The blue scarabDavid Graham Adee THE BLUE SCARAB THE NOW YOX PUBLIC LIBRARY MSTOR. LENOX AND HLDEN FOUNDATIONS A Fleury 10/100 Lt THE LIBRARY OF CHOICE FICTION THE BLUE SCARAB BY wanRY. N. 7. DAVID GRAHAM ADEE Author of "No. 19 State Street”' M 312426 Dusla ADA CHICAGO LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 1892 II DONATED BY THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION NEW YORK CITY - PUDLIC LIBRARY 162336A ASTE. LENOX AD "Ainif. Dari'N Entered according to Act of Congress in the year Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-two, by LAIRD & LEE, In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ... CONTENTS 1 Gil Grunt and I 2 The Potter's Field 3 My Enemy 4 Our Gymnasium 5 News of the Assailant 6 Feeling for a Clew ng Sandmann's Hall 8 The Acrobat 9 Claus Volckmar 10 A Call from Herr Pentz A Diamond Merchant's Clerk. 12 Stout's American Circus 13 A Foreign Rendezvous 14 John and Jane Inkton 15 A City Vagrant 16 An Account of Le Prisme 17 A Reckless Act 18 A Dissipated Poetaster 19 The Macaroni Club 20 Madame Lola 21 Attempts at Detective Work 22 The Haunting Voice 23 A Visit to H. Gratz 24 The Outrage at 13 Maiden Lane 25 Ruffianly Brutality 26 In Desperate Straits 27 Circumstantial Evidence 28 Mr. and Mrs. Brashe 29 Murder Most Foul 30 The Hunt in New York 31 A Moral Monster 32 Heinz the Avenger 33 The Duel with Foils 34 Tracking the Convict 35 Tidings from the Sea 10 THE BLUE SCARAB Gil Grunt was nothing else than a comic sing- er and circus-clown-the general funny man of. a cheap show. But Gil Grunt had a heart. When my poor father fell ill of starvation, in our humble lodgings in St. Martin's Lane, our room chanced to be the very next one to Grunt's room in the garret. On our initial journey up the stairs, my father bearing me in his fast-weakening arms, Gil, dear old faithful Gil, had met us, "a sick and hungry man, and a feather-weight," as he afterward said, ten- derly adding, “And your lively crow, my lad, and sweet puny smile, won my love in a hin- stant, and sang a baby-ballad in my disrepu- table breast." Be that as it may, during the last long ill- ness of my father (alas, for literary Bohemians everywhere), our next-door neighbor and the best of friends had patiently fed and nursed the failing invalid, bought drugs for him for weeks out of his own scanty means, sat with him at night on returning from the distant music-hall where he performed, tenderly closed his dim and wandering eyes, and buried him decently, at his own expense; and had finally most cheerfully and devotedly adopted me as his sacred trust- a holy, dying bequest—at the greatest personal inconvenience possible, I should suppose. And where was my lovely and affectionate mother throughout that pain- THE BLUE SCARAB 11 ful period of vicissitude and trial? Heaven only knows! For three years before, when the ballad business was becoming attenuated, and I daily cried for breakfast, with no food at all in the cupboard, the blooming and beautiful Cheshire belle eloped—to my father's relief- to Paris, with a French dancing-master, it was said, and was never heard of afterward. God forgive me that I should have to tell so sad a story! Gil Grunt, being a bachelor and man of the world, was by all means averse to having me grow up an idle young man about town—and London town at that; so, seeing me safely through the measles, croup, whooping-cough, mumps, a cheap city school and academy-where my guardian was most particular to have me taught "Latin and halgebra like a gentleman," he said–he likewise saw me through a course of scientific boxing at the hands of the then famous "London Pet." Not contented with all this unmerited generosity, on the day that I attained the mature age of eighteen, Gil placed at my sweet will and disposal an ac- count-book at a London banker's, recording divers entries to the amount, at date, of five hundred pounds sterling, which neat sum the dear old soul had somehow saved out of his various small salaries as public singer and buf- foon, for his darling and undeserving ward's THE BLUE SCARAB behest. Of course I absolutely compelled the devoted chap to have the snug balance invest- ed in our joint names in the Funds, share and share alike, which was, indeed, the very least I could have done under the circumstances. My faithful friend had urged me to embark a portion of this money in some profitable business or enterprise; but I, boy-like, yet with an eye to prudence and the avoidance of money-risk, had strenuously elected to practice the art of glove-boxing in schools, gymnasi- ums, and friendly exhibitions. I was a small fellow, a light-weight in the ring, but the prac- tice of this manly exercise for years had given me great strength, health and agility, of which prowess I was not unduly vain. When I was turned twenty, Gil Grunt, a man of forty-five, persuaded me to try our fortunes in the States; so together we took pas- sage in the Collins' steamer Atlantic for New York. Here we met with ready enough en- gagements, Gil as a comic singer and clown in Stout's perambulating circus-a grand and mammoth caravansary then performing in Bos- ton for the winter, but soon to remove to New York for the spring and summer—and I in the capacity of teacher of sparring in Colton's gymnasium in Bleecker Street. In Gotham, then, I was thus haply settled, when I received, one dull and rainy day, the * THE BLUE SCARAB 13 following note from an occasional pupil of mine at the gymnasium, Dr. Howard Madesby of the Eleemosynary Hospital: "March 24th, 185– "MY DEAR BRASHE:-Can you do me a favor for which I shall be only too grateful? Meet me to-night at eleven o'clock at the hospital, and accompany me on a peculiar if not peril- ous errand to a lonely grave-yard. More when we meet, my boy. "In haste, yours ever, “H. MADESBY.' Of course I at once decided to go, and this was the first step in the direction which changed the whole current of my life. CHAPTER II THE POTTER'S FIELD “An obscure grave.” -King Richard II. A group of three men were standing about a narrow hole, the men muffled in worsted com- forters to the ears; and while a workman dug out the damp earth, throwing it in quite a reg- ular pile on one side of the excavation oppo- site the group, another held a lantern, like a stable-light, high overhead, with its clearest side turned towards the digger. There was some soft snow mingled with the loose-lying dirt, and the slush of later winter lay, soiled and thawing, on the uneven surface. The laborers worked patiently; the lookers-on waited impatiently; and both idlers and employed alike were silent and absorbed in the gradual process methodically going on before them. It was certainly not an exhilarating scene. "Glory!" at length said the toiler with the spade, in a low tone; "Glory, I've touched boards." "Good!" replied the idler with the light, speaking equally low; “Good, have you struck oil?" 14 THE BLUE SCARAB "Got to bones, sure enough, Bill Glory." “A skull or a thigh, Tom Good?" . "Ribs, Bill, ribs!" From this conversation it may be gathered that the words Good and Glory were not mere interjections, but the surnames of two living men and grave-diggers. "More light, Bill!" "More light, Tom!" The man in the hole then was Thomas Good; the man with the lantern William Glory; and the lantern, it may be added, was a peculiar one, painted black, opaque on three sides, the fourth pane alone of the square being trans- parent. Tom Good was leaning for a moment on his pick, carefully regarding the results of his excavations. "Steady!" exclaimed a member of the party, standing upon the margin, in an eager whisper, anxiously peering over the shoulders of the others into the well; “Steady, my man, or you'll break something below there! Easy!" “All right, doctor! We've got on so far right enough," answered Glory. "Right as a trevet!" growled the miner with the pick. “I've broken through the lid, and no mistake, without mussing a hair of the corpse's head." "It's in the bosom of the shroud," said the one designated “doctor;" "in the front some- where, if the stuff's not given way!" THE BLUE SCARAB "You put it there yourself, with your own hands, didn't you?" hissed a hoarse voice, in the doctor's ear. "Safe!" said the latter; "safe and fast with my own hands, as you say; I am positive as to that.” "Can it have been stolen from the grave?" croaked the other. "Has this grave ever been opened before, men?" asked the doctor. “Not with such a sod a-top of it as this 'ere,” replied both workmen simultaneously. “Bah!" spoke the gruff tones, "I don't be- lieve you, not a syllable." “It's awful dark down here," said Tom Good, in the pit; "Point the light below, Bill." In a moment more he added: “Dry rot here—nothing else, but an old flan- nel shirt!" "Look sharp and grope around, boys,” whis- pered the gruff voice again. "Twenty dollars- thirty-if you find it." "The scarab must be in there, somewhere," said the doctor; “I'm sure I stuck it in the breast in order to identify the old man's body. It was the last thing I did in the case." The first grave-digger continued to grope and gaze among the contents of the box in vain, and then the second grave-digger jumped in beside him, lantern and all, the better to 18 THE BLUE SCARAB "Then some thief has stolen it, curse the luck!" So wrought up by this time was the owner of the rasping voice, that, shouting, "Out of the way, men, you are blind!" (forgetting all cau- tion), he leaped into the black hole fairly on top of the surprised workmen, and snatching up the lantern, suddenly clutched at the hodge- podge of earth and boards around bones now unarticulated, peering the while with eager eyes down into the dirt for the valuable or use- less object of his earnest quest. In vain. "Gone! Gone!" yelled the voice with the tones of a mate or boatswain in a storm at sea; "Stolen!" "Is it diamonds," sneered Bill Glory, mock- ingly, "from Araby? "Or gold-dust from Californy?" echoed Tom Good, in accents of the deepest disdain. These taunts were too much for the endur- ance of the infuriated seeker. Scarcely were the words out of the last speaker's mouth, when the former hurled himself upon him and his astonished mate in gross assault. Striking, kicking, wrestling, biting with his strong teeth, and grating out oaths and curses all the while, the powerful creature beat first one and then the other into the earth at the bottom of the grave; finally, with one prodigious effort of fe- rocity and · fury, jumping upon the prostrate THE BLUE SCARAB men with all his cruel might and weight. Then said the patient doctor to me: "Let him have it hard, Brashe." This was enough. Dropping lightly into the pit, I, who had been one of the outside group hitherto, let fly my dexterous right with the seasoned vigor of experience and proficien- cy, landed my ambidextrous left on caro firma, and straightway grappling with the maddened ruffian, flung him heavily on the broad of his back, flat among the clay and chalky grit. As the stranger and I thus pleasantly scuffled together, the laborers, Glory and Good, slowly crawled to their feet (for they were both some- what scared and sore) and crept lamely over the sides of the dug-out to a safe distance from the fray, where they stood, panting and wip- ing their faces on their muddy sleeves in mute alarm. Dr. Madesby, meanwhile, had boldly sprung to my assistance in the grave, where we together were holding down our exasperated adversary by main force. But that deft foeman was not to be so easily overcome. Finding that he had doubtless met his masters in the pugi- listic art—-ugly brute as he was and an antago- nist not to be despised-he formed the rash resolve of daring at one throw the desperate hazard of the die. Shaking us successfully off, he half struggled to his feet, and suddenly made a spring for the surface. I was too quick 20 THE BLUE SCARAB for him, however, and hit at him again (deter- mined to obey orders and discharge my duty to the letter) with a swinging knock-down blow. It felled him like an ox. "We have no right to maltreat or detain him," interceded the doctor, “but simply to pro- tect ourselves from undue violence, and con- serve the peace. I feared some brutal perform- ance such as this from the ill looks and bad manners of the fellow, and took these cautious șteps accordingly. I confess I see no reason for so outrageous an outbreak, however. But you'd better look out, old boy, or you'll have the rascal in the hospital. Let him go! Although, why, in conscience's name, did he want to at- tack those men?" "They have stolen the token," said the man, getting up and gathering himself together. “How the devil am I to identify the body now? The thieves!" "Not at all," answered the doctor with warmth in their behalf, “they have only not succeeded in recovering it!" "Did you ever bury it?" defiantly asked the fellow; insultingly adding, "Somebody's stolen it, first or last. That's sure!”. "You scoundrel!" impulsively exclaimed the doctor, with natural indignation at the man's unshaken obstinacy. "What!" cried the other; and, without an THE BLUE SCARAB 21 instant's warning, the wretch sprang like a shark at the surgeon's throat, with a weapon of some sort in his brawny fist, before the doc- tor, a brave but little gentleman, could put himself on his guard; but I succeeded again in catching the assailant square on the skull, which beautiful thump (pardon my profes- sional pride) laid him low at once, happily saving my kind, good friend from further harm. This effort finished the fellow, and the two workmen laughed aloud and uproariously at the fun. By this the man seemed to realize that I possessed some unusual pugilistic skill, and rising, said more respectfully: "You're game-I'll go." "You've raised row enough," remarked Bill Glory, "for a riot." "Or a mutiny, you cantankerous catamount!" joined in Tom Good, with a will. "Let him alone," said the good-natured doc- tor, “I myself was to blame for accompanying him here at this late hour of the night. Be off, you brute, and thank your stars!" “I beg your pardon, captain, and thank you anyhow," returned the man, with unacounta- ble docility. "I was betrayed into an attack of temper by those two thieves there. I'm sor- ry. As for this young sprig of a fighter, I'm blowed, my dandy, if I won't be square with you yet, curse you! Good night, Cap; I'm off!" 22 THE BLUE SCARAB "And good riddance to bad rubbidge," said Glory with relief. "A black pirate if ever there was one!" said Tom Good. “A.reg'lar raw-head and bloody- bones!" "Dr. Madesby," I said inquisitively, as we watched the outlines of our curious and unac- countable acquaintance fade out, like a spec- ter-demon on the stage, in the deepening fog and gloom; “Dr. Madesby, what-may I ask- was the trinket, or token, or whatever it may have been, that our impulsive friend was so ardently in search of? Is it a talisman, like Aladdin's ring?" "By no means, Brashe, but I hardly know myself," rejoined my honored pupil, who, by the way, I had been sorry to see, during our late tussle, had grown sadly rusty at sparring, and fat and scant of breath. CHAPTER III MY ENEMY “Give me the avow'd, the erect, the manly foe.” -New Morality. "Well, you see,” said Dr. Madesby, "yes- terday morning, that fellow-a coarse, rough- looking specimen truly, calling himself Hugh Gormon-came to the hospital, stating to the steward that he had inquiries to make in re- spect to whether a decrepit, aged man, a foreign- er named Joel Lazarus, had been admitted or had died there some four years before; and, if so, whether any nurse or doctor was still em- ployed within who might by any possibility have known the patient, and would be willing to speak with the visitor on the subject. The steward reported his request to me; and sending for the inquirer to my office, I had a long conversation with him, or rather listened for half an hour to his strange side of the matter, after he ascertained that it was I who had attended the old man during his last ill- ness. His statement was to the following effect: "One Joel Lazarus, a French Hebrew, had kept a pawn-shop for some months somewhere 23 24 THE BLUE SCARAB in the lower Bowery. He had grown very old and miserly, at length denying himself even the common necessaries of life. Finally, he had become childish and almost helpless, according to the sad account he had received, my visitor said. One night, a rainy autumn night, some four or five years before, the poor old man had escaped from his home, eluding the vigilance of his hired keepers, and wan- dered out alone into the deserted streets at a late hour, entirely vanishing from mortal ken. Search was made in every direction, but in vain. The old man had never been heard of again alive. "•What relation are you to the old man,'" I asked, ‘or how are you so deeply interested in his affairs?' "'I am his only son,' declared the man, 'and that is relation enough, I should say; isn't it, captain?' I acknowledged that it was, but added with a smile of incredulity, “His surname was Laz- arus, by your assurance; yours you have stated to be Gorman. How do you explain such a discrepancy?' "I quarreled with my father many years ago, was the fellow's explanation, and have borne my mother's maiden name ever since. I know no other.' "Good!' said I, in doubt though. THE BLUE SCARAB ".He had with him when he stole off,' con- tinued the man, who persisted in addressing me as captain, “a singular piece of jewelry, pinchbeck-ware-a breast-pin in the shape of a beetle, made of metal, blue or burnished silver, about the size of a small hen's-egg, an orna- ment of extrordinary weight and substance, which he invariably wore about him concealed under his clothes from view. If he had it on at the date of his decease, it may serve to identify the remains, in the absence of any additional proof.' "Steward,' I called to my orderly, bring me my hospital register of the fall of four years since-in 1844. Ask Dr. Reeder to please find it for me.' "There was no delay—no difficulty in the way. The book was immediately brought. Sure enough, among the entries of medical cases for the month of September of that year, we read the name of Joel Lazarus, duly registered, the age of patient eighty-two, the disease de- bility and general breaking-up of the system, the direct cause of death old age, the place of burial Potter's Field, and the mark of identifi- cation, buried with the body at the deceased's urgent and repeated request, a blue metal scarab of the size of a walnut, having a pin to fasten it to the dress, and possessing an unusual weight, as though of pure gold. 26 THE BLUE SČARAB "You see,' said I, that you are on the right track. You are a first-class guesser, my friend -an adept at second-sight.' " "The trifle was buried with him,' said the man, of course I can read that for myself. Are you sure that it is there yet?', "Not likely to have been disturbed. "His furtive eyes glittered like stars in an October sky, and he all at once quivered as an aspen in an April breeze, It was the emotion of a man whose hope and expectation had long been bridled up, and whose certainty now sprang forward in exultation. I rejoiced in his success and happiness, I do assure you. “ Captain,' he said, almost inaudibly, at length, “Captain, I must be assured that I have found my father. The identification must be complete. The sight of the breastpin, poor little toy, will clinch the business. Will you have the old pauper's grave shown to me and opened?' "Moved by the man's profound emotion, a son's affection for his father, I made answer: “Yes! I will go with you to the field myself and point out the mound where your parent lies. I can go at once.' "Thanks! Thanks!' said the man, with a shade of hesitation. It is now high noon. I must not be seen about the place in person in the daylight. Captain, if you will consent to THE BLUE SCARAB 27 go with me to-night, I will give you one hun- dred dollars.' "I shall accept no pay for doing my duty,' I replied; but it is an inconvenience to me to go out at night. I am employed here night and day.' “Let me whisper to you, cap," he said in his harsh bass voice, approaching my ear. Lis- ten! I will give you a thousand dollars, glad- ly, to know the exact bearing of that grave—to see with my own eyes the nonsensical blue beetle that the old man carried. I want the breastpin as a keepsake, a remembrance." "I frowned and shook my head indignantly, turning on my heel; but curiosity, I admit- weakest of human traits-got full possession of me, and I finally decided to accede to the stranger's wishes, but without the thousand dol- lar bribe. Determined to secure a suitable al- ly if I went with such an odd being after dark to so lonely and out-of-the-way a spot as Pot- ter's Field, I accordingly settled upon you to accompany me. "You will have to hire a couple of men to dig,' said I. ""Here are ten dollars, Cap. Is that enough?' said he. Quite. We'll set out at eleven o'clock, to-night. I will notify our two men to be at the grave-yard, sharp. Meet me here at the 28 THE BLUE SCARAB door of the hospital. We will go together. Good-bye!' “Good-day, cap! I'm your man.' And off he went, well pleased. There, Brashe, I be- lieve that is about all I have to tell. You know the rest. We have together witnessed the strange result. It is inexplicable to me, I must confess." The doctor and I had quit, during his short recital, the mournful scene of our late exploits, and were bent upon our route along the bleak and misty street, with flickering, flaring gas- lights on either side, toward the hospital, leaving Good and Glory to fill in the desecrated grave at their leisure; and now the sound of their loud laughter at the stranger's queer freaks followed us upon the muggy air. The weather was thickening fast; the clouds were lowering as if for settled rain; the night hung black and heavy. We had reached the well-known hos- pital, amid the somber chill and dampness of the city, and to the doctor's cordial, pressing invitation that I should help him wash down the abominable weather with a drop of hot brandy and water, in mutual good-fellowship, I only too gladly acquiesced. Accordingly we went to the cosy little study, with a kettle of hot water comfortably simmering on the hob beside the fire, and dressing-gown and slippers spread conveniently upon the arm of an easy- THE BLUE SCARAB chair, my mind still keeping to the theme so recently discussed. The doctor, however, vouchsafed not a word more to me on the subject, but poked the fire lazily, snuffed the ashes from his pipe, drained his glass of grog to the sugared dregs, and sig. nificantly yawned. It was plain that I was boring him. Taking the hint in amiable part, I bade the plucky little surgeon good night to his good morning. It was nearly one o'clock when I went away. My head swam badly, unaccustomed as I was to strong spirits. Upon my solitary road home- ward, along Broadway to Bleecker Street, I instinctively reviewed the past events of the night, and the later details of the doctor's, or rather the stranger's, statement. I felt that I was a little unsteady in the legs; but was also conscious that, notwithstanding, I had my wits fully about me. Thus I had gained the corner of Bleecker Street and Broadway. I was to turn down Bleecker, and keep on past Green and Mercer Streets. I was to pass through a foreign and quite questionable quarter of the town. Moses Moss, the janitor and door-keeper of the gymnasium, would be gone to bed; but I had a latch-key in my pocket, as I slept up- stairs. I felt that I was all right, thus recalling all these things. I was jolly-nothing else in the world. I sang the stave of a song. I tried to dance. 30 THE BLUE SCARAB In my early childhood, and at troubled peri- ods, usually after long intervals, in my youth, a strange, wild dream of sands and sea-shore, and sedges waving in the wind, would visit my restless pillow, bringing me pain and a sense of loss and sadness. It came to me suddenly then, laying a load of grief upon my breast, and pressing my brow with a heavy hand. I know now what it meant, alas, that years have sped, as the bitter sequel of this tale will show. * * * * * A crash of thunder in my ears! a flash of lightning in my eyes! a shower of rain upon my face and neck in streams! I sank to the sidewalk in a swoon. What was this? The thunder was lead; the light was in my brain; the rain was my own blood. I had been struck on the head, from behind, with some hard or heavy substance a deadly missile. CHAPTER IV OUR GYMNASIUM “The wise for cure on exercise depend." -Cymon and Iphigenia. When I rallied from my stupor, occasioned by an ugly knock on the head which meant murder, I found myself in a small, roughly- furnished room with sanded floor, and wooden benches about the walls, lying upon a cotor camp-bed and covered with a heavy quilt. The room was warm, and dimly lighted by a couple of candles on a small table in the corner. A policeman stood beside the bed regarding me rather intently, while another sat smoking an over-fragrant pipe near the door. By fits and starts they talked confidentially together. "He's coming round," said the one beside my couch, with a long look at me; "I guess. he'll pull through. A close shave, though. Gosh! I thought he was gone when I first see him drop. He went down under the blow like a plummet. It seemed to my eyes as how he were reeling a bit afore he were hit, but when he got it, he dropped without a stagger." "You gave chase to the assaulter before you 31 32 THE BLUE SCARAB looked after the victim, didn't you?" inquired the other; who, I observed, wore a comical air of superior authority. - "Yes, oh, yes! I first took notice to this one knocked down here, agoing along in a lively sort of way, as if he had been on a spree. Di- rectly following him I see the other chap a-sneaking up close to him; when, in the flash of a gun, I see he hit him a sledge-hammerer straight on top of his hat, and run. In a wink I gave chase up Bleecker and down Broadway at his heels, but he were a racer to go, and distanced me in the space of a couple of blocks. Of a sudden he just about doubled his speed; I sounded an alarm on the sidewalk, and whis- tled like a steam-engine. Donovan ran up, and seeing the game, put after him, while I drew off and went back to look after the hurt one. Mike came back in ten minutes, saying that the mean cuss had stolen away; was clean gone out of sight." "What was the appearance of the assaulter, Gelding?" “Hard to tell in the fog, Sergeant Monsoon; but I should say, from the glimpse I caught of him, skylooting along, that he was a big fel- low, light in the flank, with a broad back and neck. He wore a soft hat and tippet, and from the fact of his making no more noise when he ran than a streak of greased lightning, I should - suppose he had on Ingee rubbers." THE BLUE SCARAB 33 “Did you see what he hit him with?" “A black-jack, I should think." Feeling myself so comfortably situated, I naturally encouraged a disposition to sleep, and was soon in a healthy state of sound in- sensibility. It was sunlight when I awoke, much better-indeed, quite well-barring a sore skull and a cut scalp, a flesh-wound which the police-surgeon had sewed up and dressed at the time I was brought in on a shutter by Officers Gelding and Donovan on the preceding night. I was very weak, but hungry, which was a good sign; and upon get- ting up, and after a searching semi-legal ex- amination by Justice Clough of that precinct, and a favorable report by the doctor, left the hospitable station-house (for such had been my friendly refuge), and looked about me for a proper place to breakfast. This I happily found in a convenient eating-house near by. My lessons in sparring on that day, and for several days thereafter, had to be wholly omit- ted, in consequence of a bad headache accom- panied by constant dizziness, the result of my ugly hurt. A man cannot be knocked senseless without suffering more or less inconvenience from the shock, and I had been almost brained by my assailant. But on the third day after the delivery of the blow, I was able to quit The Blue Scarab 3 THE BLUE SCARAB my room, on the upper floor of the building, and to descend to the gymnasium in the sec- ond story in order to show the gentlemen pa- trons of the place that my cracked pate was duly mending, in readiness for active business. The gymnasium was a very capacious hall, extending throughout the length and breadth of the edifice, brightly lighted with gas. · It was suitably furnished with all the parapher- nalia of physical exercise, including vaulting- horses, tight and slack ropes, horizontal bars, hauling-ropes and pulleys, dumb-bells, jumping bars, swings, braces, boxing-gloves, fencing- foils, clubs, weighing scales and sawdust; and it was a pretty and pleasant sight enough of an evening, that scene of active life, the brill- iant hall with the gymnasts in their colored garbs at exercise on every side. As I put in that first appearance after the attack upon me, I was welcomed and greeted with a general huzza and shaking of hands, information of my adventure having got in the daily press among the local news items. I felt quite like a lion or a hero. "Hello, Brashe!" shouted a ringing, manly voice; "Gad! I'm awfully glad to see you down again. You've greatly mended since I saw you in your room yesterday evening, old boy. Give us a fin!” The speaker was an exceedingly prepossessing 36 THE BLUE SCARAB bullock. Dick Manson, of Child's Hospital, a medical friend of mine, trepanned him and sewed up the wound. But Sir James was dead, gentlemen, stone dead, before he began the operation." "Panned out before he was trepanned, eh!" said Mr. Frank Wandel, an inveterate diner- oût, punster, and man of the world-chief member and ornament of the celebrated Mac- aroni Club of Clinton Place. Strange, outré characters, eccentric person- ages, mostly foreigners, French, Italian, Ger- man, would drift into our gymnasium; and it was an interesting study to watch and note their several peculiarities of mind and manner. They generally came to take fencing lessons from old Pentz, who was esteemed extremely adroit and . able in that art. They would give great attention to their work, as if their very lives depended upon their excellence with the small sword; and, indeed, it was not at all unlikely that it had been so during some past experience and adventure in their checkered careers. One of these gentle- men was a Frenchman, a certain, or uncertain, titled nobleman of the then new empire, Count Philippe de Soudan, a very singular person, indeed. CHAPTER V , NEWS OF THE ASSAILANT "Bonjour, messieurs!" "Bonsoir, messieurs!" were the count's uniform salutes day and even- ing, coming and going, politely rendered, hat in hand. Evidently a French gentleman of travel and education, his extreme if not excess- ive courtesy implied an intimacy with the higher social circles, if not with foreign courts. The count attended the gymnasium, evidently for purposes of practice in fencing alone. In this science he was an adept, one of the finest fen- cers I had ever seen. He was more than an amateur, he was a master-at-arms. Our big Swiss professor, Karl Pentz, ex-corporal and ex-courier of his own country, would grow wild- ly exasperated, sluggish nature though he was, at the Frenchman's lithe and furious stamp- ings, defiances, poises, mock onsets and amus- ing bravado, with the rest of the marvelous rig- marole of single-stick, until that burly swords- man and ex-warrior was constrained into mak- ing a mad rush at the cool and wary count, and plunging the point of his weapon straight 37 38 THE BLUE SCARAB for that adversary's heart, when he would sud- denly find himself helplessly disarmed, his foil Aung ten feet into the air, and his life com- pletely at the mercy of his foe. Yes, Count Philippe de Soudan was a perfect expert in the assault at arms. Then, old Pentz would rage and roar out German oaths at the top of his lungs, to the civil but sinister smiles and bows of the polite count, whose pale eyes would snap fire until the big Swiss blurted out, "Erlauben Sie," with a funny grimace. The antecedents of the count I had never been able to fathom. He was perhaps forty, yet as wiry and as firm of wrist and step as a man of thirty. His person was of middle size and sinewy, his bearing soldierly and distin- guished, so that I assumed that he had been a military officer, at some stage or other of his career. He wore an iron-gray mustache closely trimmed, his hair was short and grizzly, his face spare, furrowed and bronzed, and his eyė was one of the most remarkable that I have ever seen in a human head. It was small and sharp, and of such a very light shade of blue or gray that it seemed almost white, like an opal -nay, so near was the iris in color, or absence of color, to the white of the eye, that it ap- peared to be but a faint yellowish blur. I once observed him when his eyes were blood-shot, THE BLUE SCARAB 39. and the iris and pupil were alike blood-red. He was reserved and haughty, yet invariably polite, dressed with scrupulous care, wearing a silk hat and gloves and carrying a costly cane, which by accident I discovered to be a sword cane of the finest make. He had an order, the rosette of a decoration, in his lapel, some for- eign token of distinction, doubtless. The scar of an old and ugly wound ran along the side of his left cheek to the chin, which must have laid open the face to the bone and been a very dangerous gash, at its infliction. In fact, the count could have appropriately sat for the por- trait of one of the stereotyped soldiers-of-fortune and valiant gentlemen-of-the-sword of the age of Louis XIII. Once, a lady closely veiled and expensively dressed, had stopped at the door of our gym- nasium, and asked to see the count, as if she knew that he was there. She insisted on re- maining outside, sending up a message that she wished to speak with him, and the count, putting on his coat (he had been fencing with Penţz) skipped spryly down stairs, forgetting to touch his hat to us as was his wont, and went away with her in quite a hurry. Moss, our door-keeper, reported that the lady seemed young from her figure, and "awful excited,” and that she ran at once to the "shentleman" and "vispered avay like anything." 40 THE BLUE SCARAB .. She might have been his niece or his daughter, or even something nearer and dearer, we spec- ulated, which was, indeed, none of our busi- ness in the least. This was the only instance when any light had been shed upon the count's domestic affairs, and it was but a fitful glimpse at the best. Upon the afternoon in question, I was dis- qualified by my injury from sparring, having to remain stationary on a stool in the corner and view inactively the passing scene. Jack Listir, desiring to box, (in which science he excelled) looked sadly disconsolate. Mr. Wandel laughed. "I'm sorry, for you, Jack," said he; "You'd better take a turn at the bars with me." "I believe I'll take to the foils, myself," said Jack Listir, impatiently. "I'll not foil you, I am sure," said the exe- crable punster. - Pentz had overheard poor Listir's exclama- tion, and immediately made answer: "Why you no learn, heh? You make splendid fencer. You joost the build, well soot-up, and you have the wrist and eye. The sword is the only weapon for a gentleman like you. The glooves are for the loafer in the street, hah! Come, try a bout with me, mein Herr!" "Boxing is British and not Swiss," I jeered; for Pentz and I were rival professors in our re- spective callings, and very jealous of the hon- THE BLUE SCARAB 41 ors, he invariably decrying the manly art, and I frequently belittling the noble one. “Ja! And so is beef-eating British, and plum-pudding," sneered the irate swordsman. "And beer-drinking is Dutch," said I in dud- geon; for if you call a Swiss or a German a Dutchman, you are apt to make him an enemy for life. "Bah, you are a boxer!" snapped out Pentz, Aushing up and turning on his heel, contempt- uously. "I believe I'll have a few lessons in fencing although I am a Briton," said Listir gaily, “at least, until the little game-cock's comb gets well, eh, bantam, and he can use his gaffs again." "Good!" cried Pentz, much elated at his triumph, and quickly growing good-natured as before. I gave a playful crow of defiance, slapping my hands against my thighs to sound like wings. The padded jackets, wire masks and leather gauntlets were put on, the foils taken up and tried, and wildly swished in the air to the risk and peril of our noses. Then they went at it with a will (for Jack Listir had acquired a knowledge of theatrical fencing, such as it is) -ding-dong, hammer-and-tongs, pell-mell, crash! Grunt, grunt! Stamp, stamp, and slide THE BLUE SCARAB forward and back. Stamp and pass and parry, and parry and pass and stamp; slide and strike fire-works with your foils. Stamp! (your left arm in the air) plunge, and twist, with a quick wrench, your adversary's foil out of his grasp, Alinging it far behind him or you, greatly to his , chagrin and surprise. Hah! A palpable hit! Bravo! and the duel is over! And a man run through, in theory. And that is what the French call fun! "And how, pray, can you compare such child's play, such arrant nonsense, such a game of jack-straws, with the manly, healthful, plucky English art of self-defense? No French foils and frogs for me. Give me honest fists, a fair field and no favor. That's sport!" "Pardon, monsieur!" somebody said in my ear. "You seem to be out of humor. Ah, ver vell! But zat is not fencing. Mais non! Zat is ze make-believe; zat is child's play. Mais, par- donnez moi, monsieur! I intrude, I fear.” "I was only joking a little at Pentz's ex- pense,” I instinctively explained; and turning, beheld, grinning and scraping at my elbow, the French count himself, his little white eyes peering sharply into mine as if to charm me with their magnetism. He calmly blew away the thin smoke of his cigarette, politely saying: “Certainement, monsieur, I am avare of zat. You vere in choke. You are fond of ze choke, · THE BLUE SCARAB 43 eh? I vas in chest, also. Pardon!" And he grinned more, and bowed lower than ever-the very grimmest-looking joker and jester I ever saw in my life.. I felt really ashamed of myself for my ob- trusive, rude remarks upon a favorite national custom, in the presence of a foreigner and a true lover of the foil and rapier. But I had put my foot into it, and it was but right that I should feel like a goose. Besides, the French- man was a patron of our place. "I beg your pardon for my folly, and apolo- gize," I said, impulsively, to the smiling and scraping count, in my confusion. . "Sare," replied the latter, holding out his hand (for at heart I think he had some admira- tion for my vulgar John Bull dexterity of the fist), "Sare, I am not offended in ze least. If I vere, you sincerely have my pardon. You are young; you have not seen ze vorld-Mais oui! You should see me fence. I could kill zat German bungler in an instant. Parbleu! An as- sault, a parry, a pass, and my point is in his heart. Hélas!" I seized the opportune chance to interrogate him upon his past history. "You learned to use the sword in the army?" I insinuated with feigned indifference. But my wary friend was not to be pumped by me. He was drier than ever, in an instant. 44 THE BLUE SCARAB "I am an enigma to all my acquaintances," he said carelessly. “I learn everyting every- where. I am a sphinx." "You look like a soldier," I pertinaciously persisted. "Or a sailor," he said with a frown, draw- ing himself up stiffly. “I may be an officer of horse-marines, who knows?" 