hanier, looking up.
"I have some business relations with Colonel
Desmond, and see the lady occasionally. You had
some connection with the family, I believe?"
"Hanier started, but recovered himself immedi-
ately. "Oh, yes, I was for some time in charge of
the wine-cellar in Colonel Desmond's house—as
butler, in fact," he said hurriedly.,
"Ah, precisely ! and a very nice house it is, too;
they manage things very well there. Mrs. Desmond
is a French woman by birth ; one doesn't often see
a handsomer lady."
"Elle est en effet trh Men—she is very good
indeed," said Hanier, tasting his liquor.
"I'm surprised you should have wanted to leave
a place like that; I should have fancied you'd have
found it uncommonly comfortable there," pursued
the Englishman.
"One can not do always as one would wish:
there were reasons, you comprehend. For me, I
have a family—a wife and six children. One can not
maintain such a family in the house of one's em-
ployer; on the other side, it is inconvenient that


A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE. 113
they should live alone. There comes an opportu-
nity to purchase a small business; I purchase it,
and—voild tout!" said Hanier, shrugging his
shoulders.
"The colonel must have been sorry to lose you,"
observed Johnson, with a sharp look. "I suppose
he has you up there to oversee things whenever he
gives a big dinner or anything of that kind?"
"No—no; I do not—that is, my business occu-
pies me too much," replied the Frenchman, some-
what uneasily. At that moment some customers
entered the shop and Hanier turned to serve them
with a perceptible air of relief. Johnson left the
shop.
"It's a plain case enough," he said to himself.
"There is no politics or society-business about this.
The fellow is her lover—neither more nor less : and
the colonel found it out and fired him—that's all!
Well, I don't see that any thing is to be made out of
that. As she doesn't know her husband's secrets
it's no use threatening her with exposure unless she
tells them. Still it's as well to have a hold on her;
she might be of use in some way. Meanwhile I
must keep an eye on the colonel. This affair is
coming to a head!"
Thus muttering he reached the corner of Fifth
Avenue, where he came to a stop. "I shall have
to see Lizzie to-morrow," he thought, "and I may
as well arrange for it now. She will be alone ; Mrs.
Desmond must have gone down town by this time."
He turned his steps to the Desmond's house, and


114 A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
was admitted to an audience with Lizzie. Mrs.
Desmond had just gone out.
"Well, did she carry any thing with her?"
inquired Johnson.
"Nothing that I could see," Lizzie replied. "I
gave her the letter, and was in the room while she
read it. She gave an exclamation and seemed very
much troubled. She walked up and down the
room, tearing the letter up, aud threw the pieces in
the fire. Then she stood looking out of the window,
and biting her lips in a way she does sometimes
when she is troubled. By and by she looked at her
watch and said, "Oh, it's too late; I shan't have
time." Then she told me to bring her things, for
she was going right out. I helped her put them
on, and I'm sure she didn't carry any thing with her
when she went. Oh, Robert, what do you suppose
it is?" broke off the girl in a piteous voice. "I
can't get over that thing we saw; I can't believe
she did it, though I saw her—she was always so
good and ladylike! Do you think he can have found
out any thing, and be going to punish her?"
"As to that, I can't say," Robert replied dispas-
sionately. "If a married woman makes a fool of
herself like that with a French butler she must
expect to get a facer now and then. However, I
don't believe there was any thing in the letter likely
to alarm her on that score. It must have been
another matter altogether — at least that's my
opinion. Well, now, my dear, what I want to say
to you is this: You must do what you can to learn


A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE. 115
what sort ,of terms they are on with each other after
this. It looks now as if there was something wrong
going on ; and if that's the case it may be necessary
to get you out of the house. I was the means of
getting you here ; but I don't intend to let you stay
if it's not a proper place for you. If they go out
to-morrow evening find where they are going, and
as soon as they're out of the house hang a white
handkerchief out of the boudoir window. I'll be
on the watch and will come in and hear the news."
Having delivered these instructions, Robert
departed about his business, whatever that
may have been. The following evening, Satur-
day, December 29th, Mrs. Desmond and the colonel
went out to dinner; and Lizzie, like the good but
romantic girl she was, hung her handkerchief out
of the boudoir window and sat down inside like a
mediaeval maiden in her tower to watch for the
appearance of her knight.
Before long she heard the bell ring and Robert
asking the servant who opened the door whether
the colonel was at home? and then saying that he
had an important message for him from the office—
and if Miss Pond were in he would intrust it to
her. All this, of course, was mere diplomacy on
Robert's part to avert suspicion of any thing per-
sonal in his relations with Miss Pond. It probably
had the success that generally attends diplomacy of
that kind. But at all events Lizzie came down and
had an interview with Robert in the hall.
And this time she had a more stirring story to


n6 A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
tell. Mrs. Desmond had come home late to dinner
the night before and had eaten little or nothing,
appearing to be in a very depressed and anxious
frame of mind; she had then gone up to her room
and had remained there all the evening alone until
the colonel came home. After his arrival there was
a great deal of talking done, whereof Lizzie heard
very little—only one sentence, indeed, reaching her
ears in its entirety. "It must be found !" the
colonel exclaimed with great emphasis. "I tell
you I wouldn't lose it for ten thousand dollars
—no, not for a hundred thousand!" Nothing
decisive seemed to happen, however, until the next
morning. The colonel was up early and seemed
to be searching for something all over the rooms
on the bedroom floor. At last he entered his
wife's room and had some conversation with her.
All at once his voice, which ordinarily was low and
deep, became loud, angry and menacing ; and at
the same time Lizzie distinctly heard Mrs. Desmond
sobbing passionately. This went on, with occa-
sional lulls and changes, for a full hour. Then the
colonel appeared, dressed and with a face as black
as thunder and went down to breakfast. He gave
orders that Mrs. Desmond's breakfast should be
carried up to her. Lizzie had performed this ser-
vice for her mistress, and found her with her eyes
red and her face tear-stained, and trembling with
nervousness and exhaustion. She had remained in
this state the greater part of the day, but had said
little, and nothing in the way of explanation of


A DOMES TIC EAR THQ UAKE. 117
what had happened. Late in the afternoon she had
made an effort to compose herself and had informed
Lizzie that she and the colonel were to dine out
that evening. By the time she was dressed the
colonel had arrived and gone directly to his rooms,
where he had rapidly made his toilet, and the two
had entered their carriage and driven off. Such
was Lizzie's narrative.
Evidently some catastrophe had marred the peace
of the Desmond household. But although Robert
Johnson possessed a key toward solving the
mystery of which Lizzie knew nothing, he no more
than she could satisfy himself as to exactly what
was the matter. On the face of it it would seem as
if Hanier must have something to do with it; yet
the letter had appeared to be the proximate cause
of the disturbance, and the letter had certainly con-
tained no reference to the ex-butler. On the other
hand, what, if not the butler, could be adequate to
the production of such an outbreak? It was a
puzzle, and Johnson did not as yet see his way
through it.
Pending further developments he quieted Lizzie
with such assurances as suggested themselves to
him, and taking leave of her betook himself leis-
urely to the house in which the Desmonds were
dining. It was a bad night—wet, gusty and dis-
mal—and some two or three hours must elapse
before the guests would begin to depart. Johnson,
however, had a phlegmatic and philosophical vein
in him and was not easily disconcerted, even by


Tl8 A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE.
the weather. He was provided with a waterproof
cloak, and with pipe and tobacco, and in company
with these and his own thoughts, he paced to and fro
along the length of the block in which the house
stood, from nine o'clock until after eleven. Then
the first of the carriages received its freight and
rolled away, followed by another and another
until at length the Desmond's coupe1 drew up
before the door, and the colonel and his wife came
down the awning-covered steps, and under the
raised umbrella of the footman on the curb-stone,
and were shut up and driven away. Johnson put
his pipe in his pocket and trotted after them.
He was fully prepared to find them driving any-
where rather than to their own house; but herein
he was mistaken. They proceeded straight home;
and, as their destination became evident, Johnson
began to fear that all his waiting had been in vain.
At length the coupe1 drew up before the house:
the footman descended from the box and opened
his umbrella: the colonel and his wife got out and
went up the steps, and were under the shelter of
the portico. The footman returned to his seat on
the box, and the vehicle drove away to the stables.
Johnson only waited to hear the house door open
and the couple disappear.
But a minute—two or three minutes—passed by,
and still they two stood in the portico. Their fig-
ures were just discernible in shadowy outline
against the lamp-lit glazing of the door. What in
the name of wonder were they doing there? Had


A DOMES TIC EA R THQ UA KE. 119
the colonel lost his night-key, and were the servants
deaf to the bell? It was an inclement night to
spend on a doorstep, even under the shelter of so
fashionably-decorated a porch as the Desmond's.
Johnson exhausted his ingenuity in trying to arrive
at a plausible explanation of this oddity, but with-
out success.
By and by a sluggish rattling was heard on the
pavement and a hack hove in sight, loitering lazily
down the avenue. The driver had evidently car-
ried his last fare to his destination and was now on
his way home. He drew near, his white horse
gleaming obscurely in the dim, wet light. He
passed the Desmond's house, but scarcely had he
done so when the two came rapidly down the steps,
and after hastening a few yards along the sidewalk,
the colonel hailed him.
The hackman halted, looked around and drew
up to the curbstone. A brief dialogue between
him and the colonel followed, and then the latter
and Mrs. Desmond entered the hack, which re-
sumed its progress with some little increase of
briskness. Johnson followed: it was easy to keep
pace with this Jehu. They went down the avenue
and turned the corner of Twenty-sixth Street.
Johnson, as he trotted in pursuit, gave a grunt
of surprise. This was not in accordance with his
calculations. Could it be possible that they were
going to Louis Hainer's?
The hack kept on its way. The doubt resolved
itself into a certainty. They passed Broadway and


A DOMESTIC EARTHQUAKE. 121
produced these results. It was plain that the visit
to Hanier's had been made with careful precautions
for secrecy: The Desmonds' own carriage had
been dismissed, they had waited for the appearance
of a hack, and, when one came they had hailed it
from the street instead of from the stoop of their
house. But was the visit of personal or political
significance, or of both? These were questions
that demanded an immediate answer.


CHAPTER X.
THE CIPHER.
IT was nearly one o'clock in the morning—too
late to return to Jersey City, especially as John-
son proposed to be on hand again before breakfast.
If there were to be any new developments they
could not, he expected, be long delayed. Accord-
ingly, he walked over to the Grand Union Hotel,
in East Forty-second Street, and spent what
remained of the night there. By eight o'clock he
was again in sight of the Desmonds' house.
He was not a moment too soon. While he was
still some distance away, he saw the door open and
Colonel and Mrs. Desmond came out. The colonel
wore a long ulster and Mrs. Desmond was so
wrapped up as to be scarcely recognizable. They
turned their corner, and walking to Sixth Avenue,
took a down-town car. Johnson boarded the front
platform of the car immediately following theirs.
At Twenty-sixth Street they stopped and alighted.
Johnson did the same, pulling down the brim of
his hat to avoid recognition. Evidently they were
going to Hanier's, and now it would go hard but he
would gain some clew to the mystery.
On approaching the shop Johnson was surprised


THE CIPHER. 123
to see a large and excited crowd in front of it. A
policeman was on guard before the door. Groups
were talking earnestly and staring up at the first-
floor windows. The colonel and his wife had also
stopped and seemed to be disconcerted. What was
the matter?
Johnson singled out a man in the crowd—a round-
shouldered man, with penetrating eyes set close
together in his head, and a loose, shambling gait—
and asked him the question.
"They say," this personage replied, giving his
interrogator a sharp glance, "that the owner of this
shop, a man named Hanier, was murdered here
last night."
"Last night?" the other repeated, "at what
time?"
"Soon after midnight, I believe," answered the
man, and shambled away.
"Last night, soon after midnight!" repeated
Johnson to himself. A curious thrill crept through
his nerves, and he fixed his eyes with sudden intent-
ness on the Desmonds.
The suspicion that had entered his mind seemed
too monstrous for credence. Mrs. Desmond? It
was impossible. Had it been the colonel who
entered the shop one might have conceived . . .
but that the woman who had pressed her lips to
the dead man's face only the day previous—that
she, the refined and sensitive woman of society,
should deliberately commit a deed like this—was
not to be believed. And yet, when he remembered


124 THE CIPHER.
the careful secrecy of the visit, the hour and even
the motive, such as it was, he knew not what to
think. Besides, there was no telling what pressure
her husband might have brought to bear upon her.
And, after all, she was a Frenchwoman, and John-
son had English prejudice enough to fancy that
that would account for a great deal.
But if she were indeed the perpetrator of the
crime, why had she revisited the scene of it? Was
it to gloat over the visible evidence of her deed?
The supposition was of course absurd: nor did her
aspect give it any support. She had partly pulled
aside her veil, and her face expressed grief and
horror. She seemed hardly to know what she was
about; but the colonel, who was completely master
of himself, though his sombre visage was twisted
into a strangely grim expression, took her arm forci-
bly under his, and controlled her. They did not
remain long; and on leaving, they returned home
the way they had come. They did not again leave
the house that day.
But the following morning Colonel Desmond
made his appearance on his stoop half an hour
earlier than usual, and instead of taking the Sixth
Avenue Elevated down town, walked across to
Third Avenue. Here he turned southward, and
kept on in that direction for a half a mile or more,
keeping one eye on the shops as he went. At length
he passed in front of an establishment over the
door of which were suspended the arms of Lom-
bardy, and on whose ground-glass windows was


THE CIPHER. I25
inscribed the legend, " Sibley & Co., Pawnbrokers."
After a moment's hesitation he crossed the thresh-
old and went in. Robert Johnson followed him.
The colonel entered one of the vacant stalls and
Johnson inserted himself into the one adjoining it.
These two happened to be the only customers at
that moment in the shop.
The colonel was waited upon by an elderly little
man with an immense nose—apparently the pro-
prietor ; and presently a younger individual appear-
ed in front of Johnson and asked him what he
wanted.
Johnson had on his watch, a tolerably effective
time-piece; and though he was by no means desir-
ous of parting with it, even temporarily, he was
unable, upon the spur of the moment, to think of
any less indispensable article to justify his pres-
ence in such a place. Accordingly, as deliberately
as possible, he detached it from its chain, and hand,
ed it over to the merchant, who carried it away to
examine it.
Meanwhile, Johnson was all ears and eyes to dis-
cover what was going on in the next stall. The
colonel handed out something, and said, "How
much on that?"
The old pawnbroker took up the thing and
looked at it; thus bringing it for the first time with-
in Johnson's range of vision. It was neither more
nor less than a small, flatfish box or case of silver,
about three and a half inches in length, and an inch
thick. It was of peculiar appearance, and finely


THE CIPHER. 127
whom she could be likely to give such a thing was
Louis Hanier. This idea leaped into the English-
man's mind with the effect of an inspiration. Yes,
Louis Hanier must have been the recipient; she
had presented it to him as a gage d'amour j and her
agitation on getting the colonel's note had been
caused by fear lest he should discover the fact and
question her as to the causes of her so favoring the
wine merchant.
And that must have been what had happened.
She had probably tried to persuade the colonel that
he had lost the case himself. But he had not been
persuaded ; and when he told her that night that
he " would not lose it for a hundred thousand dol-
lars," she became alarmed, and, the following morn-
ing, her resolution had given way, and she had
confessed the whole affair. The colonel had there-
upon ordered her to go to Hanier and recover it,
and had himself accompanied her to see that his
order was obeyed.
Thus far, it was comparatively plain sailing. But
at this point the course became doubtful again.
Leaving the murder out of the question as entirely
unaccountable, and moreover, as being no concern
of Johnson's, the latter was nevertheless at a loss to
comprehend why the colonel had suffered his wife
to enter Hanier's shop alone; why he had taken
such precautions about the visit; and, above all,
why, if he valued the cigarette case at such a large
sum, he should now be pledging it for a few dollars
at a pawn shop? As to the later point, however,


