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“Then the vigilants post themselves as a wall of defence about
the building.”-page 423.
425


OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
BY
LAVVRENCE L. LYNCH,
(OF THE SECRET SERVICE.)
Author of “Shadowed by Three,” “Madeline Payne,”
“Dangerous Ground,” “The Diamond Coterie,”
etc., etC.
(6) - " " .
CHICAGO:
A L E X. T. LOY D & C O.
1885.


Copyright, 1885, by
ALEX. T. LOYD & CO.,
CHICAGO.
Copyright, 1882, by
DONNELLEY, LOYD & CO.


OUT OF A LABY RINT H.
CHAPTER I.
A BAD BEGINNING.
It was a June day; breezy, yet somewhat too warm.
The slow going old passenger train on the slow going mail
route, that shall be nameless in these chronicles, seemed in
less of a hurry than usual, and I, stretched lazily across
two seats, with my left arm in a sling, was beginning to
yield to the prevailing atmosphere of stupidity, when we
rumbled up to a village station, and took on board a single
passenger.
I was returning from a fruitless mission; and had stepped
on board the eastward-bound train in anything but an
enviable frame of mind; and no wonder! I, who prided
myself upon my skill in my profession; I, who was counted
by my chief the “best detective on the force, sir,”—had
started, less than a week before, for a little farming settle-
ment in one of the interior States, confident of my ability
to unravel soon, and easily, a knotty problem.
9


A BAD BEGINNING. II
and were seldom disturbed by a ripple from the outside
world.
It was a well-to-do community. Most of its inhabitants
had “squatted” there when the land was cheap and uncul-
tivated, and they were poor and young.
Time, railroads, and the grand march of civilization had
increased the value of their acres; and their own industry
had reared for them pleasant homes, overflowing granaries,
barns “good enough to live in,” orchards, vineyards, all
manner of comforts and blessings. Strong sons and fair
daughters had grown up around them; every man knew
his neighbor, and had known him for years. They shared
in their neighborhood joys and griefs, and made common
cause at weddings, funerals, threshings, huskings, cider
makings, everything.
One would suppose it difficult to have a secret in Grove-
land, and yet a mystery had come among them.
'Squire Ewing, 'squire by courtesy, lived in a fine new
white house on a fine farm in the very center of the town-
ship. His family consisted of his wife, two daughters, the
eldest, eighteen, the younger, fifteen, and two sons, boys of
twelve and ten.
The daughters of 'Squire Ewing were counted among the
brightest and prettiest in Groveland, and they were not
lacking in accomplishments, as accomplishments go in such
communities. Much learning was not considered a necessity
among the Groveland young ladies, but they had been


12 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
smitten with the piano-playing mania, and every Winter
the district school-house was given over, for one night in
the week, to the singing school.
The Misses Ewing were ranked among the best
“musicians” of Groveland, and they had also profited for a
time by the instructions of the nearest seminary, or young
ladies' school.
One evening, just as the sun was setting, Ellen, or Nell
Ewing, as she was familiarly called, mounted her pony and
cantered blithely away, to pass the night with a girl friend.
It was nothing unusual for the daughters of one farmer
to ride or drive miles and pass the night or a longer time
with the daughters of another, and Nellie's destination was
only four miles away.
The night passed and half of the ensuing day, but the
eldest daughter of Farmer Ewing did not return.
However, there was no cause for alarm in this, and
'Squire Ewing ate his evening meal in peace, confident that
his daughter would return before the night had closed in.
But a second night came and went, and still she did not come.
Then the good farmer became impatient, and early on
the morning of the second day he dispatched his eldest son
to hasten the return of the tardy one.
But the boy came back alone, and in breathless agitation.
Nellie had not been seen by the Balloussince the night she left
home. She had complained of a headache, and had decided
to return home again. She had remained at Mrs. Ballou's


A BAD BEGINNING. 13
only an hour; it was not yet dark when she rode away.
Well, Nellie Ewing was never seen after that, and not a
clue to her hiding-place, or her fate, could be discovered.
Detectives were employed; every possible and impossi-
ble theory was “evolved” and worked upon, but with no
other result than failure.
Groveland was in a state of feverish excitement; con-
jectures the most horrible and most absurd were afloat;
nothing was talked of save the mysterious disappearance of
Nellie Ewing.
And so nearly three months passed. At the end of that
time another thunderbolt fell.
Mamie Rutger, the only daughter of a prosperous German
farmer; wild little Mamie, who rode the wickedest colts,
climbed the tallest tress, sang loudest in the singing-school,
and laughed oftenest at the merry-makings, also vanished.
At first they thought it one of her jokes, for she was given
to practical joking; but she did not come back. No trace
of her could be found.
At twilight one June evening she was flitting about the
door-yard, sometimessinging gayly, sometimes bending over
a rosebush, sometimes snatching down handfuls of early
cherries. After that she was seen no more.
Then ensued another search, and a panic possessed that
once quiet community. The country was scoured. Every
foot of road, every acre of ground, every hedge or clump
of trees, every stream, every deserted or shut-up building
for miles around was faithfully searched.


14 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
And then Farmer Rutger and 'Squire Ewing closeted
themselves together, took counsel of each other, and decided
to call in the aid of a city detective. They came together
to our office and laid their case before our chief.
“If any man can clear up this matter, it's Bathurst,” said
that bluff old fellow.
And so I was called into the consultation.
It was a very long and very earnest one. Questions
were asked that would have done credit to the brightest
lawyer. Every phase of the affair, or the two affairs, was
closely examined from different standpoints. Every pos-
sibility weighed; copious notes taken.
Before the two men left us, I had in my mind's eye a
tolerably fair map of Groveland, and in my memory,
safely stowed away, the names of many Grovelanders, to-
gether with various minute, and seemingly irrelevant, items
concerning the families, and nearest friends and neigh-
bors, of the two bereaved fathers.
They fully perceived the necessity for perfect secrecy,
and great caution. And I felt assured that no word or
sign from them would betray my identity and actual busi-
ness when, a few days later, I should appear in Grove-
land.
It was a strange case; one of the sort that had a won-
derful fascination for me; one of the sort that once entered
upon, absorbed me soul and body, sleeping or waking, day
and night, for I was an enthusiast in my profession.


A BAD BEGINNING. 15
After waiting a few days I set out for the scene of the
mystery. I did not take the most direct route to reach my
destination, but went by a circuitous way to a small town
west of the place, and so tramped into it, coming, not from
the city, but from the opposite direction. *.
My arrival was as unobtrusive as I could make it, and
I carried my wardrobe in a somewhat dusty bundle, swung
across my shoulder by a strap.
I had assumed the character of a Swede in search of em-
ployment, and my accent and general ensemble were per-
fect in their way. *
Perseveringly I trudged from farm to farm, meeting
sometimes with kindness, and being as often very briefly
dismissed, or ordered off for a tramp. But no one was in
need of a man until I arrived at the widow Ballou's.
This good woman, who was a better farmer than some of
her male neighbors, and who evidently had an eye to the
saving of dollars and cents, listened quite indifferently
to my little story while I told how long I had looked for
work, and how I had been willing to labor for very small
wages. But when I arrived at the point where I repre-
sented myself as now willing to work for my board until
I could do better, her eyes brightened, she suddenly found
my monotone more interesting, decided that I “looked
honest,” and, herself, escorted me to the kitchen and dealt
me out a bountiful supper, for I had reached the Ballou
farmhouse at sundown.


16 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER II.
THE ENEMY MAKES A MOVE.
Three days passed, and of course during that time I
heard much about the two girls and their singular disap-
pearance.
At night, after work was done, and supper disposed of,
Mrs. Ballou would send some one to the post-office.
This duty had usually fallen to Miss Grace Ballou, or been
chosen by her, but since the night when Nellie Ewing rode
away from the door, never again to be seen, Mrs. Ballou
had vetoed the evening canters that Grace so much loved,
and so the post-office was attended to by Master Fred, the
spoiled son and heir, aged thirteen, or by the “hired
man.”
On the evening of the third day of my service, I saddled
one of the farm horses, and rode to the post-office to fetch
the widow's mail, and great was my surprise when the grim
postmistress presented me with a letter bearing my assumed
name, Chris Ollern, and directed to the care of Mrs.
Ballou.
Stowing away the widow's papers and letters in a capa-


THE ENEMY MAKES A MOVE. 17
cious coat pocket, and my own letter in a smaller inner one,
I rode thoughtfully homeward.
Who had written me? Not the men at the office; they
were otherwise instructed; besides, the letter was a local
one, bearing only the Groveland mark. Could it be that
Farmer Rutger or 'Squire Ewing had forgotten all my in-
structions, and been insane enough to write me?
I hurriedly put my horse in his stable, unburdened my
pocket of the widow's mail, and mounted to my room.
Locking my door and lighting a tallow candle-the
widow objected to kerosene in sleeping rooms, –I opened
my letter.
It was brief, very, containing only these words:
CHRIs OLLERN-Asyou call yourself, unless you wish to disappear
as effectually as did Nellie Ewing and Mamie Rutger, you will
abandon your present pursuit. A word to the wise is sufficient.
Here was an astonisher, and here was also a clue. I was
betrayed, or discovered. But the enemy had showed his
hand. I had also made a discovery.
There was an enemy then; there had been foul play;
and that enemy was still in the vicinity, as this letter proved.
It was a wily enemy too; the letter would betray nothing
as regarded identity. It was printed; the letters were
smooth and even, but perfectly characterless. It was a
wily enemy, but not quite a wise one, as the sending of
such a letter proved.
2


18 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
w
I did not leave my room again that night, but sat for
hours thinking.
The next morning as I came from the barn-yard with a
pail of milk, I encountered Miss Grace Ballou. She was
feeding a brood of chickens, and seemed inclined to talk
with me.
“Did you ever see such fine chicks, Chris?” she asked;
“and they are only two weeks old.”
I stopped, of course, to admire the chickens and express
my admiration in broken English.
Suddenly she moved nearer me, and said, in a lower
tone:
“Chris, did you bring any letters for any one except
mother, last night?” -
Promptly and unblushingly, yet somewhat surprised, I
answered, “No.”
Her eyes searched my face for a second, and then she
said, falling back a step:
“Well, don’t say anything about my asking you, Chris.
I—I expected a letter.”
That night I went to the post-office as usual, and the
next morning Miss Grace repeated her question:
“Did you bring no letters for any one, positively 2”
“No, there were only papers that night.”
The third night after the receipt of my mysterious warn-
ing, however, there came a letter for Grace, which, a little
to my surprise, was promptly handed over by her mother.


\
|
:*-|!,
“Chris, did you bring any letters for any one, except mother, last
page 18,
night?”


19


**


THE ENEMY MAKES A MOVE. 21
Whether this was the expected missive or not it threw the
young lady into unmistakable raptures.
Amy was coming! Amy Holmes; she would be at the
station to-morrow, and Grace must go in the carriage to
meet her.
Everybody was pleased except Fred Ballou. Mrs.
Ballou heartily expressed her satisfaction, and announced
that I should drive with Grace to “the station;” and Ann,
the “help,” became quite animated.
But Fred scornfully declined his mother's proposition,
that he should ride to town with his sister and myself.
“Catch me,” he sniffed, “for that stuck-up town girl;
she was always putting ideas into Grace's head; and—he
hated girls anyway. And hoped some one would just carry
Amy Holmes off as they did Nellie Ewing.”
Whereupon Grace turned, first pale, then scarlet, and
lastly, flew at her brother and boxed his ears soundly.
The next day we went as per programme to the town,
ten miles distant, where Miss Holmes would be. She had
arrived before us, and was waiting.
She was a handsome, showy-looking girl, stylishly
dressed, and very self-possessed in manner; evidently a
girl who knew something of town life.
We found her beguiling the time of waiting by conver-
sation with a well-dressed, handsome young fellow, who
was evidently a prime favorite with both young ladies. He
accompanied them while they went about making certain


22 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
purchases that Mrs. Ballou had charged her daughter not
to forget, and then he assisted them into the carriage, while
I stowed away their bundles, shook their hands at parting,
and stood gazing after them as the carriage rolled away, the
very model of a young Don Juan, I thought.
I had hoped to gain something from my ten-mile drive
with the two young ladies sitting behind me. I had
learned that Miss Holmes was a friend of the Ewings, and
also of Mamie Rutger, and as she had not been in the vicinity
since these young ladies had vanished, what more natural
than that she should talk very freely of their mysterious
fate, and might not these girl friends know something,
say something, that in my hands would prove a clue?
But I was disappointed; during the long drive the names
of Nellie Ewing and Mamie Rutger never once passed their
lips. Indeed, save for a few commonplaces, these two
young ladies, who might be supposed to have so much to
say to each other, never talked at ali.
I had driven the steady old work horses in going for
Miss Holmes, and so when night came, a feeling of human-
ity prompted me to buckle the saddle upon a young horse
scarcely more than half broken, and set off upon his back
for the post-office.
It was a little later than usual, and by the time I had
accomplished the first half of my journey, stowed away
the usual newspapers, and remounted my horse, it was
fully dark; and I rode slowly through the gloom, think-


THE ENEMY MAKES A MOVE. 23
ing that Groveland was ambitious indeed to bring the mail
every day from a railway ten miles dista t, and wonder-
ing what it would be like to be the mail boy, and jog over
that same monotonous twenty miles of fetching and carry-
ing every day.
I had now reached a high hedge that assured me that my
homeward journey was half accomplished, when, from an
imaginary inland mail boy, I was suddenly transformed
into an actual, crippled John Gilpin. From out the black-
ness of the hedge came a flash and a sharp report; my horse
bounded under me, my left arm dropped helpless, and then
I was being borne over the ground as if mounted upon a
whirlwind
It was useless to command, useless to strive with my
single hand to curb the frightened beast. It was a miracle
that I did not lose my seat, for at first I reeled, and feeling
the flow of blood, feared a loss of consciousness. But that
swift rush through the dewy evening air revived me, and
rallied my scattered senses.
As we dashed on, I realized that my life had been at-
tempted, and that the would-be assassin, the abductor or .
destroyer of the two missing girls, had been very near me;
that but for the unruly beast I rode I might perhaps have
returned his little compliment; at least have found some
trace of him.
My horse kept his mad pace until he had reached his
own barn-yard gate, and then he stopped so suddenly as to
very nearly unseat me.


24 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I quickly decided upon my course of action, and now,
dismounting and merely leading my horse into the inclosure,
I went straight to the house. I knew where to find Mrs.
Ballou at that hour, and was pretty sure of finding her
alone. -
As I had anticipated, she was seated in her own room,
where she invariably read her evening papers in soli-
tude. I entered without ceremony, and much to her
surprise. -
But I was not mistaken in her; she uttered no loud ex-
clamation, either of anger at my intrusion, or of fright at
sight of my bleeding arm. She rose swiftly and came
straight up to me.
Before she could ask a question, I motioned her to be
silent, and closed the door earefully. After which, with-
out any of my foreign accent, I said: -
“Mrs. Ballou, a woman who can manage a great farm
and coin money in the cattle trade, can surely keep a secret.
Will you bind up my arm while I tell you mine?”
“What!” she exclaimed, starting slightly; “you are
not a-”
“Not a Swede? No, madame,” I replied; “I am a de-
tective, and I have been shot to-night by the hand that has
struck at the happiness of 'Squire Ewing and his neighbor.”
The splendid woman comprehended the situation in-
stantly.
“Sit there,” she said, pointing to her own easy chair.


“From out the blackness of the hedge came a flash and a sharp
report; my horse bounded under me, my left arm dropped help-
less.”-page 23.

*2 25





THE ENEMY MAKES A MOVE. 27
“And don’t talk any more now. I shall cut away your
sleeve.”
“Can you?” I asked, deprecatingly. -
“Can I?” contemptuously; “I bleed my cattle.”
I smiled a little in spite of myself; then—
“Consider me a colt, a heifer, anything,” I said, resign-
edly. “But I feel as if I had been bled enough.”
“I should think so,” she replied, shortly. “Now be
still; it's lucky that you came to me.”
I thought so too, but obedient to her command, I “kept
still.”
She cut away coat and shirt sleeves; she brought from
the kitchen tepid water and towels, and from her own es-
pecial closet, soft linen rags. She bathed, she stanched, she
bandaged; it proved to be only a flesh wound, but a deep one.
“Now then,” she commanded in her crisp way, when all
was done, and I had been refreshed with a very large glass
of wine, “tell me about this.”
“First,” I said, “your colt stands shivering yet, no doubt,
and all dressed in saddle and bridle, loose in the stable-
yard.” -
“Wait,” she said, and hurried from the room.
In a few moments she came back.
“The colt is in his stable, and no harm done,” she an-
nounced, sitting down opposite me. “How do you feel?”
“A little weak, that is all. Now, I will tell you all
about it.”


28 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
In the fewest words possible, I told my story, and ended
by saying:
“Mrs. Ballou, you, as a woman, will not be watched or
suspected; may I leave with you the task of telling 'Squire
Ewing and Mr. Rutger what has happened to me?”
“You may,” with decision.
“And I must get away from here before others know how
much or little I am injured. Can your woman's wit help
me? I want it given out that my arm is broken. Do you
comprehend me?”
“Perfectly. Then no one here must see you, and—you
should have that wound dressed by a good surgeon, I think.
There is a train to the city to-morrow at seven. I will get
up in the morning at three o'clock, make us a cup of coffee,
harness the horses, and drive you to Sharon.”
“You ?” I exclaimed.
“Yes, I: Why not? It's the only way. And now,
would you mind showing me that letter?”
I took it from my pocket-book and put it in her hand.
She read it slowly, and then looked up.
“Why did you not heed this warning?” she asked.
“Because I wanted to find out what it meant.”
“Well, you found out,” sententiously. “Now, go to
bed, but first let me help you remove that coat.”
“Mrs. Ballou, you are a woman in a thousand,” I ex-
claimed, as I rose to receive her assistance. “And I don't
see how I can ever repay you. You are your own reliance.”


“Why did you not heed this warning?” she asked—page 28.
29


*
:


THE ENEMY MAKES A MOVE. 31
As I spoke, the coat fell from my shoulder and my hand
touched the weapon in my pistol pocket.
She saw it, too, and pointing to it, said:
“I have never owned a pistol, because I could not buy
one without letting Fred know it; he is always with me in
town. If you think I have earned it give me that.”
“Gladly,” I said, drawing out the small silver-mounted
six-shooter; “it is loaded, every barrel. Can you use it?”
“Yes; I know how to use firearms.”
“Then when you do use it, if ever, think of me.” I
laughed.
“I will,” she said, quite soberly.
And little either of us dreamed how effectively she would
use it one day.
The next morning, at half-past three, we drove out of
the farm, yard, en route for the railway station.
During our drive, we talked like two men, and when we
parted at Sharon we were very good friends. I dropped
her work-hardened hand reluctantly, and watched her
drive away, thinking that she was the only really sensible
woman I had ever known, and feeling half inclined to fall
in love with her in spite of the fact that she was tweaty-
five years my senior.