'Or a general of gendarmes," I dauntlessly persevered, a little provoked at the coolness of his rebuff. He swept me swiftly with his small white eyes, a rapid reading of my soul, and I thought I had broken through his superb sang froid for once, but he only said: "You shall see me fence some day, monsieur, perhaps," and walked deliberately away. I little knew at that moment how prophetic his words would ultimately prove, or what terrible sig- nificance lay concealed within them, like a stinging viper coiled venomously in a basket of fruit or flowers. . Jack Listir and Karl Pentz had finished their lesson at single combat. "Good!” ejaculated the professor in ecstasy; "Herr Listir, you have promise. You are soople. You have nerve, you have guard. Your pass is goot, very goot. You will do, as the Ameri- cans say. But enough for once, mein Herr!" Twilight having set in, Moss came in, lit the THE BLUE SCARAB gas, and, looking searchingly around the room, espied Count de Soudan engaged in a difficult passage-at-arms with the big Swiss. He hastily went up to the former, holding out a piece of paper, a rumpled scrap, which he handed him at a pause in the match. The count glanced over the note and said to Moss, “Anyone wait- ing?" (Moss nodding that there was, with a perfect air of mystery) proceeded with the bout to its conclusion, put on his coat, lighted a cigarette, tore up the scrap of paper, tossing carelessly the fragments into a corner of the staircase, and bowing with his usual polite- ness, said, "Bonne nuit, messieurs," and left. There was nothing unusual in his manner of departure. However, I had narrowly watched the coun- tenance of the Frenchman, during his perusal of the letter, and had seen it slightly change. Something disturbing had occurred, I was sure of that. The colorless eyes had flashed fire, the bronzed cheeks had paled perceptibly, his grip had tightened on the shreds of paper as he tore them fairly to tatters and flung them from him. What had happened to ruffle or perturb so in- variable and confirmed an equanimity? I am about to make confession of a fault, perhaps a grievous one, and to cast myself, for condonation, upon human charity. Overcome by curiosity to acquire more knowledge of the 46 THE BLUE SCARAB count, and further impelled by an impulse which I cannot explain, except upon the con- venient hypothesis of inspiration, as soon as he had gone, and believing that I was un- noticed, I sauntered over to the corner where the count had strewn the torn scraps of paper, and surreptitiously picking them up, fitted them piece to piece upon the palm of my open hand. In a moment I was in possession of the sub- ject-matter of the writing. The characters were cramped and scrawled in illiterate chirography, but the crooked, misspelled words were suf- ficiently intelligible to yield their occult mean- ing to me at a glance. They ran as follows: "Captin. sanmans tomorrow nite ten toosday. the gren grashoper is lost. gott. "h. GRATZ." The note was written in ink, and to me, bore undefinable evidences that the lines had been indited by a far less ignorant penman than it was designed to appear from the style of writing and the spelling. It looked like a woman's writing, yet it read like a man's. Was it intended to deceive?-if so, whom and why? And where was "Sanman's?" I had a sudden idea! Was the green grasshopper the blue beetle? The address of "captain” was the same that the man Gorman had applied to Dr. Madesby THE BLUE SCARAB 47 at the hospital, and at Potter's Field. Nearly every word was singularly misspelled, and there was a studied avoidance of capitals. "Sanman's" was no other than Sandmann's Hall in the Bowery, I believed, a place of foreign resort and equivocal repute, where meals and music were served of an equally satisfactory quality and quantity throughout the day and night. The note bearing the date Tuesday, the ap- pointed hour for meeting would probably be Wednesday, at 10 P. M. While I was meditating upon these evident clews to the possible discovery of my deadly enemy, I felt the fanning of a warm breath up- on the side of my neck, and, turning rapidly, surprised Pentz in the act of reading the mussed fragments over my left shoulder, and I saw in his face that he also had mastered the hidden meaning of the message. "You have read that?" said I reproachfully. "I tought you had found someting, some manner of jewelry on der Aoor," he coolly re- plied, with a lazy stretch and yawn of as- sumed indifference. "But you know the words?" I repeated. "Nein; I only oonderstand goot English; dot is bad." I felt that he lied to me, and that he was as well aware of the contents of the paper as I was myself. Why had he deceived me? I had THE BLUE SCARAB always believed him to be the very soul of honest frankness. Was he ashamed of being caught peeping? But that was not quite like the old Swiss either. He walked off sheepishly while I cast after him a withering glance of contempt and scorn. The old mustache is abashed at his own. inquisitiveness," I thought, forgetting that I was in the same predicament myself. Going downstairs I found Moss at his ac- customed station by the door. . “Moses," I said, "tell me who it was that brought the letter to the count?" "A lady, the shame lady vot fetched a me- shage for the Frenchy a month ago." "Did you see her face this time?" "Sho help me gracious, she kep her green veil close over her face shust the same, Mish- ter Brashe!" "What did she say to you, Moss?" "She rang the bell, and ven I go to the door, she shay, 'Shir, Colonel Soudan ish upstairsh ish he not? I am sure he ish.' 'Yesh,' I shesh, "he ish in the gymnashium a fenching, Mish.' "Well,' she shesh, «you pleashe shust step up and shlip thish little note into hish hand- and hurry, pleash, shir’-vhich I did." "What took place, Moss, when the count went down? Did the lady come in?" "She sthay standing outshide on the shide- THE BLUE SCARAB 49 walk till Frenchy come down to the door when she shay shortly, “A meshenger brung that letter to the hotel at shix o'clock sharp. I recognish- ed,' said she, “the handwriting, and run around wish the note to you at once.' She shpoke in a whishper, but I overheard her. "That's all, eh, Moss?". "Every bleshed shircumstance, sho help me gracious!” "Have you any idea (you are shrewd, Moses, and know a thing or two), which hotel she meant?" "Bleshed if I have, shir. They go toward Broadway." Moses Moss evidently could tell no more. The Blue Scarab 4 CHAPTER VI FEELING FOR A CLUE “And the poor beetle that we tread upon." -Measure for Measure. Leaving the gymnasium the next day about noon, I first went around to the police-station in Wooster street, in order to inquire whether any information had there been furnished or procured as to the personality or whereabouts of my assailant; but the last place to ascertain any news of the sort, or to acquire intelligence generally upon the subject of wily crime and criminals, I am fully persuaded from actual ex- perience, is a police station; for the sagacity with which those vigilant officers of the law disguise their ignorance or indifference upon any desired point is truly masterly. Sergeant Monsoon and several patiently-abid- ing privates of the force were taking things easy and comfortable in the outer chamber of administrative justice when I entered. "It's my opinion," volunteered the former, vaguely recognizing me, “that your assaulter did not intend to rob you, Mr. Cash. It's my 50 THE BLUE SCARAB 51 opinion, with sage-like lucidity, "that his sole object was to injure you, to hurt your head. Your assaulter, in my opinion, was an old offender or an ex-convict, and he meant revenge. He had dogged your footsteps with the intention of doing you bodily harm, and your assaulter knows enough to make his escape and keep himself out of the way." "You have heard nothing further of him, then, I take it, sergeant," said I, quite well knowing that he had not. "No, sir, not a word, not a word," said the sergeant solemnly. "But we have our eyes open; we are vigilant; we never sleep. Your assaulter is in great jeopardy; his personal liberty is in danger; he can go to Sing Sing for seven years. It was an outrageous assault, sir, outrageous!" "As soon as you catch him, you will let me know, so that I may appear against him, won't you, serjeant?" "Of course, sir, of course. It's sure convic- tion, sir; and sentence will surely follow. He's a gone coon, surelie." I had my own doubts about that, however; for, first, the man was to be caught; and, sec- ond, he was to be identified by either the po- lice or by me; and I didn't believe that they had any more knowledge of him than I had, and mine was next to none. Taking a Broadway omnibus up-town to the 52 THE BLUE SCARAB side-street where I alighted, I proceeded on foot to the Eleemosynary Hospital, that whilom worthy charity of the city. Dr. Madesby was busy in his study, but inviting me through an attendant to come in, welcomed me with his habitual warmth. . "Glad to see you, Brashe! Saw by the “Her- ald that a man of your name had got a knock on the head the other night, and meant to call and see you to-day. Was it that bilious chap whom you punished? He said he'd get square with you, you know; but who'd have thought he'd try it so soon? A regular marine monster, eh? A grampus!" "He took leg-bail,” said I, "whoever he was, and he was pretty prompt in getting even. However, the game's not over yet. But I want to have your aid in the matter." In five minutes I had put the doctor in pos- session of my purpose to overhaul the grave of Joel Lazarus by daylight, and my wish that he would give me an order to Good and Glory to extend their needed help. "The breastpin may be there still," I concluded, "in among the de- bris and overlooked." "It must be there still,” said Dr. Madesby with warmth; "I have no doubt that it was over- looked. That fellow went off at half-cock. No one would have stolen it or even picked it up in the street. A mere piece of pinchbeck- THE BLUE SCARAB . 53 ware in the form of a scarabæus, inherently not worth a quarter. You see a hundred such trifles in every cheap Jacob's shop in Chatham street as you pass along any day of the week. The design, I admit, was peculiar, but the thing was almost worthless in itself," Not to fatigue the reader with unnecessary details, it is sufficient to state that Dr. Mades- by and I obtained the services of Bill Glory and Tom Good; that they turned up the sod and again dug down to the old Hebrew's grave in Potter's Field in the most thorough manner possible; that the doctor and I examined the grave, the box, and the dust therein with mi- croscopical scrutiny; that we picked over every visible sliver of the interred skeleton and every shred of the decaying shroud, a heavy flannel shirt; that we spent a couple of hours at least in this exhaustive work; and, as a result, that not a trace of the blue beetle could we discover with this solitary exception; in the bosom of the burial shirt, in the very spot where Dr. Madesby had said that he had placed the breastpin, there were, sure enough, two rusty punctures, a couple of inches apart, of a pin- large and well-defined marks, which must have been there for years undisturbed. "Brashe," said the surgeon, with a puzzled air, pointing to the holes in the stout stuff, "from this I am forced to the conclusion that * 54 THÊ BLUE SCARAB • the breastpin that I fastened there has lately been filched from the body. If it had broken loose from the shirt, it would have fallen some- where within the box which, saving the cover, is intact. The thing has certainly been taken." 'You are sure," said I with sternness, addressing the two grave-diggers, "that you, or neither of you, saw anything of the lost article, a pin in the form of a beetle something bigger than a pigeon's egg?" "I saw or found nothing of the sort," said Good, with honest fervor and simplicity. “I have never set eyes or hands on anything of the kind," said Glory, in a tone of unmis- takable truth. And I was satisfied that the two workmen spoke with the strictest honor . and veracity. “I believe you both," said I. "And I, too," said the doctor, “with all my heart." "This sod, sir," said Tom Good, "I am sure has not been disturbed for months and months until I raised it with a pick four nights ago." "It was as solid as a stone, sir," said Bill Glory, "I'll answer for it." "Well," exclaimed the doctor as we parted; "this bothers me-I am knocked over alto- gether." When I reached the gymnasium, Moss hand- THE BLUE SCARAB 55 ed me a letter in the well-known handwriting of my faithful guardian, Gil Grunt, with the aside in a stage-whisper: "Mr. Pentsh came down a while ago and oxed me if you vas in or out. I told him I didn't know, for I thought it was none of hish bloody business. I never blab, I don't, so blesh me! He noses around too much, doesh old Pentsh, for a Christian. And look here, Mr. Brashe, I shuspect that his right name ish not Pentsh at all." "Why do you think so, Moses?" “Vhy, sometimes yhen I shay to him “Mr. Pentsh!'he pays no more attention to me than if I didn't spheak or he didn't hear me, and he ishn't deaf, either." "A sharp conclusion, Moss." "Yaas," laughed Moss with a waggish shake of the head, “old Pentsh ishn't absent-minded, neither. A knowing old fox ish Pentsh, let me tell you, or I'm an assh." "He's getting old," said I, “as you and I will be some day, Moss." "He'sh not so old as he looksh," said Moss slily; "He's a cute un, shir, and don't you for- get it!" As I passed through the gymnasium I encountered the master of fencing himself. Had he been awaiting my return? He cast a quick glance at me saying, "Moss has a letter THE BLUE SCARAB for you, mein Herr. I ask him if you are in your room, and he tell me, nein." "Thanks, professor," I answered, “I have the letter." "Jawohl," said he with a nod, and left me. Had he merely conjectured that Moss would tell me of his questioning about me, or had he been eavesdropping at the head of the stairs and overheard what he had actually said to me? Moses Moss was a smart little Yankee Jew, and I had known him to make many a shrewd and happy guess, at times. I had scanned Karl Pentz intently but his cast-iron countenance had imparted nothing to my mind. He was a stolid, big-jointed Swiss, who had served in some European army early in life, he had said, subsequently becoming a traveling courier. Finally, coming to the States, he had given fencing lessons for a living, and had now been a teacher at Colton's for some three years. He was very steady in his habits, rather retiring and taciturn generally, though at odd times the reverse; a most reliable person to deal with and a capital swordsman. Though I often quarreled with him in a quiet way, about the relative merits of boxing and fencing, after a stout passage-at-arms we were always excellent friends again, his red, irascible face glowing with good-nature, his dull eyes growing as sleepy as ever, and his wiry white beard bushed THE BLUE SCARAB or lead and of no intrinsic value whatever. Dropped on the night of March 24th, last past. Please apply for reward at office of Claus Volckmar, 13 Maiden Lane. No questions asked Safety guaran- teed. Absolute confidence and good faith. In order to insure strict secrecy, a call may be made after business hours. I perused this printed clipping several times before I was able to digest its substance, so bewildered was I at its startling import. The night of the 24th of March was the very night of our strange adventure at the burial- ground; and, if the wonderful blue beetle had been lost in the locality designated in the ad- vertisement, then our theory to the effect that Hugh Gormon had seen and snatched up the pin at the moment of his attack upon the two workmen, and of his having run away with it fraudulently, was strictly true; for he had un- doubtedly dropped the beetle during the excite- ment and intensity of his murderous assault on me, and, feeling for it as he fled toward Broad- way, had discovered it gone and doubtless had duly notified the advertiser of the loss. At the present instant it was plainer sailing than at any period since my search for the beetle had begun, for I was in possession of actual proofs in confirmation of certain or un- certain probabilities. But the hours were pass- ing on, and I must be on deck to box my pupils between the hours of five and nine P. M. I put on my yellow shirt, accordingly, and descended to the gymnasium for active work. "Ha, ha!" Jack loudly greeted me, "still THE BLUE SCARAB 59 alive, eh! No more street-ruffianism or late hours! How's your head?" "Mr. Listir," said I, "I have a little favor to ask of you. It is a matter, too, in which I request your utmost secrecy. It is necessary for me to disguise myself. I have reason to think that I am on the track of that fellow who assailed me in the street the other night, and I shall have to hunt him up, or down, in per- son. Can you lend me a suitable make-up from the stock of the theater if I call there this evening about nine?" "Certainly, my dear fellow. What shall it be? A rag-picker, a general-of-brigade, or a juggling mountebank? And will you have red whiskers and a wig? Or a black beard and a bald pate? Speak the word, and we are able to serve you with anything and everything in that line of business." “Let me see!" said I; “I believe it best to get myself up in a very quiet fashion. A gray- headed Long-Island farmer out seeing the ele- phant would do, would it not?" "It's yours, Brashe, and welcome. Drop in to-night at nine, then. I only appear in the opening farce, "Lend Me Five Shillings'-Mr. Golightly, you know I shall be free at the end of an hour, and can give you the rest of the night if you want it. And so you are up to some secret service work, are you? I remem- THE BLUE SCARAB ber a case of that kind when I was playing at the Haymarket in '47." The count had meanwhile come in and, be- ing on the alert in that direction, I observed him and Pentz watching each other very nar- rowly and stealthily; nor did I take my atten- tion off them during the entire evening. “Those men are enemies, I suspect," thought I, "and have some mutual cause of hatred and revenge. It's a wonder they have not run one another through and through during a fencing bout. They are sworn foes, or I'm a Dutch- man.” Indeed, so conscious must each one have been of the ill-will of the other, that, in avoid- ance of personal peril, they refrained from their usual set-to that evening, the count loitering idly hither and thither, seemingly engaged in protracted reflection, and smoking cigarettes, while the big Swiss fenced quite viciously for him (for he was generally good-natured under arms, unless it were with the Frenchman), toss- ing his adversaries' foils about, lunging heavily at their breasts, and snorting blood and battle in all directions. "What a terrible chap old Pentz is when he's awake!" drawled Wandel, “a regular rouser; that is, if you arouse him. I say, Jack, why don't you go for him to-night? His pentz have grown to pounds, you see!" THE BLUE SCARAB 61 The count withdrew as the clock struck eight, and I thought that Pentz looked know- ingly at me as the door swung to upon him. The professor was fully cognizant, I was aware, of the contents of Gratz' note, and of just where the Frenchman was bound to be at ten o'clock that night. I am much mistaken, my friend," said I to myself, "if we do not all meet at ten P. M. at Sandmann's." The gymnasium was deserted earlier than usual that evening, Mr. Colton having had a professional engagement elsewhere, and his aid, Pinner, not being considered an adequate compensation for the chief. My special line of pupils gave out, too; Pentz sat down on a rope to rest; Moss partly turned off the gas; and gladly I found myself at liberty. CHAPTER VI SANDMANN'S HALL “These troublesome disguises which we wear." -Paradise Lost. The old Broadway Theater was situated on the east side of the greatest thoroughfare of Gotham, at the southerly corner of Anthony street. It was a large, brown, brick structure, with a spacious entrance and vestibule. Betaking myself at nine o'clock to the stage- door, I inquired of the door-keeper for Mr. Jack Listir, and I was bidden "to please walk up to the green-room," where, accepting the invitation, a heterogeneous scene enough met my eye. Sitting or standing, hither and thither about a large, square apartment, with a dressing-room on either side (one for ladies, the other for gentlemen), were gathered mis- cellaneous groups of actors and actresses, ac- coutred in theatrical dresses for the play. Some were laughing and talking pleasantly, others were busy conning their parts before go- ing on, and not a few, especially of the fairer sex, were daintily prinking up and posturing THE BLUE SCARAB 63 to themselves in some tall mirrors, as if they were engaged in a game of peek-a-boo, or hide- and-seek, or were amiably mincing and Airting in unison with their doubles. "Hello!" said a well-known voice, while a welcome hand was cordially held out to me; "Hello! glad to see you, Brashe! Step in with me to the dressing-room-I've secured a rig for you and when we come out, I'll engage that your own mother wouldn't know you. , Come on!" Jack was but just "off," clad in the evening- dress of a London swell, as the rollicking, hard- up, but ever lucky Mr. Golightly. "You couldn't lend me five shillings, Brashe, my dear boy, for a couple of hours, could you? But stop, I don't want them. I am only so full of the careless character I've just been acting, that I'd as leave borrow as not. Walk in, old man!" "I'll walk in a young man and walk out an old man, thanks to you, old fellow," said I: with a laugh. "Yes, Farmer Grub of Grubsville," said Jack, “down to see the sights in York." The dressing-room was shelved around with lockers like bunks in a ship's cabin, one of which, number seven, Listir unlocked, taking therefrom a roll of rough stage clothes. "Here you are!" said he; "a felt hat that has 64 THE BLUE SCARAB seen the sun of many summers; a gray top- coat to your knees; a homespun waistcoat; a stand-up collar none too clean; a pair of stout shoes with country blacking; and a Jackson hickory cane. You'll fairly reek of the plough when you get those on. And then, Brashe," he hastily added, as I proceeded to equip myself, "for a finishing touch, we'll have old Cowles in to put on the paint and fit you with a wig. You'll do, my boy," he concluded, as I duly climbed into the yellow inexpressibles, stained with the country soil; "now do you know, you are accurately arrayed for the part of Squire Hayseed, in «The Honest Bumpkin? You'd pass for old Hadaway himself." "Mr. Listir," I suddenly exclaimed, “I wish you would disguise yourself, also, and accom- pany me. I do, indeed." “I've been hoping all the while that you would ask me," returned Jack, “but I was diffi- dent about suggesting it myself, for I dote on adventure and am well aware that you always mean business. I'll be ready in half a jiffy." Jack called at once for Cowles, the men's dresser, and in a trice was supplied with the costume of a “Bowery Boy," which consisted of shabby black coat, trowsers with polished boots outside, a checked shirt and blue spotted scarf, a red or blue handkerchief worn conspic- uously in an outer pocket, and a shiny silk hat. THE BLUE SCARAB 65 "Now to make up our heads," said Jack, "so as even to defy the detectives!" Old Cowles had already caught the cue by instinct, and was close at hand with a grizzly wig and false eyebrows for me, which, with a tuft of gray hair under the chin, tied around the neck behind, and rouge rubbed over the face and hands to represent sunburning, meta- morphosed me completely. "You need have no apprehensions, sir," said the costumer, quite proud of his job; "you can be perfectly at your ease and not think of your personal appearance, I assure you, sir; for your individuality is entirely obscured, sir." Jack Listir was the more difficult to disguise for the reason that his make-up was so exceed- ingly simple; but a black wig with soap-locks, and plenty of jet rubbed into his handsome brown mustache, and rouge about his cheeks and neck, together with an old scar on the left side of his nose, finally did the business. "Bet your life!” said he in a drawling tone, in clever imitation of the stereotyped swagger of the Chatham-street "b’hoy." "I want to go to Grand street," said I, aping the manner of a rural visitor to Gotham timidly inquiring his way. Then why in thunder don't you go?" re- plied Jack, aggressively, in exactly the same words used by Mr. Chanfrau in his famous char- The Blue Scarab 5 THE BLUE SCARAB acter of Mose, in “The Streets of New York," then playing at Mitchell's Olympic Theater further up Broadway, near Grand street. The effect was irresistibly ludicrous. Cowles, exploding with laughter, led us through the green-room, amid the smiles and stares of the surprised company there assembled in readiness for the speedy summons of the call-boy. "Come," I exclaimed, "are you aware that it is a quarter to ten o'clock, and that we have several blocks to go? Hurry, if you please!" "I'm your master," said Jack Listir briskly, and we hastened out through the stage-door in- to the street, while Cowles, the costumer, was laughingly explaining who such queer birds were, to the door-keeper and his assistant It was a fine starlit evening, frosty but kind- ly, and the street-lamps, flickered wildly in the occasional fresh blasts. Leaving Broadway be- hind us, we went through Baxter street and the Five Points, then dark and dreary enough, struck into Center street at the Tombs, and, keeping rapidly on, reached the Bowery near Broome street, within three minutes of the des- ignated hour. "Now for it!" said my friend, in the reckless spirit of adventure. Sandmann's Hall stood on the south-east corner of a certain cross street and the Bowery, THE BLUE SCARAB nearly opposite the old Bowery Savings Bank. It was a four-story brick building, of some for- ty feet front and some sixty feet depth. The first floor contained the bar, a large, square beer- hall full of small tables, a raised platform for an orchestra, and a diminutive garden or green- house (the former in summer and the latter in winter) at the back. The second floor consisted of a dancing- hall with a refreshment counter and stationary seats against the walls. The third floor was made up of small private supper rooms for the use of more select parties. These were the pub- lic parts of the building, and they were usually thronged with French, German and Italian cus- tomers at every hour of the afternoon and evening until midnight. Sauntering on among the groups at the ta- bles, I kept my eyes wide open for a sign of Count Philippe and my would-be murderer, but without success. I had not confided to Listir the purpose of my visit further that that I had some hopes of tracking my brutal assailant, and I think that Jack was full of the idea of our having a wild and desperate personal encounter to effect his capture. Indeed, the defiance of my compan- ion's counterfeit demeanor was most amusing. No Mose or Sykes of the streets was ever more exasperating. The sang froid, the inscru- THE BLUE SCARAB table self-poise, the provoking swagger, the sullen scowl, all these were done to the life with the ease and pliability of the accomplished actor. And how Jack liked it! "Call me Ben Secker when you speak to me, Squire Grub," he whispered, buying a cheap cigar at the bar, lighting it by the fuse, and introducing it between his lips at an angle of forty-five degrees. After exhausting the resources of the beer- hall in vain we mounted to the dance-hall on the second story and gazed attentively about us. A German band was playing at one end of the room; countless couples were gliding and circling in the mazy whirl; numerous spectators were idly viewing the lightsome dancers from the chairs; while white-capped waiters dashed hither and thither bearing trays of ice-cream of inviting colors, and generous glasses of ruby or golden liquors, or goblets of amber wine and beer, to cool and refresh the inner man and woman after the other wilder intoxications of the floor. We took seats in order to better regard the scene of vanity. "Glorious!" exclaimed Jack Listir, forgetting, for the moment, in his ecstasy at the life-full sight, his ungracious part; “Glorious! It's like a night-scene out of Faust and Marguerite. THE BLUE SCARAB See that pale, flaxen-haired Dutch beauty with the pink sash and ribbons! And yonder little French grisette as graceful as a fairy! And see that gallant young German there who looks the perfect picture of a Heidelberg student off on a college lark! I remember, by gad, in the year- but we have no time for reminiscences now, my dear boy. Do you see that long-haired fellow leaning against the wall over there, thought- fully looking on at the fun? Well, that's the story-writer, Ned Towline, editor of Ned Tow- line's Own'. He led the charge of the mob of Forrest-men upon the Astor Place Opera House, during the riot, when poor Macready was play- ing inside, driving him in panic from the boards. And, by Jove, there's Yankee Sullivan (that's in your line, Brashe), who fought Tom Hyer the other day. What a lithe, well-built chap he is, barring his broken nose! And there stand two other notabilities of New York- Captain Reindeer of the Empire Club, and Pat Sterne, the gambler, he of the inimitable air and ineffable smile. What a red-faced rascal it is! And there's Manly, Marcus Cicero Manly, you know, one of the editors of the Police Ga- zette,' a dead-shot with the pistol and the best- groomed newspaper-man in town. Why, all the sports have come to Sandmann's Hall to-night, to share the fun." I had listlessly listened to Jack's lively ha- THE BLUE SCARAB rangue, my senses on the stretch to catch a view of Count de Soudan upon his entrance, nor was my patient scrutiny in vain. I saw him enter presently, hasten through the hall, and hurry up the stairs to the private rooms above. He was not alone. Upon his arm hung a woman of a handsome, though buxom, figure, elegantly dressed, but closely veiled. I nudged Listir, who, checking his eloquence, beheld them too. A quick thought struck me! Could it be that the veiled female was no other than the expected Gratz or Gorman, in deep disguise? But I soon arrived at the conclusion that I must be mistaken in this conjecture, and that the lady was probably the count's female friend who had brought him his letter, the day be- fore, at the gymnasium. "It's old Soudan!” exclaimed Jack; "and that must be the woman Moss talks to me about. A gay Lothario, eh!" "Ben Secker," said I in a quivering voice; "stay right here where you are; I am going up- stairs for a few minutes to spy out the ground. I'll meet you anon." "Anon, anon, sir!" replied Jack, in the words of good Dame Quickly. I strolled feebly, in simulated decrepitude, to the third floor of the house of entertainment. It was partitioned off into a great many sep- arate stalls, or small closets, to which a gentle- THE BLUE ŚCARAB man could escort a lady to a tete-a-tete tea. There were no doors to these apartments, but in some cases chintz curtains concealed the in- terior. Many of the chambers were occupied; waiters were carrying refreshments to and fro; and the rattle of plates and knives was loud and continuous. Scrupulously staring and gawking around like a provincial greenhorn, I soon descried the count and his companion cosily ensconced in one of these private boxes. A waiter was in at- tendance for their order, which the count was apparently about to give. I looked intently at the lady. She was now unveiled and sitting placidly in still repose. She was a fine, fair sample of womankind. Perhaps forty, she seemed to be five years younger, so sprightly were her movements and so fresh and comely her complexion. Of medium height, with a trim, slight waist and an almost girlish form, dressed with faultless taste as a person of fash- ion dresses, she appeared to me at first sight to be a thoroughly distinguished woman of the world. As she spoke in answer to the count, her full, red lips disclosed a set of superb and brilliant teeth. Such magnificent eyes of soft dark vio- let I had never noticed before in any mortal head; they were fairly luminous with intelli- gence and intensity of expression. Her hair THE BLUE SCARAB was a rich, glossy auburn and very abundant, curling out under her neat French bonnet in clusters of rare luxuriance. "What a truly beautiful and lovely creature !" I found myself repeating, sotto voce, over and over again. Sidling closer to the stall, I saw Count Phil. ippe turn his small white eyes toward his companion, and heard him say: "A strawberry ice, you'd prefare, countess? Very vell. Garcon, one strawberry ice and a glass of eau-de-vie; and for me a bottle of clar- et and a plate of wine biscuit. Some vat you call sponge-cake, beside, for madame! And, garcon, some cigarettes!" "Vhat a pity, madame," said the count to the lady when the waiter was gone, "Vhat a pity zat you do not speak ze French, zen it would be more agreeable. But ve must take ze gifts of ze gods visout complaints. Vous etes fa- tiguée ?" "A little," answered the countess with a sup- pressed yawn; “It is very warm in here." “I vonder vhy ze deuce zat rascal no here!" said the count, with a searching stare about the room. "Vhat you vant, old man? Go vay!" This last remark was roughly addressed to me who, in my eagerness to hear, had drawn nearer to them than I should have done. CHAPTER VIII THE ACROBAT “A lean and hungry look.” - Julius Cæsar. There was a crowd of dancers and spectators collecting at the opposite end of the hall, which now attracted our attention and curiosity. Joining the pressing, elbowing assemblage, we gained the margin of the forming ring, and craning on tiptoe, sought for the immediate cause of the commotion. An acrobat had arrived, whether by accident or previous arrangement I could not say, car- rying a roll of carpet upon his shoulder, and wearing a long, loose ulster over his spangled tights. Spreading the carpet at full length up- on the floor and removing his long coat, he stood at once revealed in all his splendor. A muscular, well-built man of middle-height, of thirty-five, having a pale, clean-shaven face, very black eyes and brows, a firm wide mouth, square chin, and clean-cut features—thus ap- peared the traveling tumbler to the expectant throng there gathered to observe him. Extract- ing from the pocket of the coat a pink skull-cap 74 70 THE BLUE SCARAB doubled vigor. And how those Dutchmen danced and swung and ogled in the swell of that sea of breezy melody! The hungry glare of the tumbler's gaze still haunted me, and my glances followed him un- til I saw him stop at the counter at the pro- prietor's expense, after which he went upstairs to enact his fatiguing part before the occupants of the private boxes, the eminent quality of the place. "Let us go up," I said, “and, in the tumult of the show, have a closer look at the Count and Countess of Soudan." . "At the countess only, you mean," retorted Listir roguishly; "for which of us two cares a continental for the limp and liverless count?" “The Frenchman is both your and Pentz' pet bete noire, I believe," rejoined I, with a little laugh. "No Englishman can abide the monkey- shines of those frog-eating Jean Crapauds," laughed my cockney companion, as we climbed the wide, steep stairs together. The poor acrobat had no doubt shown off his attainments in the first-floor bar-room, to more than one encore, before the display of his skill in the crowded dance-hall; and now, weary with his work, he had to go through with it all over again, for the special entertainment of the third-story exclusives THE BLUE SCARAB Already he was spreading his carpet, having removed his top-coat, almost directly in front of the stall where sat the count and countess, who were rakishly engaged in smoking cigar- ettes and sipping brandy. As the perform- ance proceeded they appeared to be greatly in- terested in the twists, contortions, leaps, som- ersaults, and gyrations of the India-rubber mountebank, and loudly clapped him to a rep- etition of his feats, as did the rest of the amused and diversified audience, also. When the man had concluded his cheap show, and collected the various dimes and quarters of the company, we were pleased as well as surprised, to see the count politely beckon him to his box and despatch the waiter for some refreshment for him as the humble, cringing guest of the nobility. . “A magnanimous man, the count," said Jack Listir, with a rather cynical smile for him; "Pats Poor Tray on the back and generously compliments him with a bone, and the plaudit "Good old dog!!" "I must hear their talk," said I, “even at the risk of being kicked down stairs by the fiery count. It may be of the utmost moment in this matter." . Stealing on tiptoe to the edge of the stall, I listened to their words most eagerly. The countess was speaking in clear, ringing accents 78 THE BLUE SCARAB like a bell. And how strangely those musical notes moved me! "Woe to him if he prove treacherous or dis- honest! I know him too well of old! Be- ware!". "No living man shall delude me!" declared the irate count. "I swear I have told you the truth," mut- tered the acrobat, in fear and trembling; "I do not lie! So help me! The dear blue beetle rescued from the grave was unluckily lost in the way that I have stated! So swears Hein- - rich." "Your damned galley's tempers could not keep cool even with the grand prize in your pocket," cried the count, now beside himself with rage. "You could not vait for your revenge avhile. And vat vas it, anyvay? Pah, you fools!" "Do as you will," placated the man, "the thing is done. I am not guilty." "It may yet be regained," said the lady, but I felt that she did not believe it. “Come!" The trio arouse to go, angrily parting at the private box. Jack and I hastened in their wake. "Mr. Listir," said I, when again in the open street; "by all that I hold sacred, I recognized in the croaking voice of that stray acrobat, my deadly assailant of the other night, although THE BLUE SCARAB by art much changed, as much as you or I." "Bless me!" cried Jack, “let us arrest him straightway." "Later!" I returned, "later!" and we sepa- rated for our respective homes. I had seen H. Gratz at last, and his first name must be Hein- rich, from what I had just heard. That night the wind moaned fitfully, in my dreams, among the sedges, as of yore. CHAPTER IX CLAUS VOLCKMAR 'Whose merchants are princes.” -Isaiah. In Maiden Lane, just out of Broadway to the eastward, many of the wholesale jewelers and diamond-merchants of New York have their sales-houses; and, among the latter, pre-emi- nently prominent, was the store of Claus Volckmar, the prince of foreign dealers. But few of the business men of New York were unacquainted, at least by name, with the great and far-famed merchant millionaire. It was to the counting-house of this wealthy gentleman that I betook myself, in answer to the blue-beetle advertisement aforementioned, on the morning succeeding the notable surprise at Sandmann's Hall, as I had deemed it best to apply at once in the matter to headquarters. Ascending a flight of steep steps, I stood before a broad glass door having the words in- scribed on it, in gilt letters, "Claus Volckmar, m Dealer in Diamonds." In response to my summons, the massive door was swung back, and a slight, blonde . 80 82 THE BLUE SCARAB ception and security of the precious stones at night. "Rudolph!" presently called a pleasant voice from the next room, as the iron door was drawn ajar. The young man at once went toward the private room. "Did I hear some one come in and ask to see me?" inquired the amiable voice. "Yes, father; a young person is here to see you." "Show him in," was the prompt and explicit . direction. "Father will see you, sir," said the extreme- ly civil young gentleman to me; "Please pass in." The office into which I was admitted was a much smaller apartment than the other room, quite sumptuously furnished with an Axminster carpet, two comfortable sofas, a couple of easy chairs, a rosewood wardrobe or bookcase, a huge, round center-table with a damask cloth, and a writing-desk inlaid with ivory, having a few gilt-edged books upon it. An immense mirror was suspended over an open fire-place, and, on the opposite side of the room, was a solid wrought-iron Marvin safe, polished like steel, and with handsome silver trimmings or mountings at the front and ends. By the round table sat a slight, straight man in a revolving chair, who placidly pursued his THE BLUE SCARAB 83 absorbing occupation of the pen without raising his spectacled eyes from the paper until I was close beside him, when he suddenly lifted his head with a snap, and absolutely Aung the focus of his glance upon me. He read me over from head to foot in an instant. "Well, my friend," he said, quickly throwing down his quill-pen and wheeling toward me in his chair, “and what do you want with me?" "I called," I replied, "in respect to an ad- vertisement that I read in the 'Herald' yester- day—" "The blue beetle?" he snapped out at once, though in the most affable tone. "Have you found it? Do you know where it is?". "Not at all," said, “but I may possibly shed some light on the affair, or I will try to do so." "Go on," said he curtly, "go on!" Without any reserve I informed him of my experience in Potter's Field, of the deadly at- tack upon me, in Bleecker street, of my sub- sequent search on my own account for the blue beetle, of the French Count's letter signed "H. Gratz," of my masquerading visit to Sand- mann's hall, and of my possible identification of the strolling acrobat, the guest of the count and countess, with Hugh Gorman, the ruffianly ransacker of Joel Lazarus' neglected grave. I further mentioned, as competent witnesses to the truth and accuracy of my statement, Dr. 84 THE BLUE SCARAB Howard Madesby of the Eleemosynary Hos- pital, Mr. Jack Listir of the Broadway Thea- ter, the police of Wooster Street station- house, Moses Moss at Colton's Gymnasium, Prof. Karl Pentz, (who no doubt had read the communication from Gratz,) and, lastly, the two lowly grave-diggers, Good and Glory. "What is your motive, dear sir, for coming to me?" asked my auditor abruptly. "First, to trace up iny quondam assailant," answered 1, "and, second, to gratify a very natural curiosity to learn the secret of the lost blue beetle." "Why do you think there is a secret?" plied , my interrogator. "There must be some mysterious reason for so much interest being taken by so many per- sons in the fate of such a very trilling piece of jewelry, "said I, respectfully adding, "Why do you yourself offer so large and disproportionate a reward for its recovery?" "A family heirloom," retorted my vis-a-vis; “Isn't that enough?" He had scrutinized me thoroughly through- out the interview, and at this point inquired intently: "Who are you, my friend?" “A young Englishman," I made answer, "who has been in America but a few months." And I went on to tell him that I was master of THE BLUE SCARAB 85 boxing in Colton's Bleecker Street Gymnasium. "Have you any one to vouch for your char- acter?" he inquired. "Only my employer, and my old friend Gil Grunt," replied I, quite offended. "And who is Gil Grunt?" he asked. In as brief a manner as possible I gave him the story of that devoted guardian and incom- parable comic singer's honest but humble ca- reer, and of his care of me. My hearer laughed outright at my eulogy, saying: "Do you like your calling?”