128 THE CIPHER.
Johnson made up his mind to obtain satisfaction ',
and here fortune favored him.
"There was no market for things like that," said
the pawnbroker, laying down the case; "but I give
you five dollar on it, if you like."
"All right," returned the colonel's voice, gruffly;
"but be quick about it, will you? I have an
engagement down town."
The pawnbroker grunted out something, and
went to get a blank ticket from the pile on the
desk. Then there was some delay, in finding a
suitable pen, and the colonel became impatient.
"What was your name and address, if you please?"
inquired the merchant, at length.
The colonel seemed to hesitate a moment. Then
he said, "Louis Hanier, 144 West Twenty-sixth
Street.
Just then a messenger boy passed the door of
the shop, calling out: "Ex-tray! Furder details
of the murder in West Twenty-sixth Street!"
'' Are you going to keep me all day ?" exclaimed
the colonel, angrily.
The pawnbroker finished writing out the ticket,
and handed it over. The colonel snatched it up
and left the shop hurriedly. At the same time the
clerk brought back the watch with the laconic
observation, '' T'ree tollar and a-halluf!"
"That'll do for me," said Johnson. "Name—
John Robertson: address, 1280 Broadway. Let's
have the cash, please."
Pawnbrokers' tickets are kept in a consecutively


THE CIPHER. 129
numbered series, and are arranged somewhat after
the fashion of a book of checks ; each ticket being
torn off its corresponding stub, on which the name
and address of the pledger, and the specification of
the article are written in duplicate. When the
ticket is presented for redemption, it is compared
with its stub, and if it corresponds, the article is
handed out. The tickets are engraved in blank,
and the blanks filled in by hand.
Now, as Johnson received the next ticket in
order after the colonel's, he received a fac-simile of
that ticket, except for the printed number and the
written entry. But he knew that the number of
the colonel's ticket was that immediately preceding
his own, which was 984. This was sufficient for
his purposes. He looked upon the silver cigarette
case as being as good as in his own pocket. He
put his ticket carefully in his pocket-book, gathered
up his three-and-a-half dollars and departed.
The first thing he did was to take the train to
City Hall Park, whence he proceeded on foot to
the printing and engraving company. Colonel
Desmond, he ascertained, had arrived but a few
minutes before him. In the course of the fore-
noon he had occasion to go to the colonel's room,
to ask his directions upon some matter of business,
and found him sitting moodily at his table, with an
open paper on his knee.
After the business matter had been discussed,
the colonel said, " This murder is a strange thing!"
"What murder is that, sir?" returned Johnson,


13° THE CIPHER.
who was not averse from learning the other's views
on the subject.
"You must have heard of it—this affair in West
Twenty-sixth Street—Louis Hanier."
"Yes, yes ; I read something about it this morn-
ing. Row with his wife, wasn't it?"
'i I think not. Hanier was a respectable, hard-
working man, and came of good stock in France.
His wife was a good woman. There was no trouble
between them."
"Ah! you have seen a later account than the
one I read?"
The colonel paused a moment, and then looked
up. "No," he said, with a certain doggedness. "I
speak of my own knowledge. I formerly had some
acquaintance with the man."
"Indeed?"
"He was employed in my house. He was an
excellent judge of wines; he had met with mis-
fortunes in France, and finding himself in some
straits upon his arrival here, he consented to act as
my butler for a time. I regret, now, that I did
not urge him to remain. I did not fully appre-
ciate his worth; I learned to know him better
when—when it was too late!"
"Have you any idea who murdered him?"
asked Johnson, suddenly.
"I can not understand it: it is a complete mys-
tery to me :—a man like that! The news has quite
upset me. I regard him—I looked upon him
almost as "a member of my own family. Mrs.


THE CIPHER. 131
Desmond feels the shock, if any thing, more keenly
than I do. If the police do not soon find a clew
I shall feel inclined to offer a reward for the appre-
hension of the murderer."
The effect of these remarks of the colonel was to
carry conviction to Johnson's mind that he ./as
guilty of Hanier's death. The statement in the
papers that the murder was committed at one
o'clock had inclined him to reconsider his first sus-
picions, but he now believed that the colonel must
have gone back after taking his wife home and
shot down the object of his jealousy in cold blood.
He would have had just time to do this, and John-
son regretted that he had not waited a few minutes,
instead of going to his hotel; had he done so he
would have had proof positive against the mur-
derer in his possession. As it was there was noth-
ing more than a moral certainty. The colonel's
declarations of esteem for his victim and of his in-.
tention of offering a reward for the capture of the
assassin was ludicrously transparent. The dullest
intelligence could see that his object was to fore-
stall inquiry. He fancied it would be safer to
avow his former connection with Hanier than to
leave it to be discovered. Had he been aware of
the extent of Johnson's information he would cer-
tainly have chosen some one else as his confidant.
As to the colonel's remark about his wife being
even more distressed than he, there was a ghastly
humor about it that made Johnson smile grimly.


132 THE CIPHER.
Mrs. Desmond's present state of mind must indeed
be an unenviable one.
"It is none of my business," said Johnson to
himself, " but, at any rate, I have something else
to attend to first. But after that is done, if the
colonel offers a reward large enough to make it
worth while, I think I should be strongly tempted to
do something to earn it."
When office hours were over, Johnson betook
himself to his lodgings in Jersey City, where he
relieved Mrs. Pond's anxious curiosity by informing
her that he had been sent to Boston on a business
mission and had only just returned. After eating a
good dinner he went up to his room and locked the
door. He lit a lamp, screening the light with a
sheet of white tracing paper, produced from a
drawer a steel plate and engraving materials,
placed the pawn ticket in front of him, and set to
work. He labored steadily for a couple of hours:
and then, as it was already late, and he had con-
siderable arrears of sleep to make up, he put away
his materials, extinguished the light, and went to
bed.
The few succeeding evenings were passed in the
same manner. At length the work was done, and
the next day after leaving the office of the company,
Robert Johnson instead of crossing the river as
usual, took the cars up Sixth Avenue and made
another visit to the barber's shop in the block above
Tenth Street.
About an hour afterward, a man in a long ulster,


THE CIPHER. I33
with a gray beard and dark eyebrows overshadowed
by a black felt hat, walked into Mr. Sibley's pawn-
broking establishment on Third Avenue. He
entered one of the stalls and said to the clerk who
presented himself, "I pawned a silver box here on
December 31st. Number 983. I want to redeem
it."
"Let's see your ticket," returned the clerk.
The customer put a ticket down on the counter.
"There you are !" said he.
The clerk took up the slip of paper, glanced at
the number and superscription, and retired to the
desk. Having verified it by the stub, he whistled
up a tube, pulled the rope of a sort of miniature
elevator, and after several minutes delay returned
with the silver cigarette case. He then computed
on a bit of paper the amount of interest due on the
loan and communicated it to the gray-bearded cus-
tomer. The latter promptly paid the sum de-
manded, thrust the silver case in his pocket and
stalked out of the shop.
He ran rather than walked to Twenty-third
Street, where he jumped on board a cross-town car
that happened to be passing. Leaving it at Sixth
Avenue, he soon arrived at the barber's shop,
sprang down the steps, and burst into the room.
The dark-visaged man was there alone.
"Well ?" he said, rising.
"I have got it," said the other.
"Any thing in it?"
"I haven't looked yet. First let me get off this


THE CIPHER. 135
engraving would show through. The lining is sep-
arate from the outside case, and has been soldered
in. Well, now, this side is at least an eighth of an
inch thicker than the other. If we take out the
lining, we shall find something."
"You may be right," returned the dark man;
"but if there is a secret receptacle there, it won't
be necessary to take out the lining. There must be
a spring somewhere. Now I think of it, I have
seen a box like this somewhere before. The spring
was in the hinge—ah! there you see!"
While he was speaking Johnson had pressed the
point of his pen-knife against what appeared to be
the head of a small rivet fastening the hinge to the
plate. The effect was to cause the whele lining of
that side of the box to start forward, disclosing a
receptacle which, though not so deep as a well, was
of sufficient dimensions to contain a miniature por-
trait, or a bank-note. •
As a matter of fact, it contained neither; but a
slip of vellum, three inches long by two in breadth,
on which were inscribed some curious characters.
"You've hit it !" exclaimed the dark man, for-
getting his usual impassivity, and speaking in a tone
of manifest exultation. "There's your hundred
thousand dollars, sure enough!"
"It looks like it, certainly," said Robert John-
son, taking the bit of vellum out of the case, and
scrutinizing it with sparkling eyes.
The writing consisted of the letters of the
alphabet, arranged in columns, and, opposite each


136 THE CIPHER.
letter, a corresponding character of peculiar form.
The two men studied it eagerly.
"This can't be all," said the dark man, at last.
"It explains a part, but not the whole. There
ought to be some more."
Robert Johnson turned the bit of vellum over.
Both emitted an exclamation of satisfaction. On
this reverse side was written a number of syllables
of common occurrence, each translated by an
eccentric sign. Taken in connection with the
alphabet, this gave the key to the whole secret
which the two men were investigating.
"Small blame to us for not guessing it," observed
the dark man, after a thorough examination of the
cipher. "It's constructed on a new principle, and
about the most ingenious I ever saw."


CHAPTER XI.
GOOLE y's.
THERE was, in West Twenty-seventh Street, a
popular resort, presided over by a personage
known to his acquaintance by the name of Gooley.
The aspect of this resort was not, however, strik-
ingly attractive to the uninitiated eye. It was a
- low-ceiled, narrow and gloomy room, with a liquor
bar extending half way down the right-hand side of
it, and the rear, dimly lighted by a cobwebbed win-
dow looking into a court, furnished with a couple
of tables and half a dozen chairs. The walls were
hung with tawdry wall-paper, stained with damp
and defaced by various ill-usage; the ceiling was
darkened by tobacco smoke, and the planks of the
floor were filthy with dirt and expectoration. Above
the bar, in the spaces between the rows of bottles
and glasses, were colored prints and lithographs,
representing ladies of the dramatic profession clad
in raiment of a fashion more or less sensational, a
portrait of the reigning President of the United
States, and an interesting collection of likenesses
of gentlemen connected with the American Prize
Ring. The latter works of art were the most prom-


14° GOOLEY'S.
fighter fitted very well the station to which destiny
had assigned him.
On a certain evening in January, a man clad in
a large shabby overcoat, and a greasy cap, whose
original blackness had become yellowed by time
and exposure to the weather, slouched into Gooley's
bar-room and muttered a request for a drink, hav-
ing obtained and paid for which, he further invested
in a cigar, and then retired to the back of the saloon
to smoke it. He was not an habitue1 of the place;
but, during the last few days, he had been in and out
of it occasionally, and had the appearance of being
chronically the worse for liquor. He now sat down
beside a table and leaned his shoulders against the
wall, with his cigar between his teeth, and the visor
of his cap drawn over his eyes. Nobody noticed
him or spoke to him, and gradually he appeared to
subside into slumber. His cigar went out, his body
sagged to one side, and his chin dropped forward
on his breast.
Meanwhile an interesting and animated discus-
sion was in progress among a group of persons
collected in front of the bar. The chief interlocu-
tors were two young men, one of whom was tall and
burly, while the other was dumpy and stout. The
argument had reference to the most effective
method of punishing your opponent in a fight. The
tall fellow (whose vocabulary was ornamented with
an array of epithets and expletives quite transcend-
ing the modest scope of a narrative like the present)
was advocating the time-honored usage of hitting


GOOLEY'S. 141
out straight from the shoulder; and he affirmed
with appalling emphasis that whoever should be
rash enough to attempt to conduct a personal dis-
pute on any other principle, would meet with a
catastrophe comparable only to the future experien-
ces of persons who have been noticeably deficient on
the moral side. The dumpy philosopher, on the
other hand, called the supreme architect of the uni-
verse to witness that no man of woman born was ever
yet knocked out by any but a round-handed blow:
and although this orator's eloquence was seriously
hampered by the fact that his coat was too big for
him, and that the sleeves had a habit of descending
and covering his hands in the midst of his most
expressive gestures, he nevertheless made out a
strong case for the swinging left-hander under the
ear, that knocks a man off his feet, and sends him
to sleep in his corner.
But the burly youth, by way of counteracting
whatever sympathy the audience might be inclined
to feel in the small man's theory, became so loud
and boisterous that, at length,the great Gooley him-
self felt called on to interpose, and gently to hint
to the vociferous debater that unless he refrained
from any further audible expression of his views, he
(Gooley) would cause his head to leave his should-
ers in an abrupt and painful manner. The gentle-
man thus appealed to seemed to be wounded by the
tone adopted by the intercessor; and after stating
in an undertone that his opinion of the company in
general could be much more favorable thdn it was


142 GOOLEY'S.
without becoming positively flattering, he swagger-
ed out, followed by a shower of those airy pleasan-
tries which are among the most charming features
of the Gooley phase of society.
After he was gone, the short theorist with the long
coat-sleeves desired Mr. Gooley to enlighten the
company as to whether his late interlocutor pro-
posed to set up as a fighting man?
Mr. Gooley replied that he was inclined to
suspect that the gentleman in question was more
proficient in the wielding of words than of fists.
He added that, in this peculiarity of character, the
aforesaid gentleman bore a strong typical resem-
blance to " Mike."
This reference to " Mike " elicited, from another
quarter, an expression of languid curiosity as to
what " Mike " was doing with himself. He had not
(it was remarked) obtruded himself upon the public
notice for several days past.
Mr. Gooley reassured the anxiety of inquirers by
the statement that Mike was " round." He had,
Mr. Gooley said, paid the bar a visit the other
night, to get a revolver which he had left there.
Some one here inquired, humorously, whether it
had been the intention of Mike to put any body to
death with the weapon alluded to?
Amidst the mirthful outbreak which this sally
produced, Mr. Gooley stated that he guessed not.
He then proceeded to explain the incident in detail.
Mike, it seems, had one night partaken of refresh-
ments at Mr. Gooley's expense, and when requested


GOOLEY'S. 143
to render a pecuniary equivalent for the same, had
declared his inability to do so. Inasmuch, how-
ever, as his host had a moment before seen him
bestow a roll of bills in histrowsers pockets, he was
inclined to adopt a skeptical attitude toward this
disclaimer; whereupon Mike—with the artless
artfulness of a child who has a new toy and wants
everyone to know it—extracted his revolver from
his hip-pocket and bade Mr. Gooley retain it as
collateral security. It was not (Mr. Gooley here
took occasion to observe) his custom to accept
lethal weapons in lieu of legal currency; but that
is a poor principle that will not bear stretching,
and he had stretched a point in the present instance.
Mike had retired; but had returned a couple of
nights before New Year's Day, and had redeemed
his pistol for the amount in which he was indebted.
After digesting the history of this financial opera-
tion, one of the company wished to know whether
the collateral security had possessed any consider-
able marketable value?
Mr. Gooley opined that it would probably have
been quoted at a price at least equal to that of the
refreshments against which it was deposited. It
was a white-handled, nickel-plated affair, for which
any licensed agent for the effecting of loans upon
personal property would have been willing to com-
mit himself to the extent of three or four dollars.
The dialogue continued, with that discursiveness
which characterizes spontaneous and untrammeled
conversation. Various topics were touched upon


144 GOOLEY'S.
and relinquished. Some of the company took their
departure. Others entered and joined those who
remained. Through it all, the stranger at the table
in the corner maintained undisturbed his attitude
of profound repose, emphasised occasionally by a
nasal signal of unconsciousness. His cap rested
upon his nose : one leg was extended in an attitude
of touching abandon. And yet, strange to say, the
eyes of this seeming slumberer were not only open,
but remarkably lively and observant ; and although
his ears presented a non-committal appearance,
there is every reason to believe that they, also, were
in a high state of functional activity. What could
be the meaning of this? Was it possible that this
apparently incapacitated individual was making
surreptitious studies of the character and conversa-
tion of Mr. Gooley's engaging intimates?
Be that as it might, he did not bestir himself
until the clock under the boxing-gloves pointed
to the midnight hour, and the last straggler on his
way homeward, had playfully bellowed in his ear,
"Change cars!" Then, and not till then, did the
shabby and taciturn guest arise slowly, stretch his
legs and arms, explore his pockets for a match to
light his cigar, and failing to find one, seek the
door with an uncertain step, and vanish into the
night with a mumbled adieu to the gallant and
gentlemanly proprietor of "Gooley's."
But the open air seemed to produce a marvelous
change in this drowsy and besotted individual.
His head erected itself, his shoulders straightened,


146 GOOLEY'S.
"Yes, but he redeemed it afterward."
"Before the murder?"
"It must have been only a few hours before, if
Gooley was correct in saying it was two days before
New Year's."
The inspector paced up and down the room
several times before making any comment on what
he had been told.
"Of course there may be something in this," he
said, finally, "but the probability is very slight.
We have clews much more promising than this ; and
yet the best of them is ambiguous enough. The
affair is one of the obscurest we have had, and it will
not be unraveled in a hurry. A dozen different
people may have pledged their revolvers for drinks,
and redeemed them about the time of the murder.
This revolver may not fit our bullet; and Gooley
may be mistaken in his date. However, we must
look up the fellow who owns it. What is his name?"
"They spoke of him as ' Mike.'"
"No other n? e?"
"I heard no other, and I could make no inquiries.
The set up there are as cunning as rats."
"We must get his name somehow," said the
inspector. "Let me see! Wasn't there a fellow
in that neighborhood—a man who has been arrested
once or twice—called Muggins?"
"Yes, there was, and he is in and out of Gooley's
now, occasionally."
"That will do. Can you find him?"
"I am sure I can, inspector."