32 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER III.
SCENTING A MYSTERY.
That is how I chanced to be rolling city-ward on that
phlegmatic, oft-stopping, slow going, accomodation train, .
and that is why I was out of temper, and out of tune,
My operation had been retarded. Instead of working
swiftly on to a successful issue, this must be a case of wait-
ing, of wit against wit, and I must report to my chief a
a balk in the very bcginning.
Nevertheless, as I said in the outset, fifty miles of mon-
otonous rumble, together with the soothing influence of a
good cigar, had blunted the edge of my self-disgust; my
arm was quite easy, only warning me now and then that it
was a crippled arm; I was beginning to feel phlegmatic
and comfortable. -
I had formed a habit of not thinking about my work
when the thinking would be useless, and there was little
room for effective thought in this case. My future move-
ments were a foregone conclusion. So I rested, and fell
almost asleep, and then it was that the single passenger of
whom I made mention, came on board. -
I had not noticed the name of the station, but as I roused


SCENTING A MYSTERY. 33
myself and looked out, I saw that we were moving along
the outskirts of a pretty little town, and then I turned my
eyes toward the new passenger.
He was coming down theaisle towardsme, and was aplain,
somewhat heavy-featured man, with a small, bright, twink-
ling eye. Certainly it was not a prepossessing countenance,
but, just as certainly, it was an honest one. He was
dressed in some gray stuff, the usual “second best” of a
thriving farmer or mechanic, and might have been either.
By the time I had arrived at this stage in my observa-
tions, there was rustle and stir behind me, and a man who
had been lounging, silent, moveless, and, as I had supposed,
asleep, stretched forward a brown fist, exclaiming:
“Hallo, old boy! Stop righthere. Harding, how areye?”
Of course the “old boy” stopped. There was the usual
hand shaking, and mutual exclamations of surprise and
pleasure, not unmixed with profanity. Evidently they
had been sometime friends and neighbors, and had not
met before for years. -
They talked very fast and, it seemed to me, unnecessarily
loud; the one asking, the other answering, questions con-
cerning a certain village, which, because it would not be
wise to give its real name we will call Trafton.
Evidently Trafton was the station we had just left, and
where we took on this voluble passenger. They talked
of its inhabitants, its improvements, its business; of births,
and deaths, and marriages. It was very uninteresting; I


SCENTING A MYSTERY. 35
“But, good Lord, that's pretty strong for Trafton. Do
you believe it?”
“Rather,” with Yankee dryness.
“Well, I'm blessed! Come, old man, tell us some of the
particulars. What makes you suspect blacklegs about that
little town?” *
“I’ve figured the thing down pretty close, and I’ve had
reason to. The thing has been going on for a number of
years, and I’ve been a loser, and ever since the beginning
it has moved like clock-work. Five years ago a horse thief
had not been heard of in Trafton for Lord knows how long,
until one night Judge Barnes lost a valuable span, taken
from his stable, slick and clean, and never heard of after-
wards. Since then, from the town and country, say for
twenty-five miles around, they have averaged over twenty
horses every year, and they are always the very best; picked
every time, no guess work.”
The companion listener gave a long, shrill whistle, and
I, supposed by them to be asleep, became very wide awake
and attentive.
“But,” said the astonished man, “you found some of
them 2”
“No, sir; horses that leave Trafton between two days
never come back again.”
“Good Lord!”
There was a moment's silence and then the Traftonite
said:


36 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“But that ain’t all; we can beat the city itself for bur-
glars.”
“Burglars, too!”
“Yes, burglars ” This the gentleman emphasized very
freely. “And cute ones; they never get caught, and they
seldom miss a figure.”
“How's that ?”
“They always know where to strike. If a man goes
away to be absent for a night or two, they know it. If a
man draws money from the bank, or sells cattle, they know
that. And if some of our farmers, who like to go home
drunk once in a while, travel the road alone, they are liable
to be relieved of a part of their load.”
“And who do the folks suspect of doing the mischief?”
“They talk among themselves, and very carefully, about
having suspicions and being on the watch; but very few
dare breathe a name. And after all, there is no clear reason
for suspecting anyone.”
“But you suspect some one, or I miss my guess.”
“Well, and so I do, but I ain’t the man to lay myself
liable to an action for damages, so I say nothing, but I'm
watching.”
Little more was said on the subject that interested me,
and presently the Traftonite took leave of his friend, and
quitted the train at a station, not more than twenty miles
east of Trafton; the other was going to the city, like my-
self.


~ -
: # =>
- #
ZZ >.
“But that ain’t all; we can beat the city itself for burglars.”—
page 36.




37





SCENTING A MYSTERY. 39
When quiet was restored in my vicinity, I settled myself
for a fresh cogitation, and now I gave no thought to the
fate of Mamie Rutger and 'Squire Ewing's daughter. My
mind was absorbed entirely with what I had just heard.
The pretty, stupid-looking little town of Trafton had
Suddenly become to me what the great Hippodrome is to
small boys. I wanted to see it; I wanted to explore it,
and to find the mainspring that moved its mystery.
The words that had fallen from the lips of the Trafton
man, had revealed to my practiced ear a more comprehen-
sive story than he had supposed himself relating.
Systematic thieving and burglary for five years! System-
atic, and always successful. What a masterful rogue must
be the founder of this system! How secure he must be in
his place, and his scheming, and what a foeman to en-
counter. It would be something to thwart, to baffle, and
bring to justice a villain of such caliber.
After a while my thoughts turned back to Groveland.
Certainly the mystery there was quite as deep, and the solu-
tion of it of more vital importance. But–Groveland was
the mystery that I had touched and handled; Trafton was
the mystery unseen.
So my mind returned to the latter subject, and when,
hours later, we ran into the city, Groveland was still ab-
sent, and Trafton present, in my thoughts.


40 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER IV.
CHARTERING A DUMMY.
By the time I reached the city my arm, which needed
fresh bandages, began to pain me, and I went straight to
the office of a surgeon, well-known to fame, and to the de-
tective service. He had bound up many a broken bone for
our office, and we of the fraternity called him “Our Samari-
tan.” Some of the boys, and, let me confess it, myself
among the number, called him “Our old woman,” as well,
for, while he bandaged and healed and prescribed, he waged
continued warfare upon our profession, or rather the dan-
gers of it. -
Of course, the country needed secret service men, and
must have them, but there was an especial reason why each
one of us should not be a detective. We were too young,
or too old; we were too reckless, or we were cut out for
some other career. In short, every patient that came under
the hand of good Dr. Denham, became straightway an
object of interest to his kindly old heart; and—strange
weakness in a man of his cloth—he desired to keep us out
of danger.
“So ho!” cried “our old woman,” when I appeared be-


I'll have the pleas-
Got shot again Go on, go on, Sir!
ure of dissecting you yet.”-page 43.
“So!











41





CHARTERING A. DUMMY. 43
fore him with my bandaged arm, “here you are! I knew
you’d be along soon. You’ve kept out of my clutches a
good while. Arm, eh? Glad of it! I'll cut it off; I'll cut
it off! That'll spoil one detective.”
I laughed. We always laughed at the talkative soul, and
he expected it.
“Cut it off, then,” I retorted, flinging myself down in a
chair and beginning to remove my sling. “I don’t need a
left arm to shoot the fellow that gave me this, and I’m
bound to do that, you know.”
“So! Got shot again? Go on, go on, sir! I'll have
the pleasure of dissecting you yet. You'll come home dead
some day, you scoundrel. Ah! here we are. Um! flesh
wound, rear of arm, under side; close, pretty close, pret-ty
close, sir!”
All this was jerked out in short breaths, while he was
undoing and taking a first look at my arm. When the
actual business of dressing commenced, “our old woman”
was always silent and very intent upon the delicate task.
“Pity it wasn’t a little worse,” he sniffled, moving across
the room and opening a case of instruments. “You chaps
get off too easy; you don’t come quite near enough to
Death's door. There's Carnes, now; got a knife through
his shoulder, and fretting and fuming because he can’t put
himself in a position to get another dig.”
“Is Carnes in?”
“Yes. And was badly cut.


44 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Poor fellow! I'm sorry for that, but glad of the chance
to see him; he's been on a long cruise.”
“Well, I'm not so sure about his going on another. Now
then.”
And the doctor applied himself to business, and I sat,
wincing sometimes, under his hand, but thinking through it
all of Carnes.
He was the comique of the force; a man who was either
loved or hated by all who knew him. No one could be
simply indifferent to Carnes. He was a well-educated man,
although he habitually spoke with a brogue. But I knew
Carnes was not an Irishman; although he professed to have
“hailed from Erin,” he could drop the accent at pleasure
and assume any other with perfect ease,—a feat rather
difficult of accomplishment by a genuine Irishman.
Nobody knew much about Carnes; he had no confidants,
although he had his favorites, one of whom I chanced to be.
He was older than myself by ten years, but when the
mood seized him, could be younger by twenty. He had
been absent from the office for nearly a year, and I mentally
resolved that, after making my report and attending to
business, I would lose no time in seeing him.
Under the skilled hand of Dr. Denham my arm was
soon dressed and made comfortable. It would be well in
a fortnight, the good doctor assured me, and then as soon as
I could, I withdrew from his presence and his customary
fire of raillery and questions, and stopping only to refresh


CHARTERING A. DUMMY. 45
myself at a restaurant by the way, hastened on toward our
office, where I was soon closeted with my Chief.
As usual, he made no comments, asked no questions,
when I dawned upon him thus unexpectedly. He never
made use of unnecessary words. He only turned out one
or two of the force who were lounging there, waiting his
pleasure to attend to less important business, saw that the
doors were closed and the outer office properly attended,
and then seating himself opposite me at the desk, said
quietly: -
“Now, Bathurst?”
I was well accustomed to this condensed way of doing
things, and it suited me. In a concise manner matching
his own, I put him in possession of the facts relating to the
Groveland case, and then I made a discovery. After re-
lating how I had received the anonymous letter I produced
my pocket-book, where I supposed it to be, and found it
missing! It was useless to search; the letter was not in
my pocket-book, neither was it on my person.
“Well!” I said, when fully convinced that the letter was
certainly not in my possession, “here's another complica-
tion. I’ve been robbed and—I know who did it!”
My companion made no comment, and I continued:
“The letter was of no vital importance; I will finish my
story and then you will know what has become of it.”
I told the rest; of my ride upon Mrs. Ballou's colt, of
the pistol shot, my runaway steed, and my subsequent in-


46 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
terview with Mrs. Ballou. Howshe had dressed my wound,
how the circumstances had compelled me to confide in her,
and how she had risen to the occasion, and driven me to
the station at half-past three in the morning, and I finished
by saying:
“Now it looks to me as if Mrs. Ballou had stolen my
letter, and if so, one might take that fact and the one that
Nellie Ewing was never seen after leaving her house, and
count it as strong circumstantial evidence; but, that kind
of evidence won’t convince me that Mrs. Ballou is impli-
cated in the crime or the mystery. When I told her of the
printed letter, I saw her eyes gleam; and when she asked
to see the document I read anxiety in her face. I am sure
she took the letter, and I think she has a suspicion of some
sort; but if she has the letter she will return it.”
My chief made no comment on all that I had told him;
he picked up a paper weight and laid it down again with
great precision, then he put all my story “on the shelf,”
as we were wont to express it, by asking abruptly:
“What are you going to do next?”
The question did not surprise me. He was not in the
habit of offering much advice to such operatives as he
trusted with delicate cases, for he never trusted a man until
he felt full confidence in his skill and integrity. But
when we desired to consult with him, he entered into the
study of the case with animation and zeal; and then, and
then only, did he do a full share of the talking.


CHARTERING A DUMMY. 47
“Going to send them a “dummy, if we can find one with
the grit to face the chances. They must suppose me en-
tirely out of the business.” -
“Yes.”
“I want an extraordinary dummy, too; a blusterer.”
“Wait,” interrupted my companion, beginning to smile,
“I have got just the animal. When do you want to see
him?”
“As soon as possible; I want him in the field at
once.”
“Very good. This fellow came here yesterday, and
he's the greatest combination of fool and egotist I ever
saw. Knows he was born for a detective and is ready to
face a colony of desperadoes; there is no limit to his cheek
and no end to his tongue. If you want a talkative fool
he’ll do.” -
“Well,” I replied, “that's what I want, but the man
must not be quite destitute of courage. I don’t think that
the party or parties will make another attack upon a fresh
man, and yet they may; and this dummy must remain
there quite alone until the rascals are convinced that he has
no confederates. There is a keen brain at the bottom of
this Groveland mischief. I mean to overreach it and all
its confederates, for I believe there must be confederates;
and, sir, I don’t believe those girls have been murdered.”
44 No ?”
“No. But I want our dummy to act on the supposition


48 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
that they have been. This will ease the vigilance of the
guilty parties, and when they are off their guard, our time
will come. Where is Carnes?”
My companion was in full sympathy with my abrupt
change of the subject, and he answered, readily:
“At his old rooms. Carnes had a bad cut, but he is
getting along finely.”
“Is he? The doctor gave me the idea that he was still
in a doubtful condition.”
“Stuff,” giving a short laugh, “some of his scarey talk;
he told me that Carnes would be about within two weeks.
Carnes did some good work in the West.”
“He is a splendid fellow; I must see him to-night.
But about our dummy: when can you produce him?”
“Will to-morrow do? say ten o'clock.”
“It must be later by an hour; the doctor takes me in hand
at ten.” *
“Eleven, then. I will have him here, and you’ll find
him a jewel.”
“Very good,” I said, rising, and taking up my hat,
“any message to send to Carnes? I shall see him to-
night.”
“Look here,” turning upon me suddenly, “you are not
to go to Carnes for any purpose but to see him. You must
not talk to him much, nor let him talk; the doctor should
have told you that. He is weak, and easily excited. It's
bad enough to have two of my best men crippled and offat


CHARTERING A DUMMY. 49
once; you must not retard his recovery. Carnes is as unruly
as a ten-year old, now.”
I laughed; I could see just how this whimsical comrade
of mine would chafe under his temporary imprisonment.
“I won’t upset the old fellow,” I said, and took my leave.
4 *3


50 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER V.
EN ROUTE FOR TRAFTON.
Over the minor events of my story I will not linger, for
although they cannot be omitted altogether, they are still
so overshadowed by startling and thrilling after events that
they may, with propriety, be narrated in brief.
I saw Carnes, and found that the Chief had not exag-
gerated, and that the doctor had.
Carnes was getting well very fast, but was chafing like
a caged bear, if I may use so ancient an illustration.
We compared notes and sympathized with each other,
and then we made some plans. Of course we were off duty
for the present, and could be our own masters. Carnes
had been operating in a western city, and I proposed to him
a change. I told him of the conversation I had overheard
that morning, and soon had him as much interested in
Trafton as was myself. Then I said:
“Now, old man, why not run down to that little paradise
of freebooters and see what we think of it?”
“Begorra and that'll jist suit me case,” cried Carnes, who
was just then in his Hibernian mood. “And it's go we
will widen the wake.”
But go “widen the wake” we did not.


W
% |||||||||I|| ||
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“Now, old man, why not run down to that little paradise of
freebooters and see what we think of it?”—page 50. 5
• * 1.





EN ROUTE FOR TRAFTON. 53
We were forced to curb our impatience somewhat, for
Carnes needed a little more strength, and my arm must be
free from Dr. Denham's sling.
We were to go as Summer strollers, and, in order to come
more naturally into contact with different classes of the
Traftonites, I assumed the rôle of a well-to-do Gothamite
with a taste for rural Summer sports, and Carnes made a
happy hit in choosing the character of half companion, half
servant; resolving himself into a whole Irishman for the
occasion.
It was a fancy of his always to operate in disguise, so for
this reason, and because of his pallor, and the unusual length
of his hair and beard, he chose to take his holiday en
naturale, and most unnatural he looked to me, who had
never seen him in ill-health.
As for me, I preferred on this occasion to adopt a light
disguise.
In spite of the warning of our Chief, but not in defiance
of it, I talked Carnes into a fidget, and even worked my-
self into a state of enthusiasm. Of course I made no men-
tion of the Groveland case; we never discussed our private
operations with each other; at least, not until they were
finished and the finale a foregone conclusion.
After bidding Carnes good-night, I sauntered leisurely
homeward, if a hotel may be called home, and the ring of
a horse's hoofs on the pavement brought to my mind my
wild ride, Groveland, and Mrs. Ballou.


54 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Why had she stolen that letter of warning? That she
had I felt assured. Did she give her true reason for wishing
my revolver? Would she return my letter? And would
she, after all, keep the secret of my identity? - -
I did not flatter myself that I was the wonderful judge of
human nature some people think themselves, but I did be-
lieve myself able to judge between honest and dishonest
faces, and I had judged Mrs. Ballou as honest.
So after a little I was able to answer my own questions.
She would return my letter. She could keep a secret, and
—she would make good use, if any, of my weapon.
It was not long before my judgment of Mrs. Ballou, in
one particular at least, was verified.
On the morning after my interview with Carnes, I saw
the man who was destined to cover himself with glory in
the capacity of “Dummy,” and here a word of explanation
may be necessary.
Sometimes, not often, it becomes expedient, if not ab-
solutely necessary, for a detective to work under a double
guard. It is not always enough that others should not
know him as a detective; it is required that they should be
doubly deluded by fancying themselves aware of who is,
hence the dummy.
But in this narrative I shall speak in brief of the
dummy's operations. Suffice it to say that he was just
the man for the place; egotistical, ignorant, talkative
to a fault, and thoroughly imbued, as all dummies should


EN ROUTE FOR TRAFTON. 55
be, with the idea that he was “born for a detective.”
Of course he was not aware of the part he was actually
to play. He was instructed as to the nature of the case,
given such points as we thought he would make best use
of, and told in full just what risk he might run.
But our dummy was no coward. He inspected my
wounded arm, expressed himself more than ready to take
any risk, promised to keep within the bounds of safety
after nightfall, and panted to be in the field.
Just one day before our departure for Trafton I received
a letter from Mrs. Ballou. Enclosed with it was my lost
note of warning. Its contents puzzled me not a little. It
ran thus:
DEAR SIR—I return you the letter I took from your pocket the
morning you left us. You did not suspect me of burglary, did you?
Of course you guessed the truth when you came to miss it. I
thought it might help me to a clue, but was wrong. I can not
tw86 it.
If anything new or strange occurs, it may be to your interest to
inform me first of all,
The time may come when you can doubly repay the service I
rendered you not long since. If so, remember me. I think I shall
come to the city soon.
Respectfully, etc., M. A. BALLOU
P. S.–Please destroy.
From some women such a letter might have meant
simply nothing. From Mrs. Ballou it was fraught with
meaning.


56 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
t -
How coolly she waived the ceremony of apology ! She
wanted the letter—she took it; a mere matter of course.
And as a matter of course, she returned it.
Thus much of the letter was straight-forward, and
suited me well enough; but
“I thought it might help me to a clue, but was wrong. I
CAN NOT USE IT.”
Over these words I pondered, and then I connected
them with the remainder of the letter. Mrs. Ballou was
clever, but she was no diplomatist. She had put a thread
in my hands. -
I made some marks in a little memorandum book, that
would have been called anything but intelligible to the
average mortal, but that were very plain language to my
eye, and to none other. Next I put a certain bit of in-
formation in the hands of my Chief; then I turned my
face toward Trafton.
To my readers the connection between the fate of the
two missing girls, and the mysterious doings at Trafton,
may seem slight. -
To my mind, as we set out that day for the scene of a
new operation, there seemed nothing to connect the two;
I was simply, as I thought, for the time being, laying down
one thread to take up another.
A detective has not the gift of second sight, and without
this gift how was I to know that at Trafton I was to find
my clue to the Groveland mystery, and that that mystery


EN ROUTE FOR TRAFTON. 57
was in its turn to shed a light upon the dark doings of
Trafton, and aid justice in her work of requital?
So it is. Out of threads, divers and far-fetched, Fate
loves to weave her wonderful webs.
And now, for a time, we leave Groveland with the
shadow upon it. We leave the shadow now; later it co"
to us.
For the present we are en route for Trafton.


58 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER VI.
In Loso, -
“Trafton?” said Jim Long, more familiarly known as
Long Jim, scratching his head reflectively, “can’t remem-
ber just how long I did live in Trafton; good sight
longer'n I’ll live in it any more, I calklate; green, oh,
dretful green, when I come here; in fact mem'ry had’nt
de-welluped; wasn't peart then like I am now. But I
ain’t got nothin’ to say agin' Trafton, I ain’t, tho’ there be
some folks as has. Thar's Kurnel Brookhouse, now, he's bin
scalped severial times; then thar's—hello!”
Jim brought his rhetoric up standing, and lowered one
leg hastily off the fence, where he had been balancing like
a Chinese juggler. -
At the same moment a fine chestnut horse dashed around
a curve of the road, bearing a woman, who rode with a free
rein, and sat as if born to the saddle. She favored Jim
with a friendly nod as she flew past, and that worthy re-
sponded with a delighted grin and no other sign of recog-
nition.
When she had disappeared among the trees, and the
horse's hoofs could scarcely be heard on the hard dry road,


JIM LONG. 59.
Jim drew up his leg, resumed his former balance, and went
on as if nothing had happened.
“There was Kurnel Brookhouse and—”
“The mischief fly away wid old Brookhouse,” broke in
Carnes, giving the fence a shake that nearly unseated our
juggler. “Who's the purty girl as bowed till y ee's?
That's the question on board now.”
“Look here, Mr. Ireland,” expostulated Jim, getting
slowly off the fence backward, and affecting great timidity
in so doing, “ye shouldn't shake a chap that way when
he's practisin’jimnasti—what's its name? It's awful un-
safe.”
And he assured himself that his two feet were actually
on terra firma before he relinquished his hold upon the
top rail of the fence. Then turning toward Carnes he
asked, with a most insinuating smile:
“Wasn’t you askin’ something?” -
“That's jist what I was, by the powers,” cried Carnes,
as if his fate hung upon the answer. “Who is the leddy?
be dacent, now.”
We had been some two weeks in Trafton when this
dialogue occurred, and Jim Long was one of our first ae-
quaintances. Carnes had picked him up somewhere about
town; and the two had grown quite friendly and intimate.
Long was a character in the eyes of Carnes, and was
gradually developing into a genius in mine. Jim was, to
all outward appearances, the personification of laziness,


60 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
candor, good nature, and a species of blundering waggish-
ness; but as I grew to know him better, I learned to respect
the irony under his innocent looks and boorish speeches,
and I soon found that he possessed a faculty, and a fond-
ness, for baffling and annoying Carnes, that delighted me;
for Carnes was, like most indefatigible jokers, rather non-
plussed at having the tables turned.
Jim never did anything for a livelihood that could be
discovered, but he called himself a “Hoss Fysician,” and
indeed it was said that he could always be trusted with a
horse, if he could be induced to look at one. But he had
his likes and dislikes, so he said, and he would obstinately
refuse to treat a horse toward which he had what he called
“onfriendly feelin's.”
Jim could tell us all there was to tell concerning the
town of Trafton. It was only necessary to set him going;
and no story lost anything of spirit through being told
by him.
He was an oracle on the subjects of fishing and hunting;
indeed, he was usually to be found in the companionship of
gun or fishing rod. -
Fortunately for us, Trafton had rare facilities for sports
of the aforementioned sort, and we gathered up many small
items while, in the society of Long Jim, we scrambled
through copses, gun in hand, or whipped the streams, and
listened to the heterogenous mass of information that flowed
from his ready tongue.