. "I like it well enough," said I, “but not its disreputable associations. But I can do nothing else or better here." The wealthy gentleman bent his gaze fixed- ly on my face for a few seconds, finally saying with indifference: "You read and write?" "Of course I do," said I. "And cipher?” "Oh, yes, fairly-. I have been through Bour- don's Algebra." "You speak French?”. "A little, and German less; Latin I read easily. But why do you ask?" "By and by I will tell you. Now, I wish to say something else, something important to yourself, my son. Your name is Gaston Brashe, I think you told me?" THE BLUE SCARAB I bowed in frank assent. He added rapidly: "Gaston, I like your looks, I believe you faithful. What salary do you get at the gym- nasium ?". "Fifty dollars a month," I answered wonder- ing, “a room, and keep myself." "Very well! I want to hire you, and I will pay you a hundred dollars a month if you will serve me.” "In what capacity?" I said. "My confidential clerk." "And my duties?" "To be ever at my elbow, to do just as I direct, to sleep every night in this inner chamber, to guard all my interests. You are a boxer-I want a boxer. You are a brave youth–I want a brave youth. You are to be always armed with fire-arms. I may need you at any hour of the day. You may have to use your pistol at any moment of the night. I employ your nerve-your mettle. What say you to the bargain, my son ?" "I am selfish, sir, and I wish to better my- self. I desire to be a gentleman. Sparring is vulgar—common; a clerkship is genteel. I pine for respectability and higher pay. You will double my income. I am yours." “And when," he asked, with a pleasant laugh, "shall we begin?" | "At once," I answered; "I am paid off to- day." THE BLUE SCARAB “Agreed!" said he, in earnest. 'Done!" said I. It was a bargain clinched between us on the spot, and I began to feel, at the instant, that I had passed out of the realm of the gloves and prize-ring, to that of the office and a de- cent life. "Report to me to-day at five o'clock," said my employer. "And once for all I say to you that you must dress as a gentleman invariably, a young gentleman of education and refinement, who has a good position in society. Here are fifty dollars in advance. Go to Brooks Broth- ers and buy yourself as good a suit as you can get for the money. But, no, put that cash in your pocket for ready use, and direct them to send the bill to me for the clothes. You need also shirts, cravats and shoes; buy them, and a silk hat. Also a cane and an eyeglass and gloves."" "But, my dear sir, excuse me," I interrupt- ed; "I like to know exactly how I stand, for I make it a sine qua non to keep within my means." "I know, I know!" he said impatiently; "Your twelve hundred is for your subsistence solely. But have your bills for necessaries sent in to me. You must keep up the style of a gentleman worth twenty-five hundred a year, at least. It is for reasons of my own. Now 88 THE BLUE SCARAB go, and commit to memory the conditions I have made and named." Bowing, I turned to leave the luxurious room. "Stop!" exclaimed the merchant, with great seriousness, and a quick flash of the glass eyes straight at me. “There is one thing more. Ours is a solemn compact. Swear that you will serve me faithfully, with all your might." "I hold my word," said I, "as holy as my oath." "You promise, then, to be ever secret, stead- fast, and true to me, upon your sacred word and honor." "I do," said I with fervor. 'Enough! Now go till five P. M." Good-bye, sir!" He nodded. As I re-entered the outer store, I observed that another young man was busy behind the counter, a dusky, olive-hued young fellow, having a sweeping jet mustache and glorious black eyes; and that an Irish porter was em- ployed in making up the fire in a huge heater, the weather being still rather sharp for the spring season. The proprietor's son had gone out, during my absence with his father in the office. Not to weary the reader with needless de- tails, suffice it to say that I received my past THE BLUE SCARAB month's pay from Mr. Colton and resigned my place in the gymnasium; that I shook hands in parting with my late employer and with Pro- fessors Pinner and Pentz, casually letting fall the fact that I was quitting my craft of private boxer forever; and then, packing in my port- manteau my few effects of value, and present- ing the debris of my property to Moses Moss, I walked away from the gymnasium with the self-sufficient air of a man who had received his deserved promotion to a superior sphere at last. "You von't forget poor Moses," Moss howled after me, in an amusing manner, "vill you, my lord, now that you have come into hereditary possession of your eshtate?" "By no means," said I with condescension. Duly provided with a neat, gentlemanly out- fit in the character of a wealthy favorite of fortune, and with cane, umbrella and port- manteau in hand, I promptly reported myself for duty at No. 13 Maiden Lane, the precise instant that Saint Paul's church-bell had begun the stroke of five. Mr. Volckmar, wrapped in a costly great.. coat of the finest fur, and carrying an expen- sive gold-mounted cane, met me at the door, smiling blandly, and I was surprised to see what a splendid, dapper little figure he looked in street-costume, like a miniature field-mar- THE BLUE SCARAB shal, field-glasses and all, distinguished, com- manding, and with a most valiant air of war. “Punctuality, and exactitude are the essen- tials of success," he said, grandly; "step in, Sir Sentinel, and assume your post." "I am glad to do so," said I, with deference and willingness. "You will, if you please, put this latch-key in your pocket in case you go out, and lose it at your peril. Be in by nine o'clock, no later, and be sure you snap the latch after you, going and coming. My son and your brother-clerk are now gone home, but the fires will be made up to keep you warm for the night, at eight. The janitor, whom I have already told about you, lives in the basement, but has a key to these two rooms. You will sleep on either of the sofas you prefer, and on no account un- dress yourself during the night, but rest in your clothes. Here are a couple of revolvers, Colt's largest, for defense against marauders. You know how to use them--for there are many thousand dollars' worth of diamonds in these safes. Your fellow-clerk will be in at nine in the morning, when you can go out and get your breakfast. Is there anything else you want to ask before I go?" "You have the keys of the safes yourself, Mr. Volckmar?" said I, that I might run no extra risk of blame, in case of accident. THE BLUE SCARAB "The locks are combination locks," he an- swered, “and I and my son Rudolph, or the other clerk sometimes, alone have the word to open them." "And in case of fire, sir?" “Call the janitor, or the police, who will sound the alarm." "If I go out for an hour in the evening, as you permit, do you consider the place quite safe, sir?" "Yes. Look to your lights and the doors; but you must summon the janitor to let you out and in. He always minds his outer door, the street-door of the building. Is that all?". “I believe so, sir; I can think of nothing more." "Well, good day or good night, my son, and pleasant dreams. Don't get frightened." "I'll try not," said I, as he marched off in the most military and mighty fashion. The door was shut and I was locked in, with all my elation, but little better than a dia- mond-dealer's private watchman; but my em- ployer was a very pleasant diamond-dealer, and undoubtedly my circumstances and pros- pects in life had materially improved since morning. CHAPTER X A CALL FROM HERR PENTZ “What a warning for a thoughtless man.” . —The Excursion. • It was about eight o'clock when the janitor knocked at the door, with a fresh supply of coal to replenish the failing fire. As he entered, he said: “A gintleman to see you, sir!" and, to my amazement, Professor Karl Pentz's big, lumbering form blocked up the doorway. "Why, how did you know I was here?" I cried, not over-pleased by the visit of my quondam associate of Colton's at so inoppor- tune an hour and in so rich and respectable a place as my new quarters. "Ach! Glad to see you, mein Herr! You are not overjoyed with my. call, Herr Brashe? But I come to do you a service;" and a bristling-out of his hedgehog beard indi- cated that he was blandly smiling at me. “How I find you, mein freund? You left your address with Moss, you may remember, to have any letters forvarded to you, and Moss gives it to me. Dot vas all. It vas very sim- ple." 92 THE BLUE SCARAB 93 "And have you brought me any letters?" I asked, with an air of thorough annoyance. "By no means," replied the Swiss, "but I have brought meinself, and if I may come in and sit down I have something to say to you." "Certainly, Mr. Pentz; make yourself com- fortable by the stove, and I will listen to what you have to say with readiness." "But not with pleasure or patience, eh? But no matter; you will be glad dot I come, by and by." I waited for him to begin his explanation, but he twitched his elbow toward the loitering janitor and sat in silence until the man had departed with his empty scuttles, and the iron door was shut. Then he deliberately arose, beckoned me into the inner office, and, mys- teriously closing the door, rapidly made a care- ful survey of the chamber from corner to cor- ner and under every chair aná table, not omit- ting to try the wardrobe, at the end of which thorough reconnaissance the old master-at-arms subsided on the sofa and said: "Is it against the regulations to smoke in this apartment?" "Not that I am aware of in my short sojourn here. Here is some Virginia fine-cut. You can smoke if you wish. I have been doing so.” . I must confess that if it had not been for THE BLUE SCARAB my knowledge of Pentz's well-known honesty and singleness of purpose, I should have re- garded his unaccountable presence and con- duct with alarm and suspicion, custodian as I was of such a priceless quantity of treasure, but I was too well acquainted with the old ser- geant's straightforward character to mistrust him for a moment. But what could be the ob- ject of the old man's visit to me? In order to make him feel at home, despite his unwel- come coming, I lit my pipe again likewise, and joined him in a friendly smoke. "Mein Herr," said the Swiss at length to me, after we had warmed together the well- colored bowls of our meerschaums; "mein Herr Brashe, relying upon your nerve and secrecy, I shall inform you of an important fact, es- pecially to you, mein freund! Well, then, your life is in danger!" "What do you mean?" said I, "and how do you know that?". "I may not tell you dot, but I came here to warn you of your great danger to yourself. You notice that this inner door has no key to the lock-a trifling circumstance, but significant to you. Very well! Being an old armorer to bend and beat straight my swords and foils in the army, I will make you a private key to zat lock. Und you make me your bromise never to sleep in dis rhum mitout you lock up dot door." THE BLUE SCARAB 95 Whenever Pentz waxed emphatic or excited I had often observed that his English became more broken than in his quieter moods, and now he grew almost unintelligible in any known tongue whatsoever. I assented to my old friend's demand, per- ceiving that he could have no motive hutan unselfish one in having me well locked in in my headquarters. But from what source in the wide world could peril possibly emanate, particularly to poor, worthless, unimportant me? "Who is it that has a design upon my life?" I bluntly asked. "I cannot tell you dot, mein freund, said Pentz kindly, "but with your bermission I will broceed to make you dot key, and you keep mum dot you got it." Taking from his pocket a pair of small files and a piece of metal, he removed his coat, pro- duced a fragment of wire with which he felt in the key-hole for the size and shape of the wards, and, adroitly ascertaining their posi- tion, speedily fashioned a key out of the steel with his files, which exactly fitted the lock with the aid of a little oil. “Dot vill do,” said he, gaily handing me the key: “Und now I have another word to add. You never go to sleep mitout seeing dot dere is no one in dot vardrobe yonder. Und dis, THE BLUE SCARAB you bet your life, mein freund-lock your door, dot big door, on de inside, ven you go to bed, und leave de key in de key-hole. You see, I make de shank very short so dot nobody can turn de key from de outside mit de nippers, mind dot! Herr Brashe, I teach you a ting or two, mein freund." "Am I to fear another attack upon my life from my former assailant?” I inquired. "Der Bleecker-street man, you mean? Vell, sir, dot I shall not say. But you know there are desperate robbers in dis big city, and you are the night vatchman of a diamond-shop, mein freund. Dot's all." He got up to go. I approached him and offered him my hand. He took it cordially and shook it. "Well, old man!” said I, with grati- tude, “I never knew before that we were such good friends. We used to quarrel a good deal about the respective merits of fencing and box- ing, though I admit I didn't mean half what I said upon the subject.” "No matter for dot. I may call again. Be on your guard, mein boy!" "Good night, Herr Pentz!" "Gute nacht!" He was off, and I heard the janitor let him out and fasten up after him. Without bothering my brain with further fruitless conjectures I turned old Pentz's extemporized key in the .... . ... . .. CHAPTER XI A DIAMOND MERCHANT'S CLERK “A clerk foredoomed." -Pope's Epistles. When I awoke, my quarters were so close and dark, that my first idea was that it was still night; but, upon opening the inner door, the spring sunshine streamed cheerily in at the windows at the front of the store, the shutters were thrown wide open, and the rosy Irish janitor was busy brushing up the dust, and raking out the stove, humming a merry tune the while. "Och, whack! Cupid's a mannikin!" he war- bled, as I hailed him drowsily. "A fine morning!" said I, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. "Faith, and you're right! an' it's a sound sleeper and a brave snorer ye are, going it like a tom-cat-I mean a tom-tom. Sure, I heard ye in here." Having made the fire and straightened up the shop, O'Rourke withdrew, and I took a seat by the window to await the arrival of my fel- low-clerk. 98 THE BLUE SCARAB 99 Down town in the early morning, is a marked contrast to down town during business hours. The sparsely peopled streets, the janitors and porters dusting the steps and sidewalks with their brooms, the occasional clattering past of an empty hack or dray, the clash and clang of opening doors and shutters, the shrill cries of the milkmen and the newsboys, the lumbering along of omnibuses in adjacent thoroughfares, these awakening sights and sounds of a mighty city sometimes suggest more vivid and sensi- tive impressions than the rapid, earnest, bus- tling crowds of business hours, somehowmas the shadows of the clouds fall more plainly on the fields than bursts of sunshine. Such furtive meditations were put to flight by the rather abrupt appearance of my fellow employe, at nine o'clock, or about one second before nine. "Sharp nine, you see,” he observed with a laugh, and a sweet though feeble smile; "the governor likes his clerks to be on time." "That's right," said I laughing likewise, in response to his informal greeting. As he took off and hung up his hat and top- coat, I made a hasty study of my new compan- ion. Some twenty-three or four, slight of build, with somewhat stooping shoulders, of middle size, his forehead high and wide, with black curls at the temples, the features straight 162336A 100 THE BLUE SCARAB and fine, the eyes oriental in luster, the chin a beautiful curve, and having an enormous grace- ful mustache sweeping over the cheeks, this handsome young fellow won my heart at once by his frank manner, behind which lurked, I could see, an air of subdued melancholy, con- stitutional or otherwise, as will be seen. "My name is John Inkton," he said, in- genuously; "and yours?" "Gaston Brashe," said I, frankly. "We are friends," he added, "from to-day- are we not?" "To be sure,” said I, to cheer him up, for he seemed sad in spite of his cordial ways; “good friends from this day forth." “I'm glad of that," said he; "and now, Brashe, please go to breakfast, while I stay here. You can get good grub in the hotel-restaurant at the corner on Broadway--the Howard House-where they have also a table d'hote, if you like it best. I prefer chance cuts myself." "I'll try the restaurant first,” I said, present- ly adding, "From your face I took you for an Italian, but your name is English, is it not?" "It's gypsy blood you see, but I'm a born and bred New Yorker," he replied “My parents were from Albany. My father was a lawyer." "Yet you became a merchant," I rejoined, "and forsook the courts of law and equity." "I read law. while a clerk with Judge Roose- 102 THE BLUE SCARAB At ten o'clock, the Volckmars, father and son, arrived at the store together; the elder bowed courteously to his clerks as he passed through to the inner office; the younger imme- diately took his place at the book-keeper's desk at the rear end of the counter; the velvet cases being again stocked with precious stones in readiness for the demands and inspection of wholesale customers, as they came in at odd intervals during the day. Young Inkton stood behind the counter exhibiting the exquisite wares until late in the afternoon, when such goods as were purchased were securely packed and delivered to an express-carrier (after decla- ration of value and due receipt therefor) and borne away for shipment. Several prominent commercial gentlemen dropped in at intervals to exchange social greetings with Mr. Volckmar, who received them with considerable effusion, the demonstrative habit of a man of wealth and worldly prosperity. I found that the Volckmars were Austrians by birth, but were uniformly spoken of by Pat O'Rourke, as "thim two Aus- tralians." Thus several days passed without any event of unusual note to mark their progress. The senior and junior Volckmar had gone home one afternoon about four o'clock, and John also had left at five, saying that he would be back in a couple of hours to relieve me for THE BLUE SCARAB 103 the evening, so that I had an interval of soli- tude for profitable or unprofitable reflection, as the case might be. John was due at seven, but he failed to report till near eight, when it was evident to me for the first time that he had been drinking. His fine, olive face was flushed, his great eyes flashed and sparkled, his tongue wagged garrulously, and his elastic step was as if he had been lightly treading upon clouds, oblivious of falling disgracefully to the Ainty earth. He came dancing in as light as a feath- er in a stiff breeze. "Pardon me, my dear fellow," he amiabıy apologized; “I know that I am inexcusably late, so I have brought my sister to help me make my peace. Jane, dear, this is my new friend, Mr. Brashe. Miss Inkton, sir." A young lady entered just behind him, and, with a half-courtesy, cordially held out her gloved hand to me, saying: "You are the new clerk I want to talk with you." "With the greatest pleasure," said I, shak- ing hands with her shyly, and blushing like a school-girl with surprise and boorish diffidence. Such a strong contrast between brother and sister as that exhibited by John and Jane Ink- ton, I have never seen equaled. She was a rath- er tall, angular girl of eighteen, straight and square-shouldered as a grenadier, slim and trim , 104 . THE BLUE SCARAB of waist, bony of joint, but lithe and agile of movement, and firm of footing as a fawn. The complexion was a swarthy brunette; the brow low and broad; the large, coal-black eyes bright and penetrating; the hair short, jet and curly; the bushy eyebrows meeting over the nose but gracefully arched; the cheek-bones high; the nose bewitchingly retroussé; the mouth the most beautiful I have ever seen, large, with full red lips and perfect, regular ivory teeth; a well-set neck and rounded bust; and the gait and carriage of an Amazon—such was Jane Inkton, the strongest woman, morally and mentally, I have ever met. She was the antipode, physic- ally, of her effeminate brother-a man where he was a woman, brave where he was a coward -a saint where he was a sinner! "I came to stay with John till you got back," said this angular paragon; "You are kind to him he tells me; and to you as his friend, be- fore him now, I have this to say: John is too fond of drink. Mr. Brashe, I beg of you, if you will and can, to hide this fact from his employer, to make light of it to others. John has genius. His love of liquor is his danger- his only fault. He is not at all a bad boy, but he needs checking. He lacks a helm-What have you been drinking now, John?" "Brandy," replied her brother, truthfully and simply; "two brandies at the Eagle bar." THE BLUE SCARAB 105 "One too many," chided his sister, as if he were a child: "I have told you often to take but one at a time. Why don't you mind me and stop?" "I had a loose shilling in my pocket; " said John, quizzing her, "and I had to spend it. Kiss me, Jane, I promise to be good, my girl." “Naughty boy!" said Jane, and kissed him notwithstanding. "John is a poet,” resumed Miss Inkton to me. "Mr. Brashe, you will try and make a man of him, won't you? You are, no doubt, stronger than he is and can more easily resist the fol- lies of youth. Please promise me this." "For his sister's sake," said I. "For his own sake," she innocently explained, in blissful ignorance of my gallantry. "Well," said I, "good-bye to you both till I return. I will try and be back by half-past ten or eleven. I'm sorry to have to keep you here so late." "It's very nice here," returned Miss Inkton, "and I shall be glad to sit with John." I left them cosily ensconced beside the fire- place in the inner room, with the center-table and its reading-lamp moved toward the ingle, each with a volume selected from the book-case in dextral hand, and the red flare of the fire lighting them up like gypsies on the stage picturesquely encamped for the night. Indeed, 106 THE BLUÉ SCARAB there was a Bohemian atmosphere, in more senses than one, about them both. CHAPTER XII STOUT'S AMERICAN CIRCUS “These our actors." – The Tempest. Proceeding up Broadway, in half an hour I was at Prince street, between which and Spring street stood the Alhambra, where Stout's American Circus was to be opened on the roth; and sure enough there were the posters at the doors in blue and red, setting forth the pres- ence and manifold attractions of the show, among which was announced, I noticed, "the funny jesting and singing of Gil Grunt, the famous clown and comic vocalist, late of London." The performance, beginning at half-past seven, was in full blast when I arrived; so I purchased a ticket for the dress-circle and en- tered the house, taking my seat within excel- lent view of the ring. Yes, there was the cir- cus as at Astley's. The same glossy-whiskered ring-master in the black surtout, with his eb- ony-handled, long black whip, and fiercely- cocked silk-hat, the same lovely and enchant- ing Mademoiselle Ernestini Banglini (other- 107 108 THE BLUE SCARAB wise Tinie Bangle, youngest daughter of Bill Bangle, hostler at Higham's livery-stables, Brompton; who first learned to ride upon the bare-backs of the hacks her father groomed in the stable-yard); the same snow-white steed that cantered so gently to the soothing ca- dence of “The Ivy Green," or the lively strains of “Planxty Kelly;" the same elegant and much mustachely endowed young foreigner known as Signor Patricio Maguiro (not Pat Maguire) the unparalleled equestrian phenomenon of Fran- coni's Paris, who answers the ring-master's terrible query, "Can I do anything further for you, sir?” with the polite response, “Thanks, no, me lord-juke!"—the same orange-peel and peanut-shell commingling with the wet saw- dust and yielding up the fragrant flavor insep- arable from the influences of the hippodrome. And, bless his dear old soul! there, perform- ing a lock-step in company with the uncon- scious ring-master, his comical felt hat cocked over his right eye; his kindly, honest counte- nance floured and painted beyond all recogni- tion, his portly body encased in yellow tights and pea-green breeches, a scarlet banner grace- fully draped around his shoulders in mockery of a fashionable mantilla, his blue eyes squinted and his mouth distended in the act of chaffing jibes and jeers behind the eminently respecta- ble back of the master of the ring—there, yes, 110 THE BLUE SCARAB man turning out the gas-I mean my Gassie turning hout a gentleman; and you've done it so natural, my son, agoing in with a rich mer- chant that in London did dwell. But ’ave he a daughter-an uncommon fine young gal, and Gassie, is she willing?" My fond and affectionate Gil had a favorite habit, by the way, of illustrating his remarks with bits of popular songs with whose choice sentiments he was fitly familiar in a purely professional way. Not being what is called a well-read man, these scraps and sketches of verse were pretty much what Latin quotations and texts of Scripture are to the instructed scholar. They serve the place of novelty of invention and originality of speech. "I dare say,” Gil went on, while applying the friction of a towel to his glowing counte- nance; “I dare say that the diamond cove means well and that you are a made man. Why, next thing you will be riding in your coach and six and throwing pennies to the hadmiring multitudes, like the Lord Mayor, Gassie. Oh! my sakes alive, how jolly!" So elated was he by this sudden thought that he Aung the towel wildly in the air and hugged me close to his breast again, giving a loud "' urrah," to the amazement if not consternation of the surrounding members of the company, who laughed among themselves and began to THE BLUE SCARAB 111 guy a little at the enthusiastic clown's exuber- ance and expense. "Gin!" remarked one drily. "Gas!" cried another, catching at my nick- name. “Got 'em again!" remarked a third. “Look here, gents," broke in the cannon-ball thrower sternly, “let old Grunt alone! He's a trump. Leave off, I say, or I'll drop a seven- ty-four pounder on somebody's toe." "Jolly companions, hevery one!" said Gil, with the blandest of smiles. “I don't care a fig for your chaff. I've got my boy again, and it hopens my 'eart, it does. Henjoy yourselves, do! It does me no 'arm and it does donkeys lots of good to bray out lusty. Go on, mokes!" My attention was attracted during the ex- change of this choice repartee by one of the troop of circus-men, a performer or supernu- merary, whom I had not noticed until then. "Who is that man?" I asked Gil suddenly, pointing to the person in question. "A supe," said Gil, "who was taken on to- day to 'do the heavy business, I believe." "His name?" I gasped "Angels hand Minis!-how pale you are! I'll find hout this blessed minute. Bobbin, who is the new supe with the storm-at-sea voice, him yonder?" "I heard his name was Gratz. He's took on 112 THE BLUE SCARAB in Tom Owen's place to do low vaulting. He's a daisy at a fly. Haven't you seen him yet?" "Not to notice him," said Gil; "a rum cus- tomer that cove is, or I'm a bloke." There, sure enough, was my brutal assailant, Gratz or Gormon, an engaged performer in Stout's American Circus, a daily associate of Gil Grunt, my best friend—yet he my mortal and maneuvering enemy. Yes! the Fates had put him in my power and I meant to watch him, and have Gil watch him, like a guilty jail-bird as he was, to try and tap him as he foundered and struggled in his tracks unmindful of the fatal snare we would straightway set for him. "Gil," I said, “come take a walk with me. I have much to tell you that I have not yet told of my past, my present, and my future. Come !" "I'm with you, my lad," said old Gil, cheer- ily; "aye, aye, my hearty, we'll ship and sail together as long as Sam Sealegs has a drop in the bucket or a shot in the locker. For I, John Turner, am master and owner of a ‘igh- deck schooner bound to Carolina." When we were on Broadway and walking up to Canal street in company, I pledged my friend to the utmost secrecy and silence, and minutely detailed to him the events of the Potter's Field, and my subsequent peril and escape from murder. "Now, Gil," said I, "that man is the villain CHAPTER XIII A FOREIGN RENDEZVOUS “When pious frauds and holy shifts." -Hudibras. There were in New York in those days but a few resorts, yclept "restaurants," which for- eigners frequented for indulgence in wine and small dishes during the later hours of the evening; but a couple of these, which we shall have occasion to visit in the course of this nar- rative, were the "Hôtel Grand Vatel," in Lis- penard Street, and the “Taverne Alsacienne," in Howard Street. Neither of them was a suit- able substitute for an American bar, but, at either, one found a number of Frenchmen and Germans gathered about little round tables in friendly groups, occupied over their vermouth and absinthe in chatting, or chattering rather, or playing ten-cent games of “ecarte," "piquet," or "vingt-et-un." Sometimes the stakes were bottles of Bordeaux or Burgundy, when the gamesters grew boisterous or heated and over- excited, and when M. Hyacinthe, mine host, would be obliged to interfere in behalf of the neighborhood, and summarily shut up his house for the night. 114 THE BLUE SCARAB 115 We strolled along as far as Howard (now Harry Howard) street, when insensibly attract- ed by the lights of Saracco's Dancing Acade- my, where a dress-ball was in progress, we turned down past Howe's bakery, and, seeing a sign, "Emil Hyacinthe, Taverne Alsacienne" over the door, entered the café arm in arm, both of us having in mind, no doubt, an hour of social and comfortable refreshment. Most of the smaller tables were crowded when we entered, but we descried one in a. corner by the bar which must have been but lately vacated. Accordingly, we took our seats, I summoning Emil Hyacinthe himself, a little portly fellow, evidently an Alsatian, and giv- ing an order for burgundy, broiled-quail-on- toast, oyster patés, and “café noire," for I de- sired Gil to know, and feel that my purse be- longed as much to him as to myself; besides which, I may have had a spice of pardonable pride in airing my newly-acquired familiarity with first-class bills of fare. Well, old man," said I, as we comfortably sipped our wine after the feast, while waiting for the coffee and the cigars; "well, old man, and how wags the equestrian world?" “Lucky, lucky," said my friend, with perfect frankness; "Ben, Benny Stout, you know- did well enough in Boston and the 'osses kept lively. Barring a few trifes the circus runs 116 THE BLUE SCARAB like hoil out of a wale, Gassie, into a barrel." "Hush !" I whispered; "keep still a moment! Don't look, Gil, but do you see those two men at that table yonder?" “? Ow can I see without looking?" whispered Gil with a puzzled air. 'Be careful, then! One is a slim, genteel- looking man with a gray mustache-" And milk-white eyes," broke in Gil. "Yes. That's the count, of whom I told you. And the other, smooth face, heavy brows, square shoulders” "Our new utility man, as sure as I'm alive!" said Gil. "Count Philippe de Soudan and Gratz, the scoundrel!" whispered I warily. "Now, the count knows me, and Gratz knows you, prob- ably. So how is it possible for us to get near enough to them to catch the gist of what they are saying?” “Plotting some wickedness, I'll engage," said Gil, knowingly. “But leave it to me, I am an old fox. Change hats! Give me your scarf, your cane, your gloves. 'Ide your face and sit quiet. Gassie, I'll go; Gratz has only seen me once or twice." With surprising promptitude and dispatch, Gil pulled his thin hair over his temples, put his eyeglass in one eye, tied my Roman scarf jauntily at the neck, cocked my silk hat to THE BLUE SCARAB 117 one side, and cane and gloves in hand, saun- tered over to a vacant chair, just at the back of my brace of precious acquaintances, with the lugubrious muscles of his face drawn to an ap- pearance of abject misery and not a trace of the clown or comic singer distinguishable in his classic features. He looked rather a wretched old "roué" out on a would-be lark. I partly hid my countenance in my handker- chief, slouching Gil's soft hat across my brows, and stealthily viewed the passing scene as I smoked behind that barricade of cambric. Gil, tilted far back in his chair, had his ears within easy range of the words of his prey, while those confederates conversed at perfect will, little dreaming of a hostile spy's proximity. I laughed to myself at the fun. "Good for old Gil!" I chuckled. But what was it that suddenly made me start as if I had been shot? A short way off from the little group, lolling lazily in his seat, sipping bottled beer and leaning within hearing of their conversation, was a vast fat form, with huge jet-beard, a pair of green goggles and a lank black wig, wearing a Kossuth hat and a Hungarian shawl (out-of-door articles of dress then widely in vogue), and having a wart or mole on the end of his nose as big as a ripe blackberry. Something indescribable in the 118 THE BLUE SCARAB play of the neck and arms, the pose of the torso, and the slope of the shoulders caught my attention. Am I surrounded by dupes and detectives?" said I to myself, "or am I daft on the subject of plots and counter-plots, of crimes and crim- inals? For as sure as I live, there sprawls Karl Pentz, professor of fencing at Colton's gymnasium, a highly respectable old Swiss, "une vieille mustache," whom I also imagined I be- held in a similar disguise at Sandmann's Hall. Have all the world engaged in masquerading for the sake of a beggarly blue beetle, or did the crushing blow I got on the head that cruel night addle my poor brains and set them chronically wool.gathering?" “Mare's nests everywhere!" I sighed, and waited I again glanced anxiously at Gil Grunt. The count and Gratz had just risen from the table and were about leaving the saloon, followed by Pentz in a lumbering manner. As soon as they were gone, Gil came over to me, all the melancholy swell and swagger' com- pletely dropped. "Dicky's himself again,” said he, in his usual circus way. “But bubbled and bubbled and bit- terly troubled, bamboozled and bit, my dis- tresses are doubled." "What did they say, uncle?" asked I. "Drat me if I know," answered Gil. THE BLUE SCARAB 119 “Didn't you hear them? I saw them talking together." "Oh, yes! I heard them well enough, but deuce a word did I understand, for they spoke in furrin tongues." "French, eh?" "French or Dutch, it was all one to me, Gassie. I'm dumbflummused." "Most provoking," I answered, in sorrow and disappointment. Vexed and thwarted, we sought the open street. Saracco's "bal dansant" was concluded, carriages were driving up and departing with their fair false freight of both sexes, and par- ties were passing out of the brightly-lighted building toward Broadway. As one of the hacks drew up at the entrance, a man and woman, the latter in fleecy opera-cloak and Aowered-silk hood, came down the stone steps together and, getting into the close vehicle that stood in waiting, were driven rapidly away. Could I mistake that lady? "See, look, Gil! There! there!" cried I in breathless haste; “that couple in yonder carriage, the count-and beside him the beautiful countess! Look! See!" “Yes, yes!" said Gil; "the woman I have seen somewhere before. Let me think! Strange, I can't locate her. I believe I've met her abroad, but I can recall nothink---nothink at all." We were both buried deep in thought. THE BLUE SCARAB 121 out of doors. Signs swung creaking overhead; shutters slammed in the darkness, and the soughing blast and shivering watchmen wrap- ped themselves in ample capes and cursed the bitter and inclement cold. What a relief it was, therefore, to hear the Irish janitor's lusty brogue in salutation as he let me in, and to greet the red glow of the fire • in Claus Volckmar's outer room as I gladly let myself in with a latch-key. All was serene inside as when I left it. John Inkton was asleep upon a sofa; while his hand- some sister Jane, as picturesque as a corsair's bride, still sat at the merchant's table, reading delightful Elia. “I fear that I, in turn, am late in relieving guard!” said I to the bewitching grenadier. “Not too late,” she said; "in quite good sea- son. What o'clock is it? I have taken no heed of the time. John, poor fellow, was quite tired out, and has slept for more than an hour, I think. See! He has written a little poem! What a gifted boy he is!". "He has great talent," said I when I had read the verses. “Great genius," said his sister fondly. “And he worships Shelley?" I said. "And Byron and Moore and Poe and all the rest. He has Shakespeare by heart. But wake up, John, we must be off; the bells are striking 122 THE BLUE SCARAB twelve. Sweet dreams to you, Mr. Brashe." "Surely at your call!" said I sheepishly, and she too blushed a bit. Clapping her drowsy brother's hat upon his head and putting on her own plain bonnet and shawl she pushed the tipsy poet gently along out of the office and the store and on into the . thickening weather and the rising gale. Sadly I turned from the rapt comtemplation of her commanding outlines, and obeyed her spoken wishes by dreaming of her and idolizing her fond image in my slumbers until sunrise. CHAPTER XIV JOHN AND JANE INKTON “Of moral evil and of good.”