148 GOOLEY'S.
perhaps, familiar with the proverb that a guilty con-
science is its own accuser, but he felt that he was
not showing to advantage.
"Then what was I brought here for?" he ven-
tured, assuming an air of virtuous candor that
suited him about as well as a fashionable lady's
spring bonnet would have done.
"The police seem to think that you are a bad
case. They report no good of you," said the
inspector, coldly. He was glancing over some writ-
ten notes on the table and held a pencil in his hand.
"It ain't my fault," replied Muggins, aggrievedly,
"I don't give 'em no cause."
"No cause? How long is it since you stole that
clothing from a house in Twenty-sixth Street?"
"I was arrested for that job," Muggins admitted,
"but they didn't prove it on me."
"You were given the benefit of a doubt. But
you showed how well you deserved mercy by rob-
bing that cigar dealer's till in Seventh Avenue."
"I only went in for a light," whined Muggins.
"Some one else must have taken the cash."
"It was found in your pockets."
"That was my own, inspector. I could have
proved it if they had given me a show."
"Do you work so hard as always to have fifteen
or twenty dollars about you? Don't come to me
with such stories as that?"
Muggins shuffled his feet uneasily and longed to
be elsewhere.
The inspector turned over his notes. "You


15° GOOLEY'S.
"Fred Banfield ?" hazarded Muggins.
"No, that other fellow—I have him here —"
"You don't mean Healy or Morrisey, do you?"
"Well, never mind at present," said the inspect-
or, after some further apparent examination of his
papers. "It's about yourself that I wish to speak.
We have information that a man has been robbed
in the neighborhood of Gooley's saloon. He was
intoxicated, but not so much so that he can not
identify the thief. One of Mike's gang is impli-
cated, and the best thing you can do is to make a
clean breast of the whole affair."
"But I don't know nothing about it—honest, I
don't!" exclaimed Muggins, with great earnest-
ness. "Since that last term in the penitentiary
I've been as straight as a string. Ask any of the
boys if I haven't."
"If you can clear yourself, well and good : that
remains to be seen; but I warn you that if it here-
after appears that you have lied to me, it will go
hard with you." Then he asked abruptly, " Where
were you last night between half-past twelve and
two o'clock?"
The fellow's face perceptibly brightened. "At
home !" he said. "At home and in bed! Oh, I
can prove that!"
"You can prove it, can you? Well, you may be
allowed an opportunity to do so," replied the
inspector, impassively. "Meanwhile, you will be
permitted to go; but I advise you to avoid asso-
ciating with persons who render you liable to sus-


GOOLEY'S. 151
picion. As soon as it becomes evident that you
are trying to lead an honest life you will find the
police on your side. But whatever illegal act you
commit will sooner or later be brought home to
you, and you will get your deserts. Now be
off!"
Muggins shrunk away with joy in his heart, and
perhaps a budding determination to reform in
earnest. For the inspector, while playing his little
comedy to extract information from the fellow, with-
out allowing him to suspect that he was being cross-
examined on quite other accounts than his own,
had given him some counsel in such a manner that
he would be likely to remember it. It is the office
of the authorities to prevent crime quite as much
as to detect and punish it; and the best officers
never fail to recognize this truth and to act upon
it.
Being left to himself, the chief detective rose
from his chair and took a few turns up and down
the room, a dry smile stirring beneath his mus-
tache.
"Mike McGloin, Fred Banfield, Healy and Mor-
risey," he repeated to himself. "Thanks to Mug-
gins, I have made the acquaintance of those gen-
try, and I shall not forget them. The next thing
to be done is to discover whether McGloin and
Evans are one and the same person. Should it
turn out so, he will have a chance to explain how
it happens that the bullet that killed Louis Hanier
is the bullet that fits his pistol. And if so much


IS2 GOOLDY'S.
can be established, then we may fairly hope for
something more.
"But, after all, the silver cigarette case looks to
be a more promising clew. It is about time that
some news was received from that quarter."


CHAPTER XII.
BAL-MASQUE.
ON the night of January 19th, 1882, there was
unwonted stir and bustle on East Fourteenth
Street. The windows of the Academy of Music
were all alight, the adjoining streets swarmed with a
crowd on foot and in carriages, and the rhythmical
beat of music sounded from within above the
tumultuous roar and confusion of the throng out-
side. It was a clear, cold night, such as makes the
steps and the spirits lively. But what was going
on? Did any Prima donna, even the only Patti
herself, even attract so vast and promiscuous an
audience? And what were these figures, clad in
grotesque or brilliant costumes, and with masks on
their faces, who filled the hacks and carriages, and
were continually alighting at the entrance and
disappearing at the door? Was this an opera in
which the entire body of spectators played and
dressed the parts.
It was something of that kind, for it was the
annual French ball—one of the few surviving
picturesque features of New York life. It occu-
pies a unique position among metropolitan amuse-


154 BAL-MASQUE.
ments: its end and aim being as innocent and
beneficent as those of the charity ball, and the
fashionable world being still, to a large extent,
either secretly or openly its patrons: while at the
same time the lights of the nether world, who, during
the rest of the year suffer involuntary eclipse within
their apportioned limits, shine out on this simple
occasion with a sinister and exultant brilliancy,
and strive to make amends to themselves for their
three hundred and sixty-four days' pariah-hood.
Such a contrast and combination are not seen else-
where : and it is no marvel that the French masqued
ball is looked forward to with intense curiosity by
one-half of the community, and with undisguised
eagerness by the other. In that vast ball-room, vice
and respectability, if they do not go arm in arm, at
least stand shoulder to shoulder; and possibly the
impartial observer (could there be such a one)
might smile a little sadly to find that the points of
difference between the two opposing elements
should appear so few, and the points of resemblance
so many.
But, leaving aside the ethical aspects of the spec-
tacle, it would be difficult to exaggerate its fasci-
nation as a mere feast to the eye and ear. The
mighty hall is glorious with drapery of flags and
sparkle of lights, a glowing splendor of color and
effulgence. The broad semicircular sweep of boxes
and balconies is alive with the flutter of lace, the
sheen of silk and satin, the waving of feathers and
the gleam of jewelry. On the spacious floor the


BAL MASQUE. 155
scene is still more brilliantly bewildering. There
gayety lays aside restraint, and prudence forgets to
be reserved. The blaze of lights encompasses and
shines down upon an area swarming with rainbow
tints and gaudy with gold and tinsel. The radiance
is caught up and multiplied by the facets of pre-
cious gems, and by eyes not less bright in hue and
luster. Fantastic head-gear and grotesque masks
sway and mingle, the flotsam and jetsam of a hu-
man sea; gay dominoes flutter, rich robes rustle,
glance flashes to glance in challenge and reply,
white shoulders shine and shapely arms rise and
fall; a thousand shifting forms, graceful, stately,
comic, awkward, are meeting, parting, swinging,
flying, changing, in a polychromatic chaos. Here
are knights in armor, gallant cavaliers, motley
clowns, checkered harlequins, queens and gypsies,
pages and paladins, flower-girls and goddesses,
wild Indians and water nymphs—all the characters
that imagination could suggest or fancy describe
Strangely contrasting with this carnival attire were
the black dress-coats and white shirt fronts of
various unmasked guests, who strayed across the
floor and lounged against the walls. Here and
there a circle of onlookers formed round a group
of the more fantastic and reckless dancers, and
their cheers, jeers, laughter and hubbub floated up
to the lofty roof, and were absorbed and lost in the
throbbing tones of musical melody that flowed
through all and over all, intoxicating the brain and
firing the blood, stimulating, harmonizing and


156 BAL-MASQUE.
transfiguring every thing. The pendant banners
trembled, and the warm air was rich with indistin-
guishable perfumes.
From before nine o'clock until long after mid-
night- the crowd continued to augment, and the
fun to grow faster and more furious. In the
streets without, the vehicles were massed so thickly
that one could have crossed from side to side
by walking on their roofs. Innumerable were
cries, oaths, complaints and objurgations proceed-
ing from the drivers of these jammed and strug-
gling conveyances ; and the policemen on duty had
need of iron lungs and endurance, adamantine
firmness and imperturbable temper, to keep the
mass in any thing approaching to order, and to pro-
vide those who were trying to get in with an oppor-
tunity to overcome the opposition of those who were
struggling to get away.
One of these vehicles, a handsome private coupe,
demands our particular attention. It was in the
line of approach, and would probably arrive at the
entrance in less than ten minutes. Its occupants
were two women, one clad in an orange, the other
in a blue domino; and at this moment they were
conversing earnestly together in the French lan-
guage.
"You are quite sure you understand what you
are to do, Elise ?" said the blue domino.
"Perfectly, madame. And, at the worst, I do
not see how there can be any danger."
"Ah! if my husband were to discover our expe-


BAL-MASQUE. 157
dition !" exclaimed the blue domino, with a nervous
movement of the shoulders.
"We need not fear that; there can be no doubt
that he went to Philadelphia by the evening train.
He can not return before to-morrow."
"I can not feel easy. I should have told him
every thing. I wish I had!"
"The letter was particular in saying that he must
know nothing about it."
"Ah! but a letter that is anonymous! If the
writer meant honestly, why should he not sign his
name? Besides, I can not imagine what it is that
he would say to me. Louis is dead, and there is
no one else but my husband; yet the letter says,
'to give you important news of one very near to
you.' Who can it be?"
"That we shall soon find out, madame," replied
she who was called Elise ; "and at all events no
harm can come to you. The person—whoever he
is—will speak to the orange domino, who wears a
diamond in her left ear and a ruby in her right.
You have caused me to dress myself in that way;
so it is to me that he will address himself, and if I
find what he has to say is really of importance I
will excuse myself for a moment and we can put
our scheme in execution. If, on the contrary, he
is an impostor, it will be easy for us to give him the
slip, and retire."
"Well," said the other with an anxious sigh, "I
will hope that no calamity may occur. For heaven's
sake, Elise, be careful to make no mistake. Do


158 BAL-MASQUE.
you remember the directions as to where you are
to meet him?"
"Trust me, I have them by heart. And now,
here we are!"
The carriage stopped as she spoke, and an
attendant in the dress of a Mousquetaire opened the
door. The ladies alighted and hastened up the
steps, over which a red carpet had been thrown.
Passing through the door, where their tickets were
taken by another costumed official, they made their
way to the ladie's drawing-room, and thence to the
balcony, whence they desired to take a preliminary
inspection of the house and company, and, if
possible, to pick out the person whom they were to
meet—for he had minutely described the fashion
of his disguise.
"At first the spectacle impressed them as one of
mere gorgeous confusion and intricate movement,
amid which it was impossible to distinguish sepa-
rate figures. By degrees, however, they became
somewhat accustomed to the splendid turmoil and
were able to discriminate between the dancers and
the on-lookers, and then to pick out certain noticea-
ble individuals. But they looked in vain for the
man in the white doublet and hose, with the blue
star on his back and the empty bird cage in his
hand, such being the costume of the unknown
writer of the letter. It was a dress likely to be
conspicuous even in so bewildering an assemblage
as this: nevertheless, if he had as yet arrived, he
escaped their scrutiny. But it was only a quarter


160 BAL-MASQUE.
my fare, and puttin' the change in my purse, when
he drives up in a hansom and jumps out right
forninst me. He had his domino on then—a red
one it was—and the mask on his face, but he took
a roll of notes out of his pocket, and lookin' for a
dollar bill amongst 'em, he shoves up the mask on
his forehead out of the way. I suspected him
afore, but I knew him then as well as I know the
taste of a glass of whisky."
"It's lucky I happened to be on hand," muttered
the thin man, half to himself. "It was just a
chance; I dropped in on my way down to the
office. He didn't have the woman with him, you
say?" he added.
"He had not, sir; leastways she wasn't in the
hansom with him, but mebbe he came here to meet
her."
"I'd like to know what he did come here for, by
the way," muttered the other; "and I'll find out,
too, if my luck continues. Can't you see him yet?"
"Faith, 'tis as bad as tryin' to count the stars
when you're drunk!" said McBride, screwing up
his eyes and drawing his brows together. "'Twould
be a tough job enough if they'd all of 'em stand
still ; but movin' around that way—I can't do it,
young man, and that's all about it."
"Come down stairs again, then," said the thin
man; "we may come across him in the halls or on
the floor;" and rising abruptly he led the way out,
moving with a sort of shambling gait, while the
hackman stumped heavily after him. ,


162 BAL-MASQUE.
have been the one who drove you. Look there!"
she exclaimed, suddenly breaking off, and pointing
down on the floor. "No—there! under the great
flag at the corner of the stage. There he is—white
doublet, blue star, bird-cage and all. Come,
madam, since you have risked so much, do not let
us give up at the last moment! Remember that
it is I who am to speak with him."
"It is fortunate," returned the other, in a tremu-
lous tone. "I am so alarmed I could do nothing,
no matter how great the urgency. I do not com-
prehend, Elise, how you can be so self-possessed.
You are even different from usual."
"1 feel different," answered the girl, laughing
and rising. "My mask makes me feel free. It is
as if I were invisible. I am afraid of nothing and
of nobody. I never realized till now how delighful
it is to be emancipated from one's self. People
who are tired of the world should put on masks;
it would relieve them as much as suicide, and they
could return to themselves when they choose, which
suicides can not. I am sure this must be the reason
why the French ball is so popular."
"It is horrible !" returned the lady in the blue
domino, dismally; I wish I was safe away from it."
Nevertheless, she permitted her companion to
lead her down stairs, and on to the floor of the great
ball-room. Here they threaded their way in and
out as best they might, until they found themselves
near that part of the hall which had been designated
as the trysting-place. This was on the right-hand


BAL-MASQUE. 163
side of the stage, about four paces beyond the
first stage-box. It had the advantage of being
somewhat removed from the throng of revelers;
and, as Elise at once perceived, it was also desir-
able for another reason. A broad piece of red
baize was stretched from the edge of the box to one
of the flies further up the stage, serving as a tem-
porary partition wall between the stage and the
outer regions behind the scenes ; but also affording
an excellent place of concealment, from behind
which a person could hear all that was said on the
hither side of it.
Rapidly explaining this circumstance to the lady
in the blue domino, Elise looked about for an aper-
ture through which the hiding-place might be
reached, and she soon found a crevice between two
of the upright beams supporting the awning, veiled
by a curtain of drapery, and just wide enough to
admit of a person slipping through it. The two
ladies passed through accordingly, and proceeded
amid odds and ends of scenery and other theatri-
cal lumber to the rear of the red baize partition.
Here she left her ensconced in a sort of accidental
inclosure of " flats " and packing-cases and returned
to the stage, where she found the personage in the
white doublet awaiting her, his bird-cage in his
hand.
She passed slowly in front of him without appear-
ing to notice him, but as soon as he caught sight of
her, he approached, scrutinized her carefully for a
moment, and then said, stepping in front of her,


164 BALMASQUE.
"Good-evening, orange flower! Have you seen
my parrot?"
"I have," replied Elise, "And it told me I should
find Sugar-loaf here."
"So here we are !" replied the white doublet.
This intellectual bit of dialogue had been pre-
scribed beforehand by the writer of the anonymous
letter to complete the identification of the inter-
locutors to one another, and prevent any possibility
of mistake.
As soon as the words had been spoken, the
stranger continued in an undertone, " It is all right.
Come with me to a place where we can talk at our
ease."
"No!" said Elise, in a disguised tone, but
promptly and decidedly. "You must speak here
or not at all. What do you want with me?" She
had withdrawn a few steps, and now stood within a
few inches of the baize partition, on the other side
of which the lady in the blue domino was ensconced.
"Just as you like," rejoined the other, coming
close to her. "It is more to your interest than to
mine that we should not be overheard. I want to
speak to you about a person called Louis Han-
ier."
The girl was silent a moment, then she said
quietly, " Well, I am listening."
"I know the nature of your relations with him,
and it depends upon me whether they are made
known to every one. Do you understand?"
"I had no relations with him which I should be


BALMASQUE. 165
unwilling to have known. Is that all you have to
tell me?"
"It is no use taking that tone with me," replied
the man. "I know what- I am talking about.
Hanier was your lover. It was a suspicion of that
fact that caused your husband to dismiss him some
years ago. You continued to receive him secretly.
At your last meeting with him, shortly before his
death, you were seen to embrace him—him, a man
who had been your butler! You were in the habit
of giving him presents. The last present you gave
him was . . . shall I go on?
"If you please," was the answer, still in an
indifferent tone.
"Very well; it was a silver cigarette case belong-
ing to your husband. You see, I know what I am
talking about."
"That may be, but I do not see your object in
saying it."
"Let me tell you a little more then. Your hus-
band, for a reason of which you were not then
aware, happened to want that cigarette case a short
time after you had given it to Hanier. He asked
you for it ; you were frightened and tried to per-
suade him that it was lost; but finally his questions
and determination cowed you, and you confided the
whole truth to him."
"What truth?" inquired Elise.
"That you had given the box to Hanier and that
he was your lover."
"That is false !" said the girl, calmly.