“Look here, Mr. Ireland,” expostulated Jim, “ye shouldn’t
shake a chap that way.”—page 59.

61


:
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:
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:
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JIM LONG. 63
But the spirit of gossip was not always present with Jim.
Sometimes he was in an argumentative mood, and then
would ensue the most astounding discussions between him-
self and Carnes. Sometimes he was full of theology, and
then his discourse would have enraptured Swing, and out-
Heroded Ingersoll, for his theology varied with his moods.
Sometimes he was given to moralizing, and then Car"
was in despair.
Jim lived alone in a little house, or more properly,
“cabin,” something more than a mile from town. He
had a small piece of ground which he called his “farm."
and all his slight amount of industry was expended
on this.
“Who is the leddy, I tell yee's?” roared Carnes, who, I
may as well state here, had introduced himself to the
Traftonites as Barney Cooley. “Bedad, a body would
think she was your first shwateheart by the dumbness av
yee's!”
“And so she air,” retorted Jim with much solemnity.
“Don’t you go ter presoomin', Mr. Ireland. That are Miss
Manvers, as lives in the house that's just a notch bigger’n
Kurnel Brookhouse's; and her father was Captain Man-
vers, as went down in the good ship Amy Audrey, and left
his darter that big house, and a bigger fortune dug out'en
a treasure-ship on the coast uv–”
“Stop a bit, long legs,” interposed Carnes, or Barney, as
we had better call him, “was it a threasure-ship yee's wur


64 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
*
hatchin’ when it tuck yee's so long to shun out yer little
sthory?”
“Well, then, Erin, tell your own stories, that's all. If
yer wan’tter kick over one uv the institooshuns uv Trafton,
why, wade in.”
But Carnes only shook his head, and lying at full length
upon the ground feigning great pain, groaned at intervals:
“Oh! h! h! threasure-ship!”
“But, Long,” I interposed, “does this young lady, this
Miss Manvers, sanction the story of a treasure from the
deep, or is it only a flying rumor?”
- “It's flyin’ enough,” retorted Jim, soberly. “It’s in
everybody's mouth; that is, everybody as has an appetite
for flyin’ rumors. And I never knew of the lady con-
tradictin’ it, nuther. The facks is jest these, boss. There's
Miss Manvers, and there's the big house, and the blooded
horses, an all the other fine things that I couldn’t begin
to interduce by their right names. They're facts, as any-
body can see. There seems to be plenty o’ money backin’
the big house an other big fixins, an I ain't agoin' to be
oudacious enough ter say there ain’t a big treasure-ship
backin' up the whole business. Now, I ain’t never seen
'em, an I ain’t never seen anyone as has, not bein’ much
of a society man; but folks say as Miss Manvers has got
the most wonderfullest things dug out o’ that ship; old
coins, heaps of 'em; jewels an aunteeks, as they call 'em,
that don’t hardly ever see daylight. One thing's certain:


JIM LONG. 65
old Manvers come here most six years ago; he dressed,
looked, and talked like a sailor; he bought the big house,
fitted it up, an’ left his daughter in it. Then he went away
and got drowned. They say he made his fortune at sea,
and it's pretty sartin that he brought some wonderful things
home from the briny. Mebbe you had better go up to the
Hill, that's Miss Manvers' place, and interduce yourself,
and ask for the family history, Mr. ‘Exile of Erin,’” con-
cluded Jim, with a grin intended to be sarcastic, as he seated
himself on a half decayed stump, and prepared to fill his
pipe.
“Bedad, an’ so I will, Long Jim,” cried Barney, spring-
ing up with alacrity. “An’ thank ye kindly for mintionin’
it. When will I find the leddy at home, then?”
Partly to avert the tournament which I saw was about
to break out afresh between the two, and partly through
interest in the fair owner of the treasure-ship spoils, I in-
terposed once more. -
“Miss Manvers must be a fair target for fortune-hunters,
Long; are there any such in Trafton?”
“Wall, now, that's what some folks says, tho'I ain't goin'
ter lay myself liable tel an action fer slander. There's lovers
enough; it ain’t easy tellin jest what they air after. There's
young Mr. Brookhouse; now, his pa’s rich enough; he ain’t
no call to go fortin huntin' There's a lawyer from G—,
too, and a young 'Piscopal parson; then there's our new
young doctor. I ain’t hearn anyone say anythin’ about
5


66 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
him; but I’ve seen 'em together, and I makebold ter say
that he's anuther on 'em. Seen the young doctor, ain’t
ye?” turning to me suddenly with the last question.
“Yes,” I replied, carelessly; “he dines at the hotel.”
“Just so, and keeps his own lodgin’ house in that little
smit on a cottage across the creek on the Brookhouse farm
road.”
“Oh, does he?”
“Yes. Queer place for a doctor, some think, but bless
you, it's as central as any, when you come ter look. Traf-
ton ain’t got any heart, like most towns; you can’t tell where
the middle of it is. It's as crookid as—its reputation.”
Not desiring to appear over anxious concerning the
reputation of Trafton, I continued my queries about the
doctor.
“He’s new to Trafton, I think you said?”
“Yes, bran new; too new. We don’t like new things,
we don’t; have to learn 'em afore we like 'em. We don’t
like the new doctor like we orter.”
“We, Long? Don't you like Dr. Bethel?”
“Well, speakin’ as an individual, I like him fust rate.
I wuz speakin' as a good citizen, ye see; kind o' identifyin'
myself with the common pulse,” with an oratorical
flourish. *
“Oh, I do see,” I responded, laughingly.
“Yis, we see!” broke in Barney, who had bridled his
tongue all too long for his own comfort. “He’s runnin'


IIM LONG. 67
fur office, is Jim; he's afther wantin’ to be alderman.”
“Ireland,” retorted Long, in a tone of lofty admonition,
“we’re talkin’ sense, wot nobody expects ye to understand.
Hold yer gab, won’t yer?”
Thus admonished, Barney relapsed into silence, and Jim,
who was now fairly launched, resumed:
“Firstly,” said he, “the doctor's a leetle too good lookin',
don’t you think so?”
“Why, he is handsome, certainly, but it's in a mas-
sive way; he is not effeminate enough to be too hand-
some.”
“That's it,” replied Long, disparagingly; “he ain’t our
style. Our style is curled locks, cunnin’ little moustachys,
little hands and feet, and slim waists. Our style is more
ruffles to the square fut of shirt front, and more chains and
rings than this interlopin’ doctor wears.”
“Our sthyle! Och, murther, hear him I’’ groaned
Carnes, in a stage aside.
“His manners ain’t our style, nuther,” went on Long,
lugubriously. “We always has a bow and a smile fur all,
rich an poor alike, exceptin now and then a no count per-
son what there's no need uv wastin’ politeness on. He
goes along head up, independenter nor Fouth o' July. He
don’t make no distincshun between folks an’ folks, like a
man orter. I’ve seen him bow jist the same bow to old
Granny Sanders, as lives down at the poor farm, and to
Parson Radcliffe, our biggest preachin' gun. Now, that's


68 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
no way fer a man ter do as wants ter live happy in Traf-
ton; it ain’t our way.”
A mighty groan from Barney.
“He’s got a practice, though,” went on Jim, utterly ig-
noring the apparent misery of his would-be tormentor.
“Somehow he manages to cure folks as some of our old
doctors can't. I reckon a change o’ physic's good fer folks,
same's a change o' diet—”
“Or a clane shirt,” broke in Carnes, with an insinuating
glance in the direction of Jim's rather dingy linen.
“Eggsackly,” retorted Long, turning back his cuffs with
great care and glancing menacingly at his enemy—“er a
thrashin’.”
“Gentlemen,” I interposed, “let us have peace. And
tell me, Jim, where may we find your model Traftonite,
your hero of the curls, moustaches, dainty hands, and dis-
criminating politeness? I have not seen him.”
“Whar?” retorted Long, in an aggrieved tone, “look
here, boss, you don’t think I ever mean anythin’ personal
by my remarks? I'd sworn it were all that way when you
come ter notice. The average Traftonite's the sleekest,
pertiest chap on earth. We wuz born so.”
Some more demonstrations in pantomime from Carnes,
and silence fell upon us. I knew from the way Long
smoked at his pipe and glowered at Carnes that nothing
more in the way of information need be expected from him.
He had said enough, or too much, or something he had not


JIM LONG. 69
intended to say; he looked dissatisfied, and soon we sepa-
rated, Long repairing to his farm, and Carnes and I to our
hotel, all in search of dinner.
“We won’t have much trouble in finding the ‘Average
Traftonite, old man,” I said, as we sauntered back to town.
No answer; Carnes was smoking a huge black pipe and
gazing thoughtfully on the ground.
“I wonder if any attempt has been made to rob Miss
Manvers of those treasure-ship jewels,” I ventured next.
“Umph!”
“Or of her blooded horses. Carnes, what's your opin-
ion of Long?”
Carnes took his pipe from his mouth and turned upon
me two serious eyes. When I saw the expression in them
I knew he was ready to talk business.
“Honor bright?” he queried, without a trace of his
Irish accent.
“Honor bright.”
“Well,” restoring his pipe and puffing out a black cloud,
“he's an odd fish !”
“Bad?”
“He’s a fraud I’”
“AS how 2”
“Cute, keen, has played the fool so long he sometimes
believes himself one. Did you notice any little discrep-
ancies in his speech?
“Well, rather.”


70 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Nobody else ever would, I’ll be bound; not the
‘Average Traftonite, at least. That man has not always
been at odds with the English grammar, mark me. What
do you think, Bathurst 2”
“I think,” responded I, soberly, “that we shall find in
him an ally or an enemy.”
We had been sauntering “across lots,” over some of the
Brookhouse acres, and we now struck into a path leading
down to the highway, that brought us out just opposite the
cottage occupied by Dr. Bethel.
As we approached, the doctor was leaning over the gate
in conversation with a gentleman seated in a light road
wagon, whose face was turned away from us.
As we came near he turned his head, favoring us with
a careless glance, and, as I saw his face, I recognized him
as the handsome young gallant who had attended the friend
of Miss Grace Ballou, on the occasion of that friend's visit
to the Ballou farm, and who had bidden the ladies such an
impressive good-bye as I drove them away from the vil-
lage station. -
Contrary to my first intention I approached the gate,
and as I drew near, the young man gathered up his reins
and nodding to the doctor drove away.
Dr. Bethel and myself had exchanged civilities at our
hotel, and I addressed him in a careless way as I paused
at the gate.
“That's a fine stepping horse, doctor,” nodding after


JIM LONG. 71
the receding turn-out; “is it owned in the town?”
“Yes,” replied the doctor; “that is young Brookhouse,
or rather one of them. There are two or three sons; they
all drive fine stock.”
I was passing in the town for a well-to-do city young
man with sporting propensities, and as the doctor Swung
open the gate and strode beside me toward the hotel,
Carnes trudging on in advance, the talk turned quite
naturally upon horses, and horse owners.
That night I wrote to Mrs. Ballou, stating that I had
nothing of much moment to impart, but desired that she
would notify me several days in advance of her proposed
visit to the city, as I wished to meet her. This letter I
sent to our office to be forwarded to Groveland from thence.


72 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER VII.
WE ORGANIZE.
We had not been long in Trafton before our reputation
as thoroughly good fellows was well established, “each man
after his kind.” -
Carnes entered with zest into the part he had undertaken.
He was hail fellow well met with every old bummer and
corner loafer; he made himself acquainted with all the gos-
sippers and possessed of all the gossip of the town.
After a little he began to grow somewhat unsteady in his
habits, and under the influence of too much liquor, would
occasionally make remarks, disparaging or otherwise as
the occasion warranted, concerning me, and so it came about
that I was believed to be a young man of wealth, the pos-
sessor of an irascible temper, but very generous; the victim
of a woman's falseness;—but here Carnes always assured
people that he did not know “the particulars,” and that, if
it came to my ears that he had “mentioned” it, it would cost
him his place, etc.
These scraps of private history were always brought for-
ward by, or drawn out of him when he was supposed to
be “the worse for liquor.” In his “sober” moments he was
discreetness itself.


WE ORGANIZE. 73
So adroitly did he play his part that, without knowing
how it came about, Trafton had accepted me at Carnes'
standard, and I found my way made smooth, and myself
considered a desirable acquisition to Trafton society.
I became acquainted with the lawyers, the ministers, the
county officials, for Trafton was the county seat. I was
soon on a social footing with the Brookhouses, father and
son. I made my bow before the fair owner of the treasure-
ship jewels; and began to feel a genuine interest in, and
liking for, Dr. Bethel, who, according to Jim Long, was
not Trafton style.
Thus fairly launched upon the Trafton tide, and having
assured ourselves that no one entertained a suspicion of our
masquerade, we began to look more diligently about us for
fresh information concerning the depredations that had made
the town attractive to us.
Sitting together one night, after Carnes had sp
evening at an especially objectionable saloon, and I had re-
turned from a small social gathering whither I had "
piloted by one of my new acquaintances, we began “taking
account of stock,” as Carnes quaintly put it. •
“The question now arises,” said Carnes, dropping his
Hibernianisms, and taking them up again as his enthu-
siasm waxed or waned. “The question is this: What's in
our hand? What do wee's know? What do wee's sur-
mise, and what have wee's got till find out?”
“Very comprehensively put, old fellow,” I laughed,
ent the
*4


74 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
while I referred to a previously mentioned note book.
“First, then, what do we know?”
“Well,” replied Carnes, tilting back his chair, “we
know more than mony a poor fellow has known when he
set out to work up a knotty case. We know we are in the
field, bedad. We know that horses have been stolen, houses
broken open, robberies great and small committed here.
We know they have been well planned and systematic, en-
gineered by a cute head.”
Carnes stopped abruptly, and looked over as if he ex-
pected me to finish the summing up.
“Yes,” I replied, “we knew all that in the beginning;
now for what we have picked up. First, then, just run
your eye over this memorandum; I made it out to-day, and,
like a love letter, it should be destroyed as soon as read.
Here you have, as near as I could get them, the names of
the farmers who have lost horses, harness, buggies, etc.
Here is the average distance of their respective residences
from the town, and their directions. Do you see the
drift?”
Carnes rubbed the bridge of his nose; a favorite habit.
“No, be the powers,” he ejaculated; “St. Patrick him-
self couldn’t see the sinse o’ that.”
“Very good. Now, here is a map of this county. On
this map, one by one, you must locate those farms.”
“Bother the location,” broke in Carnes, impatiently.
“Serve it up in a nutshell. What's the point?”


WE ORGANIZE. 75
“The point, then, is this,” drawing the map toward me.
“The places where these robberies have been committed,
are all in certain directions. Look; east, northeast, west,
north; scarce one south, southeast, or southwest. Hence,
I conclude that these stolen horses are run into some ren-
dezvous that is not more than a five hours' ride from the
Scene of the theft.”
“The dickens ye do!” muttered Carnes, under his breath.
“Again,” I resumed, perceiving that Carnes was be-
coming deeply interested, and very alert, “the horses, etc.,
have been stolen from points ten, twelve, twenty miles,
from Trafton; the most distant, so far as I have found out,
is twenty-two miles.”
“Ar-m-m-m?” from Carnes.
“Now, then, let us suppose the robbers to be living in
this town. They leave here at nine, ten, or later when the
distance is short. They ride fleet horses. At midnight,
let us say, the robbery is committed. The horses must be
off the road, and safe from prying eyes, before morning,
and must remain perdu until the search is over. What,
then? The question is, do the robbers turn them over to
confederates, in order to get safely back to the town under
cover of the night; or, is the hiding-place so near that no
change is necessary 2”
I paused for a comment, but Carnes sat mute.
“Now, then,” I resumed, “I am supposing this lair of
horse-thieves to be somewhere south, or nearly south, of


76 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
the town, and not more than thirty miles distant.”
“Umph!”
“I suppose it to be south, or nearly south, for obvious
reasons. Don't you see what they are?”
“Niver mind; prache on.”
“No horses have been taken from the south road, or
from any of the roads that intersect it from this. I infer
that it is used as an avenue of escape for the marauding
bands. Consequently—”
“We must make the acquaintance of that north and
south highway,” broke in Carnes.
“Just so; and we must begin a systematic search from
this out.”
“System's the word,” said Carnes, jerking his chair close
to the table, upon which he planted his elbows. “Now,
then, let's organize.”
It was nearly day-break before we knocked the ashes
from our pipes, preparatory to closing the consultation, and
when we separated to refresh ourselves with a few hours'
sleep, we were so thoroughly “organized” that had we not
found another opportunity for private consultation during
our operations in Trafton, we could still have gone on with
the programme, as we had that night arranged it, without
fear of blunder or misunderstanding.
“You came down upon me so sudden and solemn with
your statistics and all that, last night,” said Carnes, the


S: \, y
'' \
| N\,
#):
V4'
£
|
“System's the word,” said Carnes, jerking his chair close to
the table, upon which he planted his elbows. “Now, then, let's
organize.”-page 76.

77


78 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
following morning, “that I entirely forgot to treat you to
a beautiful little Trafton vagary I was saving for you
benefit.” -
“Let's hear it now,” I said, smiling in response to the
grin on his face.
“Well,” replied Carnes, with an air of mystery that
would have done credit to the veriest gossip, “they do say
that the new doctor is suspected of a being a detective P”
“What!” I said, in sincere amazement; then suddenly
checking the words I was about to speak, “Carnes, that's
one of Jim Long's notions.”
“Yis, but it isn’t,” retorted Carnes. “I haven’t seen
Jim Long this day.” Then coming closer and lowering his
voice, “D'ye mind the chap ye seen me in company with
last evening early?” -
“The loutish chap with red hair and a scarred cheek?”
“That's him; well, his name is Tom Briggs, and he's
a very close-mouthed fellow when he's sober; to-day he
was drunk. He has taken a sort of a fancy to me, and he
told me in confidence that some folks looked upon Dr.
Bethel as nothing more nor less than a detective on the
lookout for a big haul and a big reward.”
“A big haul and a big reward,” I said, slowly.
“That's how he talked it.”
“And he told you this in confidence?”
“Just so.”
“When he was drunk?”


WE. ORGANIZE. 79
“Well, he wasn’t sober.”
“What is this Briggs?”
“A loafer.”
“What does he do?”
“Sits around on mackerel kits and beer casks mostly.
He's a sort of a roust-about for 'Squire Brookhouse, but the
’squire don’t appear to work him very hard.”
“Carnes,” I said, after a moment of silence between us,
“hadn’t you better cultivate this Briggs?”
“Like enough I had,” he replied, nonchalantly. Then
turning slowly until he faced me squarely, “If I were you,
I would give a little attention to Dr. Bethel.”