. - The Tables Turned. At the south-west corner of Chatham Square and one of the radiating cross-streets near the junction of the Bowery with the Square, once stood a two-and-a-half-story frame-house, old, small, shabby, with an oyster-saloon in the cellar and a bar-room upon a level with the sidewalk; the upper floors, more or less habit- able apartments, being generally occupied, even to the miserable little cramped and un- ventilated closets under the shingled roof. Upon the second floor of this building, at the head of a steep, narrow flight of stairs, and having a separate entrance from the side street, was a tolerably comfortable suite of furnished apartments. To the above building, several evenings sub- sequent to my agreeable meeting with Miss Inkton, her brother John and I proceeded from the store at the polite and pressing invitation of the former, in order that he should introduce "a new but valued friend,” as he declared me to 123 124 THE BLUE SCARAB be, to the eccentric economies of his and his sister's home. “We are living in the rooms lately occupied by Mr. Seneca Stewart," he said to me on the way, "a well-known character in Gotham, and at one time one of the most fashionable society swells and typical club-men of the city, but re- duced-yes, you might say degenerated sadly- in the social scale before his death. It is not quite just to my sister to stay here, but she goes in and out by the private door, and is not troubled. We have cosy quarters enough when we are at home, for you know Mr. Stewart partly fitted up the rooms for his own comfort. We quite often see our—or at least my—friends here. We expect a few this evening." “And your sister enjoys company?" “I can't altogether say that she does always, but she thinks that seeing our friends at home keeps me out of bar-rooms and in good com- pany, and so does it graciously on my account. She's happiest, generally, when she has me. with her." John Inkton knocking at a door on the first landing, his sister inside called to him in gen- tle response to the summons: "Come in, John! I know your knock." Miss Inkton received and welcomed us at the threshold of their parlor, a fair-sized room quite snugly garnished. THE BLUE SCARAB 125 "And Mr. Brashe, too!” she said, smiling kindly; "I am truly happy to see so good and kind a friend of my brother." "Walk in, Brashe!" shouted my companion; “We'll give Jane a cold chill by taking a drop of punch before the others arrive." "Not at all," rejoined his sister; “I mixed the punch myself and hope it is to your taste. It only grieves me, John, to have you resort to bars and drink a drop too much. Here are tumblers." "You are a practical reformer, Miss Jane, said I, sipping my glass. "More good will re- sult from your encouragement of home temper- ance, than from all the teetotal lectures and sermons in the world." "She's the best little girl alive," said her brother, smacking his lips over his punch and giving his sister a spirituous kiss. Pretty, in- deed, she was; the jet eyes and hair glinting in the gas-light and the beautiful mouth, a red, red rose, with inner petals of lily and snow- drop, and a deep round dimple on either russet cheek, like a little bite in a winter pippin, smiling a pleasant greeting. "Have you gypsy blood in your veins?" I inquired instinctively. "How did you guess that?" she replied well pleased, I thought, at my discovery. "Yes, and we are very proud of our honorable descent from 126 THE BLUE SCARAB . that ancient race. My great-great-grandmother on my mother's side was a full-blooded gypsy —an English Romany-queen of her tribe by birth. She married a king of another band and was true to her blood and people; but her eld- est-born son eloped with an English girl and came to America--the colony of New York- as a British sergeant of dragoons, in revolu- tionary times. He had his mother's name, gypsy fashion, of Hilarye, which has been corrupted to Hillary, my own mother being Harriet Hillary, who married my father, Mark Inkton. But pardon this tedious tale of our pedigree, Mr. Brashe; as I said, we are very vain of our gypsy lineage-John and I." “I have observed before that your brother was a trifle nomadic in his views,” said I; "and now I know where he gets them. And I also see, Miss Inkton, how you happened to have so royal and superb an air of aboriginal wo- manhood, a growth quite abnormal in our modern Christendom. You are a product of good old paganism-a gift of the Egyptian gods." "I am not fond of cats, however," said Miss Jane, "or of crocodiles; and I do not pine for the banks of the Nile in the least, which, as a daughter of Pharaoh, I should surely do. But it is nine o'clock, and high time for our guests, I believe." THE BLUE SCARAB 127 “I heard Jane getting off all that gypsy gen- ealogy on you, Brashe," laughed John; "and, as for me, I am unsettled enough to belong to any wandering tribe, be it Hottentot or migra- tory Malayan. But I hear a welcome and fa- miliar summons at the door." He opened it accordingly and let in a me- dium-sized, florid-faced, extremely pleasant- looking gentleman, scrupulously clad in a suit of business-black, who brought with him a little bouquet of hot-house flowers, which he at once gallantly presented to Miss Inkton. "My dear lady, allow me—a few buds and blossoms fresh from Grant Thorburn's green- house. Please accept them with my salutatory bow.” While she and the poet were conversing, he with the grace and gallantry of a “preux chevalier," and she with the conscious pleas- ure of a young lady who duly felt the honor of his attentions, I strolled toward the front window and gazed forth upon the lights and lively movements of Chatham Square. Omnibuses were rattling to and fro, oyster saloons were displaying their round red lanterns, pedestrians, male and female alike, were passing rapidly along, and numerous peanut-stands had flaming and flaring in the wind their open lamps and torches. Opposite stood the National or Chatham-street Theater, 128 THE BLUE SCARAB the Bowery's successful rival, so often sacred to the wonderful histrionic talent of the great and famous "Gloster," Junius Brutus Booth. Another rap sounded at the door, and on my turning thither whom did I see enter, with the most dashing "debonnaire" manner imaginable, but the beau-ideal of light-comedy heroes, the splendid Tom Jones of the play-house, Mr. Jack Listir, decked in a stylish drab top-coat of the day, his silk hat and thin boots immaculately glossy, and his handsome hands encased in a pair of tawny gloves, while his brilliant right eye sported a single glass and his trim mustache stood bravely out at the ends in all the glory of Parisian wax. "Hello!" said Jack Listir heartily, after he had greeted the Inktons, addressing the New York poet who was by no means averse to having the youngsters slap him on the back in "bon camaraderie." "Delighted to see you all. By the way, Brashe, I did not know that you were a friend of Mr. and Miss Inkton.” In a few words I explained to Jack my re- cent change of business and intimate relations with John Inkton, to which he listened with interest, cordially congratulating me upon my promotion to a worthy business career. "Shall we to whist?" said Listir presently. "Two others are expected," answered John, "a gentleman and lady. They will be here in a minute, no doubt." THE BLUE SCARAB 129 "Pardon me," said Jack, "I thought we had all arrived." "I may mention," said John, “that the expected pair are French-or one of them is, and he bears a foreign title besides. The lady teaches music to my sister. Hence the acquaintance." "Madame Lola," said Miss Inkton, "is an English woman who married in France, I believe, and is the most beautiful woman in the world." A low knock was now heard, and Jack Listir and I exchanged understanding glances. A lady and gentleman were ushered in by John, who said, suavely: "Permit me! The Count and Countess de Soudan!” Miss Inkton removed the countess' wraps and bonnet, while the count shook hands courteously all around. "I have met M. Listir and M. Brashe before,” he said, with a bow. "I hope I see you quite vell, messieurs. I have miss you from ze gymnasium, Mistare Brashe. You no box zare now, eh?" I replied somewhat stiffly that I had become a merchant's clerk; at which announcement he evinced no astonishment, but coolly rejoined: "Bien! Zen you vill learn to fence it is so genteel. Ze foils for ze elite. Mistare Listir, The Blue Scarab 9 130 THE BLUE SCARAB ve ave just come from ze Broadvay Theater vhere ve saw you play Rover in ze first piece. You are a capital actor, sare, and make us laugh much vith your magnificent sang froid and heroic dash-élan!" “Devil take his French flattery!" whispered Listir in my ear, with all the dislike of a broad compliment inherent in the British breast. I assented with a nod, for I disbelieved the sin- cerity of the wily count's commendation. In a moment, Miss Inkton again brought in the countess from her own chamber, and for the first time I saw that lovely lady without her hat and shawl. She appeared more beau- tiful than ever, the most girlish-looking woman of her age I had ever beheld. "A matron," thought I, "why she's but a maiden—a bride-a lovely young belle still." The blooming countess chatted, laughed, and blushed, by turns, Airting her feathered fan, flashing her exquisite eyes, displaying her fine teeth and gracefully swaying and curv- ing her lissome form as she liberally coquetted and conversed with each and every entranced admirer. She seemed to take quite a fancy to me, if I may modestly say so, fixing her ardent gaze on me intently, ogling me most killingly, and evidently exercising her wondrous fascinations in my indifferent direction rather to my embar- CHAPTER XV A CITY VAGRANT You shall comprehend all vagrom men." - Much Ado About Nothing. John Inkton at intervals passed around tum- blers of cold punch, to everybody's enjoyment, racy jokes were made over the cards and a short story or two was told. A pleasant hour was quickly spent when we heard a prodigious scuffling and shuffling on the stairs and landing without, which upon John's going to the door, was agreeably accounted for by the apparition of a negro-waiter from the basement below, bearing a colossal tray of oys- ters on the half-shell (most toothsome of refresh- ments!)-with plates of crackers; whereupon the cards were hastily put aside, the tables were laid for the little feast, and a happy glori- fication of the succulent and nutritious Blue Points ensued. To supper succeeded song, the famous poet favoring the company, and all of us joining mer- rily in the chorus. “I beg your pardon," suddenly said the countess, uplifting her jeweled forefinger; "do * 132 THE BLUE SCARAB 133 I not hear a strange noise somewhere near?" We stopped short in our song. A shrill quavering voice-a feeble tremolo-arose in audible accents, outside the door, apparently upon the landing, in a frantic attempt at an air. "Come in," cried John; "come in, whoever you are!" We all turned toward the door. It was pushed open very gently and gradually, and presently upon the threshold of the room a stooping old man stood, his bloodshot eyes upturned his long white locks astray, his frowsy, ragged beard of grizzly yellow brushing his bent and shrunken body like a mane, his shambling limbs all shuffling and awry. He hesitated at the portal timidly. "Pilgrim, draw near!" said the poet kindly; "enter and be not shy!" “It is our upstairs neighbor," explained John, taking the old man by the hand and leading him toward the punch-bowl; "our upstairs neighbor, Mr. Mudley. He sometimes drops in when he hears us merry, but only tarries a moment. Try this, sir!" "I have no mind for junketing," said the stranger, sourly, “though my being longs for punch. What is it? Rum, my hearties?" "Better,” replied John; "brandy.' "Grog's the go!" said the old man; "Jamai- key rum a pint, water a gill. That's my tip- ple. Here's to ye!" 134 THE BLUE SCARAB The count had eyed him closely, and now, seemingly satisfied with the scrutiny, remarked : "He'd do for Father Time." "Or Rip Van Winkle," remarked Jack Listir. "Or Old Parr," said the countess, laughingly. "A broken old reed, truly!" remarked the old man; "more drink." He gulped down several glasses of the liquor with trembling hand, tottered uncertainly hither and thither about the room, burst into a chok- ing, sputtering chuckle, and gasped out: 'Let's have another song!" Nobody feeling disposed to oblige him, he abruptly turned to the countess, and, leering and squinting a most ludicrously lascivious glance, or rather stare, at that lovely lady, piped in amorous strains: “Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour, Vive la compagnie!" Then toddling to the door, like a palsied, drunken baby just learning to walk, he tumbled lamely out, and instantly disappeared. “An old soldier of the Empire!" observed the count with a snicker. "I sometimes think him the ghost of Seneca Stewart's grandsire," remarked John Inkton: "He has a wretched room in the garret, and begs about the streets for a bare living. He tells me he often picks a meal out of a swill tub, on the curb. I am fond of studying such THE BLUE SCARAB 135 nomadic monsters, and therefore tolerate him on occasions." "Gotham is full of such wrecked lives," said the poet with feeling; "men whose youth was a blight, whose manhood was a madness, whose old age is a curse and a withering blast." "Cheerful," said Mr. Listir, in his lively tone; "a pleasant reflection for a nervous per- son!" "Your pardon, friends," said the poet, arous- ing himself as from a painful dream. “There are sad and somber sides to human life, and there is also the golden sunshine to drive away the shadows! Come! A stirrup-cup, my friends, for it is nearly time to part!" John Inkton had quaffed of the poet's words, as from a fountain. "Genius,” he cried, tapping his brow, and speaking aside to me; “great genius has its moods, its glooms, its seasons of depression. If it were not for these, whence would origi- nate the mighty tragic fire?". "Cheer up, O.Timon!" exclaimed Jack Lis- tir. "We'll join thee in a night-cap-a High- land doch and dorroch,' to the health and prosperity of our venerable and lugubrious friend of the attic! Here's to~" “Mad Mudley," broke in the poet with a rol- licking laugh, and holding his bumper in the air at arm's length: "Ladies and gentlemen, 136 THE BLUE SCARAB Mad Mudley, the prince of poor, pitiful unfor- tunates!" Varying in hue of humor, as the chameleon in tint of skin, the gifted man, himself a 'rare union of tragedy and comedy, of pathos, and humor, drained his goblet to the dregs, and, bidding us all good night, -hastily made his exit. Before the Count and Countess de Soudan withdrew, the latter graciously came up to me, and, tenderly pressing my hand, said, with a winning smile: "My dear Mr. Brashe, I want you to promise me that you will come to see me the count and me," she added, observing my embarrass- ment, “at an early opportunity. We are in private apartments at the La Fayette House, in Bond street. It is a promise, mind!" I noticed that Miss Inkton stood closely watching us as we thus stood talking together, and now she merrily said: “Beware, Mr. Brashe. The Countess Lola is a terrible Airt and would play and sing the melancholy Jacques himself into her toils. You are too dangerous a coquette, madam, truly." Although apparently spoken in play, I thought the jest a trifle pointed and meant to cut us both like a two-edged dagger. “Mr. Brashe is quite old enough to take care of himself, my dear," replied her ladyship a THE BLUE SCARAB 137 little tartly, “and if he were not, I am, surely, to take care of him;" which fact, although Miss Jane made no reply, I thought was suffi- ciently obvious to all observers. Then I too wished them good night. I had left young Mr. Volckmar in charge of the diamond warehouse that evening, he con- siderately volunteering to stand sentry during my absence.' Now, on reaching the store, I found him, hat in hand, patiently awaiting my return. "A thousand thanks, my dear sir!" said I on my arrival. "Don't mention it, Brashe," said he, button- ing his top-coat. "By the way, father wants me to introduce you at the Macaroni Club when- ever you say. I'll put up your name for mem- bership if you like. It's a jolly old place, and nearly all the fellows are nobs. "Well!" answered I, “I'll gladly go up with you some evening soon, and we'll drop in there together." This important business being arranged Mr. Rudolph Volckmar started for home as the clocks were striking twelve. CHAPTER XVI AN ACCOUNT OF "LE PRISME" “Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.” -As You Like It. Next morning, on my return from the How- ard House, upon stepping into the store I overheard Mr. Volckmar, Sr., say to his son from the inner office: "It is necessary that he should know some- thing of the affair. I will tell him at least a part. It will put him on his guard, like the Little Corporal and the Soldier." My coming in prevented Rudolph's reply- ing. John Inkton had not yet arrived, the Volckmars being at the counting-house at least an hour earlier than usual. They were in the habit of appearing at unexpected times, I sup- pose in order to take us unawares and slyly catch us napping. "Is Mr. Brashe in there?" my employer called out at length. "I am here, sir!" I made answer, although I was perfectly aware that. Mr. Volckmar knew of my being present. "Oh, dear sir, please step in; I have to say 138 THE BLUE SCARAB 139 a little something to you in private. Excuse us, Rudolph." Claus Volckmar was in his accustomed place at the round-table, his darkened spectacles com- pletely concealing his ferret eyes; but I felt that he was reading me through-and-through, and attentively regarding me from head to foot. He seemed to approve of my bearing and ap- pearance, on the whole, for he finally gave me a friendly nod, and without getting up, pro- ceeded to shake hands with me in a most fatherly and affectionate manner. "Sit down, my son,” he said in his pleasant tone; “I assure you that I am perfectly satisfied with you, and desire to take you into my ut- most confidence, like David and Jonathan. Are you prepared to listen?" I politely signified that I was. "Well, my son, it is a queer story that I have to tell you, but, nevertheless, sound gos- pel truth. You must know that I am an Aus- trian, from Vienna. At home I was by trade a diamond-cutter, the best, I may say without vanity, in Europe. I cut and shaped, twenty years ago, the great 'glacon' of Paris; five years later, I carved into complete form the famous 'spiegel' of Berlin; and about the same time, or a little later, fashioned into brilliant beauty the celebrated “kremlin' of St. Petersburg. For finishing these priceless 140 THE BLUẾ SCARAB gems, I was paid enormous sums by the gov. ernments and crowned heads of different Eu- ropean countries. With my money I estab- lished the great diamond-house of Claus Volck- mar et Cie, in the Ring Strasse at Wien. 'About five years ago, on a sultry summer morning (I shall never forget it), two gentle- men-Frenchmen-called upon me in order to consult with me about the cutting of a rough or encrusted diamond but lately discovered in a South African diamond-field, known as the “Nid de Nubie,' and just brought to Paris, by an authorized agent of the French government, who had secretly negotiated its purchase at what was believed to be a remarkable bargain. One of these gentlemen was Général Leo- pold Juif, of Algerine fame, who had skillfully effected the purchase of the stone, under the wily instructions of the Emperor-then Presi- dent-Louis Napoleon Bonaparte. Général Juif was a large, spare, elderly man of pro- nounced Hebrew lineage, having a fierce though crafty look, and the icy eye of a miser. "But he was a man after Napoleon's own heart, selfish and unscrupulous, but wedded, body and soul, it was supposed, to the treacher- ous interests of his false master. It was not then known that the consummate rascal had success- fully stolen both the jewel and the purchase- money—the former, from its accidental finder, THE BLUE SCARAB 141 whom he had murdered, and the latter, from the government under whose flag he had hitherto fearlessly fought. Indeed, such a com- mingling of villainy and valor is happily rare in the recorded annals of mankind. The other person, whom I will not now describe, was chief-of-staff to the old general, a rather young officer, whom I do not suspect of any criminal intent, at least at that time. Besides these, I may mention that there was an honest, sturdy sort of fellow, half-sailor, half-soldier, who had faithfully attached himself to the fort- unes of both the general and his chief-of-staff in the menial capacity of universal factotum or major-domo. I finally consented to cut the precious stone. ""And where is it deposited?' I asked of the French officer. “In my servant's pocket!' replied the gen- eral, with the utmost nonchalance. «Jargal has it safe.' ""The devil!' said I; "Are you not afraid he will lose it, carrying it about the streets like a snuff-box? “Not at all,' replied the general; 'I have him quite under my thumb. Besides, he will never be suspected of having so much property in his possession. Jargal is poor.' "Then he is not a Frenchman,' said I slyly; *France is rich!' 142 THE BLUE SCARAB ""Non, a Hanzemann from Lübeck,' answered the general; but no insinuations, monsieur!' "'Let me see the diamond!' said I. "The officers spoke apart with their attend- ant, who forthwith drew from a deep aperture in his apparel a metal box, which, opening it with a spring, he held out to the general, who handed it to me. Tossing the mineral it con- tained into my palm, I instantly started and cried out with astonishment: ""Mein Gott! What do I see? There is but one diamond in the world superior to this, or I am much mistaken, and that is the 'great mogul,' of India. Why, this is worth a king- dom! The French government is in luck, gentlemen!” "It is a pretty plaything,' coolly observed the general. "I'll do it!' I exclaimed, on fire with pro- fessional fervor. "It was the size and something the shape of .a shanghai's egg, and when it was cut as I alone could cut it, it would bring half a million pounds sterling, in the world's market, if a penny. Why! a beggarly hundred such dia- monds would buy quite enough of the surface of the earth, to make an empire. Plaything! It was a toy for the gods to play with, a royal idol to adore! ".The cost of cutting?' asked the general, in a business way. THE BLUE SCARAB 143 "One hundred thousand francs,' I answered. There's only one man in all Europe who can give that stone its full value, and I am that man. A hundred thousand's cheap! ""Bien!' said the general; “Do it at once, monsieur!” "Well, to make a long story short, I suc- cessfully cut the gem, to ,detail how, you would scarcely care to hear-and in due time turned over to the French authorities the third finest diamond yet discovered. It was chris- tened “le prisme,' from its brilliant and beau- tiful rainbow-hues, in sunshine or in candle- light. I carried the priceless prize to Paris, disguised as a prisoner under guard, and de- livered it in person to the treasurer of the French Court at the Tuilleries. “Now, would you believe it possible! That very night the glorious gem was somehow spirited from its hiding-place in the palace (many said with the connivance of Louis Na- poleon himself, to be privately secreted against a probable time of need), and, simultaneously with its irreparable loss, utterly disappeared from mortal ken the Mephistophelian Général Juif, lately chief custodian of ‘le prisme.' "Briefly, the theft of the French diamond involved poor me, the innocent cutter of the stone, in utter ruin and disgrace. I among a number, fell under the suspicion and surveil- 144 THE BLUE SCARAB lance of the police of both Paris and Vienna, which soon broke up my business at home, so that I was obliged to remove abroad, seeking, and I may thankfully add, finding, a peaceful and profitable refuge in New York. "Now, my son, you may shrewdly guess the rest. I may tell you, however, that I became aware of certain facts in the case, together with a few passages within your own experience, through the confidence of the Countess de Sou- dan; and these things I surely know-that the old pawnbroker, Joel Lazarus, and the French general, Leopold Juif, were one and the same individual; that the stolen diamond, ‘le prismė,' was doubtless encased in the silver shell of the lost blue beetle and is now gone again, perhaps forever, if I am rightly informed by my beau- tiful spy, having been buried with the French- man's body, by Dr. Howard Madesby, of the Eleemosynary Hospital; that the metal breast- pin was ravished from the pauper's grave in Potter's Field, on the occasion of your memo- rable visit there, and was subsequently declared lost by your brutal, cowardly assailant (the revengeful, miserable fool, or worse) during his murderous attack upon you somewhere in Bleecker street not far from Broadway; that there are members of the European police, ex- perienced, persistent spies, tracking the foot- steps of the possible thief of the invaluable dią. THE BLUE SCARAB 145 mond in the desperate hope of chancing upon a faint clue to its present whereabouts; and that two of these possible detectives are persons whom you know, namely, Count Philippe de Soudan and Professor Karl Pentz; and, lastly, that the so-called Countess Lola is in posses- sion of some special information on the sub- ject which she is designedly keeping within her own fair bosom." "Who may the Countess Lola be?" I asked, with interest. "I can only conjecture as to that. I imagine hier to be a very attractive and accomplished adventuress, having viewed her both at the theater and the Italian Opera. She may (but I only surmise this) hold some commission from the French Emperor himself to spy and seek out the whereabouts of his levanting general and magnificent gem. A fascinating adventur- ess, in short!" "Is she really married to the Count de Sou- dan?” "It is doubtful. I know her to have figured under assumed names in various capitals of Europe. She has passed as Lady Villiers in Paris, Madame de Bonneville in London, Bar- oness von Grafstein in Rome, and the Hon. Mrs. Harcourt Stanley, in Berlin. I believe she at one time visited Vienna in the character of the Marchesa di Montifiori. She has had a The Blue Scarab 10 146 THE BLUE SCARAB score of titles. She was unfortunately never acquainted with the language of the particular country she was in, except England, but flashed through the sky like a fiery meteor notwith- standing." "Do you know anything of Karl Pentz, the Swiss fencing-master?" "As to his antecedents, nothing. But he is suspected of shadowing the count and count- ess in the most 'outré' and unbecoming dis- guises, no doubt with an eye to eventually pouncing, hawk-like, on the coveted missing diamond.” “Then there are at least four distinct per- sons after a clue to the absent blue beetle, of whom you are aware—the Count de Soudan, Madame Lola, Karl Pentz, and the murderous unknown?" “Five,” remarked Mr. Volckmar, laughing, "for I want it myself.” “And shall have it, if I can find it for you," I rejoined. After a few minutes more of fuller conver- sation, I left him. In the outer store young Volckmar and John Inkton were engaged in displaying the spark- ling treasures of the place to a couple of chance customers; the massive safes were standing open; the rows of velvet caskets were strewn along the plate-glass cases of the counter in THE BLUE SCARAB 147 elaborate display, looking like nests of kaleido- scopic eggs; and the postman was just hand- ing in at the door a highly-scented letter for Claus Volckmar; which bore upon its cover, I perceived, the mark of the Hotel de la Fayette. CHAPTER XVII A RECKLESS ACT “And the boldest held his breath.' -Battle of the Baltic. As I was sitting reading, or trying to read, for my mind was greatly exercised over the mysterious matter of the lost jewel of such enormous value, the Irish porter made his appearance with the announcement: “The big gintleman with the German brogue upon him is at the dure, and would be plazed to spake wid ye if quite convenient. He called last night," added Mr. O'Rourke, “and I told him, for he intintly asked me, that you'd gone to a party at Mr. Inkton's, sure!" "Show him in!" said I, with more affability than at Pentz's first visit, for I was now ex- tremely anxious and curious for an interview with him, and even rose to receive him with effusion. "So, mein freund!" cried out the old ser- geant, “you go to barties since your bromotion, eh! You enjoy yourself mit ze Frauen' and ze valtz? Zat is well." I informed him that it was a card-party, and 148 THE BLUE SCARAB 149 not a dancing-party, which I had attended, al- though there were two ladies present; adding, casually, as I cunningly read his countenance: "One of the ladies was the Countess of Sou- dan. You may have seen her with the count sometimes. Moss has told us, you know, about her stopping at the gymnasium to see him.” "So! Is der count married?" answered the adroit fencer (with words as well as foils) quite readily. "I tought dot he was a gay bach- elor. Isn't he?" "There is a lady in the case,” said I, “and she goes by the name of the Countess Lola de Soudan. Is she his wife, think you, or not?" “Madame Lola may not be the Countess de Soudan, berhaps," replied Karl Pentz evasive- ly, as I could see. "Then you do know her?" said I. “I have met her in bublic two or three times," said Pentz, upon his guard. I could have retorted, "Once at Sandmann's Hall, for I saw you there disguised as an old reprobate;" but I prudently refrained, simply suggesting, as a probability: "With the count?" “Ja!" rejoined Pentz shortly. "She is a very bretty woman-a little stale, berhaps, but blump and bretty as a bicture." "A wonderful woman for her years," said I, "for she is certainly no chicken." 150 THE BLUE SCARAB 'Well,” said the professor, “having discussed this lovely woman, let us come to business. Herr Volckmar give you bistols to shoot mit, if you be molested at night, eh? Let me insbeck them?” "For what reason?" I asked. 'To save your life. I would help you. Quick!" There could be no reason for my not com- plying with so paltry a request, so I took the navy-revolvers out of the drawer of the desk, and handed them over to the old man for ex- amination. He raised the hammer of one of the pistols, slipped out the chamber, picked off the six caps with his pen-knife, shook a few grains of gunpowder into his extended palm from the nipples, put each barrel to his eye like a spy-glass, and then turned his attention to the percussion caps again. “I am satisfied mit der powder and ball," he presently murmured, "dey are all right. But how about dese little gaps. You see? (look sharp, mein Herr Brashe!) dere is no fulminat- ing bowder in dem when I scratch mit my blade. Look at dere, mein freund. Vot I tell you, sir? See? Ha, ha! Dese dear leetle gaps have been tampered mit. Der flash has been · remove. I vill show you dot-don't be afraid!” Replacing the caps, all of which he had ex- amined, he returned the cylinder to the six- THE CLUE SCARAB 151 shooter, and, cocking the piece, coolly proceed- ed to pull the trigger half a dozen times with- out caring where he aimed, the hammer regu- larly descending home at each fire without the slightest effect whatsoever. After each at- tempt, the professor deliberately looked at me, and, with great composure of manner, winked. "You see,” he said, with a knowing grin; "So certain am I dot dese doys are harmless dot I vill show you something else. Now, vatch!” Before I could prevent him or even antici- pate his purpose, Karl Pentz, without an in- stant's hesitation, or the shrinking of a nerve, did the most daring and fearless thing that I have ever seen done. Cocking the second and untried revolver, he suddenly placed the muz- zle against his right temple and snapped down the hammer upon the untested percussion-caps six several times, as calmly as if he were but scratching the skin with a pencil. Of course it was plain that if but a single mistake had been made in the priming the reckless experimental- ist would have been instantly blown into eternity. He never winced. "God!" I cried, "you are the bravest-the rashest man I have ever seen! Give me your hand, Karl Pentz! You are either a fool or a hero!" 152 THE BLUE SCARAB "It is nothing," replied the splendid old mustache, with a laugh, "to one who has caught up a smoking bomb on the field of bat- tle to heave it out of range of his command- ing general and staff!" “And you have done that?" I cried out in admiration. "Only once," Pentz made answer, "for I found out dot it did smut my fingers!" From that instant I knew that Karl Pentz was an honest, zealous, faithful man; for no foul heart can live in a hero's breast, and who but the bravest of the brave could have per- formed so perfectly uncowardly an act from pure bravado. "You are as true as the steel of your own foils!" I involuntarily exclaimed. "You will believe me now, eh?" said the bold old man, “und dot I am a real friend and mean you well?" Yet, though I had faith in him most hearti- ly, I could not but recall the fact that I had twice seen him in disguise; that it was sus- pected that he was passing under an "alias; " and that, moreover, it began to be apparent that the character Pentz was assuming was not his real character, and his pretended age not his actual age. To be sure, his bushy hair and beard were snow-white, but his form, though huge and bulky, was as strong and act- THE BLUE SCARAB 153 . ive as that of a man in his prime, the full, robust vigor of middle life, a period when the physical powers are strongest and the mature brain at its best. When my good friend had removed the caps from the remaining revolver, he drew from his breast-pocket a small box of percussion-shells, and, after again priming the nipples of both pistols with gunpowder, recapped the cham- bers and handed the box over to me, remark- ing, “Look well to your weapons, mein sohn, or you will be killed like a wolf or a weasel some fine night. Dey have bullets in dem both; I ascertained dot." "Mr. Pentz,” said I, "tell me what is the meaning of all this mystery, this threatened danger to my life? Who can have a possible motive in killing me?" "Brashe, mein sohn,” said Pentz, in a far kinder tone than he had yet assumed toward me, “as I have already observed to you, you are the sentinel, the picket-guard, of a rich dia- mond varehouse. There are no doubt thieves in New York; and some desperate villain or udder, even from Europe, might chance to covet these rare jewels, possibly at the price of murder." · "Why do you take this interest in me, my friend? What can you have to do with the matter?" THE BLUE SCARAB 155 good cause to know him well, Herr Pentz!" “Beware then, Gaston Brashe! I shall tell you nothing more! I have cautioned you and set you on defense the best I can! Beware! Lock both your doors at night! Keep both your pistols loaded! What a tam shame,” he added in great wrath, “to put a fine chap like you in such a plight! But you are blucky and strong. Keep cool.” "Stay!” I cried; but he was already on the landing, his hand upon the banisters, and call- ing lustily to O'Rourke to let him out; so I slowly returned to my inner chamber, there to ponder over the unexpected and startling dis- closures of the day. CHAPTER XVIII LA DISSIPATED POETASTER pens a stanza while he should engross.” . -Pope's Epistles. wing afternoon as I lingered in the ant reveries—not altogether unasso- sweet Jane Inkton-flowed through eaving a web of possible future delightful in the extreme to con- st five o'clock. John Inkton was putting away the lesser jewels in afes, and setting the combination- Feater gems being kept in the inner the owner's own direct personal It was the rule that whichever way the exposed wares should lock s in the store and make and keep ations—frequently a difficult thing rd our friend the poet," said John, was always working upon some neme, “the other evening when he he had been a banker's clerk. It ace to me to be a clerk, and my 156 THE BLUE SCARAB 157 clerkship helps to support Jane. What a dear girl she is, Brashe!" “A splendid young lady!” said I blushing. "She is,” cried John delighted, “you are right! So she is, the best of girls! Rogers was a banker," he resumed, reverting to the theme ever uppermost in his mind; “Lamb was a book-keeper in the South Sea House; Burns was a gauger (you remember how the devil ran away with the exciseman!); Dickens was a reporter; Scott was a court clerk; and Shakespeare himself held horses for a living in front of the Globe. No! It's no disgrace to be a clerk, Brashe; but I'm such a very poor, incompetent clerk, you know. I'm hardly worth my salt." "You'll do,” said I, to comfort him. “Why! I am not even a clerk, old fellow, but only a night-watchman. What would you be or do else?” "What would I be?" he repeated hotly, turning toward me upon his step-ladder, as he stood, boxes in hand, at the open safe: "What would I be? I'll mention a few of the men I'd be, old boy! I'd be dear old Kit North, upon the Cheviot Hills, drinking in the Highland air, the glowing inspiration of field and flood and heather, the rude high health of the hillside, and the wild delights of nature, earth, and sky." 158 THE BLUE SCARAB “And of Scotch whisky,” said I, for I observed that John had had a horn or two, and I meant to fulfil his sister's wistful injunction to the letter; “Kit North, I have heard, before setting out on a walk from Edinburgh to London, stopped at a wayside-inn, and, calling to the maid in charge for a pitcher of milk and a bot- tle of whisky, straightway emptied the con- tents of the bottle into the pitcher and drained the two quarts of milk-punch to the dregs as a trifling stirrup-cup. He never knew, it is said, what o'clock it was until he reached Newcas- tle, some twelve hours after. That's one of Grunt's stories. But Professor Wilson, you know, was six feet high, measured forty-eight inches about the chest, and had the face and tawny mane of a British lion. He was a won- der.” "Didn’t so much drink make him sick?" in- quired my friend meekly, having slight remi- niscences of his own feeble failings in the mat- ter of quantity. "Can a bird fly or a fish swim?" I asked aptly. "Well, giants can do anything, I suppose,” philosophized the would-be drunkard of genius, in a rather crestfallen manner. He tottered a little between fervor and fuddle upon his ladder, and, putting out my hand, I steadied him, as no doubt his loving sister had THE BLUE SCARAB 159 often steadied him morally before. But John really had some giſt of genius and I could not but highly esteem his mental traits despite his would-be laxity of habit. “What would I do?” he cried, with some degree of exultation, "What do? I'd write as Shakespeare wrote, as Goethe, as Schiller, as Voltaire. I'd create a second Hamlet; another Faust. I'd sing an epic such as Homer sạng. I'd out-do Dante, Ariosto, Poe. You laugh when I name Edgar Allen Poe; but, believe me, there is no poem-.no living poem-in the language, Brashe, to share the merits of “The Raven,' in beauty, depth, despondency, and gloom. It is the cry of the lost soul, the shriek of the doomed, the groan, the wail, the curse of agony of the spirit damned.” “Well, I'm damned if you don't break your neck, if you go pitching about in that regardless way," said I, luckily catching him in my arms. "And, see here, Inkton,” I grave- ly remarked, "if you keep on tippling in the day-time, as you are now doing, old Volckmar will turn you out neck and crop. You don't like drink, you know you don't. It makes you sick at the stomach and it bothers your head. You have too much brains to be such a fool. Why don't you take ale or brown stout, and leave brandy alone. You'll become a laughing- stock, if you don't stop. You have too good 160 THE BLUE SCARAB a sister to become a sot. Come, rein-up, man!" “It fires my soul,” hiccoughed John, “and sets my mind in motion for my pen; it inspires my fancy. All poets indulge in wine.” "It weakens your knees,” said I, "and makes you look like a ninny. Luckily I'm here, or you would have locked up the safe with some ridiculous word and gone and forgotten the combination." As soon as he grew steadier, I got him upon his legs, clapped his 'hat on his head, gave him my umbrella to walk with, although the weather was remarkably fine; and, escorting him downstairs, landed him successfully on the sidewalk, whence I watched him slowly mean- dering toward Nassau street. CHAPTER XIX THE MACARONI CLUB “The Hyrcan Tiger.' -Macbeth. Next day, in the course of the forenoon, Rudolph Volckmar informed me that he had arranged for my visit to the Macaroni Club that evening. I was ready at the hour specified, arrayed in a brand-new evening suit of immaculate white shirt-front in a setting of black broadcloth, and enjoying a preliminary cocktail at the brilliantly-lighted bar of John Niblo's famous saloon next the Garden, when young Voick- mar, aristocratically accoutred, slapped me in- timately on the back, pleasantly observing: "I will join you in a sling.” “To my smash," said I invitingly. Accordingly the genial artist in drinks, a short, sturdy, muscular man with a florid face (being no other than the well-known pugilist of local standing, Mr. Johnny Walker), deftly compounded for us a couple of his inimitable preparations. Sauntering up Broadway to Clinton Place 11 161 162 THE BLUE SCARAB (or Eighth St.) we turned into that select thoroughfare to the right, and entering a broad, brightly-lit hall-way, a few doors east of the Astor Place Opera House, where Parodi, “prima donna," was singing in grand Italian Opera, supported by Lorini, tenor, and the mighty "basso profundo,” Beneventano (that special evening being signalized by a benefit of the chorus and “corps de ballet,” with the rendition of “Lucretia Borgia,” in superb spectacular) we proceeded up a straight, wide, carpeted staircase to a pair of folding-doors at the top, which, opening in answer to our summons, dis- closed a small vestibule and a sweeping suite of magnificently-appointed and comfortably- equipped club-apartments—the favored haunt of the Macaronis. Giving our great-coats and hats into the care of the servant in waiting, we strolled idly up the dainty “salon," amid groups of loungers afoot, or lying on sofas, my companion fre- quently bowing and shaking hands by the way, toward a more private room on the right, in which a number