166 BAL-MASUUE.
Her self-possession and intrepidity apparently
irritated the other; for he replied sternly, and in a
voice no longer disguised as heretofore. "You
know it is the truth, and I will show you that I
know it. On the evening after your confession to
your husband, you and he went together in a hack
to Hanier's house. It was closed up for the night;
but you obtained admittance, leaving your husband
in the hack. You told Hanier that every thing was
discovered ; and, at your entreaty he gave you back
the silver box. You then drove back with your
husband, and went into your house with him."
"Go on !" said the girl. Her manner had altered
during the last few moments, and she was listening
more intently than before, and fixed a searching
gaze upon the man in front of her.
"Your husband had recovered his box," the latter
resumed, "and so far he was content; but Hanier's
existence remained a continual danger to him. In
the first place, Hanier might have become acquaint-
ed with the secret contents of the box, and might
thereby do him serious harm in certain important
respects; and in the second place, Hanier had it in
his power to disgrace him socially by disclosing
your intrigue. These were your husband's motives
for doing what he did. I suppose you don't wish
me to tell you what that was?"
"That is the only part of your story about which
I feel any curiosity," returned the girl, with a tran-
quil air.
The other gazed at her in manifest astonishment.


168 BAL-MASQUE.
acquainted with all the details of it. It is enough
to say, for the present, that your husband is entirely
in the confidence of this organization, and has in
possession all its secrets, and many of its most im-
portant documents. These he keeps under lock
and key, and in various safe places. You must find
out what they are, get access to them, and commu-
nicate them to me. Unless you promise to do this,
I will denounce him to the police. This is my offer.
What do you say to it?"
"Will you tell me who you are ?" demanded the
girl, after a pause.
"You will know at the proper time. But I must
have your promise first."
"I have recognized you for some time past, said
the girl, fixing her eyes upon his with a penetrating
look. "If you had known me it would have been
better for you. I am not the person to whom you
wrote your letter. I saw that letter. You omitted
to sign it; but I will tell you the name which should
have been written there was Robert Johnson!"
Although the man in the white doublet was care-
fully masked, there could be no doubt that this
statement electrified and discomfitted him. It was
entirely unexpected. Although he knew by sight
the lady whom he supposed to be in the orange
domino, he had never spoken with her, and had
therefore been at little or no pains to disguise his
voice. But the lady who actually was in the orange
domino, whom her friend and employer chose to
call Elise, but whom the reader has long since re-


BAL-MASQUE. 169
cognized as Lizzie Pond—this young lady, as it is
needless to remark, was familiar with every intona-
tion of Robert Johnson's speech, and with his every
movement and gesture. While carefully guarding
her own incognito, therefore, she had had no diffi-
culty in penetrating his disguise ; and had been in-
terested less by the story he unfolded about Colonel
and Mrs. Desmond, than by the odd light which
his revelations and demands threw upon his own
character. Who was this Robert Johnson to whom
she had trusted so implicitly, and whom she had
allowed herself to care for so much? That he could
not be what he had hitherto given himself out to be
was certain; but whether he was a robber, a black-
mailer, or something even more sinister and unde-
sirable, was more than she could determine.
It should be observed, moreover, that Mrs. Des-
mond had, within the foregoing few days, held some
private and confidential interviews with Lizzie, the
effect of which had been to modify the latter's views
as to the former's conduct and responsibility.
Lizzie no longer considered the French lady to have
been guilty of any serious breach of her wifely obli-
gations; while as to the charge of murder, she had
not until then conceived of the possibility of such
a thing, and had repelled it with scornful incredu-
lity. Meanwhile, she had had the presence of mind
to suppress the manifestation of her opinions, and,
in the assumed character of Mrs. Desmond, to lead
Johnson on to disclose all his cards, and then to
nonplus him with the revelation that it was not to


170 BAL-MASQUE.
Mrs. Desmond, but to some other and (to him) un-
known person that he had been speaking.
But Johnson,though worsted for the moment, was
not a man to receive a blow without attempting to
return it ; and in a moment he stepped forward
with hand outstretched, intending to tear the mask
from the incognita's face. She divined his purpose,
and retreated ; at that moment there was a scream
from behind the red baize screen, followed by a
cracking and rending noise, and ending in a crash,
which protected her for the time-being.
, This is what had happened. Mrs. Desmond, on
being left alone in her retreat behind the scenes,
had presently applied herself to hear what she
could of the dialogue that was going on within a
few feet of her ear. Before long, however, she
became aware that her seclusion was being invaded.
There was a noise of feet shuffling over the bare
boards of the floor and of voices conversing in a
cautious undertone. Peeping through a crack
between two boards she saw five men standing at a
little distance and talking earnestly. They were
all clad in long red dominoes and white silk masks;
but one or two of them presuming upon the sup-
posed security of their position, had removed the
latter. The light was so dim in this region that she
could not clearly distinguish the features of these
persons ; but from what she could see of them, they
did did not strike her as being familiar.
All of a sudden she heard a stealthy step close
at hand; and shifting her position she was able to


H2 BAL-MASQUE.
a hubbub of one sort or another. The five men in
red dominos scattered at once, replacing their masks
as they did so ; and the mysterious personage in
black was nowhere to be seen. The lady in the
orange domino glided round behind the boxes and
reached a private door opening on the lobby, along
which she passed rapidly towards the entrance.-
The man in white marked the direction she had
taken and started in pursuit, but a crowd of half-
drunken revellers had rushed in to inspect the scene
of the catastrophe and blocked his way. He turned
and made his way with difficulty across the floor of
the ball room; but though he reached the front of
the house in a few minutes, all trace of the orange
domino had disappeared.
Lizzie Pond, on finding herself free, had quickly
removed her domino, and reversing it, put it on
again with the inner side out. This side was blue, and
she had no longer any need to fear recognition. It
had previously been arranged between Mrs. Des-
mond and herself that in case of accident they were
to rendezvous in the ladies' dressing-room. Thither
Lizzie now betook herself, and to her great relief
found Mrs. Desmond already awaiting her.
That lady was, not unnaturally, in a state of
agitation: she informed her companion of her dis-
covery of Colonel Desmond and expressed appre-
hension lest he should get home before them and
so become aware of her absence. But Lizzie
reminded her that the colonel, having announced
that he was going to Philadelphia, could not reason-


CHAPTER XIII.
Cross-examined.
ON the following afternoon, about three o'clock,
a despatch was handed to Inspector Byrnes at
the Central Office. The effect of it was to make
him instantly take his hat and hurry from the
building.
It will be remembered that the Shambling Man,
in his pursuit of the silver cigarette case, had come
to a stop at the loan establishment of Mr. Solomon
Sibley. The case, he learned, had indeed been
pawned there; but it had also been redeemed on
the evening before his arrival, and by the same per-
son (according to his information) who pawned it.
Beyond this point, he had been at fault; and though
he had been unrelaxing in his efforts to trace it
since then, nothing had come of them.
The reader, better informed than the Shambling
Man, is aware that the pawning of the case was
witnessed by Robert Johnson, and that the latter,
for reasons known to himself, had prepared a fac
simile of the pawn ticket, had disguised himself so
as to roughly answer the description of the owner
of the case, and had succeeded in obtaining it. He



CROSS-EXAMINED. 17S
had then discovered and removed a paper which it
contained; and there our information also came to
an end.
That Johnson, however, was not an ordinary
thief, must already have been obvious. His designs,
whatever they were, were more far-reaching and
deeply-laid than could be held consistent with ordi-
nary robbery. We shall be prepared to expect,
therefore, that the cigarette case, though a hand-
some and valuable object in itself, was not the thing
which had aroused his cupidity. The extraordinary
value attached to it by its owner had stimulated his
curiosity and suspicion, which the discovery of the
paper had apparently justified ; but, the paper hav-
ing been secured, he had no further use for the
cigarette case; in fact, its peculiar and noticeable
appearance rendered it, under the circumstances,
a rather embarrassing thing to have about him.
He might sell it, destroy it, throw it away, or pawn
it. Upon consideration, he adopted the last-men-
tioned course. By doing so there would be a
chance, at least, that the rightful owner would
ultimately get it again.
His first idea was to return it to the safe-keeping
of the worthy Mr. Solomon Sibley, but he reflected
that this might involve him in difficulties. He
would be obliged, in the first place, to resume his
disguise; and again, Mr. Sibley might feel some
excusable surprise at seeing this little silver box
appear and disappear so often within so short a
space of time. There were, however, plenty of


176 CROSS-EXAMINED.
other pawn shops available, where neither he nor
the box was known ; and to one of them, on the
day following the French ball, he betook himself.
It happened to be situated in the Bowery, not far
above the corner of Prince Street.
He went in, and handed it over the counter to
one of the clerks. The latter turned it over in his
fingers, glanced at the customer, and retired to-
ward the back of the shop. Three or four min-
utes passed, and, as he did not return, Johnson
rapped on the counter. The clerk presently reap-
peared.
"Well," said Johnson, " what are you going to
give me on that thing?"
"We can't tell yet," replied the clerk, "we've
got to test it to see what it's worth."
"It can't take long to do that," said John-
son.
"The boss is eating his dinner," was the reply.
"He'll fix it in a minute or two."
After some further waiting, Johnson became
impatient.
"Look here," he said, " if your boss is going in
for a banquet with fourteen courses, I won't trouble
him. I'm in a hurry. Give me back the box, and
I'll try and find somebody who doesn't prefer eating
to business!"
"That's all right," the clerk replied. "He won't
be a minute. He's to work on it now."
Something in the fellow's manner struck Johnson
with a shadow of misgiving.


CROSS-EXAMINED. 177
"Give me it back," he said. "I don't want any
funny business. Give it back, do you hear!"
"It's coming," said the clerk: "it's coming—
don't you fret. Here it is!"
As he spoke, some one entered the shop, ex-
changed a glance with the clerk, and then walked
up to Johnson and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"I've been wanting you some time," he said,
in a pleasant voice. "Would you mind stepping
round the corner with me?"
Johnson turned and looked at him. He was a
good-looking man, of about forty years of age, and
of strong and active build. He recognized him at
once, though he had never had any personal inter-
course with him before.
"You are Inspector Byrnes, are you not?"
said he.
The inspector nodded. "That is my name," he
replied. He nodded to the clerk, who handed
over to him the cigarette case. "Now we're
ready," he added.
"I should like to know what I'm wanted for,"
said Johnson.
"I'm going to tell you. It's nothing much. But
we can talk it over more comfortably at my office.
Come along."
The Englishman shrugged his shoulders, but
knew better than to resist. The inspector slipped
a hand beneath his arm, and in a few minutes they
were in Mulberry Street, and in the inspector's
room. The latter took his seat at the table, and in


i78 cross-examined.
response to his questions, the prisoner gave this
account of himself:
"My name is Robert Johnson," he said. "I live
in Pacific Avenue, Jersey City. I am an English-
man—have been in America less than a year. I
am an engraver by profession, and am employed in
the office of an Engraving Company in this city."
The inspector made notes of these replies, and
then seemed to fall into a reverie, stroking his
mustache and studying the carpet. Suddenly he
looked up and asked, "Do you know many people
in New York?"
"Not a great many," Johnson answered. "Chiefly
the employes in the office. I have made the
acquaintance of a few persons in Jersey City."
"Who is your landlady over there?"
"Mrs. Pond."
"How do you amuse yourself?"
"I go to the theater occasionally. Sometimes I
take a trip down the bay, or up to Highbridge.
Last night I was at the French ball."
"Have a good time?" inquired the inspector,
carelessly, flipping a speck of dust off the sleeve
of his coat.
"Rather too good, I fancy," the other replied.
"Who's the manager of your office?" was the
next question, asked abruptly.
"His name is Colonel Hugh Desmond."
"Do you know him?"
"Yes, I know him quite well; and he knows me."
"I guess you're all right," observed the inspector,


CROSS-EXAMINED. 179
slowly. He leaned back in his chair and crossed
his legs. Then, as if from a passing curiosity, he
asked, "Whom do you go to the theater and down
the bay with, as a general thing?"
Johnson hesitated for the first time. But he
reflected that prevarication would only do harm, and
presently replied, though with reluctance," I gen-
erally go with a young lady."
"I see! Some one you're interested in, I sup-
pose. Known her long?"
"Ever since I lived in Jersey City. She is my
landlady's daughter."
"You live in the same house with her, then?"
"No; she is engaged as companion to a lady in
this city."
"Ah! What lady is that?"
Again Johnson hesitated. "Mrs. Desmond," he
said at last. "Colonel Desmond's wife. I recom-
mended her for the place myself."
"I see! That makes it a convenient arrange-
ment all round," the inspector remarked, with an
air of friendly interest, "So you went to the ball
together last night, did you?"
"No; I didn't want to take her to a place like
that; I went alone."
"Well, a man likes to get off and see a bit of the
world once in a while. It's a pretty lively affair,
the French ball, especially after midnight. Did
you pick up any acquaintances there?"
"I met no one that I knew before. But I did
make some acquaintances."


180 CROSS-EXAMINED.
"Well, I don't know as I will detain you any
longer, Mr. Johnson," said the inspector, throwing
down his pencil and sitting erect. "By the way,
though," he continued, putting his hand in his
pocket and producing the cigarette case, " I'd like
to have you tell me how you came into possession
of this thing?"
"I'll tell you all I know," replied Johnson, com-
posedly; "but the fact is I don't recollect much
about it. I saw it for the first time last night."
"Picked it up at the ball, eh? Found it on the
floor of the dining-room, perhaps?"
"No, not exactly," said the other, who had
already made up his mind as to the stcry he would
tell. "I found it in my pocket this morning, when
I woke up. I didn't know at first how it came there.
But by and by some of the circumstances came
back to me. I had taken some champagne early
in the evening, and as I'm not accustomed to drink-
ing, it went to my head. I danced a few times,
and got mixed up with a number of people. Every
body was masked, and there didn't seem to be any
need of introductions. At twelve o'clock the masks
were taken off, and I went with some of the people
—three or four, I should think—to get something
more to drink. It went on from one thing to
another, and at last I suppose I got pretty full.
There was a man there who said he was an En-
glishman, and seemed to take a great fancy to me.
I can't recall all that we did and said ; my memory
began to get queer about that time. But I recol-


184 COLONEL DESMOKD.
to find it, if it be possible to do so. I hope that
you will at least give me good advice in the matter."
"What is the article which you have lost, col-
onel?"
"A silver cigarette case—Russian Niello work—
with a monogram on the back of it."
The inspector's face did not change a muscle as
the colonel made this startling and utterly unex-
pected statement.
"What were the letters in the monogram?" he
inquired, after a moment.
"My own initials—' H. D.'"
"' H. D !'" repeated the inspector to himself.
"Can that be the same? We read it 'L. H.' But
the ' D ' and the ' L ' would look about the same.
This must be it." Aloud he said, " What were the
dimensions of the case, colonel?"
"About three or four inches long, I should say,
and less than three wide. It was solid silver, gilt
inside. Such a box could not be bought for less
than fifty dollars."
"When and how did you lose it?"
"That is a question that can't be answered so
readily as you might suppose," replied the other,
drawing his brows together. "But I may say that
I finally lost track of it to-day."
"Do you mean that you lost the box, or that it
was stolen from you?"
"I had reason to believe that I knew where it
was: but on going there to get it I found that it
had been taken."