80 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER VIII.
A RESURRECTION.
Two weeks passed, during which time Carnes and I
worked slowly and cautiously, but to some purpose.
Having arrived at the conclusion that here was the place
to begin our search for the robbers, we had still failed in
finding in or about Trafton a single man upon whom to
fix suspicion.
After thoroughly analyzing Trafton society, high and
low, I was obliged to admit to Carnes, 'spite of the statement
made by the worthy farmer on board the railway train that
“the folks as prospered best were those who did the least
work,” that I found among the poor, the indolent and the
idle, no man capable of conducting or aiding in a prolonged
series of high-handed robberies.
The only people in Trafton about whom there seemed
the shadow of strangeness or mystery, were Dr. Bethel and
Jim Long.
Dr. Bethel had lived in Trafton less than a year; he was
building up a fine practice; was dignified, independent,
uncommunicative. He had no intimates, and no one
knew, or could learn, aught of his past history. He was a


--- - - A RESURRECTION. 81
regularly authorized physician, a graduate from a well-
known and reliable school. He was unmarried and seemed
quite independent of his practice as a means of support.
According to Jim Long, he was “not Trafton style,”
and if Tom Briggs was to be believed, he was “suspected”
of making one profession a cloak for the practice of an-
other. -
Jim Long had been nearly five years in Trafton. He
had bought his bit of land, built thereon his shanty, an-
nounced himself as “Hoss Fysician,” and had loafed or
laughed, smoked or fished, hunted, worked and played, as
best pleased him; and no one in Trafton had looked upon
him as worthy of suspicion, until Carnes and I did him
that honor.
Up to this time we had never once ventured to walk or
drive over that suspected south road. This was not
an accident or an oversight, but a part of our “pro-
gramme.”
We had lived and operated so quietly that Carnes began
to complain of the monotony of our daily lives, and to long,
Micawber-like, for something to turn up.
We had both fully recovered in health and vigor; and I
was beginning to fear that we might be compelled to report
at the agency, and turn our backs upon Trafton without
having touched its mystery, when there broke upon us the
first ripple that was the harbinger of a swift, onrushing tide
of events, which, sweeping across the monotony of our days,
6


82 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
caught us and tossed us to and fro, leaving us no moment
of rest until the storm had passed, and the waves that rolled
over Trafton had swept away its scourge.
One August day I received a tiny perfumed note bidding
me attend a garden party, to be given by Miss Manvers
one week from date. As I was writing my note of ac-
ceptance, Carnes suggested that I, as a gentleman of means,
should honor this occasion by appearing in the latest and
most stunning of Summer suits; and I, knowing the effect
of fine apparel upon the ordinary society-loving villager,
decided to profit by his suggestions. So, having sealed and
despatched my missive, I bent my steps toward the tele-
graph office, intent upon sending an order to my tailor by
the quickest route.
The operator was a sociable young fellow, the son of one
of the village clergymen, and I sometimes dropped in upon
him for a few moments’ chat.
I numbered among my varied accomplishments, all of
which had been acquired for use in my profession, the
ability to read, by sound, the telegraph instrument.
This knowledge, however, I kept to myself, on principle,
and young Harris was not aware that my ear was drinking
in his messages, as we sat smoking socially in his little
operating compartment.
After sending my message, I produced my cigar case
and, Harris accepting a weed, I sat down beside him for a
brief chat.


A. RESURRECTION. 83
Presently the instrument called Trafton, and Harris
turned to receive the following message:
NEW ORLEANs, Aug.—
ARCH BRooKHoUSE—Hurry up the others or we are likely to have
a balk, F. B.
Hastily scratching off these words Harris enclosed,
sealed, and addressed the message, and tossed it on the
table.
The address was directly under my eye; and I said,
glancing carelessly at it: -
“Arch,-is not that a rather juvenile name for such a
long, lean, solemn-visaged man as 'Squire Brookhouse?”
Harris laughed. - -
“That is for the son,” he replied; “he is named for his
father, and to distinguish between them, the elder always
signs himself Archibald, the younger Arch.”
“I see. Is Archibald Junior the eldest son?”
“No ; he is the second. Fred is older by four years.”
“Fred is the absent one 2”
“Fred and Louis are both away now. Fred is in busi-
ness in New Orleans, I think.”
“Ah! an enterprising rich man's son.”
“Well, yes, enterprising and adventurous. Fred used to
be a trifle wild. He's engaged in some sort of theatrical
enterprise, I take it.”
Just then there came the sound of hurrying feet and
voices mingling in excited converse. -


84 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
In another moment Mr. Harris, the elder, put his head
in at the open window.
“Charlie, telegraph to Mr. Beale at Swan Station; tell
him to come home instantly; his little daughter's grave
has been robbed !”
Uttering a startled ejaculation, young Harris turned to
his instrument, and his father withdrew his head and came
around to the office door.
“Good-morning,” he said to me, seating himself upon a
corner of the office desk. “This is a shameful affair, sir;
the worst that has happened in Trafton, to my mind.
Only yesterday I officiated at the funeral of the little one;
she was only seven years old, and looked like a sleeping
angel, and now—”
He paused and wiped the perspiration from his fore-
head.
“Mrs. Beale will be distracted,” said Charlie Harris,
turning toward us. “It was her only girl.”
“Beale is a mechanic, you see,” said the elder, addressing
me. “He is working upon some new buildings at Swan
Station.”
“How was it discovered?” said his son.
“I hardly know; they sent for me to break the news
to Mrs. Beale, and I thought it best to send for Beale first.
The town is working into a terrible commotion over it.”
Just here a number of excited Traftonites entered the
outer room and called out Mr. Harris.


A RESURRECTION. 85
A moment later I saw Carnes pass the window; he
moved slowly, and did not turn his head, but I knew at
once that he wished to see me. I arose quietly and went
out. Passing through the group of men gathered about
Mr. Harris, I caught these words: “Cursed resurrection-
ist,” and, “I knew he was not the man for us.”
Hurrying out I met Carnes at the corner of the building.
“Have you heard—” he began; but I interrupted him.
“Of the grave robbery? Yes.”
“Well,” said Carnes, laying a hand upon my arm,
“they are organizing a gang down at Porter's store. They
are going to raid Dr. Bethel's cottage and search for the
body.”
“They’re a set of confounded fools!” I muttered.
“Follow me, Carnes.”
And I turned my steps in the direction of “Porter's
store.” -


86 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER IX.
MOB L.A.W. .
Lounging just outside the door at Porter's was Jim
Long, hands in pockets, eyes fixed on vacancy. He was
smoking his favorite pipe, and seemed quite oblivious to
the stir and excitement going on within. When he saw
me approach, he lounged a few steps toward me, then get-
ting beyond the range of Porter's door and window.
“Give a dough-headed bumpkin a chance to make a fool
of himself an’ he’ll never go back on it,” began Jim, as I
approached. “Have ye come ter assist in the body
huntin’?”
“I will assist, most assuredly, if assistance is needed,”
I replied.
“Well, then, walk right along in. I guess I'll go home.”
“Don’t be too hasty, Jim,” I said, in a lower tone. “I
want to see you in about two minutes.”
Jim gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, but seated himself,
nevertheless, on one of Porter's empty butter tubs, that
stood just beside a window.
I passed in and added myself to the large group of men
huddled close together near the middle of the long store,


MOB L.A.W. 87
and talking earnestly and angrily, with excitement, fiercely,
or foolishly, as the case might be. -
The fire-brand had been dropped in among them, by
whom they never could have told, had they stopped once to
consider; but they did not consider. Some one had hinted
at the possibility of finding the body of little Effie Beale
in the possession of the new doctor, and that was enough.
Guilty or innocent, Dr. Bethel must pay the penalty of his
reticence, his newness, and his independence. Not being
numbered among the acceptable institutions of Trafton, he
need expect no quarter.
It seemed that the child had been under his care, and
looking at the matter from a cold-blooded, scientific stand-
point, it appeared to me not impossible that the doctor had
disinterred the body, and I soon realized that should he be
found guilty, or even be unable to prove his innocence, it
would go hard with Dr. Bethel.
Among those who cautioned the overheated ones, and
urged prudence, and calm judgment, was Arch Brookhouse;
but, somehow, his words only served to add fuel to the
flame; while, chief among the turbulent ones, who urged
extreme measures, was Tom Briggs, and I noted that he
was also supported by three or four fellows of the same
caliber, two of whom I had never seen before.
Having satisfied myself that there was not much time to
lose if I wished to see fair play for Dr. Bethel, I turned
away from the crowd, unnoticed, and went out to where
Jim waited.


88 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
“Jim,” I said, touching him on the shoulder, “they
mean to make it hot for Bethel, and he will be one man
against fifty—we must not allow anything like that.”
“Now ye're talkin’,” said Jim, knocking the ashes from his
pipe, and rising slowly, “an’I’m with ye. What's yeridee?”
“We must not turn the mob against us, by seeming to
co-operate,” I replied. “Do you move with the crowd,
Jim; I'll be on the ground as soon as you are.”
“All right, boss,” said Jim.
I turned back toward the telegraph office, that being
midway between “Porter’s” and my hotel.
The men were still there talking excitedly. I looked in
at the window and beckoned to young Harris. He came
to me, and I whispered: -
“The men at Porter's mean mischief to Dr. Bethel; your
father may be able to calm them; he had better go down
there.”
“He will,” replied Harris, in a whisper, “and so will I.”
Carnes was lounging outside the office. I approached
him, and said:
“Go along with the crowd, Carnes, and stand in with
Briggs.”
Carnes winked and nodded, and I went on toward the
hotel.
On reaching my room, I took from their case a brace of
five-shooters, and put the weapons in my pockets. Then I
went below and seated myself on the hotel piazza.


MOB LAW. 89
In order to reach Dr. Bethel's house, the crowd must
pass the hotel; so I had only to wait.
I did not wait long, however. Soon they came down
the street, quieter than they had been at Porter's, but reso-
lute to defy law and order, and take justice into their
own hands. As they hurried past the hotel in groups of
twos, threes, and sometimes half a dozen, I noted them
man by man. Jim Long was loping silently on by the
side of an honest-faced farmer; Carnes and Briggs were
in the midst of a swaggering, loud talking knot of loafers;
the Harrises, father and son, followed in the rear of the
crowd and on the opposite side of the street.
As the last group passed, I went across the road and
joined the younger Harris, who was some paces in advance
of his father, looking, as I did so, up and down the street.
Arch Brookhouse came cantering up on a fine bay; he held
in his hand the yellow envelope, which, doubtless, he had
just received from Harris.
“Charlie,” he called, reining in his horse. “Stop a
moment; you must send a message for me.”
We halted, Harris looking somewhat annoyed.
Brookhouse tore off half of the yellow envelope, and
sitting his horse, wrote a few words, resting his scrap of
paper on the horn of his saddle.
“Sorry to trouble you, Charlie,” he said, “but I want
this to go at once. Were you following the mob?”
“Yes,” replied Charlie, “weren't you?”


90 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“No,” said Brookhouse, shortly, “I’m going home; I
don’t believe in mob law.”
So saying, he handed the paper to Harris, who, taking it
with some difficulty, having to lean far out because of a
ditch between himself and Brookhouse, lost his hold upon
it, and a light puff of wind sent it directly into my face.
I caught it quickly, and before Harris could recover his
balance, I had scanned its contents. It ran thus:
No. — – NEW ORLEANS.
FRED BRooKHOUSE :—Next week L– will be on hand.
Harris took the scrap of paper and turned back toward
the office. And I, joining the elder Harris, walked on
silently, watching young Brookhouse as he galloped swiftly
past the crowd; past the house of Dr. Bethel, and on up
the hill, toward the Brookhouse homestead. I wondered
inwardly why Frederick Brookhouse, if he were promi-
nently connected with a Southern theater, should receive
his telegrams at a private address.
Dr. Bethel occupied two pleasant rooms of a small house
owned by 'Squire Brookhouse. He had chosen these, so
he afterwards informed me, because he wished a quiet place
for study, and this he could scarcely hope to find either in:
the village hotel or the average private boarding houses.
He took his meals at the hotel, and shared the office of
Dr. Barnard, the eldest of the Trafton physicians, who was
quite willing to retire from the practice of his profession,


MOB LAW 91
and was liberal enough to welcome a young and enterpris-
ing stranger.
Dr. Bethel was absent; this the mob soon ascertained,
and some of them, after paying a visit to the stable, reported
that his horse was gone. - -
“Gone to visit some country patient, I dare say,” said
Mr. Harris, as we heard this announcement.
“Gone ter be out of the way till he sees is he found
out,” yelled Tom Briggs. “Let’s go through the house,
boys.”
There was a brief consultation among the leaders of the
raid, and then, to my surprise and to Mr. Harris's disgust,
they burst in the front door and poured into the house,
Carnes among the rest. Jim Long drew back as they
crowded in, and took up his position near the gate, and not
far from the place where we had halted.
Their search was rapid and fruitless; they were begin-
ning to come out and scatter about the grounds, when a
horse came thundering up to the gate, and Dr. Bethel flung
himself from the saddle.
He had seen the raiding party while yet some rods away,
and he turned a perplexed and angry face upon us.
“I should like to know the meaning of this,” he said, in
quick, ringing tones, at the same moment throwing open
the little gate so forcibly as to make those nearest it start
and draw back. “Who has presumed to open my door?”
Mr. Harris approached him and said, in a low tone:


92 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Bethel, restrain yourself. Little Effie Beale has been
stolen from her grave, and these men have turned out to
search for the body.” -
“Stolen from her grave!” the doctor's hand fell to his
side and the anger died out of his eyes, and he seemed to
comprehend the situation in a moment. “And they accuse
me—of course.”
The last words were touched with a shade of irony. Then
he strode in among the searchers.
“My friends,” he said, in a tone of lofty contempt, “so
you have accused me of grave robbing. Very well; go on
with your search, and when it is over, and you find that
you have brought a false charge against me, go home, with
the assurance that every man of you shall be made to an-
swer for this uncalled-for outlawry.”
The raiders who had gathered together to listen to this
speech, fell back just a little, in momentary consternation.
He had put the matter before then in a new light, and
each man felt himself for the moment responsible for
his own acts. But the voice of Tom Briggs rallied
them. -
“He's bluffin us!” cried this worthy. “He’s tryin’ to
make us drop the hunt. Boys, we're gittin’ hot. Let's go
for the barn and garden.”
And he turned away, followed by the more reckless
OneS.
Without paying the slightest heed to them or their


MOB LAW. 93
movements, Dr. Bethel turned again to Mr. Harris and
asked when the body was disinterred. .
While a part of the men, who had not followed Briggs,
drew closer to our group, and the rest whispered together,
a little apart, Mr. Harris told him all that was known con-
cerning the affair.
As he listened a cynical half smile covered the doctor's
face; he lifted his head and seemed about to speak, then,
closing his lips firmly, he again bent his head and listened
as at first.
“There's something strange about this resurrection,” said
he, when Mr. Harris had finished. “Mr. Beale's littledaugh-
ter was my patient. It was a simple case of diphtheria.
There were no unusual symptoms, nothing in the case to
rouse the curiosity of any physician. The Trafton doctors
know this. Drs. Hess and Barnard counselled with me.
Either the body has been stolen by some one outside of
Trafton, or—there is another motive.”
He spoke these last words slowly, as if still deliberating,
and, turning, took his horse by the bridle and led him
stableward.
In another moment there came a shout from Briggs'
party, their loud voices mingling in angry denunciations.
With one impulse the irresolute ones, forgetting self,
swarmed in the direction whence the voices came.
We saw Dr. Bethel, who was just at the rear corner of
the house, start, stop, then suddenly let fall the bridle and


94 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
stride after the hurrying men, and at once, Mr. Harris,
Jim Long and myself followed.
Just outside the stable stood Briggs, surrounded by his
crew, talking loudly, and holding up to the view of all, a
bright new spade, and an earth-stained pick ax. As we
came nearer we could see that the spade too had clots of
moist black earth clinging to its surface.


!|
|
S.
-#4 -
--:#=-
|
|:
“So much fer his big
shouted Briggs.
words; them's the things he did the job with.”—page 97.
“Look, all of ye,”










95





TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. 97
CHAPTER X.
TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS.
“Look, all of ye,” shouted Briggs. “So much fer his
big words; them's the things he did the job with.”
The doctor stopped short at sight of these implements;
stopped and stood motionless so long that his attitude might
well have been mistaken for that of unmasked guilt. But
his face told another story; blank amazement was all it
expressed for a moment, then a gleam of comprehension;
next a sneer of intensest scorn, and last, strong but sup-
pressed anger. He strode in among the men gathered
about Tom Briggs.
“Where did you get those tools, fellow 2” he demanded,
sternly.
“From the place where ye hid 'em, I reckon,” retorted
Briggs.
“Answer me, sir,” thundered the doctor. “Where were
they?” -
“Oh, ye needn’t try any airs on me, ye know well
enough where we got em.”
Dr. Bethel's hand shot out swiftly, and straight from
the shoulder, and Briggs went down like a log,
7 #5


98 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Now, sir,” turning to the man nearest Briggs, “where
were these things hidden?”
It chanced that this next man was Carnes, who answered
quickly, and with well feigned self-concern.
“In the sthable, yer honor, foreninst the windy, behind
the shay.” -
I heard a suppressed laugh behind me, and looking over
my shoulder saw Charlie Harris.
“Things are getting interesting,” he said, coming up be-
side me. “Will there be a scrimmage, think you?”
I made him no answer, my attention being fixed upon
Bethel, who was entering the stable and dragging Carnes
with him. When he had ascertained the exact spot where
the tools were found,hecame out and turned upon the raiders.
“Go on with your farce,” he said, with a sarcastic curl
of the lip. “I am curious to see what you will find next.”
Then turning upon Briggs, who had scrambled to his
feet, and who caressed a very red and swollen eye, while he
began a tirade of abuse—
“Fellow, hold your tongue, if you don’t want a worse
hit. If you’ll walk into my house I’ll give you a plaster
for that eye—after I have cared for your better.”
And he turned toward his horse, whistling a musical call.
The well-trained animal came straight to its master and
was led by him into its accustomed place.
And now the search became more active. Those who at
first had been held in check by the doctor's manner were


TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. 99
once more spurred to action by the sight of those earth-
stained tools, and the general verdict was that “Bethel was
bluffing, sure.” When he emerged again from the stable,
they were scattering about the garden, looking in impossi-
ble places of concealment, under everything, over every-
thing, into everything.
Briggs, who seemed not at all inclined to accept the
doctor's proffered surgical aid, still grasping in his hand
the pick, and followed by Carnes, to whom he had resigned
the spade, went prowling about the garden.
Bethel, who appeared to have sufficient mental employ-
ment of some sort, passed our group with a smile and the
remark:
“I can’t ask you in, gentlemen, until I have set my house
in order. Those vandals have made it a place of confusion.”
He entered the house through a rear door, which had
been thrown open by the invaders, and a moment later, as
I passed by a side window, I glanced in and saw him, not
engaged in “setting his house in order,” but sitting in a
low, broad-backed chair, his elbows resting on his knees,
his hands loosely clasped, his head bent forward, his eyes
“fixed on vacancy,” the whole attitude that of profound
meditation.
The finding of the tools, the manner of Bethel, both
puzzled me. I went over to Jim Long, who had seated
himself on the well platform, and asked:
“How is this going to terminate, Jim?”


100 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Umph!” responded Jim, somewhat gruffly. “'Twon't
be long a comin’ to a focus.”
And he spoke truly. In a few moments we heard a shout
from the rear of the garden. Tom Briggs and his party
had found a spot where the soil had been newly turned.
In another moment a dozen hands were digging fiercely.
Just then, and unnoticed by the exploring ones, a new
element of excitement came upon the scene.
Mr. Beale, the father of the missing child, accompanied
by two or three friends, came in from the street. They
paused a moment, in seeming irresolution, then the father,
seeing the work going on in the garden, uttered a sharp
exclamation, and started hastily toward the spot, where, at
that moment, half a dozen men were bending over the small
excavation they had made, and twice as many more were
crowding close about them.
“They have found something,” said Harris, the elder, and
he hastily followed Mr. Beale, leaving his son and myself
standing together near the rear door of the house, and Jim
still sitting aloof, the only ones now, save Dr. Bethel, who
were not grouping closer and closer about the diggers, in
eager anxiety to see what had been unearthed.
In another moment, there came a tumult of exclama-
tions, imprecations, oaths; and above all the rest, a cry of
mingled anguish and rage from the lips of the bereaved
and tortured father.
The crowd about the spot fell back, and the diggers


TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS, 101
*
arose, one of them holding something up to the view of the
rest. Instinctively, young Harris and myself started to-
ward them. -
But Jim Long still sat stolidly smoking beside the well.
As we moved forward, I heard a sound from the house,
and looked back. Dr. Bethel had flung wide open the
shutters of a rear window, and was looking out upon the
SCene.
Approaching the group, we saw what had caused the
father's cry, and the growing excitement of the searchers.
They had found a tiny pair of shoes, and a little white
dress; the shoes and dress in which little Effie Beale had
been buried.
And now the wildest excitement prevailed. Maddened
with grief, rage, and sickening horror, the father called upon
them to find the body, and to aid him in wreaking vengeance
upon the man who had desecrated his darling's grave.
It was as fire to flax. Those who have witnessed the
workings of a mob, know how swiftly, mysteriously, un-
reasonably, it kindles under certain influences.
How many men, with different, often opposing interests,
make the cause of one their common cause, and forgetting
personality, become a unit for vengeance, a single, dreadful,
unreasoning force! -
The air resounded with threats, imprecations, exclama-
tions, oaths.
Some of the better class of Traftonites had followed


102 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
after the first party, joining them by threes and fours.
These made some effort to obtain a hearing for themselves
and Mr. Harris, but it was futile.
“Hang the rascally doctor!”
“String him up!”
“Run him out of town!”
“Hanging's too good!”
“Let’s tar and feather him!”
“Bring him out; bring him out!”
“Give us a hold of him!”
“We ain’t found the body yet,” cried one of the most
earnest searchers. “Let’s keep looking.”
As some of the party turned toward the house I looked
back to the open window.
Dr. Bethel still stood in full view, but Jim Long had
disappeared from the pump platform.
The search now became fierce and eager, and while some
started to go once again through the house and cellar, a
number of Briggs' cronies began a furious onslaught upon
a stack of hay, piled against the stable.
But those who approached the house met with an un-
looked-for obstacle to their search,—the rear door was
closed and barred against them. Failing in this quarter
they hastened around to the front.
Here the door was open, just as they had left it, swing-
ing on one broken hinge; but the doctor's tall form and
stalwart shoulders barred the way.


TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. - 103
“Gentlemen,” he said, in low, resolute tones, “you can
not enter my house, at least at present. You have done
sufficient damage to my property already.”
The men halted for a moment, and then the foremost of
them began to mount the steps.
“Stand back,” said Bethel. “I shall protect my property.
I will allow my house to be inspected again by a committee,
if you like, but I will not admit a mob.”
“You’d better not try to stop us,” said the leader of the
party, “we are too many for ye.” And he mounted the
upper step.
“Stand down, sir,” again said Bethel. “Did I not say
I should protect my property?” and he suddenly pre-
sented in the face of the astonished searcher a brace of
silver-mounted pistols.
The foremost men drew hastily back, but they rallied
again, and one of them yelled out:
“Ye'd better not tackle us single-handed; an’ ye won’t
get anyone to back ye now !”
“Jest allow meter argy that pint with ye,” said Jim
Long, as he suddenly appeared in the doorway beside
Bethel. “I reckon I'm somebody.”
Jim held in his hand a handsome rifle, the doctor's
property, and he ran his eye critically along the barrel as
he spoke.
“Here's five of us, an’ we all say ye can't come in.
Three of us can repeat the remark if it 'pears necessary.”


104 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Then turning his eye upon the last speaker of the party,
he said, affably:
“I ain't much with the little shooters, Simmons; but I
can jest make a rifle howl. Never saw me shoot, did ye?
Now, jest stand still till I shoot that grasshopper off ye'r
hat brim.”
Simmons, who stood in the midst of the group, and was
taller than those about him by half a head, began a rapid
retrograde movement, and, as Jim slowly raised his rifle to
his shoulder, the group about the door-steps melted away,
leaving him in possession of the out-posts.
“That,” said Jim, with a grin, as he lowered his rifle,
“illyusterates the sooperiority of mind over matter.
Doctor, did ye know the darned thing wasn’t loaded?”
While Bethel still smiled at this bit of broad comedy, a
sharp cry, and then a sudden unnatural stillness, told of
some new occurrence, and followed by Jim we went back
to the rear window and looked out. -
They were crowding close about something, as yet half
hidden in the scattered hay; all silent, and, seemingly,
awe-stricken. Thus for a moment only, then a low mur-
mur ran through the crowd, growing and swelling into a
yell of rage and fury.
Hidden in the doctor's hay they had found the body of
Effie Beale !
It was still encoffined, but the little casket had been
forced open, and it was evident, from the position of the


TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. 105
body, that the buried clothing had been hurriedly torn
from it.
It would be difficult to describe the scene which followed
this last discovery. While the father, and his more
thoughtful friends, took instant possession of the little coffin,
the wrath of the raiders grew hotter and higher; every
voice and every hand was raised against Dr. Bethel.
Tom Briggs, with his blackened eye, was fiercely active,
and his two or three allies clamored loudly for vengeance
upon “the cursed resurrectionist.”
“Let's give him a lesson,” yelled a burly fellow, who,
having neither wife, child, nor relative in Trafton was, ac-
cording to a peculiar law governing the average human
nature, the loudest to clamor for summary vengeance.
“Let's set an example, an’ teach grave robbers what to look
for when they come to Trafton!”
“If we don’t settle with him nobody will,” chimed in
another fellow, who doubtless had good reason for doubt-
ing the ability of Trafton justice to deal with law-
breakers.
Those who said little were none the less eager to demon-
strate their ability to deal with offenders when the oppor-
tunity afforded itself. Over and again, in various ways,
Trafton had been helplessly victimized, and now, that at
last they had traced an outrage to its source, Trafton seized
the opportunity to vindicate herself.
A few of the fiercest favored extreme measures, but the


106 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
majority of the mob seemed united in their choice of feathers
and tar, as a means of vengeance.
Seeing how the matter would terminate, I turned to
Harris, the younger, who had kept his position near me.
“Ask your father to follow us,” I said, “and come with
me. They are about to attack the doctor.”
We went quietly around and entered the house from the
front. The doctor and Jim were still at the open window,
and in full view of the mob.
Bethel turned toward us a countenance locked in im-
penetrable self-possession.
“They mean business,” he said, nodding his head toward
the garden. “Poor fools.”
Then he took his pistols from a chair by the window,
putting one in each pocket of his loose sack coat.
“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing us, “pray don't bring
upon yourselves the enmity of these people by attempt-
ing to defend me. I assure you I am in no danger, and can
deal with them single-handed. Out of regard for what
they have left of my furniture, I will meet them outside.”
And he put one hand upon the window sill and leaped
lightly out, followed instantly by young Harris.
“Here's the inconvenience of being in charge of the
artillery,” growled Jim Long, discontentedly. “I’ll stay
in the fort till the enemy opens fire,” and he drew the afore-
mentioned rifle closer to him, as he squatted upon the
window ledge.


TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. 107
The clergyman and myself, without consultation or com-
ment, made our exit as we came, by the open front door,
and arrived upon the scene just as Bethel, with his two
hands in his coat pockets, halted mid-way between the house
and rear garden to meet the mob that swarmed toward him,
yelling, hooting, hissing.
If the doctor had hoped to say anything in his own de-
fense, or even to make himself heard, he was speedily con-
vinced of the futility of such an undertaking. His voice
was drowned by their clamor, and as many eager hands
were outstretched to seize him in their hard, unfriendly
grasp, the doctor lost faith in moral suasion and drew back
a step, while he suddenly presented, for their consideration,
a brace of five-shooters.
The foremost men recoiled for a moment, and Mr. Harris
seized the opportunity. Advancing until he stood almost
before Dr. Bethel, he began a conciliatory speech, after the
most approved manner.
But it came to an abrupt ending, the men rallied almost
instantly, and, drowning the clergyman’s voice under a
chorus of denunciations and oaths, they once more pressed
forward.
“Stand down, parson,” cried Jim Long, now leaping
from the window, rifle in hand, and coming to the rescue.
“Your medicine ain’t the kind they’re hankerin’
after.”
“You fall back, Tom Briggs,” called Charlie Harris,


108 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
peremptorily, “we want fair play here,” and he drew a
pistol from his pocket and took his stand beside Bethel.
At the same moment I drew my own weapons and fell
into line.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “let’s give Dr. Bethel a hearing.”
And now occurred what we had hardly anticipated.
While some of the foremost of the raiders drew back, others
advanced, and we saw that these comers to the front were
armed like ourselves.
While we stood thus, for a moment, there was a breath-
less silence and then Jim Long's deep voice made itself
heard.
“Some of you fellers are giving yourselves away,” he
said, with a sneer. “Now, jest look a here; ye mean bluff,
we mean business. An you chaps as has been supplied with
shooters by Tom Briggs and Simmons and Saunders hed
better drop the things an’ quit.”
A moment's silence, then a babel of voices, a clamor and
rush.
There was the loud crack of a pistol, accompanied by a
fierce oath,-a cry of “stop,” uttered in a clear female
voice,—then another moment of breathless silence.
Two women were standing in our midst, directly between
the doctor and his assailants, and Carnes still grasped the
pistol hand of Tom Briggs, while the smoke of the averted
charge yet hovered above their heads.
One of the two ladies, who had so suddenly come to the


Your
“Stand down, parson,” cried Jim Long, rifle in hand,
medicine ain't the kind they're hankerin' after.”-page 107.

109





TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. J 11
rescue, was Miss Adele Manvers. The other a tall, lithe,
beautiful blonde, I had never before seen.
“Friends, neighbors,” said this fair stranger, in clear,
sweet, but imperious tones, “you have made a terrible
mistake. Dr. Bethel was with tny father from sunset
last night until one hour ago. They were together every
moment, at the bedside of Mr. James Kelsey, on the
Willoughby road.”
Evidently this fair young lady was an authority not to
be questioned. The crowd fell back in manifest consterna-
tion, even Tom Briggs' tongue was silent.
Miss Manvers stood for a moment casting glances of
open contempt upon the crowd. Then, as the doctor's fair
champion ceased speaking and, seeing that her words had
been effective, drew nearer to Mr. Harris, flushing and pal-
ing as if suddenly abashed by her own daring, the brilliant
owner of the treasure-ship riches turned to Dr. Bethel.
“Doctor, you are our prisoner,” she said, smiling up at
him. “Dr. Barnard is half frantic since hearing of this
affair, and he commissioned us to bring you to him at once.”
Miss Manvers had not as yet noted my presence among
the doctor's handful of allies. Wishing to give my eyes
and ears full play, I drew back, and, using Jim Long as a
screen, kept near the group about the doctor; but out of
view. I had noted the sudden flash of his eyes, and the
lighting up of his face, when the fair unknown came among
us. And now I saw him clasp her hand between his two


112 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
firm palms and look down into her face, for just a moment,
as I could have sworn he had never looked at any other
WOman.
I saw her eyes meet his for an instant, then she seemed
to have withdrawn into herself, and the fearless champion
was merged in the modest but self-possessed woman.
I saw the haughty Adele Manvers moving about among
the raiders, bestowing a word here and there, and I saw
Mr. Harris now making good use of the opportunity these
two fair women had made. I noted that Tom Briggs and
his loud-voiced associates were among the first to slink away.
Dr. Bethel was reluctant to quit the field, but the advice
of Mr. Harris, the earnest entreaty of Miss Manvers, and,
more than all the rest, the one pleading look from the eyes
of the lovely unknown, prevailed.
“Long,” he said, turning to Jim, “here are my keys;
will you act as my steward until—my place is restored to
quiet?”
Jim nodded comprehensively.
“I’ll clear the premises,” he said, grimly. “Don’t ye
have any uneasiness; I'll camp right down here.”
“Bethel,” said Charlie Harris, “for the sake of the
ladies, you had better go at once; those fellows in the rear
there are trying to rally their forces.”
“Since my going will be a relief to my friends, I con-
sent to retreat,” said the besieged doctor, smiling down at
the two ladies.


TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. 113
They had driven thither in a dashing littlepony phaeton,
owned by Miss Manvers; and as they moved toward it the
heiress said:
“Doctor, you must drive Miss Barnard home; I intend
to walk, and enjoy the society of Mr. Harris.”
Dr. Bethel and the blonde lady entered the little carriage,
and, after a few words addressed to Harris and Miss Man-
vers, drove away.
The heiress looked about the grounds for a moment, ad-
dressed a few gracious words to Harris, the elder, smiled
at Jim Long, and then moved away, escorted by the de-
lighted younger Harris.
“Wimmen air—wimmen,” said Jim Long, sententiously,
leaning upon the rifle, which he still retained, and looking
up the road after the receding plumes of Miss Manvers’
Gainsborough hat. “You can’t never tell where they're
goin’ ter appear next. It makes a feller feel sort a ornary,
though, ter have a couple o' gals sail in an’ do more busi-
ness with a few slick words an’ searchin’ looks, then he
could do with a first-class rifle ter back him. Makes him
feel as tho' his inflouence was weakening.”
“Jim,” I said, ignoring his whimsical complaint, “who
was the fair haired lady ?”
“Doctor Barnard's only darter, Miss Louise.”
“I never saw her before.”
“’Spose not; she's been away nigh onto two months,
visitin’ her father's folks. Old Barnard must a had one
8


114 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
of his bad turns this morning, so’s he couldn’t git out, or
he'd never a sent his gal into such a crowd on such an er-
rand. Hullo, what's that Mick o' your’n doin’?”.
Glancing in the direction indicated by Jim, I saw that
Carnes was engaged in a fisticuff bout with Tom Briggs,
and hastened to interpose; not through solicitude for
Carnes so much as because I wished to prevent a serious
rupture between the two.
“Barney,” I said, severely, “you have been drinking
too much, I am sure. Stop this ruffianism at once.” -
“Is it ruffianism yer callin’ it, ter defend yerself aginst
the murtherin’ shnake; and ain’t it all bekase I hild up
his fist fer fear the blundherin’ divil ud shoot yees by
mishtake! Och, then, didn't I make the illigant rhyme
though?”
“You have made yourself very offensive to me, sir, by
the part you have taken in this affair,” I retorted, with
additional sternness; “and so long as you remain in my
service you will please to remember that I desire you to
avoid the society of loafers and brawlers.”
“Meanin’ me, I suppose?” snarled Tom Briggs.
“Meaning you in this instance,” I retorted, turning
away from the two, with all the dignity I could muster for
the occasion. -
“Bedad, he's got his blood up,” muttered Carnes, rue-
fully, as I walked away. “Old Red Top, shake! Seein’
as I’m to be afther howldin’ myself above yees in future,


“Glancing in the direction indicated by Jim, I saw that Carnes
was engaged in a fisticuff bout with Tom Briggs, and hastened to
interpose;”—page 114.

115





TWO FAIR CHAMPIONS. 117
I won't mind yer airs jist now, an’ if iver I git twenty
dollars ahead I’ll discharge yon blood an’ be me own bye.”
Satisfied that this bit of by-play had had the desired
effect, and being sure that Carnes would not leave the prem-
ises so long as there remained anything or any one likely
to prove interesting, I turned my steps townward, musing
as I went. -
I had made, or so I believed, three discoveries.
Dr. Carl Bethel was the victim of a deep laid plot, of
which this affair of the morning was but the beginning.
Dr. Carl Bethel was in love with the fair Miss Barnard.
And the brilliant owner of the treasure-ship jewels was
in love with Dr. Carl Bethel.
Whether Bethel was aware of the plot, or suspected his
enemies; whether he was really what he seemed, or only
playing a part like myself; whether to warn him and so
risk bringing myself under suspicion, or to let matters take
their natural course and keep a sharp lookout meantime;—
were questions which I asked myself again and again, fail-
ing to find a satisfactory answer.
On one thing I decided, however. Bethel was a self-
reliant man. He was keen and courageous, quite capable
of being more than he seemed. He was not a man to be
satisfied with half truth. I must give him my fullest con-
fidence or not seek his.


118 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XI.
A CUP OF TEA.
It was growing dusk before I saw Carnes again that day.
I had remained in my room since dinner, wishing to avoid
as much as possible the gossip and natural inquiry that
would follow the denouement of the raid against Dr. Bethel,
lest some suspicious mind should think me too much in-
terested, considering the part I had taken in the affair.
Carnes came in softly, and wearing upon his face the
peculiar knowing grin that we at the office had named his
“Fox smile.” He held in his hand a folded slip of paper,
which he dropped upon my knee, and then drew back,
without uttering a comment, to watch my perusal of the
Sanne. -
It was very brief, simply a penciled line from Dr.
Barnard, asking me to tea at seven o’clock. It was almost
seven as I read. -
“Where did you get this?” I asked, rising with sudden
alacrity, and beginning a hurried toilet. “Read it Carnes,
if you haven’t already; I should have had it earlier.”
Carnes took up the note, perused it, and tossed it on the
bed, then, seating himself astride a chair, he told his story,


A CUP OF TEA. 119
watching my progressing toilet with seeming interest the
while.
“After my tender parting with Briggs, I sherried over
and made myself agreeable to Jim Long, and as I was un-
common respectful and willin' to be harangued, he sort o'
took me as handy boy, an’ let me stay an help him tidy up
Bethel's place. He cleared out the multitude, put the yard
into decent order, and then, while he undertook to rehang
the doctor's front door, I'm blest if he didn’t set me to
pilin' up the hay stack. Don’t wear that beast of a choker,
man, it makes you look like a laughing hyena.”
I discarded the condemned choker, swallowed the doubt-
ful compliment, and Carnes continued, lapsing suddenly
into broad Irish: -
“Prisintly he comes out to the shtack, as I was finishin'
the pile, tellin’ me as he must have some new hinges to
the doctor's door, an axin would Ishtay an’ kape house
till he wint up fer the iron works. I consinted.”
“Yes!” eagerly.
“And I made good use of the opportunity. I wint over
that place in a way to break the heart of a jenteel crook, an’
I’m satisfied.
“Of what, Carnes?”
“That there's no irregularity about the doctor. If there
was a track as big as a fly's foot wouldn’t I have hit
it? Yes, sir! There ain’t no trace of the detective-in-
ambush about those premises, Tom Briggs to the contrary


120 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
notwithstanding. He's a regular articled medical college.
graduate; there's plenty of correspondence to prove him
Dr. Carl Bethel, and nothing to prove him anything else.”
“Quite likely,” I replied, not yet wholly convinced;
“Bethel is not the man to commit himself; he'd be very
sure not to leave a trace of his ‘true inwardness about the
premises, if he were on a still hunt. How about the note,
Carnes?”
“Oh, the note! Well, when Jim came back, about
fifteen minutes ago, or so, he gave me that, saying that he
called at Dr. Barnard's to ask for instructions from Bethel,
and was handed that note to leave for you. Jim says that
he forgot to stop with the note; but I’m inclined to think
that he wanted to dispose of me and took this way to avoid
hurting my feelings.”
“Well, I shall be late at Dr. Barnard's, owing to Jim's
notions of delicacy,” I said, turning away from the mirror
and hurriedly brushing my hat. “However, I can ex-
plain the tardiness. By-by, Carnes; we will talk this day's
business over when I have returned.”
Dr. Barnard’s pleasant dwelling was scarce five minutes'
walk from our hotel; and I was soon making my bow
in the presence of the doctor, his wife and daughter, Miss
Manvers, and Dr. Bethel.
As I look back upon that evening I remember Louise
Barnard as at once the loveliest, the simplest and most
charmingly cultivated woman I have ever met. Graceful


A CUP OF TEA. 121
without art, self-possessed without ostentation, beautiful as
a picture, without seeming to have sought by artifices of
the toilet to heighten the effect of her statuesque love-
liness.
Adele Manvers was also beautiful; no, handsome is the
more appropriate word for her; but in face, form, color-
ing, dress, and manner, a more decided contrast could not
have been deliberately planned. -
Miss Barnard was the lovely lady; Miss Manvers, the
daintily clad, fair woman of fashion.
Miss Barnard was tall, slender, dazzlingly beautiful,
with soft fair hair and the features of a Greek goddess.
Miss Manvers was a trifle below the medium height, a
piquant brunette, plump, shapely, a trifle haughty, and in-
clined to self-assertion.
Miss Barnard wore soft flowing draperies, and her hair
as nature intended it to be worn. Miss Manvers wore
another woman's hair in defiance of nature, and her dress
was fashion's last conceit,—a “symphony” in silks and
ruffles and bewildering draperies.
Miss Barnard was dignified and somewhat reticent.
Miss Manvers was talkative and vivacious.
They had learned from Jim Long all that he could tell
them concerning the part I had taken in the affair of the
morning. The elder physician desired to express his ap-
probation, the younger his gratitude. They had sent for
me that I might hear what #y had to say on the subject


122 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
of the grave robbery, and to ask my opinion and advice as
to future movements.
All this was communicated to me by the voluble old
doctor, who was sitting in an invalid's chair, being as yet
but half recovered from his neuralgic attack of the morn-
ing. We had met on several occasions, but I had no pre-
vious knowledge of his family.
“There will be no further trouble about this matter,”
said Dr. Barnard, as we sat in the cool, cosy parlor after
our late tea. “Our people have known me too long to
doubt my word, and my simple statement of my absolute
Knowledge concerning all of Bethel's movements will put
out the last spark of suspicion, so far as he is concerned—
but,” bringing the palm of his large hand down upon the
arm of his chair with slow emphasis, “it won’t settle the
question next in order. Who are the guilty ones?”
“That I shall make it my business to find out,” said
Dr. Bethel, seriously, “I confess that at first I was un-
reasonably angry, at the thought of the suspicion cast upon
me. On second thought it was but natural. I am as yet
a stranger among you, and Trafton evidently believes it
wise to ‘consider every man a rogue until he is proved
honest.’” -
“From what I have heard since coming here,” I ven-
tured, “I should say Trafton has some reason for adopting
this motto.”
“So she has; so she has,” broke in the old doctor.