of gentlemen were seated about round tables, engaged in games of cards, under gilt and crystal chandeliers which brightly shone in prismatic colors. Several bystanders were scattered or gathered here and there, and, approaching a slim, soldierly little gentleman with pink eyes and a drab mustache, my chap- cron said, presenting me politely: THE BLUE SCARAB 163 "Colonel Gray, my friend Mr. Brashe, one of ours in the house, you know. Brashe, Col. Borrowmer Gray, who so distinguished himself in the Mexican War. You have often heard of him. Quite the hero of Buena Vista, slew no end of Mexicans, and owns the half of Jauncey Court. Won't you sit down, Colonel?" . “No, thank you,” lisped the little officer, a dashing and brilliant cavalry captain enough, I afterward heard, and every way worthy of his patronymic name and fame; “no, thank you, gentlemen. It spoils the set of my knees to sit; I'd rather stand." "Oh, here's Captain Marx!” said young Volckmar; “Mr. Brashe, Captain! You know Colonel Gray!" A gentleman like the other was he, only taller and with more mustache a la militaire, waxed gracefully out at the ends. This exquisite was the dexterous wielder of the single-stick who had signally routed the fistic rough in a chance-encounter with his cane, of whom my friend had already given me some slight ac- count. He passed on. "Why, old boy, how are you? Heard of your good luck and delighted, 'pon my soul! Are you a member? Not yet? Well you must join at once. Let me propose you! Volckmar, eh! Inside track, eh! By gad, that's all right, though. How are you, Rudy? This reminds 164 THE BLUE SCARAB me of a story. In '48, when I was at the Haymarket, I was asked to join the United Service Club. “Because,' said Major, the Hon- orable Hervey Drake, “you are one of us, you know; for I've seen you play Jack Absolute in a British uniform, with epaulettes and Blücher boots; and, by Jove! sir, you looked more the soldier than the Iron Duke himself!' Which was rank heresy, by gad, and he knew it, too. It shows that appearances are deceptive,' said I; "I prefer to serve my country on the stage and in safety,' and so declined the barren honor with thanks." "You were absolute in your refusal,” re- marked a patient listener to the anecdote. The reader will doubtless have recognized the familiar tone of the gracious, manly, splendid-looking narrator of the pretty tale- the dashing, off-hand manner of dear, delight- ful Jack Listir, of the theatrical profession, and not so long ago one of its most highly-honored representatives, than whom no better fellow lived on earth; and in the execrable punster (who wouldn't, however, pick a pocket except in joke) our lively old acquaintance, Mr. Frank Wandel, versed man of the world, and gentle- man of leisure, the best of boon companions and habitual diner-out, without whom New York could no more do, than could Frank Wandel do without New York. THE BLUE SCARAB 165 "I must tell you a good story about our friend Wandel, Brashe," said Jack Listir, with a laugh. “It chanced that he was belated one night, and as he was on his way home from the club where he had dined, he came upon a brass band playing a serenade. Waiting until the air was finished, he approached the leader, and, in his most urbane, engaging manner de- sired to know whether, when that superb band was at leisure, he-mentioning his name- could engage it to serenade a few of his friends, for which service he was ready to pay anything asked. The leader, hat in hand, most willing- ly consented to so affable a request, whereupon Frank pioneered the forty first-class performers to the residences of some of the society people to whom he was under obligations for former favors, and in a few hours many debts of long standing were paid off in full. "But our friend had not a single dollar in his pockets with which to settle accounts with the band. Was he disconcerted ? Not at all. ""Are you through with us?' asked the leader, as the clocks were striking two a. m. "Only one place more,' answered Frank cheerfully. “Mr. Kandy Kakes, the famous confectioner, you know, on Union Square.' "Now Frank had not the slightest acquaint- ance with the person mentioned; but he was sure there was a Mrs. Kakes, and possibly a 166 THE BLUE SCARAB few Misses Kakes; and it is an aphorism of the Chesterfieldian school to which he belonged that, if a woman has a human head upon her shoulders, it can be turned by compliments. “To the fashionable confectionery, accord- ingly, he led the way, setting his musical forces to playing the serenade from «Don Pas- quale' in their best style, under the windows of the suddenly awakened family.. "Presently, lights were seen to-flash both up and down stairs; and directly afterward good madame and the amiable mesdemoiselles, like- wise, put in a blooming appearance at the up- per windows, while monsieur was warming a hasty plate of soup on the ground floor. “At length the door was thrown wide open and mine host himself came forth. “To whom am I indebted for this honor?' he inquired with a low bow. ""Pardon me, my friend,' replied Wandel, stepping forward, but out of cordial compli- ment to your amiable wife, and, I may add, your charming daughters, I have presumed to bring my band around here to play a few airs. I trust it does not disturb you? Mr. Dods- worth, let me present to you my old friend, Mr. Kandy Kakes. I am Frank Wandel, sir.' "Indeed I know you well, sir, and am over- whelmed by your great condescension, sir. Excuse the liberty of a tradesman, sir, but THE BLUÈ SCARAB 167 might I invite you and your splendid band to a little quiet spread, sir? It would be a great privilege, believe me, sir.' "Don't mention it, my dear friend,' rejoined the greater than Sheridan or Hook; 'we will gladly avail ourselves of your generous hos- pitality.' “A luxurious supper was served, even to champagne and ices, for the serenader and his gallant leader. The musicians were made happy too; toasts were drunk with enthusiasm, especially "The ladies,' whom the gallant Frank pledged in flattering phrases to treble *cries of "Thanks' from the stairs.. “Again on the sidewalk, he desired the band to play "Auld Lang Syne'as a night- cap, and during its performance whispered confidentially to the confectioner; “My dear sir, I cannot consent to accept so expensive a treat as you have just given us without proper pay- ment. It is not fair.' "You wound my feelings by mentioning such a thing, sir,' said the worthy Kakes, in reply. “After so very handsome a tribute to my wife and daughters as this delicious sere- nade, it is my pride and pleasure to be able to afford you even so slight a return. , "At the end of the tune, Wandel stepped up to the band-master and magnificently said: •Mr. Dodsworth, how much do I owe you for 168 | THỀ BLUE SCARAB your valuable services?' at the same time thrusting his arm almost to the elbow, into his empty pocket. . "Not a cent, sir,' replied the eminent musi- cian, 'not a cent. After the splendid enter- tainment you ordered for me and my men, nothing would induce me to touch your money, sir.' "And, amid general satisfaction, they all left for home, Frank having serenaded half social New York with a full brass band, and enjoyed one of the most gorgeous champagne-suppers of the season, without the expenditure of a single centime. “Think of the generalship of such an exploit! “The best part of it was, however, that Frank only saw it in the light of a grand practical joke extemporized in order to amuse his club, whom he regaled of course with a highly col- ored account of his adventures. He is the very soul of honor." We were attracted toward the door. “Here comes the grandee Rubioff!” said Ru-. doph Volckmar with a bow. An obvious foreigner leisurely sauntered up the salon, fine, yet peculiar looking. His per- son was powerful but very graceful, with the most perfect possible physical balance, self- possession, and deliberate bodily-movement. The long, narrow feet touched the floor as - THE BLUE SCARAB 169 lightly as a panther's, yet with the firm, strong-set, sure-footedness of a pack-mule. His height was some five feet nine, his girth of chest immense, his waist as slim as a girl's; his limbs sinewy and supple; and his hands; in which he held a pair of lemon-colored kids, were as brown and muscular as a sailor's. But the face was more remarkable than the form, a singular combination of servility, bravado, and brute-cunning. He seemed, from his coun- tenance, to be as fawning as a cat (you could almost hear him purr) and as crue! as a cougar (you could almost feel him scratch). The features were handsome, after an animal fashion, too, straight, regular, but coarse, in spite of the carefully-cut black hair, the scru- pulously-shaven face, and the becomingly trimmed and delicately scented mustache, an ornament in those days indicative of the conti- nental European. The glittering eyes were dark and piercing, yet with an expression fierce and furtive, like that of a hunted wild beast. He was in full evening-dress of the latest style, a small, brilliant "solitaire" sparkled on hisruffled shirt-front, a frail linked-chain held his watch, and in the button-hole of one lapel was the variegated knot of an honorary or hereditary decoration. "He wears an order," said I, observing him closely. 170 THE BLUE SCARAB Some distinguished decoration, I presume," said Listir; we three were still standing to- gether back of the card-tables carelessly scan- ning the play while thus conversing. “He is a Muscovite, I believe, and certainly looks like a crafty and courtly Don Cossack, sure enough." "What a fine stealthy tread he has!" re- marked Volckmar. “It reminds me of a tiger creeping through a jungle in Bengal." "How his sharp teeth snap and shine as he smiles," said I, “like a shark's in the wake of a wreck." "Or a crocodile's in a Florida creek,” sug- gested Rudy, who had recently traveled South and knew the natives well. "We forget, gentlemen," interrupted the ever- particular Listir, "that Baron Ivan Rubioff, or whatever else his proper title may be, is a member of the Macaroni Club, and consequent- ly one of ourselves." Meanwhile Baron Rubioff had crouched into a chair, and, after glancing rapidly around the room in a suggestively suspicious way, smoothly addressed himself to the gentleman seated next him, writhing his pliable, elastic body the while, like some savage fleeing from a foe. Anxious to investigate him further, I edged over in his direction and was immediately within easy ear-shot. I perceived that, with the ready fluency and THE BLUE SCARAB 171 facility of the Russian, he spoke English with- out a foreign accent. Most of the better classes of his northern nation possess the same aston- ishing faculty in acquiring other languages than their own, as if the persistent example of plucky Peter the Great in learning Dutch, French, and English had infused itself into the linguistic linings of their hirsute heads. A light touch fell upon my shoulder, a wel- come voice sounded in my ear, and, turning, I beheld my old friend Dr. Madesby at my side. . “What, Brashe, you here!" he heartily ex- claimed. “And how is the Eleemosynary?” I said, as we shook hands with warmth. “Royal!” replied the doctor. Not having met him since my improved change of fortune, I briefly imparted to him my great good-luck, hearing of which, he cor- dially congratulated me in his usual kindly way. “And now, doctor," said I, “I have a favor to ask of you. You recall, no doubt, the sali- ent points of Hugh Gormón, our bold grave- robber and my vile enemy; you having had, I think, at least a couple of conversations with him. You are acquainted with his voice, ap- pearance, manner. You can identify him, in short. Will you, therefore, oblige me by vis- iting the circus at the Alhambra some evening 172 THE BLUE SCARAB soon, and seeing if you are able to recognize, in a tumbler and contortionist performing there, my deadly midnight assailant?" Certainly, Brashe," assented the good doc- tor, “I will accompany you any evening you wish. Traced the highwayman to his cubby- hole, have you? Indeed, quite an adventure!" "Shall I call for you at the hospital, say on Wednesday about seven o'clock, and we will take a Broadway omnibus to the door?" “Better still, Brashe, meet me at the New York Hotel at six, and we'll have dinner to- gether and a talk over old times and the con- founded old blue beetle, at our leisure." The members and their guests, after a co- pious refreshment of the inner man, were thin- ning out. Baron Rubioff had already depart- ed. Rudolph Volckmar was engrossed at cards at one of the tables, so I did not disturb him, but quietly took my leave of the others. Said Jack Listir in his generous-hearted way, as we bid good night: “Isn't Edwin Forrest a Hercules, Brashe? And isn't he grand in Roman characters? Did you ever see him in Coriolanus? It's immense! He did Virginius to-night at the Broadway, and does Damon to-morrow. And there he is!" “I'd rather see Booth in Iago," said I; "he's greater by far." THE BLUE SCARAB 173 "So he is!" said Jack, and I left the cheer- ful club yet as bright alight as ever. THE BLUE SCARAB 115 Miss Jane had, I believed a little mischiev- ously, warned me against the flirty fascinations of the beautiful countess; but it occurred to me that I being so young a man, and she so ma- ture a woman, would be but in slight danger of falling a conquest to her ripe though co- quettish charms. “I'll go," said I to myself, "if not from pure curiosity, for the more adequate reason that, perhaps, Fate may throw it in my way to haply further my employer's ends by discovering the true relations existing between her and the French count." Evening came at last. Dressing myself with 'more than usual care, I called to O'Rourke, as Mr. Volckmąr had lately directed that I should do, that I was going out for a few hours; and taking a Broadway stage, proceeded up-town to Bond street. The “Hotel de la Fayette," or the Lafayette House-the former to foreigners, the latter to natives—was at that time a miscellanous sort of establishment for the entertainment of second-rate guests, and was situated in Bond street near the upper Bowery. It was built of brick and painted slate-color, and had a glaringly conspicuous portal and gas-lit vestibule at the top of a cir- cular flight of steps. A gilt sign hung over the fan-paned entrance, having painted upon it a somewhat fanciful and "bon comrade" por- 176 THE BLUE SCARAB trait of the Marquis de la Fayette in a general's uniform of Continental buff and blue. A waiter (Anglo-Gallic) met me at the door, and upon my inquiring if the Countess de Sou- dan were at home, replied: "Wee, mounseer!" in unmistakable Paris- ian, adding “Valk hup, sir!" in the purest cockney. He led me, as though he had had orders to expect me, up a stairway to the room number seven, and, saying "Knock, sir-she's inside!" suddenly left me alone. I softly tapped upon the panel. "Come in, if you please!" said a sweet voice, pleasantly. I gently entered and bowed, hat in hand. Madame Lola was sitting, reading a paper-cov- ered volume by the fire. A stand bearing a gas reading-jet was beside her. She was in plain evening dress, a low-cut black silk, with silvery lace trimmings and white ruffles; her luxuriant hair, brown and glossy, was arranged in heavy rolls or folds, her damask cheeks wearing a delicate pink flush as if of pleasure. She smiled graciously and arose as I entered, her rounded, sweeping outlines being fully visible against the marble mantel, and her ex- quisitely soft white hands-yes, both held out to greet me. I thought I had never beheld a more beautiful specimen of womankind of any THE BLUE SCARAB 177 . age, almost a counterpart of the portraits of Madame Recamier. "It is very good of you, Mr. Brashe," she exclaimed, still pressing my hands in hers, “to call in answer to an old woman's letter--you who are so young and handsome--and I hear that you are also strong and brave. Be seated, sir.” . We were in a tawdrily furnished private par- lor, with two windows facing Bond street, an open coal-fire in the grate, a chandelier partly- lighted in the center of the cosy chamber, and a showy—if cheap-.-carpet on the floor. “You have a cosy boudoir here," I remarked, by way of making myself at home-a bad habit I have always had. “Yes, well enough for a hotel such as this, a 'pension,' and in the States." Recognizing the nationality of the express- ion, I remarked: "You, too, are English, then, madam?" "Yes,” she answered, promptly; adding, with hesitation, “And are you? Are you a Lon- doner?" "A cockney, born and bred," said I, “my earliest music the melodious sounds of Bow- bells; my earliest play-ground the street outside of Newgate. I got some learning in the law listening to criminal trials in the Old Bailey. my poor father was a penny-a-liner, a Grub The Blue Scarab 12 178 THE BLUE SCARAB street hack, though a man of excellent parts and character." "Poor fellow!" said the countess, nodding pleasantly to me, but, from feminine sympathy with the supposititious sufferings of my lowly lot, I noticed with a little sob in her voice and a welling tear in her eye. "You have dwelt in many cities, have you not?" I asked to change the nature of the con- versation. "Who told you so?" she snapped abruptly. “Ah, Mr. Claus Volckmar!" she added, an- swering her own question; "I see how it is, sir." An embarrassed silence ensued. She evi- dently suspected that my employer had told me more of her history than he actually had; I feared to implicate him in anywise by my im- prudent confessional communications. Both were momentarily tongue-tied by distrust. “Miss Inkton is a very fine young lady!” She was the first to recover speech, opening up on a strictly neutral ground. I bowed assent. "She will make a good wife!" I know that I blushed scarlet. "You love her!" "Pardon me, madam, but I have known Miss Inkton for but a few weeks. I am a friend of her brother. I cannot permit-I must protest against any undue use of or liberty with her name.” THE BLUE SCARAB 179 "Forgive me, pray! I mean nothing. It is a silly way of mine. You are a noble nature. Let us be friends." Another painful silence ensued. I broke it. Was I wrong? “How is the count, may I in- quire? I hope he is quite well!" Now here was a home thrust. How would madam meet it if she were not the countess?. “Philippe is well," she answered with in- difference, “I have not seen him for a day or two." I could go no farther; propriety had reached its limits. But madam was not to be re- pressed. "Shall I sing to you?" she asked, eying my face with a most affable if not tender glance. “Why not?” I answered, thinking how Jack Listir would have laughed at my position; “I · am very fond of music." "Shall it be German or Italian?" said she, going over and opening the piano with the easy grace of a queen of the opera or ballet. "The French, you know, have no music but the Marseillaise." "Do you know à Scotch song?" I asked. “I love the Scottish minstrelsy." “A sweet, honest school," said she, as she ran her pliable, slender fingers over the keys; "I shall sing to you ‘O Lassie, Art Thou Sleep- ing Yet?'" which she did in the most delightful 180 THE BLUE SCARAB manner possible, her delicious, mellow, ballad- rendering voice, so warm and full with feeling and expression, ringing in my entranced ears, as did the tuneful warbling of pretty Agnes Robertson, "The Mavis of the Hielands," a few evenings afterward, in the rustic farce of the “Maid with the Milking-Pail" at Burton's old Chambers-street Theater. The countess seemed greatly moved by the song herself. At the moment she indeed al- most frightened me. Wheeling around on her stool she said, with deep emotion: “Tell me your baptismal name!" "Gaston," I answered. “May I call you Gaston?" she exclaimed hysterically. "If you choose," said I; “I am sure I have no objection." To my consternation, the beautiful woman flashed her violet eyes, dewy with tears, full upon my face, and, with a sudden impulse which it was evidently impossible for her to control, threw her trembling arms about me, pressing me, as if I were a little child, to her sobbing breast, and kissed me fondly. "Gaston," she cried aloud; "Gaston, how I love you!" A knock sounded at the door. "The count," I whispered hoarsely, for I too was overcome! 182 THE BLUE SCARAB "Hold your tongue, you saucy boy!" said Jane, in palpable confusion. “I'm truly delighted to see you," said the hostess heartily; "Draw up your chairs to the fire, please. Mr. Brashe, that seat beside Miss Jane. I want to flirt with Mr. John. He's a beau of mine at times. But excuse me, I will ring for champagne first." Before we could decline or prevent it, she had rung the bell and given the order to the waiter for the wine. During this little interlude of confusion, I had an instant in which to collect my wits from wool-gathering, and to realize the ex- traordinary nature of the situation. In all the perplexities of my past experience, no embar- rassment, such as the explosive conduct of the enchanting countess, had ever been imag- ined by the wildest dreams of fancy. Was her behavior wholly wanton and immodest-utterly shameless and degraded to the last degree? No, by all I hold holy, no! And yet, I could not but be conscious that I had awakened sen- - timents, emotions, feelings, in her bosom, of no ordinary character or description; perhaps sympathy and attraction such as can only ex- ist in the soul of a woman toward the man she devotedly adores. "Let us be happy, girls and boys," said the countess cheerily, as the tray of bubbling THE BLUE SCARAB 183 glasses was passed around, "and chat and sing, and make ourselves to-night as merry as a mar- riage bell—the pleasantest piece of metal in the world, in popular opinion-God bless it!" After the refreshment, beckoning John Ink- ton to the piano, Madame Lola gayly played and sang to him (and she was indeed a fine musician, both vocal and instrumental), aban- doning Miss. Jane and me to our own devices. By this time I had recovered my presence of mind and was eager to devote my undivided attention to the piqued paragon. “It is an unexpected pleasure to see you here," I frankly said. "I hope you will not heed John's absurd nonsense,” said Miss Jane. "I know his love for fun," said I; "he's fond of teasing too." “To tell the truth,” said Jane frankly, "I did come because you were to be here. I wanted to see you upon a matter of moment to us all, perhaps. Let us go to the window, as far away as we can from the piano, and speak low so that the countess cannot hear us. It is about the count- the Count de Soudan—that I wish to talk to you." We withdrew to the window, as if the room were too warm, and, standing beside the cur- tains, conversed in whispers to the spirited ac- companiment of the piano in a lively Strauss waltz. THE BLUE SCARAB 185 Can it be possible, that he, being somewhat of John's size and shape, has bribed this Mud- ley to purloin the suit, which John used to wear at business, in order that he may, dis- guised as John, commit some crime in which he does not desire to be known, and thus cast the blame or shame on my poor brother?" "Such a thing," I answered, after she had paused for a reply, and I had reflected a mo- ment profoundly, "such a thing is possible, but not probable." "Has any one any design upon the precious stones in Mr. Volckmar's diamond store," whis- pered Miss Inkton breathlessly, "with the infa- mous idea of implicating and identifying John, poor boy, with the wicked crime? Hush, hush! The countess is listening-she is about to stop." Jane Inkton, with a fond woman's instinct, nay, insight, had read almost literally the re- flections running through my own mind. "Doubtless," I concluded, ' "reason enough exists to give a color of likelihood to an anx- ious sister's theory. Some scoundrel could easily cajole good, dreamy John, by praising his poetry, into breaking a bottle of wine in fellowship, and getting him fuddled, and with- out difficulty involve the artless fellow in all the labryinths of seeming guilt." The Anglo-Gallic servitor now made his ap- 186 THE BLUE SCARAB pearance with a verbal communication to the countess, to the effect that the count had re- turned to his apartment, and would be glad to wait upon madam, if she were willing. At this oral message, delivered openly, the Inktons and I at once arose to go, but the countess begged us to remain and help her re- ceive the count, who would be most happy to see us. While we hesitated, the gentleman him- self confronted us, having with him several packages of French confectionery, which he propitiatingly presented to the countess (for so I must indiscriminatingly continue to call her), who smilingly passed them around, politely urging us to help ourselves. "You see," she said playfully, "the count is a little ashamed of having neglected me so long, and has brought me the candies as a peace- offering. Please eat them-he is a connoisseur in bonbons."" "Madame is pleased to be facetious," re- marked the count jocularly, as he bowed and blinked his little white eyes in our direction; "she is quite comical at times." Jane Inkton was employed in reading the crafty Frenchman through and through. "Mon ami, Monsieur Brashe,” explained the count, grimly extending his hand which had a fencing grip of iron, "he does not approve of ze foils and ze small-sword; he prudently THE BLUE SCARAB 189 Gaston, speak aloud to living thing of the blue beetle again, my dear, as you set store or price on life. That is three, and the last is the most important. Good night." I saw that she was weeping, to my surprise and sorrow. We—the Inktons and I-walked up Bond street and down the Bowery toward our respective homes, together. Jane, leaning upon my arm in tacit friendliness, was very quiet, and, if I might judge, was quite lost in meditation. At length, as we were crossing Houston street, she observed: "That French count has fallen into low com- pany and dangerous ways. He will sink into crime next. He's up to some mischief, some evil, now. Madam is a first-rate music teacher, but I begin to fear and dislike her. She has had a history of her own, I doubt." I told her nothing then. We separated at Chatham Square in silent contemplation, even more thoughtfully than usual; for as we approached their house, we had seen Mad Mudley, drunk and disorderly, being pushed or helped inside the door by the po- lice. He was not worth the trouble of arrest, poor vagabond! THE BLUE SCARAB 191 “The cat-eyed French, is it? Faith, he's no friend of mine nor inemy either. He's a neutral. Why, he were here and sat inside with Mr. Rudolph the night he spint in the shop when ye wint to the tay party at John Inkton's—who is a poet, they say, like Sam Lover, who wrote that swate thing, Judy Callighan. I let him in, and I let him out with his white eyes blink- ing, bad luck to him !" "Ah, ha!" I thought, "the milk is out of that cocoanut. The count, then, is the man who tampered with my pistols. Thank you, good sir, I owe you one! But how could he have done so without the knowledge and connivance of Rudolph Volckmar?" "Was young Volckmar present all the time that the count was in the room?" I inquired of Pat O'Rourke. "Indade, an he wur," answered Pat, "saving tin minutes or so when I heard Mr. Rudolph go back to the wash-room." That was enough. The percussion caps could have been changed from live to dead caps, certainly within the adequate space of five minutes. No doubt at all that it was an expert with fire-arms like Count de Soudan who had played me that false trick. But why? The afternoon wore on and it was now time for me to keep my appointment with Dr. Madesby at the New York Hotel. 192 THE BLUE SCARAB I accordingly went down-town to that favor- ite Southern resort, and, meeting the delight- ful doctor in the reading-room, we had a quiet meal together at the "table d'hote" (it being the regular dinner hour), and after our usual smoke, proceeded together to the flashy Broadway Al- hambra. Gil Grunt observed us, at length, in our seats, and covertly catching my expressive eye, winked an affectionate salute or signal in our direction, as much as to say, “My dear boy, delighted to see you in such good com- pany as that of the highly respectable, well- dressed gentleman by your side. I'm proud of you, my son. Go it, Gassie; go it while you're young, for when you get old you can't. Go it strong and long, so long as you go it gen- teel. Go in and win!". Thus, at least, did I construe Gil's sly, kindly ocular manifestations; nor was I, in any like- lihood, very much mistaken. The critical mo- ment now arrived, however, when I was to test the truth and accuracy of my detective theory by the practical proof of Dr. Madesby's confirma- tory recognition and identification of H. Gratz, the accomplished acrobat of Stout's American Circus, with Hugh Gormon, the worst of living wretches! Soon the band played, and the sus- pected acrobat came out from behind the green curtains into the center of the ring and THE BLUE SCARAB 193 humbly bowed to the spectators. Two servants quickly followed, having his roll of carpet up- on their shoulders; and after laying it smoothly on the sawdust floor they withdrew. The per- former tightened his waistband a hole or two, felt if his browband were straight upon his forehead, speedily adjusted it, and deftly began at his severe work. Enough to say that he was surely an expert and an agile tumbler, Mades- by, I knew, was examining him closely, like a doctor diagnosing a patient in order to detect disease. I studied the man more carefully my- self. I turned toward the doctor--a versed anatomist-but said nothing, watching him the while. After scanning his subject as if it were an articulated skeleton, for five or ten minutes, he slowly spoke as if carefully weighing his words. "That man,” he said, "active as he is, has never been a sailor. How do I divine this? By the simple structure of his frame. He is no shell-back. His shoulders are straight. But it is evident that he may have been a soldier. Why? The palm of his right hand and not the left is hollow and horny from carrying the stock of a musket on the march, and he often unconsciously and instinctively presents arms. I believe him to have been, at one time or an- other, a private in an infantry regiment. Brashe, I fail to perceive material bodily rę- The Blue Scarab 13 194 THE BLUE SCARAB semblance between the trained soldier before us and the trained sailor who made so violent and unprovoked an attack upon you, and upon Good and Glory, at the grave of Joel Lazarus, in Potter's Field. Besides, this man has a frank if worried countenance, the other a furtive, brutal, utterly unprepossessing face. This one is care-marked, that one crime-marked. Again, this man is sick; he ought to be in bed." My heart stood still; my breath grew heavy. Could it be possible that, through inadvertency or incompetency or inexperience, I had blun- dered in my deductions; that I had made a mistake in my man; that I had like a fool been following a false clue? Was I off the scent? No! There was the voice. That man there, turning over like a wheel in the circus-ring, certainly had the hard, bass, grating voice of Hugh Gormon, the willing villain of the plot. "Hear the man speak," said I, and “victory is mine!" . The good doctor's tone and manner during his lecture had been those of a physician at a clinique, or a surgeon beside an operating table -- namely,dogmatic, authoritative, professional. It was plain to see that he was one of the "faculty," and a knowing one, too. But at my positive certainty as to the iden- tity of the voice, I thought I could perceive him 196 THE BLUE SCARAB We had to pass close by the box in approach- ing the exit, and when beside it I distinctly heard him say: "What a drudge, ‘barina,' that honest fool is! He might have been a gentleman but for that dross called conscience!" He spoke in broken English and she an- swered him in careless cockney dialect: "If you had been a little honester yourself, ‘barine,' it might have gone a little better with us both!" We passed the box without her seeing me, to my relief, (for that I liked -nay loved- the charming woman, I had grave misgivings) and I watched her leave the building on his arm, As he stooped over her, his glossy waxed mus- tache almost touching her smooth cheek, I be- lieve that for a moment I was resentful and in- dignant, and yet in a manner I could not comprehend. We duly entered the green-room of the little circus, having no difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of Gilbert Grunt, my faithful guardian and adopted parent. He was vio- lently washing himself at the tap, amid a per- fect deluge of creamy soapsuds, spluttering like a steamboat, and rubbing like a massage ma- nipulator. "Grunt, old man," I cried, while his dappled pate was still under water; "do you think you THE BLUE SCARAB 197 are in the Atlantic Ocean playing hide and seek with a shark? Come out, man, and greet your friends! Dr. Madesby of the Eleemosynary Hospital; Mr. Grunt, doctor; the best old gen- tleman on earth and my dearest friend!" "'Appy to know you, sir!" said Gil with a soapy shake; “Appy to know you, sir, and proud! Why, Gassie, my boy-I beg your pardon, before strangers—I mean to say, friends. Why, Brashe, my son, how goes it? I see you sitting with your familiar in the cushioned chairs, and sez to myself, sez I, them two swells is a doing of it grand, devoted together like the red rose and the briar in the plaintive ballad of Lord Lovel and Nancy Bell;"" from which old ditty he straightway furnished us with a stanza. The doctor laughed heartily, as did I, at Gil's musical monologue and eloquent enthusiasm, for it was easy to see that the clown's heart was as mellow and cheery as his own melo- dious voice. "Uncle Gil," said I at length, "we want a few words with you in private." "To be sure," said the comic singer; "and so do I with you, if you will do me the honor. A.non, anon, sirs, when the clown is fitly clad. I'll 'urry, gents; I'll 'urry." While he was dressing I had a quiet chance to look about me. Signor Patricio Maguiro, 198 THE BLUE SCARAB the inimitable bareback rider, and Donitello, the Samsonian cannon-ball thrower, were en- joying a rough and tumble game of tag along the passage to the stables, the apparent point and pleasantry of the play being the violent culmination of a wrestling match at the occur- rence of each tagging, a climax which was evidently very exciting and heating to the blood. Mademoiselle Ernestine Banglini was rapturously regarding this gratuitous exhibi- tion from the threshold of her dressing-room, enwreathed in approving smiles of wild ap- plause. 200 THE BLUE SCARAB But the voice! If our man could only be got to speak it would soon settle the mooted ques- tion. It was impossible that we should not at once recognize, without an instant's hesitation, the peculiarly rasping, saw-filing sound; the en- tire absence of inflection, intonation; the grat- ing, vibratory-lacking harshness of that simple cast-iron voice. It was like the scraping of a knife-blade on a stone. Would the man but speak! But he remained silent-exasperatingly silent. Was he stricken dumb, or tongue- maimed, like the harem-eunuchs of the East? I had heard him speak. Gil Grunt came forward, respectably clad and rightly-minded. "Your sarvent, gentlemen,” he said, saluting, hat in hand. A happy idea seemed to strike him at the instant. "Oh, by the bye, Mr. Gratz!" he abruptly ex- claimed, turning to the acrobat, “hallow me to introduce you to a couple of friends of mine (hexcuse the freedom, if you please, gertle- men!) Mr. Brashe and Dr. Madesby—". To my inexpressible dismay, the tumbler, simply though very respectfully, shook hands with us both, buttoned up his shabby coat to the throat, whistled, and, without uttering a single word, walked slowly away. "We must find another opportunity!" said I, in deep chagrin. THE BLUÉ SCARAB 201 "No need," said Dr. Madesby, “there is no need of that; he is not the man we want." “I am sure he is!" said I. The doctor shook his head. I nodded mine. While thus employed, we were approaching the street and now were out upon Broadway, amid the lights and omnibuses and belated wayfarers of the night-bound town-London's rapidly increasing rival. A queer, grotesque figure stumbled past the door of the play-house as we emerged into the thoroughfare; a squalid, stooping, unkempt form, clad in ancient clothes of many a size too large, filthy and worn-out, and of a shape and kind which had unquestionably seen the inside, and reposed upon the replete shelves, of sec- ond-hand emporiums in Monmouth street abroad, or Chatham street at home, those twin, if foreign to each other, repositories of the cast-off clothing of enormous cities. The figure we met was literally a fallen fig- ure, for, as we wildly stared, it fell flat down upon its bloated face in the dirt. “Mad Mudley," I reflected, “and quite the worst for wear and drink since I last saw him." Recovering his upright attitude, or rather his usual slanting one, the old man staggered along behind us, his gaze fixed upon the gutter as if he were looking for lost money among the refuse it contained. THE BLUE SCARAB . 203 "You refer to the Countess of Soudan," said I, hoping to jog his memory; "the handsome lady who was in the proscenium box to-night." “Right, Gassie, right! And with the royal Roossian whom I previously observed during the performance.' You say that Gratz is an honest, hard-work- ing man," said I; “do you know him to be so, uncle?" "Hindustrious and hinnocent of hanything hevil!" answered Gil, aspirating every word he used beginning with a vowel, in the fervor of his endorsement; "guileless as a guinea-pig. Why, gents, he works four hours a day with his bones and muscles a practicing his trade, besides performing of his joints in the heven- ing; never turning to the right or to the left, nor breathing a hugly or a hangry syllable to hany one. He's temperate and regular in his ’abits, as a homnibus-'orse, and as sober- minded as an hoyster, which," added Gil, in- voluntarily reverting to his professional charac- ter for the moment, “is generally considered to be the sedatest and solemnest bird agoing, hunless it be a clam." We laughed—it were cruel not to do so—and the doctor asked, "What kind of a voice has he? A bass or treble, a harsh or pleasant, a rough or gentle voice? Can you speak as he speaks? Try it, Mr. Grunt!" 