COLONEL DESMOND. 185
"Where had you reason to think that it was?"
"Well—in a pawnbroker's shop!"
"If you want me to help you to recover this box,
Colonel Desmond," said the inspector, coldly,
"you will have to put me in possession of all the
details of the story. If there is any cause for your
objecting to do that, of course I have no more to say."
"Well, I suppose I shall have to tell you the
story: it is rather a queer one. It came about
this way : I first missed the box about a month ago
—toward the end of last month. It was taken
from a drawer of my table."
"Do you know by whom?"
"My suspicions were drawn in a certain direc-
tion—toward a member of my own household, in
fact: but I had no direct evidence, and—and I did
not desire any : I can not explain myself more fully
than that. My object was to recover the box: I
could afford to suspend inquiries as to how it had
disappeared."
"Yes. Go on."
"I made my determination known, and some time
afterward I was put in possession of a pawn ticket:
the box had been pawned, and the ticket would
serve to redeem it."
"What was the number of the pawn ticket?"
"Nine hundred and eighty-three."
"Who was the pawnbroker?"
"His name was Solomon Sibley, and he does
business on Third Avenue above Twenty-third
Street,"


186 COLONEL DESMOND.
"Well, what action did you take upon that?"
"This morning I took the ticket and went down
to the pawn shop. I presented it to the person
there and demanded the box. He examined the
ticket and seemed surprised. He went off and spoke
to some one else and finally came back and told
me the box had been redeemed some time ago."
"How could it have been redeemed if you held
the ticket?"
"That is just what I asked Mr. Sibley. He
replied that the ticket had been presented by the
person to whom the box had been delivered; that
it had been compared with the stub and found to
correspond, and that there his concern about the
matter ended. He admitted, however, that the
ticket in my possession looked as ' genuine ' as the
other, and it was evident that one of them must be
a forgery. But I am certain that mine is not, and
therefore the other must have been."
"It would be easy enough to forge a pawn
ticket," observed the inspector; "but to get the
correct number and the specification of the article
pawned on that number seems difficult. Have you
any theory as to how it was done?"
"None whatever," replied the colonel, emphatic-
ally."
The inspector meditated for a few moments.
"What was the date at which the box was pledged
at Sibley's?" he demanded at length.
"I think it was the last day of last year—Decem-
ccmber 31st."


COLONEL DESMOND. 187
"You allowed it to remain there some time, then,
before attempting to redeem it?"
The colonel bit his lip. "Well," he said, "of
course my chief object was to know that it was
safe. I had no actual immediate use for it, and
with the ticket in my possession I knew that the
box was as secure as if it had been in my pocket,
or more so. Besides, I'm a busy man, and to-day
happened to be the first time that I found it con-
venient to look it up."
"To be sure!" responded the inspector, upon
whom the symptoms of the colonel's embarrassment
were not lost. "Now, how long a time elapsed
between the pawning of the box and your obtaining
the pawn ticket?"
The colonel reddened slightly. "I couldn't say
precisely; not more than three or four days, at
most. I didn't make a note of the day."
"Three or four days would be ample time to
execute a counterfeit of the ticket. What hinders
the conclusion that the person who took the box
and pawned it, had a counterfeit of the ticket made
before handing the original one to you?"
"I greatly doubt if that was the way of it,"
replied the colonel, shaking his head. And then he
added, " A good reason for doubting it is, that the
forged ticket was not presented until several days
after the original had been given to me. If the
forger had been the same person who took the box,
he would not have delayed an hour to use his coun-
terfeit."


188 COLONEL DESMOND.
"Yes, that seems reasonable," the other assented.
"It appears that there must have been at least
three persons concerned in the affair. First, your-
self; then, the person in your own household who
took the box: and thirdly, the person who pre-
sented the forged ticket. It is the identity of this
third person that remains to be fixed. When he
presented the ticket he must have been seen by
Sibley or his clerk. Did they give you a descrip-
tion of him?"
"They said he was an elderly man with a beard;
in fact, the clerk asserted that he took the man to
be myself. He said he had recognized him at once."
The inspector looked his visitor steadily in the
face, and said quietly, " You have not told me that
the clerk already knew you. If he mistook the
counterfeiter for you, the implication is that he was
familiar with your appearance beforehand."
The colonel was wholly unprepared for this thrust,
and he reddened again perceptibly, and for some
moments was unable to frame a reply. "I meant—
I expressed myself awkwardly—what I intended to
say was," he stammered out at length, "that when
the clerk saw me he thought I was the same per-
son as had presented the forged ticket."
The inspector smiled inwardly : he was beginning
to see his way. The colonel had evidently been
trying to conceal something—the fact, namely, that
it was he himself who had pawned the cigarette
case. The inspector had, for some time past,
entertained a suspicion of the truth; it remained


COLONEL DESMOND. 189
now to confirm it. But before attempting this he
sought enlightenment on another matter.
"I understand your meaning now," he said,
"and the inference is that the counterfeiter either,
actually resembled you, or, what is much more prob-
able, made himself up to look like you. Now, let
us see if we can not make a guess at him. You
are the manager of a large printing and engraving
company, are you not?"
"I am: but I fail to see any connection—"
"I am only suggesting a hypothesis. There are,
of course, a number of employes in the office, and
several of these must be personally known to you.
Can you think of any one of them with whom your
relations are especially close ?—any one who, in the
routine of business, is obliged to communicate with
you often, either at the office or in your own
home?"
"There is only one man answering that descrip-
tion," replied the colonel, after some consideration,
"and he is a person in whom I place particular con-
fidence. I have a high esteem for him, both as a
servant of the company and personally. He is a
young Englisman, and he came to us eight or nine
months ago with excellent recommendations. His
name is Robert Johnson. It would be impossible
to connect him with any suspicion in the matter.
Besides, he could have no possible motive in med-
dling with it."
"Well, then we must look elsewhere, that's all,"
remarked the inspector, to whom this confirmation


COLONEL DESMOND, 191
watch that Mr. Sibley had so unctiously described
to the Shambling Man, and the incongruity of
which with raising a five-dollar loan had so
impressed him. It was Colonel Desmond, then,
who had pledged the cigarette case ; it was Colonel
Desmond who had gone after midnight to Hanier's
shop to reclaim it from him; it was Colonel Des-
mond's wife who had presented it as a Christmas
gift to Hanier: and it was the nature of the rela-
tions between Hanier and the Desmonds that now
called for elucidation. That those relations would
prove to have had some connection with the French
wine merchant's violent end seemed scarcely open
to doubt. The Shambling Man had been on the
right track after all. As to the minor mysteries—
why the colonel set such a value upon the cigarette
case, and who the enemy was who had so cleverly
got it away from him—these were points which
could afford to wait for investigation. The main
thing was, could the respectable and wealthy colonel
be proved guilty of the murder of the obscure and
impecunious tradesman?
Evidently, the best way of confirming the sus-
picion that Colonel Desmond deserved hanging was
to give him plenty of rope wherewith to hang him-
self. No misgiving must be allowed to enter his
mind that he was being subjected to the scrutiny of
the law. He must be permitted to exercise entire
freedom of action, and sooner or later he would
forge the links of his own conviction. His associ-
ates would be discovered, his aims revealed, his


192 COLONEL DESMOND.
past record laid bare. And at the ripened moment
the law would step in, with the manacles and the
noose.
As Colonel Desmond was preparing to take his
departure, the inspector tried a final and artistic
little experiment upon his nerves, the result of which
was not unsatisfactory.
"Before you go," he said, " let me be sure that
I have got all the details correct. The case was
pawned, I think you said, on the thirtieth of Decem-
ber?"
"The thirty-first, I believe. The thirtieth was a
Sunday."
"Very true,—you are right," the other rejoined.
"The other date was connected with an event so
important to me that I probably named it inadvert-
ently."
"Yes? What event was that?"
"The murder of Louis Hanier. You remember
it?"
The colonel dropped one of his fur gloves, and
stooped to pick it up.
"I—yes—I recall it now: it was about that
time," he said. "The man was formerly in my
employ, and a very worthy fellow, I believe. Good-
day!"
"I will see you again, colonel," said the inspector,
opening the door with a smile. "Till then—good
day!"
An hour later, the Shambling Man had been
summoned, and the inspector had given him a sue-


COLONEL DESMOND. 195
was by the merest accident, as you know, that we
happened upon traces of it."
"Very true," said the Shambling Man: "I am
convinced you are right."
"It must have been an accident, also," continued
the inspector, " that apprised the person who forged
the ticket of the circumstances that enabled him to
forge it. How did he get the correct number?
He must have been in the shop at the same time
with Desmond. But we need not suppose that to
have been a coincidence. He may have followed
him there."
"To be sure he may !" murmured the Shambling
Man.
"And if he was in the shop at the same time,
there ought to be some traces of it. You must go
to Sibley's, and find out what articles were pledged
immediately before and after the cigarette case.
Get the names and addresses of these persons, and
follow them up. The chances are that one of those
persons is the man who forged the ticket; and if
we can get him, he will serve as a short road to
inside information about Desmond."
"The trouble there would be," remarked the
Shambling Man, "that the man we want would be
the very man who would give a fictitious name and
address."
"We must take our chances about that. The
owner of the white-handled pistol gave a false
name and address, but we know who he is, and we
shall have him here before long."


I96 COLONEL DESMOND.
"He won't be of much use to us now, though,"
observed the other.
"Don't be too certain of that. Nothing is set-
tled yet. It looks ugly for the colonel now, but he
may be entirely innocent. And even if he were
privy to the murder, he may not have committed it
himself. He may have employed an agent to com-
mit the crime: and it may be that agent who, in
order to have a hold upon his employer, secured the
cigarette case. Whoever he was, it is plain that he
knew of the secret receptacle, and abstracted its
contents."
"That would be interesting!" muttered the
Shambling Man, slowly rubbing his hands together.
The affair was getting into a state of complication
that enchanted him beyond measure.
"There is one point worth noticing about Robert
Johnson's testimony," resumed the inspector, after
a pause. "His description of the man who sold
him the cigarette case at the ball last night, tallies,
so far as it goes, with Sibley's description of the
man who pawned it on the 31st of December.
That description answers, in a general way, to the
appearance of Colonel Desmond. But Johnson's
description can not refer to the Colonel, for he and
the Colonel are well acquainted. And that would
seem to indicate that the colonel may not have
pawned the cigarette case after all."
"Or it may show, on the other hand, that John-
son was lying," suggested the other.


COLONEL DESMOND. 197
"His story has been confirmed so far," answered
the inspector: "but we will see!"
After a little further conversation, the Shambling
Man took his leave.


CHAPTER XV.
SHADOWS.
AS the sun set the temperature fell; until the night
bid fair to be one of the coldest of the winter.
Domestic New York hugged its fireside or sat over
its register: aristocratic New York shone in the
opera and the reception; impecunious New York
shivered at its lodgings or crowded round bar-room
stoves ; evil New York was drinking, plotting, and
working mischief. There was a certain region
where all these various elements of the community
came into contact with one another; and here, as
evening came on, the streets, in spite of their chil-
liness, were as bustling as at noon-day.
The sky was clear and all the stars were in their
places, though few of the city's inhabitants were at
the pains to look up between the high buildings
and assure themselves of the fact. Fortunately for
the stability of the solar system it is not essential
thereto that mankind should look after it. More-
over, the electric lights were blazing aloft, and
their hard white light, though it flooded the streets
with radiance, made the heavens look dark. On
the pavements the shadows of the buildings, of the
leafless trees, of the telegraph wires, and of the


202 SHADOWS.
Mike McGloin was master. He was a little more
audacious, more experienced, more depraved than
they, and therefore they submitted to his leadership.
But McGloin was restless; he could not long be
at ease in any one place. Like the wandering Jew,
something within him seemed ever impelling him
to go on. So, after a brief sojourn in this captiva-
ting retreat, he tossed off a final gulp of whisky,
threw the price of it down upon the counter, and
with a parting wink at the young woman with the
French heels, he swaggered out into the frozen
streets once more.
As he forged along, with his chin on his breast
and his hands in his pockets, the pursuing shadow
still kept pace with his own upon the pavement. At
the corner of the next avenue there was a large
cigar store. McGloin took a peep through the
glass door, and, apparently satisfied with what he
saw, opened it and walked in.
The place was as well-filled as the other, and
with an even more ill-looking company. But these
were not youngsters just launching out upon a
career of dissipation and crime. They had seen
many phases of life; they had passed through
various vicissitudes; they were in the bad sense,
men of the world. A couple of compactly-built
fellows, with clean-shaven faces, small eyes and
flat noses, were evidently graduates of the prize-
ring. A tall chap with a fur cap on his head, a
three days' growth of beard on his chin, and wear-
ing a voluminous overcoat, was professionally inter-


SHADOWS. 203
ested in dogs, and was noted for his success in
evading the law regarding dog-fights. Astride of a
chair, his arms resting upon its back, was a lantern-
jawed athlete who was in the habit of replenishing
his constantly depleted exchequer by giving spar-
ring lessons to young gentlemen of wealth and
education. Consulting together in a corner were a
brace of sharp-faced individuals who courted for-
tune on the race-track, or wherever else the odds
could be arranged to suit the initiated. In the
background was a cluster of hulking loafers, evi-
dently prepared to take a hand in any job that
promised large returns for a plentiful investment
of audacity or cunning.
In this assemblage McGloin's swagger collapsed
as the distended tail of a turkey-gobbler abases
itself at the ominous shadow of the sparrow-hawk.
These men were to him what he was to the youths
of the lowly groggery. His bullying tones mod-
erated themselves to a hoarse affability; his intol-
erant eye now blinked and swerved deferentially;
his pose lost its arrogant assurance, and became
servile and apologetic; his scornful laugh was
turned into an appealing giggle. These veteran
scoundrels were neither his inferiors nor his equals;
they were his ideals, his masters, the gods of his
depraved idolatry. He insinuates himself into any
group that condescends to tolerate his presence;
he cringes like a spaniel before those who notice
him, and it is the acme of his ambition to be seen
in their company and to be numbered among their


204 SHADOWS.
intimates. But they have private affairs of their
own to discuss, and shoulder him aside with scant
courtesy. So he slinks to the door, and out upon
the frozen streets again. And again the frosty
lamps show another shadow gliding behind his own.
After rambling hither and thither aimlessly for a
while, McGloin, warmed and stimulated by the
whisky which he had swallowed, came upon
Seventh Avenue, at its junction with Twenty-ninth
Street. Here happened to be collected a half-
dozen young loafers of his own age and disposition,
to whom he joined himself. His swagger had
returned to him ; he laughed and joked and bragged
as boldly as ever. The group were engaged in the
agreeable and genial pastime of bandying leers and
coarse jests with the highly-colored and brilliantly-
attired young women who, at this hour, parade the
streets like spangled performers before their booths,
luring the unwary to come within. Here McGloin
approved himself an adept; he was the loudest,
the coarsest, the most impudent of- all. Such sor-
did gallantries had an evident fascination for him,
and he prided himself upon his profligacy of the
gutter. A hectoring bully, a swaggering vagabond,
a servile lickspittle, a bawdy-house debauchee—in
a word, a New York "tough "—the most contempt-
ible type of ruffians that infests the earth—such
was Mike McGloin.
All at once, he lounged apart from his compan-
ions and exchanged signals with a fellow who had
approached from one of the side streets. They


SHADOWS. 205
came together, and greeted each other in an under-
tone.
"Hello, Banfield!"
"Hello, Mike!"
The two sauntered off side by side, conversing
earnestly and in subdued voices; the shadow in
their wake. Mischief of some kind was afoot;
what it was remained to be seen. Apparently,
however, the denouement was not to be to-night;
for, on the corner of Thirtieth Street the pair sepa-
rated with an" all right!" from one and the other:
Banfield returning southward, while McGloin con-
tinued on toward the east, and eastward also
drifts the shadow. But the vagaries of the even-
ing were now at an end. The young ruffian let him-
self in at the door of a mean-looking dwelling-house
in the lower part of the street, and the shadow,
noting the number over the entrance, passed on,
having fulfilled its mission.
The inspector and his detective returned up the
street, and parted at the corner. The former walked
down Sixth Avenue, deep in meditation.
Beyond doubt, appearances were against McGloin,
both in general and in particular. Young as he
was, his name had already been associated with
more than one offense against the law. His com-
panions were of the lowest class, and, as this night's
investigation had sufficiently shown, his habits and
haunts were evil. Moreover, as regarded the case
at present under investigation, his record, though
by no means conclusive of guilt, bore a suspicious


206 SHADOWS.
appearance. He lived not far from Hanier's dwell-
ing, and was accustomed to prowl around that
vicinity. He had owned a pistol similar to that
with which the murder was committed: on the day
of the murder, this pistol was known to have been
in his possession: immediately after the murder,
precisely such a pistol had been pawned at a neigh-
boring pawnbroker's. These might be coinci-
dences; but it was at least reasonable to regard
them as indications pointing to a crime. More
..links were wanted, and they must either be found
or proved not to exist. Might it not be possible,
with a fellow so full of self-conceit and vanity as
McGloin, to induce him to incriminate himself?
It was probable, indeed, that McGloin's guilt
(assuming him to be guilty), was known to one or
more of his intimates. But it was vain to expect
that they would betray him. If they had not been
actual participators in his crime, they were at all
events experienced rascals, who had lasted the bitter
fruit of evil-doing, and had learned the value of a
silent tongue. There was, therefore, nothing to be
got out of them. McGloin would have to be his
own accuser.
To those unversed in the methods of criminal
investigation this conclusion would seem to inter-
pose an impenetrable barrier between justice and
the offender. What sane person would look to see
a murderer put the halter round his own neck?
But the inspector's experience had shown him the
possibility of many apparently impossible things.