A CUP OF TEA. 123
“And some one had a reason for attempting to throw sus-
picion upon Bethel.”
“Evidently,” said Bethel. “I am puzzled to guess
what that reason can be, and I dispose of the theory that
would naturally come up first, namely, that it is a plot to
destroy the public confidence in me, set on foot by rival
doctors, by saying, at the outset, that I don’t believe there
is a medical man in or about Trafton capable of such
a deed. I have all confidence in my professional
brethren.” -
“Why,” interposed Miss Manvers, “the sentiment does
you honor, Dr. Bethel, but—I should think the other -
doctors your most natural enemies. Who else could,”—
she broke off abruptly with an appealing glance at Louise
Barnard.
“I think Dr. Bethel is right,” said Miss Barnard, in her
low, clear contralto. “I cannot think either of our doctors
capable of a deed so shameful.” Then turning to address
me, she added, “You, as a stranger among us, may see the
matter in a more reasonable light. How does it look to
you?” -
“Taking the doctor's innocence as a foregone conclusion,”
I replied, “it looks as though he had an enemy in Trafton,”
here I turned my eyes full upon the face of Bethel, “who
wished to drive him out of the community by making him
unpopular in it.”
Bethel's face wore the same expression of mystified


124 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
candor, his eyes met mine full and frankly, as he
replied:
“Taking that as a foregone conclusion, we arrive at the
point of starting, Who are the guilty ones? Who are my
enemies? I have been uniformly successful in my practice;
I have had no differences, disagreement, or disputes with
any man in Trafton. Up to to-day I could have sworn I
had not an enemy in the town.”
“And so could I,” said Dr. Barnard. “It’s a case for a
wiser head than mine.”
“It’s a case for the detectives,” said Dr. Bethel, firmly.
“If this unknown foe thinks to drive me from Trafton, he
must try other measures. I intend to remain, and to solve
this mystery.”
A moment's silence followed this decided announcement.
The old doctor nodded his approval, his daughter looked
hers.
Miss Manvers sat with eyes fixed upon a spot in the
carpet, biting nervously at her full red under lip, and tap-
ping the floor with the toe of her dainty boot.
I had no desire to take a prominent part in the discus-
sion which followed, and became as much as I could a mere
observer, but, as after events proved, I made very good use
of my eyes that night.
Having exhausted the subject of the grave robbery with-
out arriving at any new conclusions, the social old doctor
proposed a game of whist, cards being his chief source of


A CUP OF TEA. 125
evening pastime. The game was made up, Miss Manvers
taking a seat opposite Dr. Barnard, and Dr. Bethel playing
with Mrs. Barnard. -
After watching their game for a time, Miss Barnard and
myself retired to the piano. She sang several songs in a
tender contralto, to a soft, well-rendered accompaniment,
and as I essayed my thanks and ventured to praise her
singing, she lifted her clear eyes to mine, saying, in an
undertone: -
“Don’t think me odd, or too curious—but—will you
answer a question—frankly?”
I promised, recklessly; and she ran her pretty fingers
over the keys, drowning our voices, for other ears, under
the soft ripple of the notes, while she questioned and I re-
plied. *
“As a stranger, and an unprejudiced person,” she began,
“how does this shameful charge against Dr. Bethel appear
to you? Judging him as men judge men, do you think he
could be guilty of such a deed?” -
“Judging him by my limited knowledge of human na-
ture,” I replied, “I should say that Dr. Bethel is incapa-
ble of baseness in any form. In this case, he is certainly
innocent.”
She looked thoughtfully down at the white, gliding
fingers, and said,
“We have seen so much of Dr. Bethel since he came to
Trafton, that he seems quite like an old friend, and be-


126 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
cause of his being associated with father, it makes his
trouble almost a personal matter. I do hope it will end
without further complications.”
She looked up in my face as if hoping that my judg-
ment accorded with her wish, but I made no reply,
finding silence easier and pleasanter than equivocation
when dealing with a nature so frank and fearlessly
truthful.
The game of whist being at an end, Miss Manvers arose
almost immediately and declared it time to go. She had
sent her phaeton home, her house being less than a quarter
of a mile from Dr. Barnard's, and according to the custom
of informal Trafton, I promptly offered myself as escort,
and was promptly and smilingly accepted. -
“What a day this has been,” said Miss Manvers, as the
doctor's iron gate closed behind us. “Such a terrible
charge to bring against Dr. Bethel. Do you really think,”
and, spite her evident intention to make the question sound
common-place, I could detect the genuine anxiety in it,
“Do you really think that it will—injure his practice to
the extent of—driving him from Trafton?”
“You heard what he said, Miss Manvers.”
“Oh, yes—but if I am rightly informed, Dr. Bethel is,
in a measure at least, dependent on his practice. Is not
this so 2”
“You are better advised than I, Miss Manvers; I know
so little of Dr. Bethel.”


“Candidly, now,” she said, “as if I were not Miss Manvers, but
a man to be trusted. Do you think it impossible that Dr. Bethel
has done this thing?—page 129.

127





A CUP OF TEA. 129
“And yet you were his warmest champion to-day.”
“I assure you I felt quite cool,” I laughed. “I should
have done as much for the merest stranger, under the same
circumstances.”
“Then you are not prejudiced in his favor?”
“I am not prejudiced at all. I like Bethel.”
“And so do I,” replied the heiress, heartily, “and I like
the spirit he shows in this matter. Is not this-a-exhum-
ing of a subject, a frequent occurrence?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I mean—is it not often done by medical men?”
“By them, or persons employed by them. I suppose so.”
She drew a little nearer, lifting an earnest face to meet
my gaze.
“Candidly, now,'
she said, “as if I were not Miss
Manvers, but a man to be trusted. Do you think it im-
possible that Dr. Bethel has done this thing. Viewed
from a scientific and practical standpoint, does such a deed
appear to you to be the horrible thing some seem to
think it?”
What spirit prompted my answer? I never knew just
what impelled me, but I looked down into the pretty, up-
turned face, looked straight into the dark, liquid eyes, and
answered :
“Candidly, Miss Manvers—as you are certainly as much
to be trusted as if you were a man—when I went to Bethel's
defense, I went supposing that, for the benefit of science
9


130 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
and the possible good of his fellow-beings, he had exhumed
the body.”
She drew a short, quick breath. -
“And you have changed your opinion?” she half as-
serted, half inquired.
I laid the fingers of my gloved ieft hand lightly upon
hers, as it rested on my arm, and bent lower toward the
glowing brunette face as I answered:
“I have not said so.”
She dropped her eyes and mused for a moment, then—
“Do you think he will actually call in a detective—to—
to make his innocence seem more probable?”
“I hope he will not,” I replied, sincerely this time, but
with a hidden meaning. -
“I don’t think that Mr. Beale will desire further inves-
tigation. The matter will die out, undoubtedly. Mr.
Barnard is a man of powerful influence in the community,
and Squire Brookhouse will use his influence in behalf of
Dr. Bethel, I am sure.” Then, looking up again, quickly:
“Do you not admire Miss Barnard?”
“Miss Barnard is “a thing of beauty,’” I rejoined, sen-
tentiously; then, with a downward glance that pointed my
sentence, “I admire all lovely women.”
She laughed lightly, but said no more of Miss Barnard,
or Dr. Bethel, and we parted with some careless badinage,
supplemented by her cordial hope that I would prolong my
stay in Trafton, and that she should see me often at The Hill.
*


A CUP OF TEA. 131
Going slowly homeward, through the August darkness,
I mentally voted the treasure-ship heiress a clever, agree-
able, and charming young lady, and spent some time in
trying to decide whether her delightful cordiality was a
token that I had pleased, or only amused her. Such is the
vanity of man!
I found Carnes wide awake, smoking and waiting.
“Have ye done wid yer gallivantin’?” queried he, the
instant I made my appearance. “Now, thin, be shquare;
which is the purtyest gurl?”
“How do you know there were two, sir?”
“Inshtinct,” he retorted, shamelessly. “I knew by the
peculiar feelin’ av the cords av me arums. I say, what a
thunderin’ lot o' snarly bushes old Barnyard kapes about
his windys!”
“What! you were up there?” I cried, in astonish-
ment. -
“Worrunt I,” he retorted, complacently. “An I
wasn't the only one !”
“Carnes!”
“Och, take off yer mittens an’ sit down,” he said, grin-
ning offensively at my mighty efforts to draw off a pair of
tight and moist kid gloves. “Warn’t I up there, an I
could ave told ye all about the purty gals mysilf, an’ what
sort av blarney ye gave till em both, if it had not been fer
the murtherin’ baste of a shnake asgot inter the scrubbery
ahead av me,”


132 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I threw aside the damp gloves, and seated myself directly
in front of him.
“Now, talk business,” I said, impatiently. “It's getting
late, and there's a good deal to be said.”
Carnes reached out for the pipe which he had laid aside
at my entrance, lighted it with due deliberation, and then
said, with no trace of his former absurdity: -
“I don't know what sent me strolling and smoking up
toward Dr. Barnard's place, but I did go. My pipe went
out, and I stopped to light it, stepping off the sidewalk just
where the late lilacs hang over the fence at the foot of the
garden. While I stood there, entirely hidden by the dark-
ness and the shade, a man came walking stealthily down
the middle of the road. His very gait betrayed the sneak,
and I followed him, forgetting my pipe and keeping to the
soft grass. He seemed to know just where to go for,
although he moved cautiously, there was no hesitation.
Well, he passed the gate, climbed the fence, sneaked up to
the front of the house, skulking between the trees and rose
bushes directly underneath the parlor window. I took the
bearings as well as I could from a distance, and I made up
my mind that the fellow, if he heard anything, could hardly
catch the thread of the discourse, and I reckon I was right
in my conclusions for, after a good deal of prospecting
around, he sneaked away as he came, and I followed him
back to Porter's store.”
“And you knew him?” I questioned, hastily.


“Well he passed the gate, climbed the fence, sneaked up to the
front of the house, skulking between the trees and rose bushes di-
rectly underneath the parlor window.”—page 132.

133





A CUP OF TEA. 135
“I used to know him,” said Carnes, with a comical wink,
“but recently I’ve cut his acquaintance.”
For a moment we stared at each other silently, then I
asked, abruptly:
“Old man, do you think it worth our while to go into
this resurrection business?”
“What for 2”
“To satisfy ourselves as regards Bethel's part in it.”
“You needn’t go into it on my account,” replied Carnes,
crossing his legs and clasping his two hands behind his
head; “I’m satisfied.”
“As how?”
“He never did it.”
“Ah! how do you reason the case?”
“First, he isn’t a fool; second, if he had taken the body
he would have made use of it that night; it was fast de-
composing, and before to-night would be past pleasant hand-
ling. Then he, being called away, if he had instructed
others to disinter the body, would never have instructed
them to hide it on his own premises, much less to disrobe
it for no purpose whatever. Then, last and most conclusive,
there's the pick and spade.”
“And what of them?”
“This of them,” unclasping his hands, setting his two
feet squarely on the floor, and bringing his palms down
upon his knees. “You know old Harding, the hardware
dealer?”


136 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I nodded. Old Harding was the elder brother of the
Trafton farmer who had excited my eagerness to see Trafton
by discussing its peculiarities on the railway train.
“Well,” leaning toward me and dropping out his words
in stiff staccato. “After the crowd had left Jim Long
and myself in possession of the doctor's premises, old
Harding came back. I saw that he wanted to talk with
Jim, and I went out into the yard. Presently the two
went into the barn, and I skulked around till I got directly
behind the window where those tools were found. And
here's what I heard, stripped of old Harding's profanity, and
Jim's cranky comments. Last year Harding's store was
visited by burglars, and those identical tools were taken
out of it along with many other things. You observed
that they were quite new. Harding said he could swear
to the tools. Now, if others had exhumed the body for the
doctor, they would not have left their tools in his stable and
in so conspicuous a place. If the doctor exhumed it, how
did he obtain those tools? They were stolen before he came
to Trafton.”
“Then here is another thing,” I began, as Carnes paused.
“A man of Bethel’s sense would not take such a step with-
out a sufficient reason. Now, Dr. Barnard, who certainly
is authority in the matter, says positively that there were
no peculiar symptoms about the child's sickness; that it
was a very ordinary case; therefore, Dr. Bethel, who can
buy all his skeletons without incurring disagreeable labor


A CUP OF TEA. 137
and risk, could have had no motive for taking the body.”
3)
“Then you think
“I think this,” I interrupted, being now warm with my
subject. “Dr. Bethel, who is certainly not a detective, is
suspected of being one, or feared as one. And this is the
way his enemies open the war upon him. I think if we
can find out who robbed that little girl’s grave and
secreted the body so as to throw suspicion upon Bethel, we
shall be in a fair way to find out what we came here to
learn, viz., what, and where, and who, are the daring, long
existing successful robbers that infest Trafton. This is
their first failure, and why?”
“It’s easy to guess why,” said Carnes, gravely. “The
old head was out of this business; for some reason it has
been entrusted to underlings, and bunglers.”
“But won’t old Harding give these rascals warning by
claiming his stolen property?” I asked, dubiously.
“Not he,” replied Carnes. “Harding's too cute and
too stingy for that. He reasons that the thieves, having
begun to display their booty, may grow more reckless. He
is one of the few who think that the body was not placed
in the hay by the doctor's hirelings; he intends to keep
silent for the present and look sharp for any more of his
stolen merchandize.”
“Then, Carnes, we have no bars to our present progress.
To-morrow we get down to actual business.”
Again we sat late into the night discussing and re-ar-


138 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
ranging our plans, only separating when we had mapped
out a course which we, in our egotistical blindness, felt as-
sured was the true route toward success; and seeking our
slumbers as blissfully unconscious of what really was to
transpire as the veriest dullard in all Trafton.


140 OUT OF A LARYRINTH.
ing crowd, but a gathering of startled, perplexed, angry
looking men, each seeming hopeful of hearing something,
rather than desirous of saying much.
Jim Long, the idle, every-where-present Jim, stood near
the outer door, looking as stolid and imperturbable as usual,
and smoking, as a matter of course.
I made my way to him at once.
“What is it, Long,” I asked, in a low tone; “something
new, or—”
“Nothin’ new, by any means,” interrupted Jim, sub-
limely indifferent to the misfortune of his neighbors.
“Nothin’ new at all, Cap'n; the Trafton Bandits have been
at it again, that's all.” -
“Trafton Bandits! you mean—”
“Thieves! Robbers! Ku Klux! They’ve made another
big haul.”
“Last night?”
“Last night, Cap'n.”
“Of What sort 2”
Jim chuckled wickedly.
“The right sort to git money out of Hopper's two-
forty's, that was in trainin’ for the races. Meacham's
matched sorrels. 'Squire Brookhouse's bay Morgans.”
“What! six blooded horses at one haul !”
“Eggszactly.”
Jim's coolness was aggravating; I turned away from
him, and mingled with the group about the clerk's desk.


“Nothin' new at all, Cap'n; the Trafton Bandits have been at it
again that's all.”—page 140.

141





A BIG HAUL. 143
“Meacham’ll suicide; he refused a fancy price for them
sorrels not two weeks ago.”
“Wonder what old Brookhouse will do about it?”
“There’ll be some tall rewards offered.”
“Much good that'll do. We don’t get back stolen horses
so easy in this county.”
“It'll break Hopper up; he had bet his pile on the two-
forty's, and bid fair to win.”
“One of 'em was goin’ to trot against Arch Brookhouse's
mare, Polly, an’ they had big bets up. Shouldn’t wonder
if Arch was glad to be let out so easy. Polly never could
outgo that gray four-year-old.”
“Think not?”
“Brookhouse has telegraphed to his lawyers already, to
send on a couple of detectives.”
“Bully for Brookhouse.”
“Don’t yell till yer out of the woods. Detectives ain’t
so much more’n common folks. I don’t go much on 'em
myself. What we want is vigilants.”
“Pooh! neither detectives nor vigilants can’t cure
Trafton.”
These and like remarks greeted my ears in quick suc-
cession, and furnished me mental occupation. I lingered
for half an hour among the eager, excited gossippers, and
then betook myself to the dining-room and partook of my
morning meal in solitude. With my food for the body, I
had also food for thought.


144 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Here, indeed, was work for the detective. I longed for
the instant presence of Carnes, that we might discuss the
situation, and I felt no little annoyance at the thought of
the two detectives who might come in upon us at the bid-
ding of 'Squire Brookhouse.
Carnes was in the office when I again entered it, and
giving him a sign to follow me, I went up to my room.
It was situated in a wing of the building most remote from
the office, and the hum of many voices did not penetrate
so far.
The stillness seemed more marked by contrast with the
din I had just left, as I sat waiting.
Presently Carnes came in, alert, quick of movement, and
having merged the talkative Irishman in the active, cautious
detective.
“This looks like business;” he began, dragging a chair
forward, and seating himself close to me. “I chanced to
wake up a little after sunrise, and heard some men talking
outside, near my window. They were going through the
iane, and I only caught the words: “Yes, sir; stolen last
night; six of them.” Somehow the tone, quite as much as
the words, convinced me that something was wrong. I
got up and hurried out, thinking it hardly worth while to
disturb you until I had learned more of the fellow's mean-
ing. Well, sir, it's a fact; six valuable pieces of horseflesh
have been taken from under our very noses.”
“Have you got any particulars?”


A BIG HAUl. 145
“Well, yes, as much as is known, I think. Hopper, as
you remember, lives on the hill just at the edge of the town.
His man sleeps in the little office adjoining the stable. It
seems the fellow, having no valuables to lose, let the win-
dow swing open and slept near it. He was chloroformed,
and is under the doctor's care this morning. Meacham's
stable is very near the house, but no one was disturbed by
the robbers; they threw his dog a huge piece of meat that
kept his jaws occupied. I heard Arch Brookhouse talking
with a lot of men; he says the Morgans were in a loose box
near the rear door of the stable, and that two men were
sleeping in the room above the front wing. He says they
have telegraphed to the city for detectives.”
“Yes, I’m sorry for that, but it's to be expected.
“What shall we do about it?”
“As we are working for our own satisfaction and have
little at stake, I am in favor of keeping quiet until we see
who they bring down. If it's some of our own fellows, or
any one that we know to be skillful, we can then turn in
and help them, or retire from the field without making
ourselves known, as we think best. If the fellows are
strangers—”
“Then we will try the merits of the case with them,”
broke in Carnes. “I tell you, old man, I hate to quit the
field now.”
“So do I,” I acknowledged. “We must manage to
know when these new experts arrive. and until we have
10 *7


146 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
found them out, can do little but keep our eyes and ears
open. It won’t do to betray too much interest just yet.”
Carnes wheeled about in his chair and turned his eyes
toward the street.
“I wish this thing had not happened just yet,” he said,
moodily. “Last night our plans were laid so smoothly.
I don’t see how we can even follow up this grave-robbing
business, until these confounded detectives have shown
their hand.”
“Carnes,” I replied, solemnly, “do be a philosopher.
If ever two conceited detectives got themselves into a
charming muddle, we're those two, at present. If we don’t
come out of this escapade covered with confusion, we shall
have cause to be thankful. -
My homily had its intended effect. Carnes wheeled
upon me with scorn upon his countenance.
“The mischief fly away wid yer croakin’,” he cried.
“An’ it's lyin' ye know ye are. Is it covered wid confu-
sion ye’d be afther havin' us, bad cess to ye? Av we quit
this nest we'd be drappin’ the natest job two lads ever
tackled. Ye can quit av ye like, but I’m shtayin', avan
if the ould boy himself comes down to look intil the
bizness.” - -
By “the ould boy,” Carnes meant our Chief, and not aS
might be supposed, his Satanic majesty. -
I smiled at the notion of our Chief in the midst of
these Trafton perplexities, and, letting Carnes' tirade re-


A BIG. HAUL. - 147
main unanswered, took from my pocket the before men-
tioned note book and began a new mental calculation.
“There goes the ould identical Mephistophiles I used
to see in my fairy book,” broke out Carnes from his sta-
tion by the window, where he had stood for some moments
silently contemplating whatever might present itself to
view in the street below. “Look at 'im now ! Av I
were an artist, wouldn’t I ax’im to sit for “Satan’.”
I looked out and saw 'Squire Brookhouse passing on the
opposite side of the street, and looking closer, I decided
that Carnes’ comparison was not inapt.
In the days of his youth Squire Brookhouse might have
been a handsome man, when his regular features were
rounded and colored by twenty-two Summers, or perhaps
more; but he must have grown old while yet young, for
his cadaverous cheeks were the color of most ancient parch-
ment; his black eyes were set in hollow, dusky caverns;
his mouth was sunken, the thin lips being drawn and
colorless. His upper lip was smooth shaven, but the chin
was decorated by a beard, long but thin, and of a peculiar
lifeless black. His eyebrows were long and drooped above
the cavernous eyes. His hair was straight and thin,
matching the beard in color, and he wore it so long that it
touched the collar of his coat, the ends fluttering dismally
in the least gust of wind. He was tall, and angular to
emaciation, with narrow, stooping shoulders, and the slow,
gliding gait of an Indian. He was uniformly solemn, it


148 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
would be a mistake to say dignified; preternaturally silent,
going and coming like a shadow among his loquacious
neighbors; always intent upon his own business and show-
ing not the least interest in anything that did not in some
way concern himself. Living plainly, dressing shabbily,
hoarding his riches, grinding his tenants, superintending
the business of his large stock-farm, he held himself aloof
from society, and had never been seen within the walls of
a church.
And yet this silent, unsocial man was a power in Traf-
ton; his word of commendation was eagerly sought for;
his frown was a thing to be dreaded; his displeasure to be
feared. Whom he would he elected to office, and whom
he would not, came somehow to be disapproved by all
Trafton.
“He has certainly an uncommon ensemble,” I said, look-
ing out over Carnes' shoulder, “not a handsome man, to
be sure, but one toward whom you would turn in a crowd
to take the second look at. I wonder where Jim Long
would place him in the scale of Trafton weights and
measures?”
“Not under the head of the model Traftonite,” replied
Carnes, still gazing after the receding figure. “He’s
guiltless of the small hands and feet, perfumed locks and
‘more frill to the square yard of shirt front required by
Jim for the making of his model. By-the-bye, what the
'Squire lacks is amply made up by the son. When Jim


A BIG HAUL, 149
pictured the model Traftonite, I think he must have had
Arch Brookhouse in his eye.”
“I think so, too; a nature such as Jim's would be
naturally antagonistic to any form of dandyism. Young
Brookhouse is a fastidious' dresser, and, I should say, a
thoroughly good fellow.”
“As good fellows go,” said Carnes, sententiously. “But
dropping the dandy, tell me what are we going to do with
Jim Long?”
“It’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” responded I,
turning away from the window, “Jim is not an easy con-
undrum to solve.”
“About as easy as a Chinese puzzle,” grumbled Carnes,
discontentedly. “Nevertheless, I tell you, old man, before
we get much further on our way we’ve got to take his
measure.”
“I quite agree with you, and the moment the way seems
clear, we must do something more.”
“What's that ?”
“We must explore that south road, every foot of it, for
twenty miles at least.”