204 THE BLUE SCARAB "Well, that's hodd!” returned Gil, with a baby stare of surprise; "his woice, sir, is the most unnatural part of him. It sounds like a saw scraping on a nutmeg-grater, and nothing else that I can think of. The tones of that woice, gentlemen, he ought to hire out to a farmer to scare crows. Folks make fun of it. Why, only the hother day, the Roossian haris- tocrat called to see Gratz at the circus while he was rehearsing his spine-hinge act, to hon- or him by haccepting the loan of ten dollars." “'It's not pay-day till to-morrow,' said the hacrobat, “and I'm not going to hask any more hadvances on my salary for you to gamble away and squander in dissipation,' says he, in his hand-saw tone; and would you believe it, gents, the imperial prince deigned to take him hoff in his hown tones of woice, as natural as life, by way of a pleasant and polite retort-the funny fellow." "What were his words?" I curiously inquired. "Squander in wice, you spendthrift!'was poor Gratz's very words. And ‘squander in wice, you spendthrift!' was the mocking Roossian's sneering remark, in a voice so saw-filing, like Gratz's, that it made me start, and we, the company, all smiled in concert. Rare jokers, gentlemen, is them foreign potentates of Eu- rope." We had strolled along, insensible to pass- 206 THE BLUE SCARAB drunken pauper-sot of Chatham Square. Was it he who had mocked and jibed at me—at me, a perfect stranger to him, in the public thor- oughfare, having overheard the topic of our conversation, in the imbecile or mere wanton spirit of mimicry? “The voice!" I exclaimed; "the husky, grinding, grating voice!" Conscientiously, I mentioned this startling incident to the doctor and Gil Grunt. They both listened intently to my astonished state- ment, the latter as an improvised detective- officer should: the former, I observed, with a curious expression of studious attention, not un- mingled with rapid professional introspection. "Brashe!” he remarked at length, "if I were you I would try and get my mind off that idea of yours of a peculiar voice. It seems to haunt you, sleeping and waking. Take my advice, old fellow, and divert your mind. Avoid stim- ulants and all unnecessary excitement. Go to the theater or minstrels of an evening. Indulge in gentle relaxation. Eat, sleep, and exercise as much as you want, but think as little as you can. If you will come and see me at the hos- pital to-morrow afternoon, I will prescribe a tonic for you; and don't be alarmed, old boy, but I should like to examine your head about the spot where you were hit by that street- rowdy with a slung-shot. Do you ever suffer THE BLUE SCARAB 207 from headache, or do you have any inclination to dizziness, especially after meals?", "I have a feeling of goneness in the pit of the stomach directly before eating!" I replied, a little nettled; "and a slight fullness after- ward. If I drink beer I feel boozy, and spir- its make me tight. Madesby, you begin to suspect my sanity, and indeed I don't wonder at it in the least, you not knowing or divining what has been told to me. My brain is all right, my friend, but I am laboring, I admit, under a trifling degree of painful nervous anx- iety." “Throw it off, my boy, throw it off at once! I beg your pardon, Brashe, if I have hurt your feelings. I deemed it needful to perform a duty. Well! If you are through with me, I will bid you both good-night, and take that omnibus up-town, old fellow. But come and see me, do!" I have no doubt that my good friend the doctor thought me a little out of my head on account of the stunning blow I had received, and a fit and promising subject for treatment; but he had heard nothing about the diamond disappearance. Eagerness to get upon its track may have excited me unduly, but nevertheless I felt as- sured that poor Mad Mudley had muttered in my ears the sentence spoken by the voice, and 208 THE BLUE SCAR AB in perfect parody of its thrilling, terrifying tones. Gil Grunt walked with me as far as the City Hall Park. He spoke but little and seemed immersed in contemplative and profound med. itation. As we were about to separate, how- ever, he held me tightly by the hand, for the embarrassing space of five minutes, staring in- tently in my face, then slowly and steadily he observed: "Gassie, lad, you have heard me expressly state that I distantly recognized the womanly wisuage of that there beautiful countess, who hung upon the arm of the regal Roossian to- night, as a beautiful wisuage which I 'ad be- held before, and which ’ad himpressed itself hindeluably upon my mind's heye and the hi- vory tablets of my memory, Gassie. Well, my boy, I fibbed like a house a-fire, hunmeaning to. I don't believe I ever sot heyes upon the woman till I hobserved her flaunting around New York at places of public amusement- Stout’s in particular—of an evening. I thunk I knowed her, but I didn't, Gassie. But not- withstanding that, those lovely featers were fa- miliar to me, Gassie. And the reason why, I'll tell you, my son. Because, Gassie, those lovely featers are your featers, that sweet ex- pression were the same as yours; that winning way was your winning way, and her smile CHAPTER XXIII A VISIT TO H. GRATZ The post of honor in a private station.” - Plato. It was at this important crisis of my schemes that there chanced one of those hap- py occurrences with whose potency in direct- ing police-methods to a successful issue, no detective is unfamiliar. I received a letter from Gil Grunt, which ran as follows: "HAMERICAN CIRCUS, Halhambra, "Hapril 2, 185– “DARLINK GASSIE: -Since I last had the honor of seeing you and your swell familiar in our best and dearest seats, chisest hupolstery in chinches—a dollar a 'ead-my respect for you exceeds all bonds. Go it, Gassie, if you go it genteel, my gent! "Well, my son, sir, I have bethunk me of why it is that you don't come right out on the square with respects and regards to H. Gratz, our first tumbler, who you hinferentially suspect of an hassault with hintent to kill. Call with me, if you'll kondescend so far, my dear boy, 210 · THE BLUE SCARAB 211 sir, on your suspected henemy at his own lodginks, and pump the onest hacrobat for yourself, sir. I deem him hartless of gile and has hinnocent as a hunborn hinfant, although low-down in learning and given to lending money to nobs and nobblemen. Drop in this evening, Gassie, after the merry-go-round-if your respectable familiar friend can spare your society for a kupple of ours or so, and we will go together to the poor joint-twister's umble ome. "With love to my son, sir, and best wishes to your haristocratic familiar friend, I ham, as hever "Haffectionately, "GILBERT GRUNT. "P. S.-What queer Henglish these Yankees speak! It's not Queen's Henglish, such as we native Londoners use at ome, my darlink.” I determined to embrace the invitation of the dear old fellow and go at once. It was half-after ten when I reached the ring-entrance to the circus that showery April night. A shabby genteel—more shabby than genteel-door-keeper let me in on my asking for Mr. Grunt, the clown. "If you be a relation of his’n,” observed the man, “or an intimate in any other capacity, you are free to walk inside. My orders is to admit relations.". 212 THE BLUE SCARAB “I am an old friend of his," I returned, and duly entered. A low, close passage-way, lit by flaming gas- jets, led to the general dressing-room for the male performers, a large, square apartment lined with wooden chests against the wall for the accommodation of the company's clothing, which room was also brightly lighted with gas. Indeed, gas, sawdust, and peanuts were the principal constituents of the place—these and the acutely pungent ammonia-aroma of the ever-noisy stables just adjacent. The perform- ance had but lately closed, and riders and ac- robats were quickly dressing and undressing amid much confusion and loud interchange of circus chaff and questionable compliments, to everyone's immense satisfaction, and playful demonstrations of retort. From the ladies' robing-room, discreetly separated by a green baize screen from that of the gentlemen, joy- ous titters, voluble small-talk, and not over- refined or too delicate repartee, accompanied or followed by. shrieks and shouts of shrill laughter, jests exchanged among themselves, and jokes interchanged with their masculine neighbors across the barrier of the screen, broke merrily upon the ear. • "Why, Gassie, you standing staring about you like a blind beggar listening for carts and çarriages at a crossing! You gentleman-ob- THE BLUE SCARAB 213 server, you, a studying and a-registering of our common human nature, like David Garrick coaching for a mealy-drama, or the hold Spec- tator himself spooking around London in search of gape-seed." "Well, old man,” said I, wringing a wet hand warmly, "I've taken your advice, and mean to accompany you to the house of this bad man." "Believe me, Gassie, you could not do a better thing!" "Where will we meet him? Is he here, Gil?" "I saw him leave the circus 'alf an 'our ago, you know. He always goes straight 'ome. We will find him there." "Where does he reside?" ""He lives with me in cheap lodgings in Hamity street." "You dwell together!" "Yes. In horder that I might shadder my man the closer, I decided that it would be bet- ter to get him to hoccupy lodginks with me; and he was glad to henter inter the harrange- ment, for it would save him money." "You find him a steady, well-behaved man, then?" "Steady as a parson. He has no bad 'abits, keeps regular hours, has no acquaintances in the town and is as steady-going as a town clock. He's as right as a trivet." THE BLUE SCARAB 215 looking around, "of this our democratic palace of delights, as you doubtless perceive, my boy, is a deal more holy than righteous. The chairs are better for falling through than sitting in. The wardrobe won't open, and the wash- stand lacks a leg. Consekently we wash our- selves at the mantelpiece, and, in the absence of towels, dry ourselves at the fire. Then, this utensil in the corner, vich we don't have in Hengland, as I can recall, is a genuine Ha- merican spittoon." At this moment, a door, which I had not be- fore observed, leading into an adjoining room, was abruptly opened, a man partly dressed looked eagerly in, and directly entered, and, to my bewilderment, i beheld before me H. Gratz, alias Hugh Gormon, himself. As he halted hesitatingly upon the filthy hearth-rug, Gil Grunt got up, and, taking him gently by the hand, presented him to me. "Gratz,” said Gil, in kindly tones, “I'll make you closer acquainted with a fellow-country- man of mine—a gent of heddication and refine- ment, Mr. Gaston Brashe, Gratz, and the best and dearest little fellow in the world; a British brick, my boy, a whole cart-load of 'em. Let's have some bitters.". While hospitable Gil was busily occupied, after the usual British fashion, upon most fes- tive or social occasions, in boiling a kettle of 216 THE BLUẾ SCARAB water on the coals, bringing forth from dark- some closet-shelves a sugar bowl, spoons, and glasses, a lemon, sundry black bottles, and a cheap punch-bowl, H. Gratz somewhat bashful- ly slunk into a chair, blew his nose, crossed his knees, settled himself in his seat, and with a wretched, melancholy stare at me, sheepishly shut his eyes and sat in silence, twiddling his thumbs. During the interval of repose and pleasant preparation, I kept my gaze fixed steadily up- on my intended victim's face. Closely had I read it twice before, but, I con- fess, biased by pre-judgment. Now, on this occasion, I firmly riveted my most narrow scrutiny full upon it. Yet, what an enigma is the human mask, the opaque, impenetrable face of man, the misnamed mirror of the mind? For on that care-worn countenance, deeply furrowed, wrinkled with worried lines and signs of want, still so patient and pensive of expression, I was literally forced to admit that no marks were manifest of crime or infamy, no vestiges of hate, no stamp of harm at all; but that there serenely lay the visible evi- dences of suffering life, a sad and sorrowful mind, a spirit chastened to a contrite state of bowed submission to divine decrees, the fateful will of God. 218 THE BLUE SCARAB sip or two, concluded our conclave as the fire burned out. "Gil,” said I shortly, “I must go!" "See him!” said Gil to Gratz significantly; "See him, room-mate; ever the same—ever genteel, the genteelest man a-going, likewise his familiar friend. Them two a-sitting side by side in the parquette, kid-gloved and heye- glassed, like the Prince of Vales, made old Gil proud, I tell yer!" The old chap, a trifle unsteady of voice and leg, saw me safely down the stairs, and out upon the stoop, saying softly to himself, as he gave me a half hug: “My stars, what a dandy boxer was lost to science when Gassie Brashe sank to the level of the jewelry business! But gents is genteel ever!" We parted on the steps. How now? A stooping, crouching form, stealing slowly across the street, crawling fur- tively in the shadow, close hugging the high houses, ever mouthing the raw air! Is it Mad Mudley, the demented sot, haunting the ghost- ly night when evil stalks abroad, or another of his squalid ilk? CHAPTER XXIV THE OUTRAGE AT 13 MAIDEN LANE “Making night hideous.” - Hamlet. Never had Claus Volckmar entered his office in seemingly better spirits, than on the morn- ing of the 5th of April, 185–. Young Rudolph came in with his father, finding both John Inkton and myself actively employed in taste- fully setting out the velvet boxes of jewelry and precious stones within the plate-glass cases on the counter. It was five o'clock upon the afternoon of that memorable day, when the Volckmars, senior and junior, left the dia- mond warehouse, arm in arm, as they had en- tered it in the morning, on their way up-town for the night. Their home was in Fifth Ave- nue, near Tenth street. Half an hour later, John Inkton went away likewise, leaving me in my accustomed charge and guardianship of the rich possessions of the protected premises. John's back was hardly turned, however, before I was disturbed in my duty of locking up the safes (it being my turn, then, to perform that important operation by 219 220 THE BLUE SCARAB means of the mechanical combinations for the three several iron safes in the front store or show-shop) by the sudden coming in of Pat O' Rourke, our janitor, in a most solemn and mysterious manner. Carefully shutting the outer door, he crept up to me on tip-toe, with his forefinger laid upon his lips, and a curious stạre in his merry little eyes, which, like the flag of his country, showed a tinge of Lincoln green, and whispered in my ear: "Mishter Brashe, sur, divil a doubt of it, but there's something wrong the matther with young Inkton. He's just gone off now, talking verses to hisself up the shtrate, and his mind is ahltogither absint from his body on occa- sions. Shure, this very day he came into the shtore spaking to hisself something silly about a gurrul may be he's soft on. But this is not the wurrest, by any manes. I'll surprise you wid a hape more av his lunacies. Will, sur, for the last foor avenings, shure, whin I was shutting up the basement blinds, and the lights was clane out, I persaved, on the oppo- site side of the shtrate, lounging and shpying at the outside of this building, a black shadow; and, as I'm a living sowl, that black shadow, upon closer obshervation, asshumed the size and shape of Mishter Inkton, wearing a shoot of clothes I've seen this many a time, an ould, worn, shoot of pepper-and-salt color, grown 222 THE BLUE SCARAB hearing the janitor's timely words. Was it John Inkton at all who had been descried by O'Rourke as seen watching the jewelry store from the other side of the way; but was it not, rather, someone else arrayed in the stolen cast-off clothes of which Jane Inkton had told me, disguised for some base purpose, perhaps to work an injury to · John himself? Of this idea, however, I deemed it best to say nothing to Pat O'Rourke at the moment. "You do right to mention the circumstance of the suspicious character and of his persist- ent action in shadowing the store," said I, in commendation of his prudent conduct; "but I don't believe, Pat, that John is indulging enough in spirits to do him much harm. He is possessed of some absurd idea that he must drink because many men of genius have been wine-bibbers. He might as well become a tea-drunkard, because Samuel Johnson was in the habit of swilling seventeen breakfast-cups of Oolong at sitting. His excellent sister will take good care that he doesn't go too far, de- pend upon that. However, I shall look after him a bit myself." Leaving the janitor to brush up the rooms and mend the failing fires, I went around to the Howard House to get my supper, or rather dinner, for the meal that was supper in London was then beginning to be dinner in New York *THE BLUE SCARAB 223 -the meal taken at six o'clock in the after noon, I mean. Upon returning to the office at seven (St. Paul's clock was striking, I remember,) I found everything within in its wonted order, the iron window-shutters closed and fast, the floors swept up, the few chairs tidily set intheir usual places, and the two stoves burning briskly for the night. O'Rourke had lighted the German student's lamp, in readiness for read- ing, so that the inner office wore a quite a snug and gala appearance for a merchant's place of business, to my cheerful inducement to present comfort. At the left-hand side of the room as I faced the rear with my back to the iron door, stood the largest and handsomest of the great metal safes within the diamond-dealer's warehouse- at least, it was made of massive steel, no doubt at vast expense, while the safes in the outer store were simply built of iron-and was in immense affair appropriate to colossal uses. Indeed, I had often thought before what a for- midable fortification it would be if pierced for musketry and defended by a couple of sharp- shooters. Now, I gazed at it again with much the same reflection, except that the safe ad- ditionally suggested the singular whim of an exact resemblance to a captive's cell within some subterranean prison. 224 THE BLUE SCARAB A loud knock at the outer door disturbed my revery. Straightway opening it, to my sur- prise I was greeted with an affectionate hug from John Inkton, who tumbled tumultuously into my arms, incoherently saying: "Braston Gashe, I (hic) just dropped in, ole fell’, to say how do. Jane thinks I'm kept away by business. I stole off, though. Won't Jane be mad--mad as a harsh mare, I mean (hic) a March hare? She's sitting home, expecting me. Ha, ha, ha! Good joke! (Hic) I shay, Gashe, I've been tippling a bit, my boy, at old Tom's down in Rector street. Best ale (hic) in city! I'm as light-headed, I mean light-hearted, as a lark. Let's be jolly, Brass, and make a night of it. Here's a bottle of brandy (hic). Here's to old Molckvar!" Very loose in the tongue and unsteady in the legs was my poor, deluded colleague, upon this pitiful occasion. In fact, I never saw anybody tighter. "Well," said I,“John,"_shutting and spring- ing the catch of the outside door-"you'd best lie down on one of the sofas in the inner room, and sleep off your booze. You're getting al- together too free with the bottle. You're very tipsy, my friend; very indeed." I pictured the distressed image of his sister, alone by the window, patiently waiting, wait- ing, waiting, for the dear one whº would not THE BLUE SCARAB 225 come; and I pitied the weak brother, as I saw him staggering shamefully before me. I deemed it proper, however, not to lecture him while he was in so miserable a plight, but was obliged to put considerable restraint upon myself in or- der to refrain from administering to him a de-. served rebuke. But it were merciful to defer reproof until the morrow, although one thing I could not resist remarking: "How can you go and drink by yourself," said I, “in such a selfish, unsociable and sot- tish manner? It is simply swinish, John!" "Grass, my dear fell’," replied he, with a whole volley of tipsy hiccoughs; “Grass, my dear fell’, I may be a hogshead, but I'm not a hog. I was not alone-I had company-and aristocratic company, too-Brass, my dear fell’, there were with me Count de Soudan and Baron Rubioff." "That Russian vagabond?" I exclaimed, in great astonishment; "why, how did you ever become acquainted with him, may I ask? Did Count de Soudan bring you two together?" "We were form-former-formally introduced," stammered John, “as you opine, by Soudan. I met the noble gentlemen by the merest chance and they implored me to exhibit to them the elephant, which I did (hic)." "You took them to the menagerie, eh?" I ignorantly inquired. The Blue Scarab 15 226 THE BLUE SCARAB “Ha, ha, ha!" roared John, in a gale of glee; “I shay, Brashe, what a fresh young innocent you are a perfect Gosling Green. Why, old fell’, viewing the elephant simply means about town 'seeing the sights.' I showed them Old Tom's, a reg'lar London ale-house, and we all got fuddled there to- gether. The baron treated." "One more question, John. Who was it that let you in just now, down stairs?" "Pat let me in, of course." "Did he speak to you at all?" “No, but he looked queer, awful queer at me. Say, Gas, let's turn in!" "All right!" said I, as my worthy associate lay down in his overcoat and hat, with an um- brella under his arm. He was asleep in two minutes. For some time I sat before the open stove, deeply engrossed in meditation. What nefari- ous purpose had those two dissolute Europeans in thus leading young Inkton astray? I dis- liked them both. I believed them to be bad, designing men, of no principle whatever- spendthrifts, libertines, gamblers, adventurers. Of the Russian I knew but little, and that lit- tle was not to his advantage. He was probably an old lover of Madame Lola's, besides being, like the count, a reckless soldier of fortune. Was I jealous of his relations with my friend, THE BLUE SCARAB 227 the countess? No. I thoroughly detested the abominable brute himself. The Frenchman I felt to be a selfish, cynical adventurer, who had, doubtless, led a career of vice abroad, and had probably left his country for his country's good. When in England, I had seen a good deal of this dashing continental-busi- ness brought over to us, and never knew aught else to result from it than rascality and dis- grace. Inkton was snoring heavily on the sofa. Another knock, a cautious tap, fell lightly upon the door.' On answering the summons, O'Rourke, the janitor, beckoned me out into the hall-way. "Excuse me," he said, in a cautious whis- per, “but I wanted to tell you, Mr. Brashe, about the condition of John Inkton, if you did not notice it yourself. He's dhrunk, sur, dhrunk as David's sow!" "I saw he was upset," said I; "he's sound asleep, however.” "He's in there now, all right, is he?" in- quired the man. "Certainly," I answered; "cannot you hear him breathing? John's safe enough.” "It was not about his dhrinking that I wur thinking,” said Pat, with a puzzled air, “but something far else." “Anything particular?" I asked, struck by THE BLUE SCARAB 229 A storm of wind and rain had burst with violence upon the city. As I comfortably re- clined upon the well-stuffed sofa, with only my coat, vest and boots thrown off, and my cravat untied, I could hear the wild gale rattling the iron fastenings of the shutters like the links of convicts' chains; and the rain striking against the blinds as pelting shot upon steel armor on the breasts of warring men in battle. At length, quite undisturbed by poor John Ink- ton's lethargic snores, I sank to sleep myself. Was I dreaming? Stealthy, shapeless shad- ows were creeping, gliding, around the room in a dim twilight, which was occasionally relieved by a sharp lightning flash. An agreeable odor, as if of ripe and luscious apples, pervaded the place, and greeted the sense with mellow fra- grance. Where was I? In a winter store-house of delicious fruit, or in a pomaceous orchard? What was I doing so mellifluously reclining, indolent and perfectly at ease, soothed by the rapt stillness, at peace with myself and all mankind, joyous as any bird, there in that snug retreat. On, might this heavenly frame of mind, this rest of soul and body, this blissful, halcyon languor, last forever! Oh, might I live, or die, in such a pleasant state of sunny rapt- ure! I was indifferent to aught else save ex- 230 THE BLUE SCARAB istence. This was a firmament of perpetual evening~ a summer evening-filled with the glorious glimmering of stars. How tranquil all things were and how delightful! "A thing of beauty is a joy forever!" I so- liloquized Oblivion!!! 232 THE BLUE SCARAB tering in his blood! Who was it? A sudden shudder seized me. Was it my friend John Inkton? Likely. I was unable to see in the gloom and darkness, although I could turn my head a little on its side and squint around the room where I lay. John alone had been with me in the office and I had not locked the inner door. He must have been awakened by the entrance of the burglars, and, rousing himself from his heavy slumbers as the thieves were chloroforming me, sprung for my fire-arms in the lower table drawer, and shot at the in- truders without effect, while one of them, re- turning his fire point-blank, had brought him down and immediately killed him with a knife. There he was now lying dead; and I, poor fool, had slept and dreamed of pretty things while my unfortunate friend was resolutely doing his duty-my duty-in the manful performance of which he had lost his life. Oh shame! shame! shame! A pretty sentinel I was, truly! Bull's-eyes were flashing about the outer store in which the shooting had occurred; the safes were being tried in vain; a hurried consultation in low tones was being held; muffled footsteps approached the room that I was in, and in a trice the brace of villains stole noiselessly into the inner office, and worming along like snakes THE BLUE SCARAB 233 crept up beside my couch and stood regarding me with the dazzling rays of a bull's-eye lan- tern thrown full upon my face. At that instant I opened my eye and glared defiance at them. They were disguised—both of them wearing black masks and crouching like whipped dogs in order to conceal their shapes. One of them wore a shabby old suit of clothes which I re- membered to have seen John Inkton wear — John's hovering double was thus positively ac- counted for. The other had on overalls and the glazed cap of a laborer. In the grasp of the former was a revolver, doubtless the one with which he had but just slain his victim. This last reflection occasioned me to turn my eyes toward the sofa on which I had but lately seen John Inkton calmly sleeping. I started despite my bonds; for there, snugly curled up and innocently oblivious of what had happened, and safe and sound from all disaster as a baby in its nurse's arms, lay John himself, his breathing slow and regular as clockwork. What a miracle Even as I regarded him in wonder he emitted the most reassuring and sonorous snore-a delightful sound, sweeter than Beethoven's symphonies or Giuseppe Verdi's best operas, under the circumstances. The two thieves, as if by preconcert, roughly ungagged me (they had placed an India rubber or wooden ball within my mouth and passed 234 THÈ BLUĚ SCARAB an elastic band to which it was attached about my head) while they held me firmly down. The one in John Inkton's clothes then howled in my ear: “Give us the key-words to the safes and we'll share the contents with you. Refuse and we'll knock your brains out. Choose at once!" My blood was.up. “I'll hang you for this murder," said I be- tween my teeth. The villain kicked me violently, finally strik- ing me full in the face with his fist. "Will you listen to reason now?" he bawled. “Give us the cue. Make haste!" "Hounds!" I cried in fury; "I'll see you hanged first-I would sooner bite my tongue off." He struck me on the forehead with the bar- rel of his pistol, holding it tightly by the butt, cutting me to the bone, the blood trickling in - a warm stream along my brow and cheek and blinding me. "Tell us at once or I'll hit you again." "Jail bird!" I roared in an agony of pain and useless wrath; "jail bird! felon! galley slave! I'll convict and hang you yet. I swear to hang you, you thief, as high as Haman!" "Die, damn you! die!" yelled the demon, diabolical with fury, mercilessly striking me, and felling me as an ox is felled for slaughter. THE BLUE SCARAB 235 Providentially I was not killed but was stunned, and drenched with blood. When I awakened from the swoon I saw that they were at work in the other room trying to open the safes with crowbars. The gag was in my mouth. I was groggy from my hurts, my head was sore and aching, and I was parched with thirst. Why, when I could, had I not called for help? O'Rourke would have heard me and have come to my assistance. And why had John not heard our altercation? What was the matter with him? Was he still drunk? Had he been chloroformed? No-drug- ged! The secret of the whole business rushed through my bewildered brain in an instant! I saw it all distinctly. Poor, unsuspecting John, who never ought to have left his stronger sis- ter's apron-strings for an instant, had been be- guiled by villains to the Old Tom Tavern and there, under social pretense, had been design- edly drugged. An opiate had been dropped into his bitters. Nothing could rouse him from his unnatural slumbers. He would sleep till morning. And who were those brutal villains now at their felonious work? Who but the consummate scoundrels who had coaxed John off and drugged him? Count Philippe de Sou- dan and Baron Ivan Rubioff! Yes, those two foreign cut-throats--the one from France and 236 THE BLUE SCARAB the other from Russia--were the desperate vil- lains masked as habitual criminals. The murdered man must be O'Rourke. He had probably hurried upstairs, had found the store-door shut and fast, had had some difficul- ty, some purposed impediment to overcome, had caught the thieves in their stealthy job. The outlaws having made sure of me with practiced expertness, had doubtless instantly began operations upon the iron safes, and as soon as the watchful janitor made his appear- ance on the scene had shot him down like a dog and straightway stabbed him to death. Faithful, brave O'Rourke! These teeming reflections passed rapidly through my throbbing brain with all the force of certainty. My ability to receive punishment, acquired in sparring, had possibly saved my life; but I felt sore and dazed despite my habits of hardihood. The robbers soon gave up after mining the three safes with gunpowder; their labors were futile. They then came into my room again, glancing at me as they passed on to examine the steel safe beyond. So stained was I with blood, however, that they did not notice that I was alive and that my eyes were fixed upon them regarding them with the fierce intensity with which the cat regards the rats. I would surely survive my injuries, if it were but to THE BLUE SCARAB 237 identify and convict those two unmitigated scoundrels of willful murder. The burglars went to the big steel safe toward the rear of the office on the left hand side, and after spying about it in silence with the bull's-eye lantern for awhile seized hold of the silver-plated knob and hauled and twist- ed vigorously at it. To my utter surprise, and I may add consternation, the great door, which could not have been fastened, swung slowly open upon its heavy hinges, leaving the en- tire interior exposed to view. The safe was simply an immense structure of polished steel, utterly devoid of shelf or drawer—a sort of sentry box or closet about five feet wide, four feet deep and some seven feet high. It had probably been especially designed and built for a receptacle of chests or trunks of precious stones and bars of gold from which to make the settings. Now, however, it was wholly empty of contents, a gaping void. Certainly the blue beetle diamond was not hidden there. At this point my attention was diverted from the burglars for an instant, by perceiving a shadow in the doorway, an indistinct yet de- finable shape, bearing the outlines of a human form. It seemed to have stolen in from the outer chamber, and was now standing still up- on the threshold, apparently peering intently, yet warily, in at the enacting scene, as though 238 THE BLUE SCARAB impatiently biding its time to interrrupt pro- ceedings. Was it a policeman who had haply come in from the street, finding the front door open or ajar? Was it a confederate, a third accomplice, left on guard, who had entered in order to give the signal of alarm to the inside and active operators? Seeming at length to grasp the nature of the situation, the shadow stole on tiptoe to the table, silently succeeded in removing from the drawer one of my self-cocking Colt's revolvers, and, suddenly snatching it up, at the same instant pointed the pistol directly toward them. Then, in the faint reflection, I recognized Jane Inkton! "Drop your lantern,” she said, with perfect . self-possession; "drop your lantern, or I'll fire!" He was a cool ruffian who held the light, for. he immediately flashed it full upon her. "Hi!” he laughingly exclaimed; "Hi, mad- emoiselle! We have a woman here, have we! I dote on the sex, my dear. Put up that ugly thing, and come and give me a kiss." . He sneaked up slyly toward her as he spoke, his black mask giving him the air and aspect of a negro. She hesitated not an instant, but fired right at him. He winced and groaned -the ball had grazed him. "Drop your lantern, or I'll fire again!" I never saw a braver sight than this of that .. THE BLUE SCARAB 239 young girl, weapon in hand, her jet eyes snap- ping sparks, her bonnet hanging on her back with the yellow ribbons at her neck, her raven tresses all aflow, her gypsy brunette face, with regular features, glowing, excited, com- manding, with the courage and spirit of the queenly soul within. Not a tremble moved the hand, the form was straight, defiant, the hand- some mouth was set with all the resolution of a man, the voice was firm and strong. What a good and glorious girl, and what a proud, superb figure for a heroic statue! Grand, grand, grand! Peerless among women! God bless such female pluck! As thus she stood alone, there was a sudden savage rush of feet, and, without warning, the second scoundrel was upon her, her lantern dashed to the floor, extinguished, her weapon useless in another's grasp, a strong man striving with her as she fought and screamed. She wrestled with him with a stony will, an iron nerve, a fearless heart, a warrior's soul. But, alas, she, the dear girl, was speedily over- powered and at the pitiless wretch's mercy. Oh, the cruel fortune of it! And how I struggled and wrenched to burst my bonds, how I bit at the hard ball within my mouth, and how I raved and swore and cursed my bitter fate! I pray I may be forgiven for my blasphemy, It was more than feeble 240 THE BLUE SCARAB flesh and blood could bear. In vain, in vain! All, all in vain! Heaven help Jane Inkton, for earth cannot! I knew that some terrible ven- geance would be meted to her and that some- thing horrible would occur. I did not know whether she had seen her brother, doubtless drugged into insensibility, calmly sleeping up- on the sofa, close beside her, as helpless as a log. I hoped that she was spared so sad a sight. Without relinquishing his hold upon her, the brutal villain consulted a few moments with his guilty comrade, who, seeing my struggles to free myself, had already struck me heavily again with his bull's-eye. They spoke in whis- pers, but I became aware that they discussed the subject and method of Jane's punishment, and differed. Soon, however, they agreed, and with vindictive laughs, at once proceeded to put their fiendish plan in execution. They were adepts at inventive deviltry, for the measure of their penalty was most ingenious. And thus it was: Pushing Jane Inkton up to me, they jerked me forcibly to my legs upon the floor, and, standing us back to back, produced a small rope, a clothes-line I should say, with which they tightly tied our hands and feet and necks together, until the cords cut into the soft skin. I wondered that poor Jane did not cry out at this, but presently found that she, too, was CHAPTER XXVI IN DESPERATE STRAITS “Till danger's troubled night depart." - Ye Mariners of England. Strangely enough, my immediate sensations after our cruel incarceration were those of pro- found relief. No harm worse than that of slow suffocation could now befall Miss Inkton; the benumbing death by the process of asphyxia would not be a very painful one. With such savage desperadoes to deal with, our fate was the less to be dreaded, for they might have equally brained us or cut our throats. This, by asphyxiation, would be at least a natural death as contrasted with brutal murder by means of knife or club, and we could devoutly pray to God while we were dying. We rested, back to back, against the rear wall of the safe. Our arms were tightly bound together at the wrists, our feet at the ankles. Each of us was gagged by a rubber ball and a strap around the jaw and neck. Both were obliged to stand—we could not sit. A cord was close about our throats which kept the backs of our heads touching. Possibly we could have 242 THE BLUE SCARAB 243 squatted upon our haunches with uniformity of action, as we were not fastened at the knees, but the strain upon the windpipe, the choking pressure of the rope, would have been very severe. We did not try it then. What a barbarous refinement of torture was this fiendish application and development of cruelty! I doubt whether any but a nature analogous to that of the Bornese orang-outang of Edgar Poe could have executed so devilish a scheme of wicked retaliation. I remembered, even in our dire distress, that the fastenings of the safe (a Marvin safe, the others being Herrings) was a patent combina- tion-lock, of three triangular dials, capable of locking past re-opening with words of three syllables. How would it be possible, there- fore, to guess the letters chosen by those tricky brains. It might be in any foreign language, or a nonsensical, unmeaning word, or the name of an unknown person or thing. Who would be able to find it out? The lock, too, was warranted by the makers as unpickable, and to have exploded it by drilling and inserting pow- der and a fuse would probably have jeopar- dized our lives. Besides how could any living friend know that we were shut within the dun. geon of that solid safe and so release us ere it were too late? Our prison, was as I have said, of these di- 244 THE BLUE SCARAB mensions-height, seven feet, breadth, five feet; depth, four feet. It therefore contained one hundred and forty cubic feet of air. This apartment was necessarily pretty nearly air-tight, though not hermetically sealed. How- ever a trifle of fresh air might possibly pene- trate the cracks around the heavy door, suffi- cient at least to afford a little relief, of which we should be only sensible. Silently, for we were gagged, and helplessly, for we were fet- ered, did Miss Inkton and I stand upright and lean our shoulders against the inside of the safe by turns or rest consolingly upon each other. For some time, possibly an hour, the place was not uncomfortable; then, it began to be- come close and foul; next, it grew painful and oppressive in the extreme; finally, it got to be unbearable, a noxious, suffocating hole. Thirst set in, and we were parched for a drop of water, and I thought of Dives. Fever set in; we were dry and burning and light-headed. Faintness, distressing nausea, weakness of the limbs, conditions of coma, now ensued. We tottered and fell against one another. We sank, gasping, delirious, almost gone, upon the ground together. This throttled us, and was intolerable. Sim- ultaneously, as if with one intent, we started up and struggled for dear life. We strove to THE BLUE SCARAB 245 burst our bonds. We struck against the walls; we stamped upon the floor; we panted, sweated, bit our gags in agony. In vain! Exhausted, dying, black and swollen in the face, with eyes starting from their sockets, our brains on fire, we reeled, sank down, and lay, a tumbled heap, upon the metal floor. Effort, courage, prayer, were useless, hopeless, worse than fool- ish. Our lives were near their close. The last had come-alas! the last had come! "Good-bye, dear Jane," I tried to cry aloud. "Dearest, good-bye on earth! The end of earth is here. Live! live our love! God bless you, dearest! Soon will we meet above. We are going to die together, dearest love, hand in hand, heart in heart, soul in soul-". Could this be death? A burst of sunshine—a shout from several voices, a wild, frightened cry—and we were lifted by many hands and gently laid upon the office floor, both Jane and I! "Cut that rope at the throat!" "Quick! A knife!" In an instant it seemed as if the sluice-gates of fresh air, sweet, delicious, flowing air, were thrown wide open, letting in a tide of living breath to feed our famished lungs, in rushing, gurgling waves. Gasping, choking, quivering 246 THE BLUE SCARAB with delight we drew in the magic element, and quaffed of its reviving nectar with gaping mouths and palpitating breasts! Yes! our flickering lives were saved. Gone! almost gone! Thank God, at the last our lives were saved! Raised from the dead, like Lazarus, even by a Christ-wrought miracle, the blessed love and grace of a merciful heaven! The gags and thongs were next removed and we were free to speak and walk again. Recovery, after such a severe strain, however, was slow and gradual-a somewhat difficult if not pain- ful process, as might have been expected, even with the hasty restoratives applied which were at hand. At length, we could see; at length, sit up; at length, stand feebly on our feet. And what was our first sentient act? Together, turning . face to face, we gazed intently into each oth- ers' eyes with thoughts unutterable, and, with a loud cry of mutual rapture, threw ourselves into each others' arms with sobs and cries and kisses of delight. No need of courtship and of wooing then. No need of winsome gifts and Aowers and rings. No need of whispered words of grow- ing love. No need of ardent vows of faithful cherishing. No need of long engagement, hope deferred, or sighs of languishing. We were married from that moment, one in love, and THE BLUE SCARAB 247 wedded man and wife forever, fondly joined in hand and heart and life. United with a holy prolonged kiss, a solemn, silent ceremony, we were betrothed and mated in as sacred and true a wedlock as if we had been husband and wife through many vears of matrimony. CHAPTER XXVII CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE “Confirmation strong as proofs of Holy Writ.” - Othello. There was not a dry eye in that crowded room. And who were the present witnesses of our tender union, our rapt and affecting hap- piness? Gil Grunt? Not dear, old, faithful Gil, wringing my hands, wildly embracing me, and laughing and crying like a little child! Not dear, devoted Gil, my second father! Why, of course it was; as large as life, and as beaming. And Mr. Volckmar, all aglow; wiping his nose and his spectacles, and vainly endeavor- ng to whistle. And Rudolph, clearing his throat and trying to hum a tune by turns. Both father and son were cheerful amid the anxie- ties of the recent burglary and attempted mur- der. Within the room were a number of police- men in their municipal uniforms, with silver shields. Two men were partly hidden, I per- ceived, behind the others. One of them now 248 THE BLUE SCARAB • 249 ran frantically forward and Aung himself full at Jane Inkton's feet. "Sister, forgive me, forgive me!” he cried, with bitter tears. “It was all my fault_I know that it was all my doing. It was my accursed folly that cost you all this misery. Oh, Jane, can you ever pardon me? I know that you came alone to this place, in the middle of the night, to hunt for me, thinking me drunk and helpless and needful of your loving care. I know that I was drugged in my drink, to my discredit, by two tricky villains. I know that burglars broke in here soon after I came in, and tried to rob and rifle, but failed to open the safes. I know that you arrived when Brashe was gagged and bound, and I was pow- erless to move. I know that you bravely at- tacked the thieves, alone, unaided, one gallant girl against two evil men. I know that they brutally tied Brashe and you together, and thrust you, vindictively, into the narrow safe, while I was lying shamefully helpless on the sofa. How do I know all this? The draught I had taken had paralyzed my body putting it to sleep, but my brain was wide awake, let- ting me see, as in a trance, minutely, every detail of what happened. But, I failed to identi- fy the men! I heard the shot fired in the store, but could see nothing that transpired in there. I sank into a stupid sleep toward morn- THE BLUE SCARAB 251 his eyes bent on the ground, like a guilty thing. “It's my turn to talk," said Gil; "Gil Grunt's name, gents, is next upon the pro- gramme, if you please, in a double hact hac- companied by H. Gratz--not on 'orseback. You are haware, or hought to be if you hain't, that us play-hactors (play-hactors the same whether we perform upon two or four legs, whether on a plank-stage or in a sawdust ring, and hequally members of a honorable per- fession), that us play-hactors h: a bad but himmemorial 'abit of happearing in public hout of our names. I may rightly mention, ladies and gentlemen, that I myself am a 'appy hexception to the rule, my family happellation of Grunt being such a pretty and hap- propriate one that I retained it. Following of the precedent, this ’ere hacrobat rejoices in a couple of surnames. H. Gratz is his public soup-brick-hay or nommy-de-plum. “Now, gents, I may 'ere state that for pri- vate and pussonal reasons of his own, which I know nothink about, H. Gratz prefers, nay, hintends, to preserve his horiginal name a secret. He's settled it ’imself." I observed that, at this last statement, the members of the police-force present pressed forward toward the speaker, as if anxious to catch each separate word and turn of expres- sion he might let fall. 252 THE BLUE SCARAB "Well, gents, or ladies and gentlemen (see- ing there's a lady present on the sofay),” con- tinued Gil Grunt, "supposing for family rea- sons of a good and sufficient quality, H. Gratz prefers to keep his real name secret, what's the hodds? Supposing, likewise, that the midnight burglars and hassassins, who cracked this crib last night, chance to choose for the catch word of that 'ere pattern-lock the wery hidentical letters which spell out this man's hother name, used in the same horder- then, likewise, what's the hodds? The fact of the hextraordinary coincidence of selecting the same word as my good friend's name, gents, was the wery thing which henabled my good friend haforesaid to get at the combination that hopened that safe, and let out my dear boy Gassie, and his particularly sweet and lovely gal, gents." "Does this man know, of his own personal knowledge and belief, the combine-word in- vented and made use of by the burglarious as-. saulter under consideration, in locking up the safe in question?" inquired a not altogether unfamiliar voice, as a commanding figure in the uniform of a captain of police (a brand- new one, both uniform and captain, by the bye), stepped, in a most martial manner, to the front. “He do, general!" replied Gil Grunt, quite THE BLUE SCARAB 253 overcome by the officer's magnificence of de- portment. "And he refuses to divulge, disclose, and make known it?" demanded the officer. "Theni's his hexact sentiments, commodore,” responded Gil, impressively, “as Mr. Gratz, hexpresses 'em to me. · "Will you confess the word, or won't you confess the word?" sternly interrogated the captain, turning to the hitherto silent acrobat; for, as if by pre-arrangement, Gil Grunt had acted as his spokesman. Then sounded the deep and rasping voice which I had identified as that of my arch-enemy: "I am determined to conceal the secret,” firmly declared the man; "it shall never be revealed by me." "You refuse, stubbornly refuse, to make it known?” angrily asked the officer in author- ity, who was, of course, no other than my old friend Sergeant Monsoon, formerly of the Wooster-street police-station, and but lately promoted to a captaincy in another precinct for his wonderful efficiency and sagacity in con- nection with my case. "You stubbornly refuse to make it known, Rats, do you?” repeated the captain, more ef- fusively than before. "I swear not to !" rejoined the acrobat, with fixed determination. 