SHADOWS. 207
He remembered men who had committed grave
crimes, and who, contrary to all anticipation, had
been led into damning admission of their guilt. In
order to secure this result, however, the criminal's
character must be understood, his idosyncrasies
studied, his weaknesses played upon. McGloin's
weak point was unquestionably a low kind of
vanity—a craving to augment his importance in the
eyes of those whose admiration he coveted. It was
this craving that was at the root of all his evil and
vicious deeds. A mind ruled by such a passion
could be assailed, and by judicious management
reduced to subjection. Rightly worked, McGloin's*
yearning for sinister notoriety might guide him
unawares to the steps of the scaffold, and even
cause him to ascend them.
But who was to stimulate this fatal vanity?
Hardly the inspector himself; nor would any of
his subordinate officers be likely to succeed any
better. He was too shy and too shrewd a bird for
that. He must be approached in some novel and
unexpected way; his suspicions and his prudence
must be disarmed. The problem was a difficult
one. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to await
the result of the investigation into the identity of
the ticket forger. If he and McGloin turned out
to be one and the same, the solution of the mystery
would not be far off.
Such were the inspector's meditations as he
traversed the lamp-lit avenue, now almost entirely
deserted; for the icy wind had driven to their


SHADOWS. 209
"Yes, I know that," she said in a quavering voice,
and she began to cry.
"You have seen something of the lively side of
this sort of thing," he resumed after a pause ; " but
you don't know yet what the other side of it is like.
As long as you keep your good looks and high
spirits, it will seem pleasant; but that is only a
matter of a short time, and then you will find it
very different. When your mother came to me a
year ago and asked me to find you, she made no
reproaches against you; she forgave you every
thing beforehand. When I found you and took you
to her, you seemed repentant; she kissed you and
called you her darling daughter; and you seemed
to realize what you had done, and that your mother
was worth all the fun and frolic of the city, and a
great deal more. And you promised, in my hear-
ing, never to leave her as long as she lived. That's
why I didn't expect to see you here again so soon."
By this time the girl was sobbing so violently that
she could hardly speak. And when she was able to
articulate, the only words the inspector caught were
"That's just the reason of it!"
"What do you mean by that ?" he demanded.
"Mother is dead," replied the girl; and then she
broke down again.
"Well, that's sad," he said, after a moment, "she
was a good mother.
"Yes, she was," returned the girl, controlling her-
self with an effort. "There was nobody like her,
and I was not long in finding that out, after she was


2IO SHADOWS.
gone. I wanted to reform—God knows it; but
they wouldn't let me. They shunned me like a
pestilence—the respectable ones did; the others
didn't shun me enough! I hate them, and myself,
and every body. The place I was born in became
a hell to me. I was haunted and insulted every-
where. I had no money, either. At last I sold our
little house, and came back here. There was noth-
ing I could do here to earn an honest living. The
things I learned at school were no good for that. Be-
sides, I didn't care: why should I? So the end
of it was, I became what I am!"
"You are young yet," said the inspector, gravely.
"You can lead a decent life, if you will."
"No, I can't, inspector, and you know it. Sup-
pose I went into a reformatory. I should herd
there with women who have been worse than I, and
go out again at last to begin the same life on a
lower level. I don't care for it, thank you!"
All traces of sorrow and remorse had left her.
It was a reckless courtesan who now stood before
him, laughing, mocking and defiant.
"Well, Charlotte, I'm sorry for you," he said,
turning away.
"Show me another way to live, then," she ex-
claimed. "What am I to do! Perhaps you might
get me a position on the force. I'd make a famous
detective—just try me !" and she laughed again.
The inspector faced her once more. An idea had
struck him. Here was a girl who was not only
pretty and sprightly, but clever and well-educated


212 SHADOWS.
She duly made her appearance, and was admitted
to a business interview. In pursuance of the
settled policy of the Detective Bureau, she was not
given any further insight into the case than her
actual functions rendered necessary; she did not
even know what was the specific crime concerning
which she was to gather information. She was
simply directed to ingratiate herself with McGloin,
and elicit from him whatever confidences he could
be induced to impart to her.


CHAPTER XVI.
A CONFIDANT.
CHARLOTTE already knew McGloin by sight,
and had no difficulty in bringing about a meet-
ing with him. She had not liked him before, and
had no reason to do so now ; but she took an inter-
est in him somewhat similar to that of the lawyer
in his client, or the artist in his picture. He stood
as the material on which she was to begin the work
of her new profession. Men never know from what
various motives women pay them attentions; and
Mike McGloin was certainly far from suspecting
the nature of the purposes that were actuating
Charlotte.
In spite of her provincial education, Charlotte
was a fairly accomplished dissembler; her life in
the city, though it had been comparatively short,
had developed what was probably an innate talent
in that direction. It had also given her a knowl-
edge of the ways and byways of the seamy side of
the metropolis, and had added to the conventional
accomplishments of a respectably trained young
woman, a familiarity with the jargon and habits of
the slums. She was, therefore, competently equipped
for the adventure.
McGloin was, as has been intimated, inclined to


214 A CONFIDANT.
vaunt himself on his success with women, and he
had, heretofore, been somewhat piqued by Char-
lotte's manifest indifference to him. Her sudden
recognition of his merits might have awakened
misgivings in the mind of an older and less self-
conceited man; but he regarded it merely as the
inevitable victory which, sooner or later, he was sure
to win. Moreover, the very delay had aroused him,
and he cultivated her with more eagerness than he
otherwise would have done. She, on the other
hand, while inducing him to believe that he had
impressed her, judiciously held him at arm's-length,
in order to stimulate him the more.
"You are not like other men to me, Mike," she
told him, "and I won't let you treat me as other
men do. You don't care for me—I know that.
Once you got tired of me, you would throw me off,
like the rest. But I have some good feelings left
in me still, and that's why I mean to be a friend to
you, and nothing more."
McGIoin's answers to such speeches may easily be
imagined. But inasmuch as there is nothing in this
hideous travesty of love-making that is either agree-
able or amusing, we will let it alone as much as
possible. The upshot of it was, that the young
fellow beeame infatuated, and was ready to do any
thing—or said he was—to induce Charlotte to
abjure her scruples. She reported her interviews
with him at headquarters: and at length it was
resolved to make trial how far he was prepared to
commit himself.


216 A CONFIDANT.
to her room on giving his name. The other she
would bring with her.
She had previously taken occasion to discover
how much liquor McGloin could carry, and knew
about the point at which he would be most com-
municative. Having laid in her supplies of refresh-
ments, and completed all other preliminary arrange-
ments, she put on her best clothes, and went out.
It was then seven o'clock.
At eight o'clock the door bell rang, and a gen-
tleman wished to know whether Miss Charlotte had
returned yet. On the landlady informing him that
she had not, he inquired whether the young lady
had not left word, before going out, that she
expected her brother to supper with her? The
reply to this being affirmative, the gentleman
introduced himself as the brother in question, and
was thereupon allowed to go up-stairs. Up he
went, accordingly, and nothing further was heard
from him. He was a very quiet gentleman indeed,
and must have been a very patient one ; for it was
not until after ten o'clock that Charlotte and her
friend came in.
When they got up-stairs, the sitting-room was
empty, and there were no signs of the " brother"
anywhere. Charlotte, however, immediately upon
entering, glanced at the mantel-piece. On the left
hand corner was a bit of card-board, folded into a
pyramidal shape, and sat up on its base. Appar-
ently, this object reassured her; she tossed the
card-board pyramid into the fire, and addressed


A CONFIDANT. 2i§
panion, with an approving nod. "Money is for
them that can get it, all the world over. If you
know where to come by it, so much the better.
You and me will spend it, and the same with what
I get hold of myself. Betwixt the two of us we
can have things fixed pretty comfortable, I guess."
"It ain't your money I want, Mike," she returned,
giving him a tender glance, while she refilled his
glass. "I expect you haven't got much to throw
away, either. How should you? You don't work
at any thing, that ever I heard of."
"It ain't those that work for money that always
has the most of it," the young man observed, nod-
ding his head darkly. "What I say is this—I can
have money when I want it. A fellow that knows
New York as I know it don't need to starve to
death—nor to die of thirst, neither."
"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?
Suppose you wanted twenty dollars to-morrow, how
would you get it?"
McGloin emptied his glass and poured himself
out another. "Never you mind!" he said.
"There's more ways than one. I know a dozen
men that would give me the straight tip on what
would bring me five times that. There ain't a sport
in New York that wouldn't do more than that for
Mike McGloin. They know me; and they know
its healthier for them to be in with me than out—
and don't you forget it."
"Why, you're not a bruiser, are you?"
"Oh, I know how to put up my hands when I've


220 A CONFIDANT.
a mind to; but that's neither here nor there.
There's other ways of getting even with a fellow
besides pasting him in the eye."
"Don't say such things! You frighten me!
exclaimed the girl, gazing at him with a sort of fear-
ful admiration. "I'm glad I'm not a man—I
shouldn't like to have you angry with me. I should
be afraid of my life."
"It's a good job you're a woman—I don't say no
to that," McGloin replied, passing his hand over his
face. "You're the sort that suits me, and I don't
care who knows it.
"How many girls have you said that same thing
to, I wonder?"
"For the matter of that, how many men have
you—"
"Now, stop right there, Mike McGloin," she
interrupted, leaning across the table and putting
her hand over his mouth, "I've been unfortunate,
and I don't deny it; but that's got nothing to do
with what I am to you. I've lived straight
since you knew me; and as long as you're my
friend I don't want to think or hear of any one
else."
"And no one else had better near or think of
you, neither," rejoined the other, with an ominous
frown. "I'm no baby, I ain't ; and I ain't going
to put up with any body fooling round you. I'm a
tough—that's what I am; and no fellow ain't a
tough till he'sknocked out his man."
"Pshaw! that's all talk, Mike," returned the girl,


A CONFIDANT. > 221
shaking her head. "You wouldn't kill a man for
making love to me, and you know it."
"I wouldn't, eh? Well, that's all right: I ain't
saying nothing. Say, you're no hand at drinking.
Let's split what's left in the bottle."
"There's more where that came from," remarked
Charlotte, as he drained the last drops into his
glass, after refilling hers. She sipped the wine and
then set it down with a grimace. "It's as flat as
water !" she exclaimed ; and forthwith went to the
closet and brought out another bottle. Upon seeing
this, McGloin's countenance expanded : he leaned
back in his chair and stretched out his legs. "This
is cosy and comfortable, sure enough," he observed,
complacently. "What's the matter with staying here
for good and all? I'm game for it if you are."
Charlotte laughed. "I'll answer that question
when I know better who it is I'm talking to," she
said. "I'll talk straight to you, Mike: I don't
care what you are, or what you've done, if only
I'm sure you mean the square thing by me. As
soon as you prove that to me, you won't have any
cause to complain of what I'll be to you. But
until then, we'll just have a good time once in a
while, as we are now, and say no more about it."
"What are you up to, anyhow?" demanded
McGloin, resting his elbows on the table and look-
ing over at her. "What do you want me to do?
Give it a name. Come on!"
"How should I know what I want you to do?"
she retorted. "Do any thing you like! But


222 A CONFIDANT.
remember this : you want me to give up everything
to you, and put myself in your power, to be petted
or kicked or turned out of doors just as you hap-
pen to feel in the humor. But I've known what it
is to be in trouble and helpless, and I'm not going
to risk it again. Unless I feel that I've got as much
hold on you as you have on me, we'll be what we
are now to each other, and will be nothing more.
Let's have something more to drink, old man!"
"Ain't you got any thing stiffer than this stuff?"
said McGloin, finishing the contents of the second
bottle, and setting down his glass with a thump that
snapped the stem. "This don't go to the right spot,
somehow. If I could have a few go's of whisky
now, I'd feel right."
"You can have all you want, my dear," replied
Charlotte, returning to the closet; "but whisky
don't suit me; I'll stick to the other. There!"
she added, putting the bottle on the table, " you've
got a strong head if that don't fetch you."
McGloin mixed himself a stiff tumbler and
smacked his lips over it. "That's the real thing
after all!" he said. "That warms a man up!
Say, my dear, you're a d d nice-looking girl,
did you know it?"
"And you're a wicked-looking man, did you know
that?" she retorted, looking him in the eyes and
smiling. "We would make a nice pair of us!"
McGloin made no immediate answer. He sat
over his glass, staring across toward a corner of
the room, scowling occasionally, and biting his lips.


A CONFIDANT. 223
His aspect at this moment was certainly evil and
depraved; it spoke of dark and ugly places in his
conscience and memory. Charlotte noticed it, and
felt that now or never was the time to lure him into
disclosing his secret. He had already said enough
to show that he was capable of crime, but in so
general a way as to be useless for legal evidence.
He must be brought to make some more specific
statement. Charlotte rose from her chair and came
round to McGloin's side of the table, She seated
herself close beside him and put her hand on his
arm.
As she did so, the door leading into the hall
opened about half an inch. It gave a faint creak
in doing so. Charlotte heard the noise and knew
what it meant. McGloin was only conscious that
she was beside him. He roused himself from his
ugly reverie and turned toward her. She looked
extremely pretty, and her eyes were soft and pene-
trating. McGloin's faculties were somewhat con-
fused by the liquor he had drunk, and the sensual
exhilaration induced by the champagne had become
dulled. But he was still sensible to the charm of
her appearance, and it perhaps served as a grateful
relief from the mental pictures he was contempla-
ting.
"Mike," said the girl, in a caressing voice, brush-
ing the hair back from his forehead and keeping
her eyes upon his, " do you know what it was first
made me fancy you?"
"I don't know," he said, " what was it?"