254 THE BLUE SCARAB "Then, men, discharge your duty. Arrest that person, Rats, as an accomplice in this burg- lary after the fact. Take him into custody. Rats, you're my prisoner!” “This hexcellent, honest. hacrobat,” spoke up Gil Grunt, respectfully but decisively, "is as hinnocent of hevil hintentions as a babby in harms, and his nommy-de-plum, hadmiral, isn't Rats or Cats or Bats, but Gratz. And do not forget that he, good soul, was the one, and the honly one, to release a young and loving couple from the jaws of death and the hiron tomb. If he chanced to guess at the word of wital himport, what's the hodds, field-mar. shal, if he keeps it buried in his buzzem? Let the poor soul go, for the blessed good he has done." "That won't đo, old feller," answered Cap- tain Monsoon, in a rather offensively official tone; "the prisoner must be a confederate of the burglarious assaulters, or he wouldn't be acquainted with the secret pass-word. Rats is a suspicious character. Good and Glory, search him!” Yes! the two whilom grave-diggers of Pot- ter's Field certainly had been transformed in- to a promising brace, of patrolmen upon the municipal police-force of the goodly city of Gotham, and they deserved it. Captain Monsoon, it may be said in paren- THE BLUE SCARAB 255 thesis, was a very fair example of the work- ings of the wrong policy in municipal meth- ods. Instead of converting the whole police force into a competent body of practical de- tectives for the sure finding out and swift ap- prehension of criminal offenders, the astute sys- tem pratically in vogue was, and still is, I fear, to drill and discipline it into a species of mongrel militia for the purposed suppression of riots which seldom take place and the ap- probation of a populace which never applauds; quite losing sight of the fact that the police and the militia belong to separate and distinct branches of the public service. And I must confess, that, at heart, I respect and honor the police the most; for the desperate criminals we have always with us, while wars and battles are of rare and not daily occurrence. Indeed, the policemen of crowded cities require to exercise more constant nerve and courage than do the soldiery of a country, who are only ex- posed in time of war. At this moment a stir occurred in the outer room, and in hurried my warm and welcome friend, Dr. Howard Madesby, who, upon hear- ing of the burglary from O'Rourke's bearers, had straightway hurried down town. Running to my side he seized my wrist and began counting the beats of my pulse with great anx- iety. Soon he said: 256 THE BLUE SCARAB "Rapid and overwrought, but promising- slightly feverish! Put out your tongue. My! (with a start) What a face!—cuts and coagu- lated blood! Let me examine your head!" (going over it with his fingers with extreme deliberation). “Flesh wounds deep and severe! Skull not fractured! Bad abrasions of scalp and bruises of the bone! Big cut-a couple-- upon the forehead! Contusions over brow and crown. A perfectly splendid case, my dear fellow! Beautiful! beautiful! We'll have you around in a month-if you don't get brain fever from over-excitement meanwhile--just as though nothing had happened. You're in luck, old man,, to be such a pretty case of clubbing. Couldn't be better!" "Thanks, doctor," I found strength to say; "but there is another patient for you on the sofa yonder. Please attend to the lady." “Of course, of course, to be sure! A lady in the case, eh! Strangulation and exhaustion! Some symptoms of congestion! Slight coma! Comfortable case! Sleep it off! Young people take things lightly. You'll both pull throùgh. Any more of you for me to look after?" How cheering and consoling is a kind pro- fessional friend! My Jane and I had hopeful hearts in a moment; at least I had. We could have kissed the doctor-I mean she could, if she had wanted to. I would not have objected, I assure you, really. THE BLUE SCARAB 257 This playful consideration caused me to glance toward the couch where she lay. She was fast asleep, poor child, and much she needed rest and quiet after the wretched hor- rors and terrors of that awful night last past! John, now noticing this too, started off for a hack in which to take us home, the first home, I may say, that I had ever-known. While awaiting the arrival of the carriage, we heard a hasty step upon the stair, and, to my surprise, although I was fast getting be- yond surprises, the Swiss professor of fencing, Karl Pentz, came rapidly in. Glancing eagerly around, with his thorough, comprehensive gaze, he quickly seemed to realize the situa- tion in all its essential points, for at once ap- proaching me and seizing my listless hand, he stooped down by me and said: "Robbers, eh! Are you hurt, mein sohn? Ruffians, eh! Dey dry to keel you—dey break in in de night—dey chloroform you, eh! Dey smazh you, eh! I see it all. But who is der pretty miss? No matter! Don't speak. You are seek? It vill pain you—der vood-demons!" Shaking his sympathetic fingers, I related to him, in as brief a shape as possible, the mis- haps and adventures of the preceding night. He listened with fixed attention to my recital, occasionally interjecting such forcible and apt remarks as, “Der wretches!" "Dey were after The Blue Scarab 17 CHAPTER XXVIII MR. AND MRS. BRASHE “And all went merry as a marriage-bell.” —Childe Harold. Yes, Jane Inkton and I were joyfully married. The very day after our mutual adventure in the diamond warehouse, at the quiet lodgings of the Inktons, dear Jane and I had been will- ingly made one. The way of it was this: By pre-arrangement, at noon, Dr. Madesby duly arrived, in company with a well-known clergyman of St. Paul's Church, my kind em- ployer, Mr. Volckmar, Sr., who had the wed- ding ring in his pocket, and dear old Gil Grunt, who shed incessant tears of happiness during the solemn ceremony. After hurriedly dressing my wounds and washing my blood-stained face, the excellent doctor gently led in Jane Inkton from the other room (her own room, I being in John's), my bride having almost entirely recovered from the effects of her terrible suffocation in the safe; she, lovely as an Egyptian princess and blushing like an English peony, being 259 260 THE BLUE SCARAB daintily and most becomingly arrayed in a gown of spotless white. A crown of orange-blossoms, brought by her brother, encircled her hair, which wreathed her, though not more beautifully than did her own sweet smiles. What a handsome blooming girl was my own dear gypsy bride! To this very hour in which I write there is no more perfect a brunette than my wife Jane-nor dark nor fair--a truer or lovelier treasure to her husband, or sweeter, better being upon earth. You see, I am still a lover. So sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, for I was too weak to rise, with Jane standing demurely by my side, our right hands clasped, was I thus wedded to my love, placing upon her finger a plain gold ring, and upon her ruby lips a holy kiss, a kiss of faith and confidence forever. John gave away the bride, Gil Grunt look- ing at me at the act, as if he firmly but re- spectfully would decline ever to give me away. Claus Volckmar watched the ceremony with awe, as if it were a natural sequence, in proper and rational results somehow, of a midnight burglary and assassination; while Dr. Mades- by stood by with an ample supply of brandy to bring the bride or groom around at the shortest notice, should either find the exciting affair too much for them, and suddenly give THE BLUE SCARAB 261 way. But nobody had a thought of giving way, but John, and he, the rascal, gave away his sister. And what a devoted, tender wife was Jane. Nursing me through my illness, dressing my wounds, preparing nutritious food, and patting me to sleep when I was tired, as if I had been a child! And how she read to me when I grew well and strong again! Why, we thus perused together “David Cop- perfield,” just published, and “Vanity Fair" likewise; books written by authors whom I had often seen in London strolling in the Strand of an afternoon, or more busily pushing along Fleet street toward the magazine offices on a foggy morning. And how fast Mr. Dickens always walked, and how slow and thoughtfully Mr. Thackeray! Of the great diamond I had heard nothing more. Claus Volckmar cautioned me, as soon as I resumed my duties at the store, not to breathe a word about the French count or the Russian baron to a living soul, in connection with the matter, and I heard him say the same thing to John Inkton, poor soul, who entirely gave up wine and poetry from that rueful evening of his drugging. We were both convinced that our prudent employer intended to keep secret the affair of the breaking into the store for fear 262 THE BLUE SCARAB of somehow endangering 'the recovery of the diamond, the story of which I was permitted, or rather directed, to confidentially confide to John under his pledge of profound secrecy. Pat O'Rourke, our plucky janitor, had nearly recovered from his severe wounds, under Dr. Madesby's skillful treatment, being again on duty (with double pay) at the warehouse. His statement was, as we had surmised, that he had been aroused from a heavy slumber; that he had partly dressed, had seized his pistol and ran upstairs; and that, after surprising the burglars, he had fired on them, but was immedi- ately shot and knifed himself. Singular to re- late, Pat still adhered to the belief that there was something supernatural about the business, persisting that "he was sure wan of thim thaves wur a warning, for it wore Mr. John's clothes, faith!" Mr. Volckmar had steadily refused to appear against the arrested acrobat, who, for lack of adequate proof against him of any implication in the crime, was finally discharged from po- lice custody, I opined to the Vockmars' secret satisfaction. After that I had heard no more of H. Gratz, but knew that he was still performing with Stout's American Circus at the Alhambra, and I confess he was a puzzle. Karl Pentz had only been second to Gil THE BLUE SCARAB 265 Governor's Island, with its daily parade of regular troops, to the left; Bedloe's Island and Gibbet Island (where Gibbs, the pirate, suffer- ed execution) lying to the right, all within the bustling Inner Bay. And then past Staten Island and Quarantine to the right, and bristling Fort Hamilton, with its grassy esplanade and heavy ordnance, upon the left, with Fort La Fayette on sentry in the Narrows; and so off along the billowy surface of the Outer Bay toward the angry Bar, past Bath and Flatbush to the sands of Coney Island on the blue Atlantic Ocean. In late July, seated upon the crowded deck of the little steamer "Winfield Scott," one sultry Saturday morning, were a happy party of excursionists, bound for the shiny sands and laughing waters of Coney Island. And what a cheerful; chatting party we were, to be sure! Mrs. Brashe, my Jane, in a wide straw hat with yellow ribbons, and a light summer gown and having a bright-hued parasol in her lace-mittened hand, wore a countenance lit by smiles and loving glances, that is, when she looked at her gracious lord and master, who was ever at her side. John Inkton, having in charge the huge lunch-bas- ket full of goodly viands and wired pint-bot- tles of soda-water-lemon and sarsaparilla soda-water--not beer nor brandy now, joked and laughed and made merry with all the 206 THE BLUE SCARAB levity and hilarity of a veteran excursionist. His general appearance was much improved, practically if not poetically, and his studied air of reckless dissipation-of literary Bohemian- ism—was entirely gone. From the regardless "tout ensemble” of a Spanish buccaneer or a Sicilian brigand, John's extremely prepossess- ing exterior had become metamorphosed into that of an unquestionably well-to-do man of business of unexceptionable habits. Shelley and Poe, as mental standards, had been dethroned, and matter-of-fact, common-sense Ben Frank- lin, set up in their romantic places. In short, plain, prosy right-reason had for the nonce ousted the showy tenant, fanciful imagi- nation; at least the poetic, sentimental side of poor John's nature was taking salutary and much needed rest in complete reaction. Wholesome, if bored, John Inkton! Karl Pentz was the most sedate member of the group, but beneath the scowl of cogitation which he darkly wore, I thought I could dis- tinguish a sly and roguish leer of expectant frolic. Karl was always a species of Swiss sphinx, and on this occasion he was less of the Swiss and more of the sphinx than ever. Indeed, his entire aspect and expression were those of a benevolent Mephistopheles, if such a contradictory being were within the bounds of possibility. Blown whistles, thrown ropes, THE BLUE SCARAB 267 a heaved plank, the roar and hiss of escaping steam, mingled with the brassy bass-drum symphony, these conflicting sounds announced the safe arrival of the “Winfield Scott" beside the wooden pier of disembarkation, at our point of landing. In a trice we were lightly treading the yielding sands to the martial strains of Ray- nor's Grand March, then greatly in vogue. Across the narrow neck of land came the soughing, surging, sweeping waves of Nep- tune, breaking upon the sunshiny strand of beach and smooth round pebbles; while the soft south breezes breathed a balmy freshness over our grateful brows. We spread down shawls beside the spark- ling rim of sea-foam, and platters on the shawls. Corks popped, glasses bubbled over, as knives and forks soon beat a lively rata- plan upon the plates; and shouts and laughter rang aloud. And how the wild waves shouted back to us, and the sun shone down upon us, and the mer- ry spray sprinkled us with foam and soap- suds. There never was a jollier scene in all the world. The ships, too, the noisy, flapping, snowy sails, how they tacked and reefed and glided and glistened and veered and steered and sailed away down the far horizon! 268 THẺ BLUE SCARAB. Two persons-a man and woman-were sit- ting a dozen yards from us, under a large umbrella, side by side. Something suggestive about the rear view of the former caught my fancy, which presently resolved itself into the definite idea of a famil- iar form. Not Gil Grunt! And no! Can it be possible? The countess! Madame Lola, the beautiful, the charming, the divine! Yes, the same! "Why, Gil!" I shouted rising; "what are you doing here! And Madame Lola, too. Come right over and join us, and share our hamper. I am surprised, I am sure." I saw Pentz eyeing me closely, and imagined -mind, only imagined—that he exchanged a knowing wink with Grunt. Thought I, “They're poking fun at the poor lady," and I confess, with candor, to a crimson flush of mortifica- tion. She there! and with the immaculate Gil Grunt! I was amazed. "Gassie, my lad, we'll ’itch 'orses with you with havidity, my son, sir. Will your leddy- ship kindly harise, and haccompany me? May I hoffer you my harm? Gassie Brashe, sir, you know this leddy! And Mrs. Brashe, ma'am! Professor Pentz! Tol de rol_hexcuse me, but I ham so 'appy!" Gil's manner was the most peculiar I had ever seen in him. Had he been drinking? I 270 THE BLUE SCARAB plausible hypothesis that the combustible old chap had foolishly become her latest and com- pletest conquest. Karl Pentz, also, I thought, was acting queerly; staring alternately at the handsome lady and me, and grimacing and cracking his big knuckles as if he were engaged in hugely enjoying some stupendous and ex- cruciating joke. Lunch! How sultry it had grown, as the July after- noon wore slowly on! Conversation--small- talk-gradually ceased. How drowsy we be- came as we sat, or half lay-down, and lazily viewed the bathers in the swell and surf! The sun was sinking lower toward the horizou, shadows of western clouds fitted over the in- coming tide, and the cooler breath of evening began to bring relief and palpable refreshment to the parched and o'er-fevered land. 272 THE BLUE SCAR AB billowy ocean like the goddess Venus from her salt-sea-bath, the divine spirit of poetry seemed to assume a rapt ascendency over us. Even Gil Grunt, in consequence, in a puzzled way, scratched his head, staring longingly across the shimmering waves, as if in search of inspi- ration. Honest Gil, however, trusted more to his memory than to his imagination for any suggestions from the Muses' influence. A singular melancholy appeared to have possession of the beautiful Countess de Soudan. Her lustrous eyes, fixed on the rising orb, were wet with tears; her cheeks were pale as ashes. Seeing her thus, I took one of her dainty hands in mine, motioning Jane to tenderly take the other. Her hands were cold as ice. She wept the more at our action and lovingly kissed our hands, both Jane's and mine. Poor Madame Lola! So lovely, yet so sad; so gentle, yet so lone- ly and so erring! What had her adventurous life been-her career of many and varied vicissi- tudes, her rash and wanton course throughout the long, long past? What a thrilling history hers must be, poor lady, if my suspicions were correct! What meant this agitation? Was she about to make her wonderful story known? John Inkton went away to have a sober revel by himself, and, simultaneously, Gil Grunt and Pentz got up, and, without a word, with- THE BLUE SCARAB 273 drew to stroll along the shore. Were they in some strange plot involving the Countess de Soudan and me? We should soon see. Seiz- ing, evidently, upon the afforded opportunity, poor Madame Lola, entwining her frail fingers within our firmer ones, as if to crave their sup- port, and with nervous hesitation and broken sobs, involuntarily uttered, spoke to us thus: “My children, you will shun and loathe me when you hear that which I have to tell, that to which only your ears shall ever listen. I am here to-night for an express purpose, having been brought here with that design by these two estimable gentlemen, Messieurs Pentz and Grunt. Karl Pentz, you must know, is a Swiss, who has been a courier, a corporal or sergeant in the army, and a government spy at most of the courts of Europe. He is at present in the private employ of the Emperor Louis Napoléon, being no other than the famous de- tective, and member of the secret-service of the Paris police, l'inspecteur Karl Heinz, the government's right-hand man in private affairs. Karl Heinz's mission to America is the re- covery of the abstracted diamond, of almost fabulous worth, the great African prism, which was criminally carried away to this country by the infamous Général Léopold Juif, he having stolen and Aed with it from the palace of the Tuileries some five years since. Of this, Gas- The Blue Scarab 18 THE BLUE SCARAB 275 heaviness of heart. Strangely enough, now was I conscious, without an assignable reason, of just the same miserable sensation of present wretchedness and dreary woe, as if the Fates were dragging me toward some awful thing or place, a little way beyond. So strong was this impression now upon me that I thought to my- self, “If O'Rourke should have this feeling, he would believe it, Irish like, to be a warning." Instinctively, I gazed around, and there, to be sure, were in reality the surrounding sands and sedges upon the border of a murmuring sea, such as I'd often seen in sleep. The same, the same! The hush of eventide, save the soughing of the winds and waves—the foam-flecked strand, the slowly-nodding sedge, the very scene itself—all were wonderfully fa- miliar to me. But a quiet pall hung over it, a quiet, soothing pall of perfect peace.. "It was Heinz," presently continued the countess, more composedly, "who was hired by the French emperor to ferret out the where- abouts of the precious stone. It was Heinz who put you on your guard, prophetically, be- fore the burglary. It was Heinz who, telling me who and where you were, enabled me to get you in the Volckmar warehouse, thus placing you on the footing of a gentleman. It was Heinz, who, keeping me to my duty, final- ly brought about this important interview, THE BLUE SCARAB 277 clusters of furze-bushes, and tall brush covered the sand, which lay in rolling mounds and hillocks all about, extending inland as far as the eye could reach in the moonlight. Beyond this I had noticed, by daylight, that there were miles of reedy, weedy marshes full of black mud beneath the overgrowth. Clouds were coming up and commencing to cover the sky close by the moon, approaching it nearer and nearer. As the shadows ascend- ed, the blast from the sea grew chill and raw. It was an east wind, portending storm. "The one I eloped with was a low-born, in- famous person, endowed with rather remarkable talents for rascality, without the vestige of a conscience. He was a phenomenon of in- iquity, a moral monster. As a street gamin he had learned to steal. As a young lackey he had picked pockets. As a cheap actor, he had robbed the theater treasury. As a dancing master he had corrupted female pupils. Those were his pursuits, both dancing and seduction, when I ran off with him. Villain-consummate villain! He forged, and we left France, going to' Baden-Baden in disguise to gamble. I was alike his dupe and his decoy. He was an adept, an artist, at disguise-deception; an ingenious actor in the many parts he played. He knew not fear; he was too sharp to be ensnared in any trap. Although he abused me brutally, I was 278 THE BLUE SCARAB yet true to him, serving him faithfully, his slave for years. He believed that I brought him luck. I was his dupe and his dog alike, poor fool! “At length he killed a gentleman in rage- he was the most revengeful person I have ever seen. It was the Viscount de Chissac, a dis- solute French nobleman of Auvergne. He stabbed him at the gambling table, and was instantly seized before he could effect his es- cape. I too suffered arrest, as an adventuress in league with him in suspected schemes of swindling. He was summarily tried, convicted, and sent to the galleys for the crime of mur- der. Then, for years, followed a brilliant, dis- graceful season for me of shameless, dashing dissipation spent in half the capitals of Eu- rope. I bore many names, I had many admirers, I made many victims, I squandered princely fortunes. I was universally styled the Queen of the Spendthrifts, from one end of Europe to the other." Certainly I heard an unusual noise in our immediate vicinity. The countess heard it too, and stopped short in her story and gazed about us intently." John, Karl Pentz, or Heinz, and Gil Grunt were out of sight away along the darkling beach. My wife was softly crying to herself at the piteous recital. No one else was near. It must have been the THE BLUE SCARAB 281 heaven save the mark! "Who is this dreadful man, this moral monster, this murderer and convict galley-slave, whom you suspect of secreting the prisme' for his sole behoof?" In a loud, firm tone Madame Lola at once replied: "The right name of that villain, the willful destroyer of my happi- ness, is Heinrich Jarval, although he now passes by another." Oh, how the clouds hung over us and obscured the moon! "What other! Tell me quick!" "The wretch is known here by the alias of -God's mercy!" A shot, a shriek! "God's mercy!" Jane, clutching my arm, uttered a cry. The countess had sunk to the ground before us. I sprang forward and knelt beside her fallen body. There were shouts and the sound of approach- ing footsteps. In an instant Karl Pentz and Gil Grunt came running out of the gloom and darkness, calling, "What is it? What is the matter?” "The countess is wounded," I shrieked. My wife was kneeling now beside her, un- doing her light, frail dress. "Strike a match!" said I. "No need of that," said Jane, solemnly; "it is too late." "Is she dying?" I cried in horror. "She is dead," was the sorrowful reply; "her 282 THE BLUE SCARAB heart has ceased to beat. Her breast is wet with blood. Her hands are growing cold. Poor Madame Lola is no more!". “Murder!" I shouted; "foul murder!” "Who fired that shot?” cried Gil Grunt in great excitement. Karl Pentz had already started off in the direction of the bushes. We could hear him beating and trampling them as a royal blood- hound would have done had we given him the scent. “Who killed her? Who killed her? Do you know?" At this moment, John Inkton, who had been off some way on the beach, came running up out of breath. “The countess has been shot!" I screamed. "Jane thinks she is dead." 'I saw him," said John, when he could catch his breath; "he ran past me, I tried to head him off--to stop him, for I heard the shot- but he dodged me like a deer and got away." "Which way?" asked Pentz. "Away from the water-inland! He made straight for the marsh!" cried John, “but I saw him and knew him. He had a pistol in his hand-he struck at me as he fled.” "His name?" demanded Pentz. "A name you know-a man you know-he whom I saw and tried to stop was no other than the vagrant Mudley, our upstairs neigh- bor!" THE BLUE SCARAB 283 We were stricken dumb, but stooped. about the murdered body now growing cold. “My son,” said Gil Grunt to me, with deep feeling in his tone, "you are an orphan now. That lady was your mother, Belinda Nettle- then Mrs. Brashe--then Madame Lola-she told me so herself.” A single groan escaped my livid lips. Poor, erring wife--poor, erring woman--yet, my mother! The meaning of my dream came to me then. Dead, dead, beside the sedges! Her last words were a fervent prayer—thank heaven for that, "God's mercy!" CHAPTER XXXI THE HUNT IN NEW YORK “Gay cities and the ways of men.” - The Odyssey. After the coroner's inquest, the remains of my unfortunate parent, whom I had never known in life as my mother, were interred in the little cemetery at Flatbush, my wife and I attending the last sad rites. Neither of us had deemed it necessary, under the painful circumstances, or even thought of informing the Frenchman, Count Philippe de Soudan, of the event. Madame Lola, for so I must still call the poor lady for the purpose of this narrative, had received the bullet in her heart, and her death, the doctors said, must must have been instantaneous. A plain stone slab with the inscription, “Mrs. Belinda Net- tle, died July 29, 185—" which we had placed at the head of her grave, was all that due re- spect for my dear father's memory would per- mit me to erect. What the sufferings of both had been, God alone could tell! Rest to her poor ashes! The verdict of the coroner's jury was "Death 284 THE BLUE SCARAB 285 by the hands of one Mudley," this conclusion having been reached by means of the direct and explicit evidence of John Inkton as to the personal identity of the feeing assassin, with his deadly weapon openly exposed to view. The New York authorities had immediately sent police officers to his garret-room at No. 5 Bowery, to intercept and arrest the murderer, but of course no trace of Mad Mudley was to be found. The wretch had entirely disap- peared, utterly baffling the pursuit and con- jectures of the shrewdest police talent of the city. He, too, might have been dead and buried, for all that the New York or Brooklyn police-department could make out or guess. We suspected that Claus Volckmar knew more about the key to the unhappy tragedy than he was willing to admit; his tongue be- ing tied by anxiety to secure ultimate posses- sion of the diamond, with the hope of being able to restore it to its place among the crown- jewels of the court of France. Thus would he be enabled to redeem his own clouded char- acter and gain great credit and renown through all Europe. There were others who were actu- ated by the same laudable ambition, also. The statement of these facts brings us to the point of Detective Heinz's operations for the tracing out and seizure of the murderer of Madame Lola, namely, the habitual drunkard and vagrant, Mad Mudley. 286 THE BLUE SCARAB . This guilty creature must have rushed to the landing at Coney Island, directly after the murder, and sprung on board of the eight o'clock boat, just as she was getting under way at the wharf;, while we were still standing about the dead body on the sands, and before the alarm had yet been sounded, the next com- munication with the city not being till ten o'clock. He had thus effected his escape with periect impunity from the scene of his capital crime, and gained the crowded city to seek conceal- ment among the labyrinthine slums and stews of the metropolis. He had subsequently been seen by a patrol- man, entering the side door of his domicile, it being half past nine and the streets well filled. The murderer must have fled then unobserved out of his house, and along the lesser streets, seeking a place of hiding, at perhaps ten o'clock ar later; for when Karl Heinz, Gil Grunt and John Inkton, upon returning straight to town, reached the premises at half-past-eleven, they found the jail-bird flown. On Sunday afternoon, when Jane and I ar- rived from Coney Island after the inquest and interment at Flatbush, but a few miles from the place of the shooting, John Inkton report- ed the assassin absent from his attic. Whither had he gone? In which direction had he sought a refuge? THE BLUE SCARAB 287 The murder had been committed on Satur- day night. On Sunday two of us started out to track and bring to justice the foul assassin of my mother. Who were we? Karl Heinz and my poor self. John remained at home to keep Jane company. I was in the guiding hands of the detective, a thorough expert in the business. Our first professional step! Heinz and I, fully equipped with weapons for defense, a bull's-eye lantern, and a legal warrant of ar- rest, stole noiselessly upstairs to Mudley's late apartment in the pauper attic. His room, of course, was vacant, sáve of vermin. It was a small, square chamber without chair or carpet, a rickety pallet with some ragged bed-clothes being the only furniture, except a broken glass, and an empty bottle which smelt of recent gin. Some crumbs of hard tack, too tough even for the squealing rats and mice to masticate, and spilt grains of salt, were scattered upon the filthy floor. "A nasty hole," said the detective, "foul and noisome!" Heinz had dropped his mongrel English now in talking to me, as well as his simulation of old age, his language being as good as mine, and his gait and footstep as vigorous and elas- tic. He was a powerful man of forty-five, literally 288 THE BLUE SCARAB a man of metal, with iron nerves and sinews, a heart of steel, and the golden virtue of stern silence. He was physically the strongest per- son I have ever met, and his heart was as stout and stanch as his body. It was his bleached hair and beard, together with a clever impersonation of years, which gave him an appearance of maturity, if not decrepitude. His wonderful courage was evinced in the matter of his fool-hardiness with my pistols; his physical prowess was soon to be made manifest in a thrilling and perilous encounter -one in which only the best man could win, if either should survive. And Heinz was on the scent of the assassin. "Old rags!" said he pointing to a frouzy bundle in the corner. "Out with it!" giving it a kick; "let's see the inside.” Unrolling it, it proved to be an old suit of clothes which I recognized at once as John Inkton's, at a glance. "He is a living lie," I cried; "what must the life of this vagrant pauper have been?" Finding nothing else of moment, we blew out our dark lantern and stumbled down the double flight of stairs, through the lower hall, out into the street. "Follow me, Brashe!" said the stern detect- ive, tersely. "All right!" I answered, pulling my hat low over rny eyes. THE BLUE SCARAB 289 We pushed along at a rapid rate. Although Sunday night and so early the hour, the Bowery, New York's Rue St Antoine or Cheapside, was quite empty of its usual driving throngs. Late church-goers, or rather comers, were on their way homeward along the heated thoroughfare, the night being sultry with a south wind blowing. I made bold to inquire of Heinz if he would not get into trouble by impersonating a munic- ipal officer, but he reassured me by showing me that Chief Matsell had furnished him with a constable's shield which he wore beneath his left lapel. “Now, comrade," said he, "for a tramp, not only through the worst locality in New York but in the whole United States—the famous Five Points." Striking in among the wretched side-streets intersecting Centre street, we trudged along through the accumulated filth and dirt of the populous mews, with miserable crowded creat- ures sleeping on the stoops and roofs of sheds, and lying like swine upon the stony sidewalks, which were slimy with scum, and nasty to the last degree with vermin, which ran under our very feet, as we slowly and with the utmost care picked painfully our way along. The houses, in most cases, were wooden shanties worse than Whitechapel in vice, and The Blue Scarab 19 THE BLUE SCARAB 291 since I served out my las' ninety days in de plenipotentiary on Blackwell's Island." "I don't want you," said my companion, coaxingly, in order to reassure him and gain his confidence; "I'm after old Whitey, the lime- kiln man. He's inside isn't he? I've a word to say to him." "Walk in, gen'lemans! No dishonesty in hyar. No jambling goin' on, nothin' unlaw- ful 'cep a little darnce among de gals, honey. Tought you'd heered de fiddle out dar an' cum to pull us in. Tak' cheers, gen'lemans, an' sit down." "No nonsense, now!" said Heinz sternly; "we mean biz. Has Old Mudley been here to- day?" "No sar!" answered the negro; "ain't seen dat critter dis yer tree weeks. Gone up spout, guess, for vagrant-bondage. He's a born va- grant-bond, or I'm white trash, debble take me!" "Trot out old Whitey, then !" said Heinz, with decision. It was, indeed, a curious place which we had entered. Although one o'clock had sound- ed, and the atmosphere of the cellar was as heated as a baker's oven, or an engine-room, it was full to repletion of oily, smoking blacks of both sexes, laughing and gibbering to each other like so many apes, parrots, or monkeys, 292 THE BLUE SCARAB - who had evidently just stopped dancing upon hearing our loud knock. The odor was over- powering A very tall, lank person now appeared, clad in rags and tatters the color of dust and ashes. He might just as well have been called the "Dust Heap Man," as anything else, from his general garb. He wore a frouzy beard "au nat- urel" to his waist, and straggling locks upon his back and shoulders. His. toes, unsocked, stuck out of his burst shoes. Dirt was thickly grimed into his skin wherever that parchment showed, and his face and hands were tanned like leather. Old Whitey slid toward us sideways, crunch- ing and munching among his fangs of teeth the words: "Repent! Repent! For the abomination of desolation draweth nigh!" "Better go and shave and wash yourself!" re- torted Heinz; "blow that!" "I am the Prophet Jeremiah!" announced the sage. “Look here, Whitey," returned Heinz, "none of that gammon with me. What you want is soap, and plenty of it!" "Give me manna," jetorted the tramp, “spir- itous manna!" "I'll give you a drink," said Heinz, "if you will answer several questions," THE BLUE SCARAB 293 “I'll take it," answered the impostor, "and answer anything you choose. Make it rum- three fingers—no water." "Yaw! Yaw! Yaw!" guffawed the negro host, hastily producing the cheap spirits; "he's mortal fear'd of water, he is! Got the hydro- phorbus, Limey?" Draining his glass of the fiery liquor at a gulp, the tatterdemalion smacked his grimy lips and said: "Budd Thomson" (jerking his thumb toward the negro) “tells me you are shadowing Old Mudley, the bummer. Well, fel- low sinners, he's one of the sneaky, cruel kind, ugly as a coon, and crotchety. Mud, you know, never was friendly or sociable, and of late, you know, he's been worse than ever. He's up to some caper or crime. There's a mystery about that man! He's playing a deep game, he is. Mud's an escaped jail bird—salt without savor -an odd fish; Mud's a marvel. That's all I know. Another drink, did you say? I don't care if I do." "Wait, Whitey! You believe Mudley to be a suspicious character? An ex-convict? Well, what's his lay?" This was all said shortly and sharply, like a lawyer cross-examining an adverse witness in court. - “He's doing disguising. He's living a dual life, as the daily papers say when one of our THE BLUE SCARAB 295 "The hour?" asked Heinz. "Twelve!" I answered. “Whither?" “Home!" said Heinz. “We're through." "Enough evidence?" "Enough!" We had both arranged to return to the Volckmar warehouse when we were through with our expedition, so we proceeded along Anthony street to Broadway and down that now empty thoroughfare past the park and Astor House, St. Paul's Church and Barnum's Museum to Maiden Lane and No. 13, letting ourselves softly in with my latch-key, to avoid wakening Pat O'Rourke, poor fellow! he hav- ing not yet entirely recovered from his severe wound; indeed it may have been to Doctor Madesby's skillful surgery that the trusty Irish- man owed his life. Heinz and I were soon snugly resting in - my old quarters in the private office of my kind employer, on the two spring-sofas, when my eyes chanced to fall upon a letter addressed to me, in Gil Grunt's laborious hand-writing. Springing impatiently to the round-table, and by the steady light of the German student's lamp (often far steadier than the German stu- dents themselves). I perused the following screed: 296 THE BLUE SCARAB "91 HAMITTY STREET, "July 30, 185– 'Darlink GassY:- This is bizness, my boy. I ave talked Gratz over into making a confes- sion or hexplanation to Mr. Volkmore-your proprietor and manager. He wants to make a clean breast huv it hall. He knows the mur- derer huv your poor herring mother and his anxious to name ’im. He says that this last haynous crime is too much huv a good thing. I shall bring 'im down to the store with me to-morrer at ten. You can arrange matters to meet with your bully ring-master hin the morn- ing. Ta, ta, till I see you, Gassie! “I met your swell familiar friend this morn- ing on Broadway. Told him huv the rueful tragedy, and he was shocked to ear of it. 