224 A CONFIDANT.
"You reminded me of some one I once knew.
He was the first man that I ever cared for. I was
nothing but a girl then, and didn't know much.
He wasn't as handsome as you are, but you have an
expression that is like his. And just now, when
you were sitting staring at the corner of the room,
I couldn't help thinking of him. What were you
thinking of then?"
"Me? Nothing." He stirred in his chair, and
hitched his shoulders uneasily. "What would I be
thinking of? I was a bit sleepy, that's all."
"This man was about your age, but I guess he
was a worse man than you ever were. When we
were together one evening—just as you and I are
now—he told me of something that he had done.
Nobody else knew it, and nobody else but I will
ever know that he did that thing. I have never
spoken of it to a soul."
"Who was the fellow ?" demanded McGloin.
"I can't tell you fiis name. He trusted me, and
I won't betray him—even to you!"
"Where is he now?"
"In South America, I believe. He escaped, and
he'll never come back here?"
"Escaped! What had he done to escape for?"
"I can tell you what he has done," returned
Charlotte, after a pause, " because you will never
know who he was. He had murdered a man!"
McGloin pushed back his chair and gave a quick
glance round the room. His lips seemed to trem-
ble for a moment, but he pressed them together,


A CONFIDANT. 225
and clinched his teeth. He avoided looking at
Charlotte, and turning, laid his hand on the bottle,
and poured some whisky into the tumbler. After
drinking it, he said, in a slow and deliberate tone:
"Then he was a d—d fool to tell a girl about it!"
Charlotte experienced a keen mortification, the
traces of which, however, she succeeded in banish-
ing from her face. "He had no cause to regret it,"
she answered after a moment. "I saved his life.
I enabled him to prove an alibi."
'McGloin was silent for a minute or two. He
was apparently turning something over in his mind.
It probably did not occur to him to question the
truth of Charlotte's story, although, to a dispas-
sionate listener, it would have seemed a tolerably
transparent fabrication. But other considerations
were working in his mind. A confession made pri-
vately to a girl like Charlotte would have no legal
weight unless confirmed by independent testimony,
or overheard by some trustworthy third party. On
the other hand, were he to take her into his confi-
dence, it might, as she had intimated, have a favor-
able effect upon his relations with her. There may,
also, have been still other and more inward motives
behind his action.
"Look here, my girl," said he, " I told you he
was a d—d fool to say any thing to you about it.
What would you think if I was to make just such a
fool of myself as he did! You say I'm like him!"
"What do you mean?" she exclaimed, in a
repressed voice, Her heart began to beat, and


226 A CONFIDANT.
her cheeks flushed. Was she going to succeed after
all? As she changed her position a little she cast
a momentary glance toward the door. It had
opened an inch or two further.
'Well, I've just taken a fancy to tell you about a
little job I was into awhile ago," returned McGloin,
pulling up his collar and speaking a little unstead-
ily. "There was me and three others—Banfield,
and Healy and Morrissey. We hitched up a team,
and started out, about ten o'clock, to see what we
could pick up. Banfield was driving, and me and
the others was loafing along the sidewalk, like as
we had nothing to do with the cart at all. We
started in Bleecker street, and got down along by
South Fifth Avenue, and then Banfield he pulled up
in front of a liquor store. There was a big keg of
rum alongside the door, and the folks hadn't gone
to bed yet; but there was no one on the lookout,
and we concluded to chance it. Me and Healy
catched hold of the keg, and gave her a hoist
toward the cart; but just before we could get her
in, Banfield hollers out, ' Look sharp, boys! some-
body's coming!' Sure enough, out jumps a cop
from round the corner and runs for us. He was
amongst us before we knew what was the matter.
He made a grab for Healy and got hold of his col-
lar, but Banfield reached over from the cart, and
fetched him a bang on the side of the head with the
butt of his whip that made him look silly, I tell
you! Healy jerked away from him, though he got
his coat tore doing it; and just then I stepped up


228 A CONFIDANT.
It only remained, therefore, to disembarrass her-
herself of her visitor the shortest way possible ; and
to that end she had provided herself with a soporific
powder, which she introduced into his next glass of
whisky, and which soon sent him into a profound
stupor. At this juncture, the door opened, and the
long-lost "brother" came in.
"Well," she said, turning to him with an expres-
sion of chagrin, "I did the best I could with him,
but it was no use. I suppose that story isn't worth
any thing?"
"You did your work very well, miss," the other
replied, "and I shall report it so at headquarters.
He didn't say just what we wanted him to, to be
sure; but his manner when you put those points to
him convinced me that he's our man; and as for
the wagon-trick yarn, it will answer almost as well
for our purposes as if it was the very job we are
after."
"It was true, then, was it?"
"It was: and it came just at the right moment.
That robbery was committed two days ago; the
patrolman was knocked senseless, and no arrests
were made; but he says he can identify the three
men if he could set eyes on them again. Ban-
field, Healy and Morrisy belong to McGloin's gang,
arW were probably with him on the occasion for
which he is specially wanted. The evidence he
gave to-night, which I overheard and noted down,
will suffice for their arrest and identification; and
once McGloin is in the inspector's hands, it will go


THE END OF A CLEW. 231
watch. One of those two must have been given to
the man we were after. The overcoat had been
pledged by a man named Carl Schnabel: he was
known at the shop, having been there several times
before. He was an actor in one of the small Ger-
man theaters, and was not likely to have undertaken
such a job. Besides, he must have entered the shop
and transacted his business before the man with
the cigarette case came in ; and it was not probable
that he could have stayed around afterward long
enough to discover what the next customer was
doing. Moreover, Sibley, who had attended him,
was positive that he had left as soon as he got his
money.
"It was No. 984, then, was it?" said the
inspector.
"That conclusion seemed inevitable. The name
of this man, as recorded in the book, was Robert-
son—John Robertson, and the address as 1280
Broadway. Neither Sibley nor the clerk, Isaac,
could remember any thing about him at the moment.
I told them to try and recall him to mind, and
meanwhile I made a trip to 1280 Broadway; and
found, as I expected, that no person of that name
was known there.
"I came back to Sibley's ; and this time the clerk,
Isaac, thought he recollected something. He said
that Sibley had attended to the cigarette case (as
we already knew), and that it was while that transac-
tion was going on that the fellow calling himself
Robertson had come in. Sibley differed with him


232 THE END OF A CLEW.
on that point; he thought that no one else had
been in the shop at the time he was examining the
cigarette case. But he may easily have been mis-
taken on that point; he was a good deal impressed
by the appearance and behavior of his customer,
and would be apt not to notice any thing going on
at the moment. Isaac's evidence was positive, and
carried the greater weight. I asked him to
describe his man, and he said that he was young,
and had a fresh complexion: could not remember
whether his face was clean-shaven or not: had
noticed something peculiar in his speech—a foreign
accent: not German, nor French; but he did not
speak his words the way an American would. It
wasn't Irish, either. It occurred to me that it
might be English, and I spoke a few sentences in
the English style; and Isaac said he thought that
was more like it."
"A fair-complexioned young Englishman? Rob-
ert Johnson would answer that description well
enough," observed the inspector, thoughtfully.
"That is just what struck me !" cried the Sham-
bling Man, with a gratified air. "And then another
idea came to me: there had been something famil-
iar all along in the sound of that name—John Rob-
ertson, all at once I said to myself, 'It's Robert
Johnson, of course, with the John and Robert
transposed ; just the sort of pseudonym he would
be likely to adopt at a moment's warning!" I felt
certain, then, that I was on the right track."
"However, I hadn't proved it yet. I went


THE END OF A CLE IV. 233
straight over to Jersey City, found Johnson's
lodgings, and asked to see him. The landlady said
he was at his business in New York, and wouldn't
be out till late. I chatted with her about him, and
she gave him an excellent character. I asked
whether he came home regularly every evening, and
she said he did, as a general thing; he had occa-
sionally stayed away a few nights at a time, but
not often. 'Holidays, and that sort of thing, I sup-
pose?' I said. She answered that the longest time
she remembered of his being absent was about
New Years' : hchad gone in town on Friday, and
hadn't come out till the following Monday night.
Well, that just covers the period of the murder,
and the pawning of the cigarette case!"
The inspector nodded approvingly. "That will
take the wind out of his alibi, if he should want to
establish one," he observed.
"Yes! but I wasn't through with him yet. It
was one o'clock in the afternoon when I got down
to Jersey City Ferry. I telegraphed from there for
Isaac to meet me at the Astor House, at two. He
was on hand, and we went together to the Printing
and Engraving Company's building. I got permis-
sion to walk through, with my friend, to see how
things were managed. I told him, if he saw any
body like John Robertson, to let me know it.
"Nothing happened until we got into the press-
room. I looked about, and saw Johnson talking to
the foreman. I made no sign ; but after awhile,
Isaac looked over there, and as quick as he set


234 THE END OF A CLEW.
eyes on the man, he touched my arm. "That's
him !" he said. "That's the fellow that pawned
the silver watch! I'd know him anywhere!"
"Good !" said the inspector. " You managed that
cleverly. There seems to be little-doubt that John-
son was the man who forged the ticket. But how
do you account for his having done so ? What could
have been his object?"
"Well, I reason this way," replied the Shambling
Man. "Johnson must be the enemy of Colonel
Desmond, and he must, at the same time, be acting
as if he were his friend. The colonel has no sus-
picions of him, and yet he has evidently been work-
ing against the colonel. He came from England
less than a year ago, and got a position in the
colonel's office. That looks as if he may have
come over, or been sent over, with designs against
him. Now, the colonel is an Irishman, and some of
his proceedings are a little mysterious. When I was
at the French ball the other night, the cabman,
McBride, put me on the track of him, and I followed
him about. He wore a red domino, and there were
four or five others dressed much in the same way.
I saw him exchange signals with these persons, and
finally they all met together behind the scenes. I
managed to get near enough to hear some of their
conversation. The other men were all Irishmen,
and from what I could gather, they were talking
about England, and about some documents and
transactions that puzzled me—for I was expecting
something about the murder. All at once it seemed


2^6 THE END OF A CLEW.
have made up my mind that my safest way will be
to make a clean breast of it beforehand. Besides,
I think I can clear up some misunderstandings,
into which I have fallen myself, and which would
be apt to perplex you, as well."
With this exordium he told his story, the sub-
stance of which is here set down.
He said that his name was really Robert John-
son, and that he was an Englishman. He was an
employ^ of the English Secret Service. (At this,
the Shambling Man nodded his head significantly,
as much as to say that he had already arrived at
that conclusion.) He had been dispatched to this
country in order to watch the proceedings of Colo-
nel Hugh Desmond, who was believed to be a
prominent member of the Fenian Brotherhood.
A number of dispatches and documents had fallen
into the hands of the English authorities; they
were known to be of Fenian origin; but they were
all written in a cipher, the key of which was
believed to be in Colonel Desmond's possession.
It was Johnson's mission to find out whether this
were the case, and, if so, to use every means to
obtain the cipher and transmit it to England.
One reason why Johnson had been selected for
this enterprise, was because he was an expert en-
graver, and it was known that the colonel was at
the head of a printing and engraving concern in
New York. Thus he would be enabled easily and
without suspicion to establish personal relations
with the man he was to deal with. Every thing fell


238 THE END OF A CLEW.
touched a clew, which proved to be the right
one.
On a certain day, the colonel, as Johnson had
learned, was to attend a meeting of some of the
leaders of the Brotherhood ; and it was on this day
that he entrusted the Englishman with the note to
his wife, requiring her to bring him his cigarette
case. This note Johnson carried to the chief of
the English secret service in New York, and there
opened it. Its purport seemed so odd, that they
decided to follow up the hint there given.
But Mrs. Desmond's failure to follow out her
husband's instructions brought about a hitch in
their plans. The cigarette case appeared to have
been lost: where was it? Through Lizzie, John-
son arrived at the conclusion that Mrs. Desmond
had given the box away to Hanier. The scene,
witnessed by himself and Lizzie, between ^Hanier
and Mrs. Desmond, seemed to give ample motive
for such gifts: while the colonel's undisguised
anxiety respecting the whereabouts of the box,
confirmed the idea that there must be "something
in it." Lizzie's subsequent account of the domes-
tic explosion suggested that Mrs. Desmond had
confessed her intrigue to her husband; and the
midnight expedition to Hanier's was readily expli-
cable as having for its object the recovery of the
box. But the murder was an unexpected compli-
cation.
Johnson went on to say that, from the circum-
stances within his knowledge at that juncture, he


THE END OF A CLE IV. 239
had been persuaded that the colonel was guilty of
Hanier's death. There was sufficient motive, in
Hanier's complicity with Mrs. Desmond, and in his
possible discovery of the contents of the cigarette
case; and, again, the colonel had been at Hanier's
just before the murder, and might have returned
there in time to commit it. Meantime, Johnson
described the means whereby he had obtained the
cigarette case from the pawnbroker—a transaction
in which his knowledge of engraving had stood
him in good stead. Having got the cipher, he had
transmitted it, through the New York agent, to the
English authorities. The cigarette case he had
afterward attempted to pawn elsewhere, as the
easiest means of getting rid of it. This had led
to his arrest by the inspector, who had issued
orders to all pawnbrokers to detain any one who
might present himself with the article in question.
He then referred briefly to his adventures at the
French ball, and to the mistake into which he had
been led by Lizzie Pond's having put on the
costume which he had prescribed for her mis-
tress.
"Am I to understand," interposed the inspector
at this point, "that you are prepared to bring a
specific charge of murder against Colonel Des-
mond?"
"If you had asked me that question yesterday,"
Johnson replied, "I should have said yes, very
decidedly; but to-day, I still more decidedly
say no!"


240 THE END OF A CLEW.
At this reply, the inspector lifted his eyebrows;
while the Shambling Man half started from his
chair, and then, restraining himself, fixed his gaze
upon the Englishman with such intensity that his
eyes seemed to meet across the bridge of his nose
and become one.
"Yesterday," continued the narrator, "was the
first day since the French ball that I have been able
to speak with Miss Lizzie Pond. I attempted to do
so once or twice before, but she had refused to see
me, because, as I inferred, she was angry with me
for having endeavored to get a hold upon Mrs.
Desmond, and for being, myself, not a simple
engraver, as I had led her to believe, but an agent
of the English secret service. This morning, how-
ever, I succeeded in obtaining an interview, the
result of which was to put the conduct of the
colonel and his wife in quite a new light.
"As you are already aware, Mrs. Desmond is a
French lady; but you may not have heard that, at
or about her twentieth year, she made her debut,
with great success, on the operatic stage, under the
name of Mdlle. Spinalba. After appearing in
France and Germany for a year, she accepted an
engagement in England, and sang in Covent Gar-
den in London. She was there seen by an Irish-
American gentleman, Colonel Desmond, who fell in
love with her, and married her. She was wedded
under her stage-name, which he supposed to be her
true one; and she never revealed to him the fact
that she was the daughter of a French tradesman,


THE END OF A CLEW. 241
and that her brother was a manufacturer of liquors,
by the name of Louis Hanier."
"Her brother!" faltered the Shambling Man,
in a husky voice. "I see it all now."
Johnson went on to relate how Colonel Desmond
and his wife came to live in New York, and how
the latter one day discovered her brother, friendless
and in need. She had feared to confess her rela-
tionship with him to her husband, who was a man
of strong aristocratic prejudices, and who had
always supposed his wife to belong to a family of
blue blood, though impoverished. But she com-
promised matters by engaging him as butler in her
house; and he might have remained in that posi-
tion until this day, had not her husband observed a
familiarity between Hanier and Mrs. Desmond
which he considered unbecoming, and which led to
his discharging the butler at short notice. By
Mrs. Desmond's assistance, however, he was enabled
to rent and stock a small wine shop; and from time
to time she gave him sums of money and other
presents. At her request, as a measure of precau-
tion, Hanier never informed his wife of the fact
that their benefactress was his sister. The colonel,
on the other hand, was ignorant that his wife held
any communication with Hanier.
So matters went on until the preceding Christ-
mas. Mrs. Desmond had been shopping on
Christmas Eve ; but, on returning home, found that
she had forgotten to purchase any thing for her
brother. It was too late to go out again, and she


242 THE END OF A CLEW.
was unwilling to leave him without a remembrance
on that anniversary. She then remembered having
seen a silver cigarette case lying about in her
husband's drawers; and, as he did not smoke, and
seemed to place no value upon it, she had con-
cluded that he would not notice its absence. With
what followed the reader is already acquainted.
The unexpected emotion with which the colonel
had received the news of his loss, and his stern and
persistent questioning, finally had the effect of
causing her to make a complete confession. Her
husband's astonishment at learning that Hanier was
her brother had been great; but after the first
shock of surprise was over he had accepted the
situation in much better part than she had feared.
He even announced his intention of doing every
thing in his power to improve Hanier's position,
and to help him on in the world ; but meanwhile
he pointed out the urgent necessity of recovering
the cigarette case without delay. As no messenger
was to be trusted on such an errand, it was decided
that Mrs. Desmond should go in person ; and in
order to avoid remark the visit should be made
after Hanier had closed his shop for the night.
These, and other precautions, were due to the
colonel's apprehensions that the cigarette case and
its contents should be scented by the English
emissaries whom he knew to be on the watch in
New York. His secrecy was unavailing, as the one
man whom he did not think of suspecting, followed
him and his wife to the wine shop, and drew his


THE END OF A CLEW. 243
own conclusions from what he saw there. The
colonel had taken a revolver with him in the hack,
as a measure of precaution, and, on receiving the
cigarette case, had put it in his pocket, removing
his revolver for that purpose: and when he left the
hack he had forgotten to take the weapon with him,
and it remained on the seat.
The next morning came the news of Hanier's
murder. Mrs. Desmond was, naturally, terribly
agitated, and at her passionate entreaty the colonel
accompanied her to Twenty-sixth Street. But the
crowd of people there, and the policeman standing
guard at the door, made it evident that they could
not view the body without a publicity which might
prove detrimental, as it certainly would be useless;
and he prevailed upon her to return home. The
next morning he pawned the cigarette case, his
purpose in so doing being, as the inspector had
surmised, to put it in a perfectly safe place, where,
nevertheless, he could get at it whenever it might
be necessary. How his expectations were dis-
appointed we know.
"It only remains to say," added Johnson, " that
the colonel is known not to have left his house after
returning to it with his wife just before the murder,
on the testimony of Miss Pond and of two servants.
Besides, with the discovery of his wife's relation-
ship to Hanier, every possible motive for making
away with him disappeared. I have myself had an
interview with the colonel, in which I told him the
facts about myself which you now know, and it is


244 THE END OF A CLEW.
at his request that I have made this statement here.
He will confirm it if required to do so. Perhaps I
ought to say that I have made up my mind to leave
the English secret service and take up my resi-
dence here as an American citizen. I have for
some time been particularly interested in Miss
Pond, and hope to marry her; and she has made
this the condition of accepting my proposals. I
have accomplished the mission I set out to perform,
and I am now satisfied to retire. And that, gen-
tlemen, is all I have to say."
"Well," said the inspector, turning to the Sham-
bling Man, "there is no obstacle in the way of
finding out the truth so troublesome as a false
scent. Mainly by your exertions, this one has been
completely disposed of, and you will have full
credit for your energy and ability. The other clew
remains; and I am firmly convinced that that will
lead us to the solution of this mysterious affair."


CHAPTER XVIII.
CAPTURE.
ON the following morning came the report of
Charlotte's interview with McGloin. It chimed
in well with the plans which the inspector had
devised. Outwardly, every thing in the office was
as quiet as usual ; but, to the initiated, it was evi-
dent that a good deal was going on beneath the
surface.
- Quiet, also, reigned in Gooley's bar-room during
the early part of the day ; but about four o'clock
in the afternoon, visitors began to drop in. One
man (we have seen him at Gooley's before; but prob-
ably neither Gooley himself, nor any of his custom-
ers, had ever given him a thought)—this retiring
and unobtrusive person came in, drifted up to the
bar, drank a glass of beer, bought a cigar, lighted it,
and retreated to a table in the back-ground. The
eminent Mr. Gooley resumed the perusal of the
sporting newspaper which boasted his name among
its subscribers. The waiter continued his archaic
avocation of scattering fresh sawdust over the
planks of the floor. It abated, but did not oblit-
erate, the unrefreshing odor of stale beer and
tobacco which characterized the eminent Gooley's
premises. The intrepid visages of the various
heroes of the ring stared down from amid the


25° CAPTURE.
streets were covered with foul slush. The sky was
dakened with a thick, murky cloud. The saloon,
a spacious apartment, was lighted up by numerous
gas jets. On the right-hand side of the entrance
was the bar; a door opposite opened into the hall-
way, and another, at the further extremity of the
room, gave access to the back yard.
The majority of the customers at this moment in
the saloon were collected around the billiard tables
in the rear. They were laughing, drinking and
knocking the balls about—a rowdy, ill-spoken set
of blackguards; some were well-known thieves,
others the common riff-raff of drinking places.
The proprietor stood behind the counter with a
cigar in his mouth. He was flashily dressed, though
it was not many months since he had worn the
striped uniform of the convict colony at Sing Sing.
Suddenly he looked toward the door, which had
opened to admit the tall figure of a stranger. This
man walked past the bar with a firm and quick step,
through the group at the billiard tables, and only
stopped on reaching the door into the yard. This
he locked, and put the key in his pocket. Then he
faced about, and stood rigid as a statue.
While all eyes were turned upon him, another
man entered, and, in a moment, had closed and
locked the hallway door, and mounted guard in
front of it.
What did this unlooked-for invasion betoken?
The noisy group stopped their chatter. The bil-
liard-players fulgetted uneasily with their cues.


CAPTURE. 251
Macdermott took his cigar out of his mouth and
came out from behind his bar. At that instant the
street door opened again, and Inspector Byrnes
stepped in, followed by a fourth man, who, follow-
ing the example of the others, bolted the door
behind him, and stood sentinel before it. Thus, in
less time than it takes to tell it, were all the inmates
of the saloon bagged, and put safely under lock
and key.
Macdermott, in manifest perturbation, turned to
the inspector.
"What under heavens is the matter, boss?" he
inquired.
"Mind your own business, and you won't be
molested," was the stern reply. Then, to the detect-
ives, "Stand those fellows up!"
The command was promptly obeyed. In a
twinkling, the whole ill-favored group were bundled
together in the middle of the room.
"In line, there! Hands up—every soul of you!"
They were a hard-looking set of scoundrels, as
they stood there; but they knew with whom they
had to deal, and not one of them thought of offering
resistance. A few of the boldest ventured to
grumble out a protest, but that was all. There they
stood, with their hands in the air, like a class of
school.boys practising calisthenics.
"See what they have on them!" was the next order.
Hereupon began a scene which was not devoid
of amusing features. A man with his hands
stretched appealingly heavenward, while somebody


CHAPTER XIX.
CONFESSION.
THE other four arrests had been accom-
plished with similar promptness and success.
No one of the prisoners was aware of the apprehen-
sion of the rest. Each protested his innocence of
any crime, and demanded to know the charge
against him. But the demand was made in vain.
It was received by the captors in absolute and omi-
nous silence.
This reserve and secrecy were alarming. What
could they portend? It seemed like a revival of the
old lettre de cachet. Every member of the group
trembled in his heart, and explored the darksome
recesses of his conscience with unwonted assiduity.
Not the least agitated of the five was McGloin
himself, upon whose experiences we must hence-
forth concentrate our attention. He had been
captured by the inspector in person, and imme-
diately conducted to a cell in the basement of the
central office. The heavy door was locked upon
him, and he was left to pass the night in solitude.
It was late, but his excitement and anxiety banished
all thought of sleep. Sometimes he sat on the
wooden bench, with his head between his hands.
Sometimes he stood up and tried to look through


254 CONFESSION.
the little window in the upper part of the door.
Sometimes he forged restlessly about his cell, like
a rat in a cage. All the while his brain was busy,
though the train of thought that agitated it was
narrow, and kept returning in a wearisome circle
upon itself. What had he been taken for? Could
any evidence against him have leaked out? Was
it possible that any of his companions had informed
upon him? And then a picture would rise before
him—a scene which memory often obtruded upon
his mental gaze—a scene which he always regarded
with a tremor of fear and hatred, and strove to
banish, but it returned, and returned again: not
vague and indistinct, but revealed in its minutest
and most trivial details. Why could he not forget
it? He had forgotten many things. But this thing
he could never forget; it stayed with him, asleep
or awake ; it would go with him to his grave. What
was it? His lips had never told it; but, at times,
a terrible longing had come upon him to pour out
the whole dark story, and so be free of it. But he
had always restrained himself : the story was untold.
To be free of that omnipresent, haunting picture
would be an infinite relief, no doubt; but freedom
could be bought too dear at the price of an agoniz-
ing and shameful death. No, he would never
speak : and so long as he kept silence, he was safe.
But again, in the silence and darkness, his doubts
returned. Was he safe, indeed? Had he, perhaps,
left any traces behind him, which had at length
been gathered, and followed up? Or was the evi-


256 CONFESSION.
cumstances of his arrest—the suddenness, the fore-
sight, the mystery—no other meaning than this?
He could not believe it. If the night would only
pass! it was dreadful to be here alone. Any com-
panion would be better than solitude. Some one
to whom he might speak, and who would speak to
him, were it only to curse him! Some one whom
he might touch, and would touch him, were it only
to strike him! Solitude is terrible to a mind that
fears to look into itself, and is barren of any
consoling or gracious memories.
Morning came at last. The door of McGloin's
cell was unlocked, and a silent custodian signed to
him to come forth. McGloin followed out into the
stone passage-way, and up a flight of echoing steps.
From there they emerged into a broad corridor,
running through the huge building, and paved with
a tesselated pavement of stone. At either end were
swinging doors, and through them came a gleam of
the outer sunshine. Would he ever again be per-
mitted to go forth into that sunshine, a free man?
The hand upon his shoulder pushed him forward,
through a side-door, into an ante-room, There he
was once more left to himself for awhile. Besides
the door by which he had entered, there was ano-
ther door, and upon this his eyes were fixed. What
lay upon the further side of it?
He waited for what seemed a long time. Then,
the sharp tinkle of a bell made him start. Before
he could recover himself, the door opened, and he
went forward into a large carpeted apartment. Im-


CONFESSION. 257
mediately in front of him was a green-baized table;
on the walls was a collection of bludgeons, fire-
arms, knives, gallows'-caps, and other appurtenan-
ces of crime, with which the reader has already
been made familiar, but which McGloin now saw
for the first time. The spectacle did not tend to
reassure him. But his attention was perforce
withdrawn from these objects, and directed upon
the man who sat at the table, with a window on
either side of him, through which the white light
streamed. These windows looked out upon an open
court or well, in the center of the building, encom-
passed on all four sides by white-washed walls. In
the opposite wall there was a door; and another
door on the adjoining side to the right. The court
was empty, save for the snow that lay in it like a
cold, white carpet.
The man at the table was Inspector Byrnes. He
looked up at the prisoner, as he entered, and the
latter felt his gaze fixed penetratingly upon his face.
Then, without speaking, he turned his attention to
some papers that lay before him on the table.
After the silence had lasted as long as McGloin
could endure it, he broke it himself.
"What am I here for ?" he asked. What have
I done?"
There was another pause. Then the inspector
glanced up and said, " You are here to answer
questions, not to ask them." He took up a pen and
proceeded to put the formal interrogations.
"What is your name?"


CONFESSION. 259
therefore there could be none. He had been
arrested on some vague suspicion merely. Courage,
and face it out!
A door behind McGloin opened softly, and there
was a sound of footsteps on the carpet of the room.
At first he did not move; but, as the steps did not
advance, he presently glanced over his shoulder. A
man and a boy stood in the doorway, fixing upon him
a scrutinizing gaze. Neither of them uttered a word.
For a time he submitted to their inspection as
best he might; but at length, with an impulse of
irritation, he returned it. But, as he did so, a new
alarm awakened in his mind. Their faces were
not unknown to him. That of the man certainly
was not. Yes, the man was surely no other than
Bernard Rosenthal, the pawnbroker of Ninth
Avenue. As the conviction came upon him,
McGloin's heart grew faint. These people had
come to identify him. But did they recognize him?
There was no sign of it in either of their faces, nor
did either of them speak a syllable. He began to
hope a little again. Perhaps the identification was
a failure.
At that moment the inspector re-entered the room.
He went up to the two and received something from
the boy's hand—McGloin did not see what.
Rosenthal and the other then withdrew, the door
closing softly after them. The inspector returned
to his seat, and, as he resumed it, he laid upon the
table an object, the sight of which sent a chill to
the marrow of McGloin's bones.


260 CONFESSION.
It was a five-barrelled revolver, with a white
handle.
He stared at it with the fascination of dismay.
Then, recollecting himself, he forced his eyes away
from it, and encountered those of the inspector
riveted upon him in a cold and penetrating regard.
This was a critical moment. It was the opening
of a direct conflict between the two men ; the officer
contending for truth and justice, the prisoner fight-
ing for his life. It was a more even battle than
might at first appear. For though the inspector
had all the authority of the law on his side, and
also the powerful advantage that McGloin was
ignorant as to the extent of his knowledge of the
case, and of the amount of evidence at his disposal,
yet McGloin possessed the strength which despera-
tion will give to any man, and, with the instinctive
insight of despair, he perceived that there must be
some defect in the chain of proof against him;
because, were it otherwise, he would have been
brought at once to judgment, instead of being ap-
proached, as it were, by siege. Morally, and on
the testimony of his emotions, he stood convicted
already; but there was a wide chasm of difference
between such conviction and that which avails
before a jury. The combat, therefore, was prac-
tically between the will and character of one con-
testant pitted against those of the other. McGloin
and the inspector both knew what crime it was
which was the occasion of their struggle; the latter
was resolved that McGloin should incriminate him-


264 CONFESSION.
in drunkenness and robbery. You robbed from the
sidewalk and in the hallway: and you also robbed
from saloons. You practiced the fainting trick:
sometimes successfully, sometimes not."
He paused there, and McGloin shifted uneasily
in his chair. His worst fears were reviving.
"If you had been satisfied with that you would
not be here to-day. But you were not satisfied.
You coveted the reputation of being worse—more
desperate than your companions. And one night
you committed a crime"
What was McGloin looking at? Not at the
inspector; his glance passed him and was fixed in
a terrified stare upon something in the snow-covered
court. As he sat he commanded a full view of this
area, upon which the inspector's back was turned—
though he, too, perhaps, knew, as well as if he saw
it, what was passing there.
This was what McGloin beheld. The door on
the opposite side of the court opened. Three men
issued from it, and passed slowly and silently across
to the other door. Two of these men were police-
men. The third, who walked between the others,
with manacles on his hands and a livid face, was Mc-
Gloin's former friend and companion, Tom Moran!
It was impossible to disguise the effect of this
blow. The prisoner's face twitched and his mouth
trembled. He clinched his teeth desperately, but
he could not meet the inspector's eyes again. In a
husky voice he put the question, "What is the
charge against me?"


CONFESSION. 265
The reply went through his nerves like ice. "The
charge against you, McGIoin, is murder!"
But, in this last extremity, his courage rose again.
Now or never was the time to defend himself. He
summoned all his energies, and assumed a careless,
confident air.
"Me charged with murder? Well, that's good!
And who was it I'm supposed to have murdered?"
The inspector waited nearly a minute before
answering. Then he said quietly, " The name of
the man you murdered was Louis Hanier."
"You mean that Frenchman in Twenty-sixth
Street?" The inspector bent his head. The young
man attempted a laugh: it was a ghastly attempt.
"Who says I killed him?"
"The evidence against you is complete."
"No one can prove it on me."
"You are mistaken, McGIoin," said the other,
with unruffled composure. He took hold of the
revolver and held it up. "This accuses you first
of all. It was with a bullet from this revolver that
you shot Hanier. You then pawned it, giving a
false name, at Rosenthal's. He and his boy were
here just now, and they both fully identified
you."
The prisoner felt the ground giving way beneath
him. But he made another struggle.
"If I did pawn the pistol there, what of it?
That doesn't show any thing. I picked it up in the
street. Who says I killed Hanier?"
As if in response to the question, the door in the


CONFESSION. 267
footsteps of their predecessors. And now it was
Banfield upon whose wrists the fetters gleamed.
McGloin waited for no more. The fight was
fought, and he was conquered. His face shrivelled
up: the blood left his lips: he sank on his knees
on the floor, and the cry burst quavering from his
throat:
"Oh God! inspector, can you save me from
hanging?"
As he looked down upon the wretched creature
cringing there, with broken will and quaking heart,
a certain movement of compassion found its way
into the inspector's mind. He had won a great
victory: he had executed a masterly maneuver of
detective work: the apparition of McGloin's three
accomplices, which he had contrived, had amply
fulfilled his anticipations: and yet, what a paltry
antagonist did McGloin now appear? Was such
an unmanly cur as this worth hanging?
But when he remembered Hanier's little children,
crouching on that December night in their mur-
dered father's blood, his pity for the murderer van-
ished. He had shed man's blood, and by man
should his blood be shed. All the better if he put
the noose around his own neck.
He explained to McGloin that his confession
would be of no avail unless it was taken down in
writing before the coroner. This, McGloin, who
was now as eager to make a clean breast of his
crime as he had heretofore been to conceal it,


268 CONFESSION.
entreated might be done. Perhaps it was the hope
of some lightening of the sentence which actuated
him : perhaps it was the mere craving to unload
his soul of its hideous burden. Be that as it may,
there was little in his narrative that need detain us.
The crime had been committed nearly as. the
inspector had originally surmised. The gang of
young ruffians had robbed and wrecked the shop in
revenge at having been detected in the attempt to
empty the till. When Hanier's step had been
heard on the stairs, the others had retreated; but
McGloin, in a spirit of bravado, had gone to the
foot of the narrow staircase, and had discharged
his weapon at the descending figure, the bullet
passing through his heart. Such was his crime,
and his confession having been duly substantiated
by the depositions of his accomplices, he suffered
for it the full penalty of the law. With him we
have nothing further to do.
But there is one episode still to be related, which,
as it is of an agreeable nature, may well occupy
the closing page of a story which has few pleasing
features.
Some time after the events last described, a depu-
tation waited upon the inspector in his private
office; and, after the first greetings had passed, the
spokesman said:
"The fate of that young scoundrel will be the
best lesson the 'toughs' of New York have ever
received. The credit of his capture and convic-
tion belongs to you, Inspector Byrnes, and you











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