'Ope you and your better 'alf are bearing hup. H. Gratz will tell hall he nose, and further unbosom 'imself halso. "Have Heinz present at the show. "Haffectionately yours "Gil Grunt." "We'll have the whole story in the morning, then!" said I, as I read the letter aloud. "I guess I know it all now," said Heinz. "We've worked it out ourselves to-night." "And what is it?" I eagerly asked. "To-morrow!" answered Heinz, "to-morrow!" CHAPTER XXXII A MORAL MONSTER “Thou many-headed monster-thing!) — The Lady of the Lake. Ten was sounding by our corner clock when Gil Grunt came in, accompanied by my pet abhorrence, H. Gratz, who followed at his heels like a downcast dog. We were all silent, quietly contemplating the man with some degree of curiosity. Claus Volckmar at length beckoned to the strangers to enter the inner office, and we three, Mr. Volckmar, Heinz, and I, followed, all taking chairs. Gil Grunt was the first to broach the subject. “A shocking tragedy," he presently began in in a very solemn tone, "has been committed. The perpetrator of that deed is unbeknown to the hauthorities, which hare hoff the track, but which is known to my hexcellent brother- boarder 'ere, who is now ready and willing to peach, in the hinterests huv justice, and turn state's hevidence, although it goes hagainst him -it goes hagainst him sore. Gentlemen, he has a rousing revelation to make-a revelation huv 297 298 THE BLUẾ SCARAB an hunexpected character. Simply stating that he is the twin brother of the flagrant murderer in question, his horiginal name being Hans Jar- gal, and the assassin's, Heinrich Jargal; the word Jargal being likewise the cipher with which my dear children (begging their pardon) Mr. and Mrs. Gassie Brashe, were flagitiously locked up in yonder Marvin's patent safe, God save 'em! Gratz and me happening in next morn- ing in the midst of the mess, to call on Gas- sie, Hans, shrewdly surmising that his bad brother Heinrich was one of the burglars, smartly hit upon their family name as the word wanted. Gents, I shall interduce to your kind notice the next billed-performer, Mr. Hans Gratz, who will duly proceed with this performance. Sir," addressing the acro- bat, “Sir, to you!" Gratz cast down his eyes, turning red and white alternately, crossed his muscular legs, folded his sinewy hands in front of him, and, with solemn, slow deliberation, made this ex- traordinary statement: “You see in me," he said, speaking in broken English, in his agitation, "a most dis- tressed and unfortunate man. I am troubled by many sorrows which I will not detail to you. I am bowed down and broken-hearted. I have been the victim through life of a wick- ed, monstrous brother, who came into the world coincident with myself. We are twins. THE BLUE SCARAB 301 wealth, Col. Juif bought shares in this new en- terprise and, not contented with that step alone, at length determined to visit the mine in person. Capt de Soudan, his chief of staff, and I went with him. We traveled by boat along the Red Sea from Suez to Suakim, thence riding inland upon camels across the rugged mountain ranges and smaller rivers to the mines, which were between Meroe and Debbe, lying east and west, and Dongola and Haddana, lying north and south, respectively, near where the At- bara joins the Nile. "The Nid de Nubie' or Nubian Nest, was being worked by a company made up of wealthy Egyptians, Nubians, and Assyrians- African capitalists, having their headquarters at Salaka on the sea. "The superintendent in charge of the works and native diggers was a white-bearded, dark Abyssinian of the middle or mercantile class named Assa Shirr Harar, who, having failed in business, had accepted the mastership of the diamond-mine. “The colonel made his acquaintance at once, duly prospected the diamond fields, planned a practically better system of operations than that in local vogue, and, I suspect, corrupted old Assa Shirr to share with him the spoils of his more skillful scheme. At any rate, they soon became hand in glove. THE BLUE SCARAB 303 "A protracted interview ensued between the summary executioners of innocent, harmless Gooz. ""Blood,' saith the Eastern proverb, 'follows fast on the unearthing of a diamond.' "Lucky should it have ended then! "Next morning we were early off, partly on camels, over sandy plains, partly by barges along the muddy Nile, past Admara, and Kal- abech, and Sioot, to old Cairo and older Alex- andria, where we took passage for Tunis and Algiers. "We had the diamond with us. "Assa, guilty Assa, had been defrauded of his precious treasure by the devices and chican- ery of Col. Juif. The African had been outwit- ted by the wily Frenchman. The Mohammed- an had been hoodwinked by the subtler Jew. "It was literally diamond cut diamond, and the Hebrew had grievously cheated the pagan Mussulman as is pretty generally the case in Israelitish dealings. "Negotiations rapidly ensued, ostensibly be- " tween Assa Shirr and the Emperor Napoleon through the active methods of Leopold Juif, for the respective sale and purchase of the most glorious diamond ever discovered in North Africa. Col. Juif, Captain de Soudan and I, 'caporal' Jargal, with the mighty treasure in my humble pocket for safe carriage, expeditious- 304 THE BLUE SCARAB ly returned to Europe. But the knowledge of the infamous crime concerned in its present possession was carefully concealed from me. Crossing the Mediterranean, we landed at Marseilles, where the diamond was inspected and pronounced by specialists in jewels a very rare and valuable precious stone. “At this place the purchase was consum- mated, the price, a million of francs, being paid over in trust for the owner, Assa Shirr. A draft for the amount was deposited with a banker in Marseilles who forwarded an order for the same to Col. Juif. "Within a week the banker absconded with the money, which may have been one of the events which led to the subsequent theft of the diamond from the palace of the Tuileries in Paris. · "By command of the French emperor, Col. Juif, accompanied by Capt. de Soudan and my- self with the jewel, proceeded to Vienna, and put the stone into the hands of Herr Claus Volckmar, who was considered to be, at that time, one of the most expert diamond-cutters in Europe. 'It was at that period that I chanced to stumble across my brother Heinrich again, for the first time since I had left Lübeck. It ap- pears that he too had run away from home, having almost murdered my father with a cary- THE BLUE SCARAB - 305 ing-knife during a drunken brawl which my poor mother had in vain tried to quell. He had fled to Paris, there consorting with the worst and lowest classes of street voyous and petty thieves; had been shut in prison as an idle and vicious vagabond; had professed to reform and had become a cheap lackey to trav- elers; had turned actor (he was always active enough, goodness knows!) eventually robbing the cash-box, little by little; and, in order to escape the deserved punishment of his misde- meanors, had turned his varied accomplish- ments to further account, and become a danc- ing-master in London. "There is no need to further follow his un- scrupulous career than to add that, in company with a young married English woman of re- nowned beauty whom he had inveigled from her husband, he practiced every known species of rascality familiar to the finished and grad- uated European rascal. "Finding, finally, his way to the galleys for sudden murder, Heinrich Jargal thenceforth developed into the most adroit, audacious, and dangerous criminal in all Europe. "There was no definable limit to his gluttony for crime. He seemed to be insatiable. All this I learned from family acquaintances, my father having gone back to Finland. "No doubt most of you have heard how the The Blue Scarab 20 306 THE BLUE SCARAB magnificent gem that Herr Volckmar turned out at Vienna, was almost immediately stolen from its repository in the crown jewels' room of Napoleon's palace in Paris The thief was no less a person than Général Leopold Juif, the original swindler of the diamond in Nubia, the trickster who had so ingeniously defrauded of the find the gaping shareholders of the re- opened «Nid de Nubie' mine. "Now a garbled account of the loss of “le prisme,' as it was called, got into the Paris press and was of course copied into every provincial newspaper. Thus my convict broth- er came to hear of the court-affair at Toulon. "Planning and executing a daring escape from the galleys Heinrich shrewdly followed the Count de Soudan, who had express permis- sion from the Emperor to trace out and if pos- sible recover the lost stone by shadowing French refugees and other residents of New York in the hope of obtaining a clue to the hiding-place of old Juif. "Heinrich, first assuming our mother's name of Gratz, quickly followed in their wake to the United States, with the design, I well knew, of making himself the sole possessor of the in- valuable diamond, at the risk and cost of any desperate crime, even-as the sequel has shown-of willful assassination. "In order to avert the impending villainy I THE BLUE SCARAB 307 felt it incumbent on me to resign from the French service and throw myself upon my athletic abilities to gain an honest livelihood by acrobatic exhibitions. "I did all this—taking the name of Gratz in order to keep a watchful eye upon my felon brother. “In New York Heinrich, with his sly, crim- inal instinct, estimating the deceitful nature of Colonel Soudan aright, insinuated himself into his acquaintance in the character of a Rus- sian gentleman of small estate—the Baron, or Barine,' Ivan Rubioff, of Moscow. He was not long in finding out that the corrupt side of the Frenchman's character lay in the direc- tion of cupidity; he would do anything from avarice. "Working upon this vice, Heinrich easily led the count into swindling and gambling ad- ventures, and thence, by rapid steps into posi- tive criminal adventures and operations. "Eager to get upon the trail of the lost dia- mond, de Soudan intrusted to the Russian Finn a share in the grand enterprise, which Henrich, with his keen wits, ultimately utilized by tracing up the personality of Joel Lazarus, late pawnbroker in the Bowery, and then dead and buried in Potter's Field, to that of Gén- éral Leopold Juif, the runaway robber of the diamond which he had stolen, sold, and stolen over again so successfully. 308 THE BLUE SCARAB "Heinrich found out that the lost stone had been buried in the grave with the dead body. He obtained it, sure enough; and here comes in another strange episode in the transaction. "Heinrich had discovered in the Countess de Soudan the very English woman with whom he had eloped at an early stage in his career of villainy. She confided to him the fact of her only son being in the United States and of her determination to make him her heir to the money which she had amassed. Heinrich now determined to possess himself of her little es- tate by fraud or violence. "It was for this reason that he knocked young Brashe upon the head on the night of the discovery of the derelict diamond encased in the metal-shell of a blue beetle. “The count had intended to appropriate the diamond to himself, but Heinrich forestalled him by covertly snatching the blue beetle from the dead man's breast and simply pretending to Mr. Volckmar that it had been lost during his murderous attack upon Mr. Brashe in Bleecker Street. "He also got me-momentarily believing him, poor gull-to make this misrepresentation to the count in the course of an evening's en- tertainment in Sandmann's Hall. "Now, gentlemen, you must have guessed that Heinrich had this blue beetle in his keep- 310 THE BLUE SCARAB tim to prevent her making known his identity to her son, on that fatal evening at the sea- shore, overturned the balance and I had to tell you all. Gentlemen, he is in your hands! Do with him as you please. I am done!" “And has he still the diamond?" anxiously inquired Claus Volckmar. "Yes," replied Hans Gratz, “Heinrich must have it by him; be sure of that." "Mad Mudley has disappeared forever, I take it," remarked Gil Grunt, "vanished into thin hair, like 'Amlet's father's ghost; as the Yankees say, he's a gone coon." "But Ivan Rubioff yet lives," said I, “and he is the masking wretch we are after. Where does he dwell now? Do you know that much?" “At the "Hotel Grand Vatel,' in Lispenard street," replied Hans Gratz. "I know,” said I; "I've seen it." Throughout the delivery of poor Gratz' statement, Karl Heinz had stood stolidly, silently, and solidly immovable as a statue; but every word had been immutably drunk in and digested. Now, at the close of the conversa- tion, he quietly arose, and with a significant look towards Claus Volckmar, which seemed to be entirely understood, said: “I'm going!" "May I go, too?" I eagerly inquired. CHAPTER XXXIII HEINZ THE AVENGER “But the trail of the serpent is over them all.” - Paradise and the Peri. When we were well up-town, Heinz said to me: "I would not thus openly show myself with you, or vice versa, unless I knew that Jargal believed his identity with Mudley were fully merged, the miscreant! He thinks himself safe from recognition, disguised as Baron Rubi- off, as the crazy, drunken murderer of Madam Lola. But at this point we must part com- pany. You will meet me at the Carlton House at seven this evening." I went straight home. Jane was sewing a silk scarf at the open window, occasionally glancing out into Chat- ham Square, now glowing like a mirage under the furious rays of the mid-day sun, the heated breath from which burned the face as the blasts of a fiery furnace. She ran to meet me, and kissed me as I came in. "Dear Gaston," she murmured; "have you any news of the wretch?" 312 314 THE BLUE SCARAB ting-room by way of the bar, the ubiquitous American bar, I stared around in vain for my friend Karl Heinz. Nowhere was there any- one resembling him to be seen. There was, however, a stout, middle-aged person, wear- ing spectacles and a black wig, sitting smok- ing upon one of the spring settees; an emi- nently respectable, solid-looking person of evident worldly means, who I soon reflected, or instinctively divined rather, might be the distinguished foreign detective. So highly re- spectable did he appear indeed, that I patient- ly waited till he should give me a sign or salute of recognition and encouragement. This he presently did. Quietly motioning me to a seat beside him, he remarked, with a laugh: "Didn't know me, eh? Took me for some . bloated old fogy, just in from Saratoga by the Albany day-line to draw his rents and div- idends? Well, my son, we are after a big thing, now, that's a fact." He spoke in the oily, unctuous tones of a wealthy Wall street broker who counted his money by the millions. I had an important question to ask, and would ask it now. "Mr. He—" I began, but he checked me with a nudge, saying: “Rathbone-Hubbard Rathbone, sir. I've a corner in pork. They call us old porkers and THE BLUE SCARAB 315 shad-dealers, when we grow rich, the codfish aristocracy, sir; and I bet you a new hat-a Genin's best—that we've got the salt, sir; we've got the salt." "Mr. Rathbone," I began again in a low tone, “can you explain why it was that Hugh Gormon and Mad Mudley spoke in a voice, a raw, rasping voice, entirely different from the smooth, soft tones of Ivan Rubioff?" “Heinrich Gratz, in his disguise, it seems, aped the intonation of his brother Hans. This he was easily enabled to do from the frequent mimicking of the other's unfortunate voice, or defect of voice, in mischievous mockery, dur- ing their childhood. Apart from that, I sus- pect that another and more infernal motive lurked sodden in the thought; namely, that if he, Heinrich Gratz, were pursued for crime, he could lay the fatal charge at his innocent brother's door, and himself escape. Jargal, you know, is vile enough for anything. He's a born devil." "You have long suspected him of implica- tion in the diamond job?" "I've had my eye on Ivan Rubioff for weeks,” said Heinz. "But you did not guess that Mudley was his double?" I inquired. "It is a delicate matter for secret-service agents to confess to a mistake-a blunder in 316 THE BLUE SCARAB detective work—a blunder in detection or di- plomacy being worse than a crime, you know; but I must admit to you in confidence, my son, that I had no suspicion of Jargal's clever game in that respect. He's a trained adept in de- ception." "You were aware, however, of his criminal association wtih Count Philippe de Soudan?" "Perfectly!" “You will arrest them, then? “No! They would destroy the diamond." -“I thought diamonds were indestructible!" "By no means. They can be smashed with a hammer as readily as a crystal. But come!" We then crossed Broadway, proceeding up- town a few blocks as far as Lispenard street, on the northerly side of which, between Broad- way and West Broadway, stood at that time a row of shabby red brick dwellings with a common door of entrance, the whole being styled “l'Hotel Grand Vatel," a foreign house of lodging and entertainment, which has since been transferred to Bleecker Street, as any modern New Yorker knows. Upon that corner, it being now dark and the street-lamp lit, my companion stopped short, and, drawing from his breast-pocket a false mustache and imperial "a la Victor Emman- uel," desired me to turn aside with him in the dusk of the crossing in order to stick them THE BLUE SCARAB 317 firmly upon my upper lip and chin so as to look as natural as possible. This he did with infinite pains and expedition. “Now," said he, in a strictly business inan- ner, "see here, Brashe, I shall do the talking.. You, who are smart, are to say nothing, but to act and seem as much like a Russian as you can. Grimace and scrape as much as you are able, but mum! Should you be obliged to speak, use broken English; but not as a French- man, lest these Frenchmen should suspect you; nor yet as a German. You understand? Watch me and do likewise." Low steps with iron railings led up to the stone stoop, on which several foreigners lounged, puffing cigarettes or volubly dis- coursing, mostly in French, though some in Spanish or German, or shrill, quick Italian. It was a Babel of babbles. The class of guests frequenting this “table d'hote” and “café" was generally of a genteeler and better-to-do order than were the usual patrons of the "Tav- erne Alsacienne" in Howard street. With these sorts of people I have always observed a habit of too little linen and too much tooth-pick and shoe-blacking; shine and show, and small discernible substance, are often distinguishing marks. Passing in at the double door, Mr. Hubbard Rathbone and Count Rimski of Smolensk 318 THE BLUE SCARAB (such being the name and title I was to bear) entered a small, dingy apology for an office, where, behind a desk and day-book, both ink- stained, a pair of peaked mustachios under a hooked nose, with a snuff-colored man at- tached, was apparently making out bills with grimy claws and the stub of a steel-pen. This being wheezed, when he moved, with confirmed asthma, emitting a piping sound like a child's toy with the bellows broken. He sniffed perpetually without a handkerchief convenient. “My card!" said Karl Heinz in mellow gut- tural; “Hubbard Rathbone, 5 Front street. Have staying with me a gent from Roossia. Old friend of Baron Rubioff. Baron in?". “Nong!" sniffed the sleazy clerk, or proprie- tor, with his peculiar nasal whistle. "In soon?" insinuated Heinz. “Nong!" emitted the clerk again. "Where can we find him?" "Clob! Macaroni! Clintony Place!" "Will leave card." "Cheeweep." Whether this was si, oui, or yes, I shall never know, so muffled were the pipe and sniff by the matted locks of the mouth; but the man clawed away the Rathbone card and scratched "No. 11" upon its lower corner. Thus we knew the room. THE BLUE SCARAB 319 "Got any weeds handy? Count, will you smoke?" I inclined my head in abject silence. The hairy bird, for such the beak and cap- illary appendage made him resemble, extended a box of cheap cigars which he obtained from an adjacent shelf, disturbing swarms of summer flies in the effort, several of which (cigars, not flies,) Heinz picked out and paid for from a handful of silver. Lighting-up at a small lamp, like a night- taper, we lounged and smoked awhile, Rath- bone giving me a detailed account of the pork market, to which I was a stranger. For a time the bird kept one eye on us, and one on the bills; but the evening being intensely hot, and our smoke soporific, it presently let go its pen, gaped, and hopped out to the stoop for air. A thunder-storm was coming up. Approach- ing peals broke on the ear and shook the win- dows. Lightning flashed in vivid forks and sheets. Drops splashed on the dirty panes. · The wind brushed on in howling gusts. Drenching torrents fell. The streets were deserted. The hotels be- came a refuge and retreat. Chance wayfarers rushed in for shelter from the storm. "Sudden!" "Terrific!" "Severe!" in a multi- tude of jargons, formed a chorus of realistic opera. The place was wedged with dripping, excited throngs. The turn of affairs had aided us materially. 320 THE BLUE SCARAB Chance, ever so efficacious in the detection of crime, had sprung to our assistance. "Lounge around," said my companion in my ear, "and make yourself as conspicuous as you can, and wait for me. Watch!" Quietly strolling, or I should say inconspic- uously slipping away, from the noisy scene, half-hidden in tobacco smoke, the expert de- tective glided like a ghost out of view. Expectantly, in trepidation, I passed hither and thither, puffing my tobacco-smoke and pulling my imperial like a genuine exiled no- bleman, a regular Don Cossack, just escaped from Siberia. That Heinz had started for room "11" I had no manner of doubt. Would he get in there? What if he were caught in the overt act of rifling Baron Rubioff's effects? He would be certainly arrested on the spot. As the seconds elapsed, I felt considerable apprehension and impatience for immediate intelligence of Karl Heinz. What could occa- sion his delay-detention? Glancing at my watch, I saw that only five minutes had passed. It seemed an age. The detective had departed as I have stated, stealthily and as a shadow, with perfect com- posure stamped upon his features. In just five minutes more, steathily and as a shadow he returned, a marble statue of imper- turbability. 322 THE BLUE SCARAB inner room, and, upon going in, saw the form in outline of Mr. Volckmar, Sr., lying on one of the sofas. My employer must have heard us, for he sprang up as if expecting us, and, eagerly ad- vancing, addressed us, or rather the detective, who had paused to shut the doors. "Well! well! well!” he exclaimed impatient- ly. "All right!" replied Heinz. Mr. Volckmar gave a leap and shriek of ex- ultation. "My God!" he cried, "you have it?" "Safe!" Heinz made answer; "safe and sure! Knowing well that such a skilled proficient in crime and artifice as Jargal would understand his craft to the letter, I guessed that he would resort to the first principle in roguery. He would hide the sought treasure in the most careless and conspicuous manner possible, thus presumably throwing the commonplace detective or policeman completely off the scent. That is a threadbare dodge with European sharpers. He is an expert at the trade.” "Heinz," Mr. Volckmar fairly screamed in ecstasy, "you are a great man, a master mind! They are all pigmies beside you! Where was it secreted? Tell me." "In his shaving-cup upon his dressing- bureau. It was covered up with lather and the THE BLUE SCARAB 323 brush, but I put my hand upon it almost the first thing. It was very simple and plain in- deed; extremely so; nothing easier." "Give it to me, do!" I knew what it was, well enough, and my conjecture was correct. Slowly disengaging from the breast-pocket of his black surtout an oval object powdered and stained with flakes of soapsuds, the detective drew out his hand- kerchief and wiped off the dust and grime. Then, holding it to the light, which Mr. Volckmar turned up with trembling fingers, we all distinguished what it was distinctly. What? A blue metal breastpin of about the size and shape of a hen's egg, in the form of a scarabæus, or Egyptian beetle. Yes, sure enough, there was the, to me, fabulous and mythical object of our search, the famed blue beetle, the shell which held and hid from mortal view one of the seven won- ders of the world, the priceless "prisme!" Claus Volckmar cried excitedly: "It's it!" sprang to a side shelf for a pair of pincers, frantically seized the breastpin, and, in an instant, with trained and dexter- ous hands, tore off the soldered cover and tossed and caught in his palm a beautiful, pure, radiant stone. Never had I imagined in my wildest fan- CHAPTER XXXIV THE DUEL WITH FOILS “The combat deepens." -Hohenlinden. I never remember a severer storm of contin- . uous wind and rain occurring at any season of the year, than that which befell upon the first Sunday of August, 185—. The blast which had blown fitfully during the night, on the morning of that memorable day broke out with greatly increased violence, hurling clouds and columns of rain along the vacant streets and drenching the house fronts like pouring cata- racts. An occasional hackney coach, with dripping driver and horses, dashed wildly along, urged to the utmost, to its wet jour- ney's end. So dark was it that the gas was lit indoors, and shades were lowered inside the useless windows. Even policemen, so tempest- uous was the season, had ceased to patrol the thoroughfares, as a task of supererogation. By afternoon the storm was at its worst, so high, indeed, that stray pedestrians could scarcely keep their feet. It might as well have been midnight in the city for all the protection that 327 328 THE BLUE SCARAB there was abroad against highway-robbery or assassination. But even criminals and beggars were driven from the streets and forced to stay within by. stress of weather. Chimneys aud shutters were blown down, gutters were flooded by overflowing sewers, telegraph poles swayed to and fro along the curb-stones, roofs of wooden buildings shook and rocked like awnings, and sidewalks, shone like looking- glasses under the ceaseless drip. Inside of Colton's Gymnasium a very differ- ent scene was enacting-one equally stormy, however, if repressed. Here the tumultuous passions of mankind, exceeding in intensity the tumultuous powers of nature, were lurk- ing. Almost total silence, save for the pelting of the wind-dashed rain against the panes, prevailed within. Yet more violent was the contest of the human heart, beating in hate and fury breast to breast, than clashing winds and crashing waves in fierce Atlantic combat. Warfare, bitter warfare of soul to soul, was waging desperate battle. The outer door of the gymnasium building was locked and bolt- ed, and Pat O'Rourke was stationed inside with the key. The gymnasium itself was all ablaze with gas-lights from a score of jets. There were present in the extensive hall a number of excited, yet passive persons. These were Claus Volckmar, Jack Listir, Dr. THE BLUE SCARAB . 329 Howard Madesby, and Gil Grunt, who had been included at the latest moment. In the very center of the gymnasium, with- in the allotted space roped off for boxing and fencing purposes, stood Count Philippe de Soudan and Professor Karl Pentz, or Inspector Heinz, firmly facing one another, foils in hand, and m isks on faces; while, at opposite corners of the ring, were Ivan Rubioff, other- wise Heinrich Jargal, and myself, in the char- acter of seconds or assistants. There was no umpire; the spectators were the judges. All was earnest expectation-calm, collected, but eager anticipation. It was the lull before the whirlwind. Both antagonists were in their shirt-sleeves, their middles girded with a leather belt. The Frenchman was the lighter and more supple of the two; the Swiss the stronger, heavier and taller; but to my mind, the former was by far the better fencer. Heinz, however, was a master of guard, and terrific at the lunge; although de Soudan was as quick as a flash, and as wiry of wrist and keen of sight, with his little white eyes, as any professional swordsman in Christendom. Jargal stood at the further side of the floor, crouching with his hands on his knees, in the intensity of watchfulness; his sinewy shoul- ders rounded, his tigerish face upturned, and his broad back and slim waist bent like the THE BLUÉ SCARAB 331 close carriage which he had hired on purpose, and in which his changes of clothing were concealed. He was a perfect mountebank at masquerading. It had been arranged that at a given sign from Heinz, we were all, except the count, to precipitate ourselves headlong and bodily up- on the arrant thief, to take from him the great gem, the "prism," and, that being duly secured, to hand over the murderous miscreant into the custody of justice in the person of the nearest policeman, to be tried, condemned, and hung for the crime of cold blooded homi- cide, premeditated, with · malice aforethought. The felon was doomed, doomed to expiate his atrocious crimes, as if by the will and decree of fate or predestination. Yes, just retribution was near at last. The wager of battle—the trial test—was about to begin. It was to be a desperate bout to the end. The signal! Thus to the eager gaze the combat ran: Heinz and Soudan suddenly but with perfect ease threw themselves into a fenc- ing position for the entrance or opening "carte" and "tierce" with a possible "flanconnade." Salute, guard, feint, thrust, parry, "octave," re- turn, "carte," half-circle, “seconde," "quinte," retreat! “Appels!" "Tierce," return, advance, low “carte," prime, “glissades," "tierce," "volt," "parry," "flanconnade!" Every expres- THE BLUE SCARAB 333 Heinz, calm, wiry as steel, firm and un- moved as granite, his muscular form erect and taut with resolution, his blue eyes glittering coals, his grey mustache bristling like a hedge- hog's quills, his mien self-poised-Heinz was the fighting German to the core. In snatching off his mask, too, his bleached wig had be- come entangled with it and was flung upon the floor, leaving exposed to view, upon the bullet-head, a short, coarse crop of flaxen hair. The man was thus revealed of middle- life, of strong and active build, although heavily framed--a model swordsman, and a manly type of the mighty race Teutonic, such as might have striven, shoulder to shoulder, with Tell among the Alpine snows, or Andreas Hofer in the Austrian Tyrol. The battle would be one of Gaul to German, of soldier to sol- dier, of middle age to middle age, of courage to courage, of man to man, in desperate en- counter. It was to be more than the "duello." It was a "vendetta." "They have broken the buttons from their foils," said Jack Listir, breathlessly; "they fight to kill!" "O, le bravº zig!" cried Jargal, suddenly. "Bravo!” cried Claus Volckmar; “it is a duel to the death." "Du poil~'credieu-du poil!" exclaimed the excited Jargal, with delight. olla. 338 THE BLUE SCARAB I rushed impetuously at the man, the murderer of my mother, and, hurling myself upon him, disarmed him, dashing his dagger to the ground, confronted him as man to màn, breast to breast, face to face, in true fighting fash- ion, and hit him right and left with furious fists. The fighter in my nature was aroused, and if he had been ten able-bodied men, I think I could have thrashed him half to death. What thought had I of the missing diamond then? A world of "prisms” would have stayed me not. Ere I was quite through with my ministra- tions of retributive justice, however, the wretch, in terrified impulse, broke away, and tearing irresistibly through the crowd which tried to stop him, made for the further window at the rear extremity of the hall, and, without an instant's "hesitation, precipitated himself through the closed casement, amid a crash of shivered glass, into the back-yard beneath. The brute had baffled us, for in the rear of the yard lay a back alley running into Houston street; and, the evening being exceptionally dark and stormy, he would no doubt flee into this path and successfully escape. CHAPTER XXXV TRACKING THE CONVICT "Back to thy punishment, false fugitive!" - Paradise Lost. We all stood covered with distress and con- fusion, staring in stony consternation at the broken window, through which the rain was pouring, driven in gusty volumes and drench- ing and flooding the wooden floor. None of us had the readiness to speak; none of us had enough presence of mind to plan. Our prey had escaped and we we were griev- ously left behind. So miserably stricken with dismay were we that we even forgot or neglected to look out of the window for some time, in order to as- sure ourselves that the man was really off, and not dashed to pieces upon the flags below; but when we did peer out into the tempest, no vestige of him was to be seen. The vulture had flown-where, heaven only knew. After a hurried consultation it was arranged that Claus Volckmar should go to the nearest police station, and lodge a complaint and solicit immediate aid in pursuit of the fugitive; 339 THE BLUE SCARAB 341 ment; and should anything leak out about the matter or suspicion become aroused, the pa- tients were to say that their foils had broken during a fencing bout which mishap had re- sulted in an unlucky "faux pas." An accident, a most unfortunate accident, the affair was to be called, until it should blow over. Accordingly, Pat O'Rourke, who could be thoroughly trusted, swabbed up the blood from the floor, removing all traces of the fracas, and leaving the good doctor with his disabled patients, the rest of us active agents hurried impatiently away. In my judgment de Soudan and Heinz were equally matched and game to the bone, and no one could declare either the Frenchman or the Swiss the better swordsman. It was a fair fight and no favor, and so sat- isfied were we of the count's actual gallantry that we afterward unanimously voted to freely pardon and overlook his implication in the burglary (the shooter of O'Rourke being Jar- gal) provided he would quit the United States and promise never to return thereto forever, so merged and lost sight of subsequently was the lesser guilt of the accomplice in the in- finitely greater criminality of the principal offender. At ten o'clock that night, we all met as THE BLUE SCARAB 343 passenger booked late at the shipping office. Catching the tide at dawn, the ship had sailed upon her lengthy voyage. The passen- ger's name, as entered on the shipping list was “Joel Juif"_defiant to the last! CHAPTER XXXVI TIDINGS FROM THE SEA “That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat.” —Don Juan. Was Joel Juif certainly Heinrich Jargal? As soon as we were informed by the police of the hurried embarkation of the solitary passenger aboard the packet for New Zealand, Mr. Volckmar and I went directly to the office, in Water street, of the South Pacific line of packets, anxious for further intelligence upon the subject, and in order to obtain sufficient data to enable us to identify the lone voyager with the escaped galley-slave, Jargal, beyond all peradventure. At Colfax Brothers we saw the passenger- clerk who had registered, at ten o'clock p. m., August 6th, the name, and received the pas- sage-money, of Joel Juif. He at once described the stranger as a tall, distinguished person, clean-shaven, wearing spectacles, dressed as a traveler, and having court-plaster upon lips and chin in liberal allowance, besides the marks of blood and bruises over his exposed throat. He 344 THE BLUE SCARAB 345 likewise limped painfully and carried one arm in a sling. 'I guess he had been on a spree before sail- ing," added the young American, "and got himself hurt." With thanks we left the office, fully satisfied that Joel Juif was no other than the felon Jar- gal. Colonel de Soudan, subsequently,on quitting for France, in a burst of gratitude and peni- tence, imparted to Mr. Volckmar the fact that the fugitive had boldly and deliberately gone from the Bleecker Street Gymnasium to the count's room at the Hotel de la Fayette in Bond street, to which he had been in the habit of resorting, and had there coolly, nay, auda- ciously, dressed himself with care and shaved himself, appropriating the count's clothing, and left the house smoking and entirely unmo- lested. "A refreshingly impudent scoundrel-as cool as he was dangerous!" was the universal ver- dict in the case. As soon as he recovered of his wounds Karl Heinz set out in the clipper "Pontiac," of the South Sea Line, for New Zealand. And here the history rested for eight months. * * * * * It was on a fine day in the following April 346 THE BLUE SCARAB 1854, that John Inkon came into the store in Maiden Lane, and handed Mr. Volckmar a foreign paper which he had just got from the postoffice in Nassau street. “From Karl Heinz,“ said our employer in some surprise, straightway proceeding to read aloud this statement: "AUKLAND DAILY NEWS "Thursday, December 21, 185--. Postscript. 4 p. m. "The due and expected packetship, 'Red Cloud,' Capt. Roberts, of the Anglo-American Company's Line, from Liverpool and New York to the South Pacific, arrived early this morning, having thirty cabin passengers and a miscellaneous cargo aboard for this port and New South Wales. She encountered no bad weather, making a good run out. "Her officers, however, report a frightful ex- perience with a first-class passenger-a North European named Joel Juif. This person seems to have greatly perplexed and mystified the crew and passengers from the very outset of the voyage. He behaved in an extremely ec- centric manner, avoiding all contact or asso- ciation with his fellow-passengers, messing in his berth or by himself, at any cost, and choosing the company of the cooks and com- mon sailors in preference to his equals. 318 . THE BLUE SCARAB . gasped and sank in plain sight of all on board. "The crazy suicide had cut his throat from ear to ear and thus miserably perished from the earth. It was probably a parcel of poison which he had thrown overboard, and he may also have taken some of that before jumping into the hungry waves. "A great man-eating shark showed its bris- tling saw teeth and black fin over the awful spot a moment later. It had no doubt swal- lowed the lifeless body of the madman." And that was the awful end. FINIS Lanar, N. Y.