150 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XIII.
'SQUIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL.
The first train due from the city, by which, supposing
'Squire Brookhouse's message to be promptly received, and
his commission promptly executed, it would be possible for
the looked-for detectives to arrive, would be due at mid-
night. It was a fast, through express, and arriving so late,
when the busy village gossips were, or should be, peace-
fully sleeping, it seemed to us quite probable that they
would come openly by that train.
Of course we expected them to assume disguise, or to
have some plausible business in the town, quite foreign to
their real errand thither; but, equally, of course we expect-
ed to be able to penetrate any disguise that might be as-
sumed by parties known to us, or to see beneath any busi-
mess subterfuge adopted by strangers.
Until midnight then we had only to wait, and employ
our time profitably, if we could, which seemed hardly
probable.
I remained in my room for the remainder of the morn-
ing, and Carnes went out among the gossipers, in search of
any scrap that he might seize upon and manipulate into a
thing of meaning.


'squIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 151
At the dinner table I met Dr. Bethel. He was his
usual calm, courteous self, seeming in no wise ruffled or
discomposed by the events of the previous day.
We chatted together over our dinner, and together left
the table. In the hall the doctor turned to face me,
saying: -
“If you have nothing better to occupy your time, come
down to my house with me. I shall enjoy your company.”
I could scarcely have found a way of passing the after-
noon more to my taste, just then, and I accepted his invita-
tion promptly. -
Outside the doctor's dwelling, quiet and order reigned,
thanks to Jim Long's officious friendliness, but within was
still the confusion of yesterday; Jim, seemingly, having
exhausted himself in the hanging of the doctor's front
door. -
Bethel looked about the disordered rooms, and laughed
the laugh of the philosopher.
“After all, a man can not be thoroughly angry at the
doings of a mob,” he said, stooping to gather up some
scattered papers. “It’s like scattering shot; the charge
loses its force; there is no center to turn upon. I was in
a rage yesterday, but it was rather with the author of the
mischief credited to me, than these fanatical would-be
avengers, and then—after due reflection—it was quite
natural that these village simpletons should suspect me, Was
it not?”


152 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
“Candidly, yes,” I replied; “and that only proves the
cunning of the enemy who planned this business for your
injury.”
Bethel, who was stooping to restore a chair to its proper
position, lifted his head to favor me with one sharp glance.
Then he brought the chair up with a jerk; and, taking
another with the unoccupied hand, said: -
“This is hardly a picture of comfort. Fortunately,
there is a condensed lawn and excellent shade outside.
Let's smoke a cigar under the trees, and discuss this matter
comfortably.”
In another moment we were sitting cosily, vis-á-vis, on
the tiny grass plot, styled by the doctor a “condensed
lawn,” with a huge clump of lilacs at our backs, and the
quivering leaves of a young maple above our heads. -
The doctor produced some excellent cigars, which we
lighted, and smoked for a time in silence. Then he said:
“I scarcely flatter myself that I have seen the end of
this business. I quite expected the ra. of yesterday to be
followed by a formal accusation and , "warrant to-day, in
which case—”
“In which case,” I interrupted, “I will be responsible
for your future good behavior, and go your bail.”
“Thank you,” he said, quite seriously. “I appreciate
your championship, but confess it surprises me. Why
have you voted me guiltless, in opposition to the expressed
opinions of two-thirds of Trafton?”


’squTRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 153
“Perhaps,” I replied, “it is because I am not a Traf-
tonite, and am therefore without prejudice. To be per-
fectly frank, I did suppose you to be implicated in the
business when I came here yesterday; when I witnessed
your surprise, and heard your denial, I wavered; when I
saw the buried clothing, I doubted; when the body was
discovered, I was convinced that a less clever head and
more bungling hand than yours, had planned and executed
the resurrection; it was a blunder which I could not credit
you with making. If I had a doubt, Barnard's testimony
would have laid it.”
“Thank you,” said Bethel, with real warmth. “But—
I might have had confederates.”
“No. Doctor Barnard’s statement as to the manner of
the child's death deprives you of a motive for the deed;
then the too-easily found tools, and the stripped-off clothing
could hardly be work of your planning or ordering. De-
pend upon it, when Trafton has done a little calm think-
ing, it will see this matter as I see it.”
“Possibly,” with a shade of skepticism in his voice.
“At least, when I have unearthed these plotters against
me, they will see the matter as it is, and that day I intend
to bring to pass.”
The fire was nearly extinct on the tip of his cigar, he re.
placed it in his mouth and seemingly only intent upon re.
kindling the spark; this done, he smoked in silence a mo
ment and then said.


'SquIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 155
able to give something like a correct guess as to the man's
ability, if I can have a square look at his face.”
I blew a cloud of smoke before my own face to conceal a
smile.
“You are a physiognomist, then?”
“Not a radical one; but I believe there is much to be
learned by the careful study of the human countenance.”
“Give me a test of your ability,” I said, jestingly, and
drawing my chair nearer to him. “Have I the material in
me for a passable detective?”
“My dear sir,” he replied, gravely, “if I had not given
you credit for some shrewdness, I should hardly have made
you, even in a slight degree, my confidante; if you were a
detective I think you might be expected to succeed.”
“Thanks, doctor; being what I am I can, perhaps, give
you the key to this mystery.”
“You?” -
“Yes, I,” tossing away my cigar and now fully resolved
to confide in the doctor. “I think I have stumbled upon
the clue you require. I will tell you how.”
There was a sharp click at the gate; I closed my lips
hurriedly, and we both turned to look.
'Squire Brookhouse, if possible a shade more solemn of
countenance than usual, was entering the doctor's door-
yard. *
My host arose instantly to receive, but did not advance
to meet, his latest guest.


156 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
'Squire Brookhouse accepted the chair proffered him,
having first given me a nod of recognition, and, while
Bethel entered the house for another chair, sat stiffly, let-
ting his small, restless black eyes rove about, taking in his
surroundings with quick, furtive glances, and I fancied that
he felt a trifle annoyed at my presence.
“You seem quite serene here, in spite of yesterday's
fracas,” he said to me, in what he no doubt intended for
the ordinary affable conversational tone.
He possessed a naturally harsh, rasping voice, not loud,
but, none the less, not pleasant to the ear, and this, coupled
with his staccato manner of jerking out the beginnings of
his sentences, and biting off the ends of them, would have
given, even to gentle words, the sound of severity.
While I replied, I was inwardly wondering what had
called out this unusual visit, for I saw at once, by the look
on Bethel's face, that it was unusual, and, just then, a
trifle unwelcome.
We were not left long in the dark. Scarcely had the
doctor rejoined us and been seated before the 'squire gave
us an insight into the nature of his business.
“I am sorry our people gave you so much trouble yes-
terday, doctor,” he began, in his stiff staccato. “Their
conduct was as discreditable to the town as it was uncom-
plimentary to you.”
“One should always take into consideration the character
of the elements that assails him,” replied Bethel, coolly.


'SQUIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 157
“I was comforted to know that my assailants of yesterday
were notably of the canaille of the town; the majority, of
the rough, vulgar excitables, who, while not being, or
meaning to be, absolutely vicious, are, because of their in-
herent ignorance, easily played upon and easily led, espec-
ially toward mischief. The leaders most certainly were
not of the lower classes, but of the lowest. On the whole,
I have experienced no serious discomfort, "Squire Brook-
house, nor do I anticipate any lasting injury to my prac-
tice by this attempt to shake the public faith in me.”
This reply surprised me somewhat, and I saw that the
'squire was, for the moment, nonplussed. He sat quite
silent, biting his thin under lip, and with his restless eyes
seemed trying to pierce to the doctor's innermost thought.
The silence became to me almost oppressive before he
said, shifting his position so as to bring me more promi-
nently within his range of vision:
“I hope you are right; I suppose you are. Arch dis-
displeased me very much by not coming to your aid; he
might, perhaps, have had some influence upon a portion
of the mob. I regret to learn that one or two of my men
were among them. I believe Arch tried to argue against
the movement before they came down upon you; he came
home thoroughly disgusted and angry. For myself, I was
too much indisposed to venture out yesterday.
He drew himself a trifle more erect; this long speech
seeming to be something well off his mind.


158 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“I was well supported, I assure you,” replied Bethel,
courteously. “But I appreciate your interest in my wel-
fare. Your influence in Trafton in considerable, I know.”
“Hardly that; hardly that, sir. However, such as it
is, it is yours, if you need it. My call was merely to ask
if you anticipated any further trouble, or if I could serve
you in any way, in caseyou desired to makean investigation.”
Bethel hesitated a moment, seemingly at a loss for a reply.
In that moment, while the 'squire's sharp eyes were fixed
upon him, I lifted my hand, removed my cigar from my
mouth with a careless gesture, and, catching the doctor's
eye, laid a finger on my lip. In another instant I was .
puffing away at my weed, and the keen, quick eyes of
'Squire Brookhouse were boring me clean through.
“Thank you,” said Bethel, after this pause, and without
again glancing at me. “You are very good.”
“We seem to be especially honored by rogues of various
sorts,” went on the 'squire. “Of course you have heard
of last night's work, and of my loss.”
The doctor bowed his head. - - -
“This thing is becoming intolerable,” went on the usually
silent man, “and I intend to make a stanch fight. If it's
in the power of the detectives, I mean to have my horses
back.”
“You will bestow a blessing upon the community if you
succeed in capturing the thieves,” said Bethel.
Then the 'squire turned toward me, saying:





'SQUIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 161
“We are a victimized community, sir. I suppose you
have found that out?”
“Judging from the events of yesterday and last night, I
should think so,” I replied, with an air of indifferent in-
terest. “From the conversation I heard at the hotel to-
day, I infer that this thieving business is no new thing.”
“No new thing, sir.”
I had no desire to participate in the conversation, so
made no further comment, and the 'squire turned again to
Bethel.
“I suppose you intend to investigate this matter?”
Bethel looked up to the maple, and down at the grass.
“I have scarcely decided,” he replied, slowly. “I have
hardly had time to consider.”
“Ah! I supposed, from what I heard in the town, that
you had made a decided stand.”
“So far as this, I have,” replied Bethel, gravely. “I
am determined not to let these underminers succeed in their
purpose.”
“Then you have fathomed their purpose?”
“I suppose it is to drive me from Trafton?”
“You intend to remain 2”
“Most assuredly. I shall reside and practice in Trafton
so long as I have one patient left who has faith in me.”
“That would be an unprofitable game—financially.”
“I think not, in the end.”
Again the 'squire seemed at a loss for words,
11


162 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I hugged myself with delight. The dialogue pleased me.
“I like your spirit,” he said, at length. “I should also
like to see this matter cleared up.” He rose slowly, pull-
ing his hat low down over his cavernous eyes. “I have
sent for detectives,” he said, slightly lowering his tone.
“Of course I wish their identity and whereabouts to remain
a secret among us. If you desire to investigate and wish
any information or advice from them, or if I can aid you
in any way, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Dr. Bethel thanked him warmly, assuring him that if he
had need of a friend he would not forget his very gener-
ously proffered service, and, with his solemn face almost
funereal in its expression, 'Squire Brookhouse bowed to me,
and, this time escorted by Bethel, walked slowly toward
the gate.
A carriage came swiftly down the road from the direc-
tion of the village. It halted just as they had reached the
gate.
I saw a pale face look out, and then Squire Brookhouse
approached and listened to something said by this pale-faced
occupant. Meantime Bethel, without waiting for further
words with 'Squire Brookhouse, came back to his seat under
the trees.
In a moment the carriage moved on, going rapidly as
before, and the 'squire came back through the little gate
and approached the doctor, wearing now upon his face a
look of unmistakable sourness.


'SQUIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 163
“Doctor,” he said, in his sharpest staccato, “my young-
est scapegrace has met with an accident, and is going home
with a crippled leg. I don’t know how bad the injury is,
but you had better come at once; he seems in great dis-
tress.”
The doctor turned to me with a hesitating movement
which I readily understood. He was loth to leave our in-
terrupted conversation unfinished for an indefinite time.
Iarose at once.
“Don’t let my presence interfere with your duties,” I
said. “You and I can finish our smoke to-morrow,
doctor.”
He shot me a glance which assured me that he compre-
hended my meaning.
Five minutes later, Dr. Bethel and 'Squire Brookhouse
were going up the hill toward the house of the latter, while
I, still smoking, sauntered in the opposite direction, lazily,
as beseemed an idle man.
I felt very well satisfied just then, and was rather glad
that my disclosure to the doctor had been interrupted. A
new thought had lodged in my brain, and I wished to con-
sult Carnes.
Just at sunset, while I sat on the piazza of the hotel,
making a pretence of reading the Trafton Weekly News, I
saw Charlie Harris, the operator, coming down the street
with a yellow envelope in his hand.
He came up the steps of the hotel, straight to me, and I


164 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
noted a mischievous smile on his face as he proffered the
envelope, saying:
“I am glad to find you so easily. I should have felt it
my duty to ransack the town in order to deliver that.”
I opened the telegram in silence, and read these words:
The widow B. is in town and anxious to see you. T. C.
Then I looked up into the face of young Harris, and
smiled in my turn.
“Harris,” I said, “this is a very welcome piece of news,
and I am much obliged to you.”
“I knew you would be,” laughed the jolly fellow. “I
love to serve the ladies. And what shall I say in return?”
“Nothing, Harris,” I responded. “I shall go by the
first train; the widow here referred to, is a particular friend
of mine.”
Harris elevated his eyebrows.
“In dead earnest, aren't you? Tell me—I’ll never,
never give you away, is she pretty ?”
“Pretty " I retorted; “Harris, I’ve a mind to knock
you down, for applying such a weak word to her. She's
magnificent.”
“Whew,” he exclaimed, “It’s a bad case, then. When
shall we see you again in Trafton ?”
“That depends upon the lady. I’ll never leave the city
while she desires me to stay.”
After a little more banter of this sort, Harris returned


’squIRE BROOKHOUSE MAKES A CALL. 165
to his duties, and I went up-stairs, well pleased with the
manner in which he had interpreted my Chief's telegram,
and wondering not a little what had brought the widow
Ballou to the city.
Carnes and I had another long talk that night, while
waiting the time for the arrival of the city express.
I told him that I was called to the city in the interest
of the case I had abandoned after getting my wound, and
that unless my continued presence there was absolutely in-
dispensable, I would return in three days, at the farthest.
I gave him a detailed account of my visit to Bethel, with
its attendant circumstances. -
“Bethel will hardly make a decided move in the matter
for a day or two, I think,” I said, after we had discussed
the propriety of taking the doctor into our counsel. “I
will write him a note which you shall deliver, and the rest
must wait.”
I wrote as follows:
DR. CARL BETHEL,
Dear Sir-Am just in receipt of a telegram which calls me to the
city. I go by the early train, as there is a lady in the case. Shall
return in a few days, I trust, and then hope to finish our interrupted
conversation. I think your success will be more probable and
speedy if you delay all action for the present.
This is in confidence. Yours fraternally, etc., etc.
“There,” I said, folding the note, “That is making the
truth tell a falsehood.” And I smiled as I pictured the


166 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“lady in the case,” likely to be conjured up by the imagi-
nations of Harris and Dr. Bethel, and contrasted her
charms with the sharp features, work-hardened hands, and
matter-of-fact head, of Mrs. Ballou.
Just ten minutes before twelve o’clock Carnes and my-
self dropped noiselessly out of our chamber window, leaving
a dangling rope to facilitate our return, and took our way
to the depot to watch for the expected experts.
Ten minutes later the great fiery eye of the iron horse
shone upon us from a distance, disappeared behind a curve,
re-appeared again, and came beaming down to the little
platform.
The train halted for just an instant, then swept on its
way.
But no passengers were left upon the platform; our er-
rand had been fruitless; the detectives were still among
the things to be looked for.
The next morning, before daybreak, I was en route for
the city.


MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 167
CHAPTER XIV.
MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE.
Half an hour after my arrival in the city, I was seated
in the private office of our Chief, with Mrs. Ballou op-
posite me.
I had telegraphed from a way station, so that no time
might be lost. I found the Chief and the lady awaiting
me; and, at the first, he had signified his wish that I
should listen to her story, and then give him my version
of it.
“She seems ill at ease with me,” he said, “and frankly
told me that she preferred to make her statement to you.
Go ahead, Bathurst; above all we must retain her con-
fidence.”
Mrs. Ballou looked careworn, and seemed more nervous
than I had supposed it in her nature to be.
She looked relieved at sight of me, and, as soon as we
were alone, plunged at once into her story, as if anxious to
get it over, and hear what I might have to say.
This is what she told me in her own plain, concise, and
very sensible language, interrupted now and then by my


168 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
brief questions, and her occasional moments of silence, while
I transferred something to my note-book.
“I presume you have wanted to know what I did with
that letter I took,” she began, smiling a little, probably in
recollection of her adroit theft. “I will tell you why I
took it. When you first showed it to me, the printed letters
had a sort of familiar look, but I could not think where I
had seen them. During the night it seemed to come to
me, and I got up and went into the parlor.” Here she
hesitated for a moment, and then went on hurriedly:
“Grace—my girl, you know—has a large autograph album;
she brought it home when she came from the seminary,
and everybody she meets that can scratch with a pen, must
write in it. I found this precious album, and in it I found
—this.”
She took from her pocket-book a folded paper and put
it in my hand. It was a leaf torn from an album, and it
contained a sentimental couplet, printed in large, bold
letters.
I looked at the bit of paper, and then muttering an ex-
cuse, went hurriedly to the outer office. In a moment I
was back, holding in my hand the printed letter of warning,
which I had confided to the care of my Chief.
I sat down opposite Mrs. Ballou with the two documents
before me, and scrutinized them carefully.
They were the same. The letter of warning was penciled,
and bore evidence of having been hastily done; the album


MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 169
lines were in ink carefully executed and elaborately finished,
but the lettering was the same. Making allowances for the
shading, the flourishes, and the extra precision of the one,
and looking simply at the formation of the letters, the
height, width, curves, and spacing of both, and the resem-
blance was too strong to pass for a mere coincidence.
I studied the two papers thoughtfully for a few moments,
then looked at Mrs. Ballou.
“You should have told me of this at once,” I began;
but she threw up her hand impatiently.
“Wait,” she - said, with almost her ordinary brusque-
ness, seeming to lose her nervousness as she became ab-
sorbed in the task of convincing me that she thoroughly
understood herself. “There was no time to compare the
writing that night. I had not decided what to do, and I
was not sure then that they were the same. I left the
album, just as I found it, and went out and harnessed the
horses. While I was helping you with your coat, I man-
aged to get the letter.”
“You were certainly very adroit,” I said. “Even now
I can recall no suspicious movements of yours.”
“I made none,” she retorted. “I saw where you put
the letter, and it was easy to get it while helping you.”
She paused a moment, then went on:
“When I went home, after driving you to the station,
everybody was asleep. I knew they would be; I always
have to wake them all, from Fred to the hired girl. I
*8


170 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
waked them as usual that morning, told them that I had
discharged you for impertinence, and for abusing the horses,
and that settled the matter. In the afternoon the girls
went over to Morton's; it's only a mile across the fields,
and a clear path. I made up my mind that I'd have them
safe back again before dark, and I knew where I could
get a good man to take your place; he was high-priced,
but I knew he was to be trusted, and I had made up my
mind to keep a close eye on the girls, and to send some one
with them wherever they went. After they were gone, I
took the album to my room, locked Fred out, and compared
the letter with the album verse. I thought the writing
was the same.” -
She hesitated a moment, brushed her handkerchief across
her lips, and then went on.
“I didn’t know what to do, nor what to think-—my first
thought was to send for you, then I became frightened. I
did not know what you might trace out, with this clue, and
I did not know how it might affect my daughter. Grace is
lively, fond of all kinds of gayety, especially of dancing.
She is always surrounded with beaux, always has half a
dozen intimate girl friends on hand, and is constantly on
the go. There are so many young people about Grove-
land that picnics, neighborhood dances, croquet parties,
buggy rides, etc., are plenty; and then, Grace often has
visitors from Amora.”
“Where is Amora?” I interrupted.


MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 171
“It is about twenty-five miles from Groveland. Grace
went to school at Amora.”
I made an entry in my note-book, and then asked:
“Is there a seminary in Amora?”
“Yes.”
“How long since your daughter left Amora, Mrs.
Ballou ?”
“She was there during the Winter term.”
“Yes. Did Nellie Ewing ever attend school at Amora?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Mrs. Ballou moved uneasily.
“Nellie and Grace were room-mates last Winter,” she
replied.
“And Mamie Rutger? Was she there, too?”
“She began the Winter term, but was expelled.”
“Expelled! For what?”
“For sauciness and disobedience. Mamie was a spoiled
child, and not fond of study.”
I wrote rapidly in my note-book, and mentally anathe-
matized myself, and my employers in the Ewing-Rutger
case. Why had I not learned before that Nellie Ewing
and Mamie Rutger were together at Amora? Why had
their two fathers neglected to give me so important a piece
of information? -
Evidently they had not thought of this fact in connec-
tion with the disappearance of the two girls, or the fact


172 OUT OF A 1ABYRINTH.
that Mamie was expelled from the school may have kept
Farmer Rutger silent.
I closed my note-book and asked.
“Did any other young people from Groveland attend
the Amora school? Try and be accurate, Mrs. Ballou.”
“Not last Winter,” she replied; “at least, no other girls.
Johnny La Porte was there.”
“Who is Johnny La Porte?”
“His father is one of our wealthiest farmers. Johnny
is an only son. He is a good-looking boy, and a great
favorite among the young people.”
“Do you know his age?”
“Not precisely; he is not more than twenty or twenty-
one.”
“Where is Johnny La Porte at present?”
“At home, on his father's farm.”
“Now, Mrs. Ballou, tell me who is Miss Amy Holmes?”
She started and flushed.
“Another school friend,” she replied, in a tone which
said plainly, “the bottom is reached at last.”
Evidently she expected some comment, but I only said:
“One more, Mrs. Ballou, why have you held back this
bit of paper until now?”
“I am coming to that,” she retorted, “when you have
done with your questions.”
“I have finished. Proceed now.”
Once more she began:


MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 173
“I was worried and anxious about the papers, but, on
second thought, I determined to know something more before
I saw or wrote you. I did not think it best to ask Grace
any questions; she is an odd child, and very quick to sus-
pect anything unusual, and it would be an unusual thing
for me to seem interested in the autographs. It was two
days before I found out who wrote the lines in the album.
I complained of headache that day, and Grace took my
share of the work herself. Amy was in the parlor reading
a novel. I went in and talked with her a while, then I
began to turn over the leaves of the album. When I
came to the printed lines, I praised their smoothness, and
then I carelessly asked Amy if she knew what the initials
A. B. stood for. She looked up at me quickly, glanced at
the album, hesitated a moment as if thinking, and then
said: ‘Oh, that's Professor Bartlett's printing, I think,
his first name is Asa. He is an admirable penman.’
“I don’t think Amy remembered the lines, or she would
not have said that. I don’t think Professor Bartlett would
begin an album verse: ‘I drink to the eyes of my school-
mate, Grace. I knew that Amy had told a falsehood, and
I watched her. She took the first opportunity, when she
thought I did not see her, to whisper something to Grace.
I saw that Grace looked annoyed, but Amy laughed, and
the two seemed to agree upon something.
“I thought I would come to the city the next day, but
in the morning my boy was very sick; he was sick for


174 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
more than two weeks, and I had no time to think of any-
thing else. Amy helped Grace, and was so kind and
useful that I almost forgave her for telling me a fib. I
had sent your letter back during Fred's illness, and, when
he began to mend, I thought the matter over and over. I
knew it would be useless to question Grace, and I did not
know what harm or scandal I might bring upon my own
daughter by bringing the matter to your notice. I tried
to convince myself that the similarity of the printing was
accidental, and, as I had not the letter to compare with the
album, it was easier to believe so. I concluded to wait,
but became very watchful.
“One night Fred brought in the mail; there was a letter
for Amy; she opened it and began to read, then she uttered
a quick word, and looked much pleased. I saw an anxious
look on my girl's face and caught a glance that passed be-
tween them. By and by they both went up-stairs, and in
a few minutes I followed, and listened at the door of their
I'OOm.
“Amy was reading her letter to Grace. I could tell that
by the hum of her voice, but I could not catch a word,
until Grace exclaimed, sharply, ‘What! the 17th?’ ‘Yes,
the 17th, hush, Amy answered, and then went on with
her reading. I could not catch a single word more, so I
went back down-stairs. It was then about the ninth of the
month, and I thought it might be as well to keep my eyes
open on the 17th, though it might have meant last month,


MRS. BALLOU’s PISTOL PRACTICE. 175
or any other month, for all I could guess. After that Amy
seemed in better spirits than usual, and Grace was gay and
nervous by turns. On the 17th the girls stayed in their
room, as usual—that was four days ago.”
She paused a moment, during which my eyes never left
her face; she sighed heavily, and resumed:
“I felt fidgety all day, as if something was going to
happen. I expected to see the girls preparing for com-
pany, or to go somewhere, but they did no such thing.
When evening came, they went to their room earlier than
usual, but I sat up later than I often do. It was almost
eleven o’clock when I went up-stairs, and then I could not
sleep. I stopped and listened again at the door of the
girls' room, but could hear nothing. They might both
have been asleep.”
“It was very warm, and I threw open my shutters, and
sat down by the window, thinking that I was not sleepy,
and, of course, I fell asleep. All at once something awoke
me. I started and listened; in a moment I heard it again;
it was the snort of a horse. There was no moon, and the
shrubbery and trees made the front yard, from the gate to
the house, very dark. As I heard no wheels nor hoofs,
of course I knew that the horse was standing still, and the
sound came from the front. I sat quite still and listened
hard. By and by I heard something else. This time it
was a faint rustling among the bushes below—it was not
enough to have aroused even a light sleeper, but I was wide


176 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
awake, and all ears. Somebody is creeping through my
rose bushes, I said to myself, then tip-toed to my bureau,
got out the pistol you gave me, and slipped out, and down-
stairs, as still as a mouse.
“The girls slept in a room over the parlor, and their
windows faced west and south; mine faced north and west,
so you see I had no view, from my bed-room, of the south
windows of their room. The croquet ground was on the
South side of the house, and there was a bit of vacant lawn
in front of the parlor, also. The windows below were all
closed and so I could not hear the rustling any more.
“Isat down by one of the parlor windows and peeped out.
Presently I saw something come out from among the
bushes; it was a man; and he came into the open space
carrying a ladder. Then I knew what the rustling meant.
He had taken the ladder from the big harvest-apple tree
in front, where the girls had put it that afternoon, and was
bringing it toward the house.
“The man stopped opposite the south windows of the
girls' room, and began to raise the ladder. Then I knew
what to do. I slipped the pistol into my pocket, went out
through the dining-room, unbolted the back door as
quietly as I could, crept softly to the south corner of the
house, and peeped around. The ladder was already up,
and somebody was climbing out of the window, while the
man steadied the ladder. It was one of the girls, but I
could not tell which, so I waited. When she stood upon


MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 177
the ground not ten feet away from me, I knew by her
height that it was Grace, and Amy had started down be-
fore Grace was off the ladder. Just then the man stepped
back, so that I had a fair chance at him. I took aim as
well as I could, and fired. - - -
“The man yelled. Grace screamed and tumbled over
on the grass, just as I expected her to. Amy Holmes
jumped from the ladder, ran to the man, and said, “quick!
come!” I fired again, and Grace raised herself suddenly
with such a moan that I thought in my haste I had hit her.
“I threw down the pistol, ran and picked her up as if
she were a baby, and took her around to the back door.
By the time I found out that she was not hurt, and had
got back to the ladder, the man and Amy were gone, and
I heard a buggy going down the road at a furious rate.”
She paused and sighed deeply, looked at me for a moment,
and then, as I made no effort to break the silence, she re-
sumed:
“It’s not a pleasant story for a mother to tell concerning
her own daughter, but when I think of Nellie Ewing I
Know that it might accidentally have been worse. -
“I commanded Grace to tell me the whole truth. She
cried, and declared that she was under oath not to tell.
After a little she grew calmer, and then told me that she
meant no harm. Amy had a lover who was not a favorite
with her guardian, who lives somewhere South. Amy was
about to run away and be married, and Grace was to ac-
12


178 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
company her as a witness. They both expected to besafely
back before daylight. Of course I did not believe this, and
I told her so. Her actions after that made me wish that I
had not disputed her story. I have used every argument,
and I am convinced that nothing more can be got out of
Grace. She is terribly frightened and nervous, but she is
stubborn as death. Whatever the truth is, she is afraid to
tell it.”
“And Miss Holmes; what more of her?”
“Nothing more; she went away in the buggy with the
others.”
“The others?”
“Yes; I am sure there were two, for I found the place
where the buggy stood waiting. It was not at the gate,
but further south. There was a ditch between the wheel
marks and the fence, and nothing to tie to. Some one must
have been holding the horses.”
“And this is all you know about the business?”
“Yes, everything.”
“Where is your daughter now?”
“At home, under lock and key, with a trusty hired man
to stand guard over her and the house until I get back, and
with Freddy and the hired girl for company.”
“Does she know why you came to the city?”
“Not she. I told her I was coming to make arrange-
ments for putting her to school at a convent, and I intend
to do it, too.”


Ø| |
||
|
|-!Ż
!
-%-
“Just then the man stepped back, so that I had a fair chance at
him. I took aim as well as I could, and fired.”—page 177.






179


*


MRs. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 181
Making no comment on this bit of maternal discipline, I
again had recourse to my note-book.
“You are fixed in your desire not to have your daughter
further interviewed ?” I asked, presently.
“I am,” she replied. “I don’t think it would do any
good, and she is not fit to endure any more excitement. I
expect to find her sick in bed when I get home.”
“Do you think your shot injured the man?”
“I know it did,” emphatically. “I aimed at his legs,
intending to hit them, and I did it. He never gave such
a screech as that from sheer fright; there was pain in it.
Amy must have helped him to the carriage.”
“Is this escapade known among your neighbors?”
“No. I hushed it up at home, giving my girl and hired
man a different story to believe. I could not get away by
the morning train from Sharon, and so started the next
evening. I left them all at home with Grace, and
drove alone to Sharon, leaving my horse at the stable
there.” -
“You certainly acted very wisely, although I regret the
delay. Miss Holmes and her two cavaliers have now nearly
four days the start of us. Did you notice the size of the
man at the ladder?”
“Yes; he was not a large man, if anything a trifle be-
low the medium height.”
“You think, then, that Miss Holmes made a willful effort
to deceive you, when she told you that the album verse was


182 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
written by Professor Bartlett? By-the-by, is there a Pro-
fessor Asa Bartlett at Amora?”
“Yes, he is the Principal. If you could see him, you
would never accuse him of having written a silly verse
like that. I am sure Amy meant to deceive me, and I am
sure that she posted Grace about it, in case I should ask
her.”
“But you did not ask her ?”
“No. One does not care to make one's own child tell
an unnecessary lie. Grace would have stood by Amy, no
doubt.”
It was growing late in the afternoon. There was much
to do, much to think over, and no time to lose. I was not
yet prepared to give Mrs. Ballou the benefit of my opinion,
as regarded her daughter's escapade, so I arranged for a
meeting in the evening, promising to have my plans de-
cided upon and ready to lay before her at that time.
She wished, if possible, to return home on the following
day, and I told her that I thought it not only possible, but
advisable that she should do so.
Then I called a carriage, saw her safely ensconced therein,
en route for her hotel, and returned to my Chief.
I had now two interests. I much desired to arrive at
the bottom of the Groveland mystery, and thought, with
the information now in hand, that this was quite possible;
and I also desired to remain at my post among the Traf-
tonites. I at once decided upon my course. I would tell


MRS. BALLOU's PISTOL PRACTICE. 183
my Chief Mrs. Ballou's story, and then I would give him
a brief history of our sojourn in Trafton and its motive.
After that, we would decide how to act.
There was no pause for rest or food, or thought, until I
had given my Chief a history of Mrs. Ballou's vigil and
excellent pistol exploit, and followed this up by the story
of my Trafton experience.
His first comment, after he had listened for an hour
most attentively, brought from my lips a sigh of relief; it
was just what I longed to hear.
“Well, you need have no fear sofar as this office is con-
cerned. 'Squire Brookhouse has not called for its services.


184 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XV.
PREPARATIONS OF WAR.
“Bathurst,” my Chief said, settling back in his chair,
and eyeing me with great good humor, “I don’t see but that
you are getting on swimmingly, and I don’t feel inclined
to dictate much. Your Groveland affair is looking up.
You may have as many men as you need to look after that
business. As for Trafton, I think you and Carnes have
made good use of your holiday. I think you have struck
something rich, and that you had better remain there, and
work it up; or, if you prefer to go to Groveland yourself,
return there as soon as possible.”
“I am glad to hear you talk as I think,” I replied. “I
believe that Trafton is ripe for an explosion, and I confess
that, just at present, I am more interested in Trafton
than in Groveland, besides
In my report from
Groveland, you may remember that I mentioned going
to the station to fetch Miss Amy Holmes?”
44 Yes.”
“And that this young lady was accompanied on that
day by a handsome young gentleman?”
“Yes.” -


PREPARATIONS OF WAR. 185
“Well, I have since made the acquail lance of this
young man.”
“Ah !”
“At first I thought it only a coincidence, and dismissed
the matter from my mind. Since I have heard Mrs.
Ballou's story, a queer thought has entered my head.”
“Explain.”
“This young gallant, whom I first saw in the company
of the runaway Miss Holmes, is Mr. Arch, or Archibald
Brookhouse, of Trafton.”
“I see,” thoughtfully.
“And the initials following that album verse are A. B.”
“A. B. Archibald Brookhouse! There may be some-
thing in it, but should you feel justified in suspecting this
young man as the possible author of your anonymous
letter 2” -
“If he is the writer of the album lines, yes.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“First,” said I, “we must call in the dummy.”
& 4 Yes.”
“Then I want a good man to go to Groveland in search
of information. I want him to find out all that he can
concerning the character of this Johnny La Porte, who
attended school at Amora, and was a fellow-student with
Nellie Ewing, Mamie Rutger, and Grace Ballou.”
“Good.”
“Then he must learn if any of the Groveland youths


186 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
have become lame since last Sunday, and if any of these
same gentry was missing, or absent from home, during the
night of the 17th, for, of course, Miss Amy Holmes being
on his hands, the driver of the carriage which Mrs. Ballou
routed that night must have been absent sometime, if he be-
longed in the community. He surely had to dispose of
Miss Holmes in some way.”
“Do you think it probable that some Groveland Lothario
was mixed up in this elopement business?”
“I think it not improbable. The first search was made,
seemingly, upon the supposition that all Groveland was
above suspicion, and that search failed. I intend to hold
all Groveland Lotharios upon my list of suspected crimi-
nals until they are individually and collectively proven
innocent.”
“Quite right.”
“On second thought we had better let the dummy re-
main until we have put a new man in the field; by this
time he must know something about the people he is among.
Who can you send to Groveland?”
“Wyman, I think.”
“Capital; Wyman is good at this sort of thing. He
had better present himself in person to our dummy, hear
all that he can tell, and then deliver your letter of recall,
and see him safely on his way to the city before he has
-
time to open his mouth for the benefit of any one else.”
“Very good; Wyman is at your disposal.”


188 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
gallantry. But when you consider that he seemed equally
well known to both young ladies, that Sharon is a small
town, and a dull one, and that Miss Holmes came from
Amora that morning, is it not just as probable that Mr.
Brookhouse traveled from Trafton to Amora for the pur-
pose of escorting Miss Holmes to Sharon? Now, young
men of our day are not much given to acts of courtesy ex-
tending over sixty miles of railroad; therefore, if Arch
Brookhouse visited Sharon for the sole purpose of meeting
these two young ladies, and basking in their society for a
brief half hour, it is fair to presume that he is more than
ordinarily interested in one of them.”
“You are right, Bathurst; at least it would seem so.”
“Now let me tell you all that I know concerning the
Brookhouses.”
Once more I gave a minute description of my first meet-
ing with Arch Brookhouse, and of the second, when I
recognized him at Trafton. Then I told him of my inter-
view with the telegraph operator, of the telegram sent by
Fred Brookhouse from New Orleans, and of the reply sent
by Arch, and last I told him how Louis Brookhouse had
come home, accompanied by another young man, on the day
after the attempted flight of Grace Ballou, and how Dr.
Bethel had been called upon to attend him, he having met
with an accident.
My Chief stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“I see,” he said, slowly, “you have some nice points


PREPARATIONS OF WAR. 189
of circumstantial evidence against these young gentlemen.
How do you propose to use them?”
“First, I must know what motive took Arch Brook-
house to Sharon, and find out if either of the Brookhouse
brothers have been students at Amora. I want therefore
to send a second man to Amora.”
“Very good.”
“If I find that either, or both, of the younger brothers
have been fellow-students with Grace Ballou, and the
missing girls, then I shall wish to extend my search.”
“To New Orleans?” -
“To New Orleans.”
“Is there anything more?”
“Yes; one thing. If Carnes goes to New Orleans Ishall
want a telegraph operator in Trafton.”
“Then you wish to remain in Trafton?”
“Yes, and this takes me back to the other matter. I
quite expected that a man like 'Squire Brookhouse would
have called upon you for help. If he has employed men
from either of the other offices, we can easily find out who
they are.” -
“Easily.”
“I shall wish to inform myself on this point, and if
possible, return to Trafton to-morrow night. I am to see
Mrs. Ballou again to-night; now I think I will have some
supper.”
I arose, but stood, for a moment, waiting for any word


190 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
of command or suggestion my Chief might, have to
offer.
He sat for many seconds, seemingly oblivious of my
presence. Then he looked up.
“I shall make no suggestions,” he said, waving his hand
as if to dismiss both the subject and myself. “I will in-
struct Wyman and Earle at once. When you come in after
seeing Mrs. Ballou, you will find them at your disposal,
and give yourself no trouble about those other detectives.
I will attend to that.” *
I thanked him and withdrew. This curt sentence from
the lips of my Chief was worth more to me than volumes
of praise from any other source, for it convinced me that
he not only trusted me, but that he approved my course
and could see none better.
I saw Mrs. Ballou again that evening, and put to her
some questions that not only amazed her, but seemed to
her most irrelevant, but while she answered without fully
comprehending my meaning or purpose, some of her re-
plies were, to me, most satisfactory.
After I had heard all that she could tell me concerning
Mr. Johnny La Porte, I gave her a minute description of
Arch Brookhouse, and ended by asking if she had ever
seen any one who answered to that description.
I was puzzled, but scarcely surprised, at her answer,
which came slowly and after considerable reflection.
Yes, she had seen such a young man; I had described


PREPARATIONS OF WAR. 191
him exactly. She had seen him twice. He came to her
house in company with Ed. Dwight. Dwight was an agent
for various sewing machines; he was a jolly, good-natured
fellow, very much liked by all the young Grovelanders; he
had traveled the Groveland route for two years, perhaps
three. He was quite at home at Mrs. Ballou's, and, in fact,
anywhere where he had made one or two visits. The young
man I had described had been over the Groveland route
twice with Ed. Dwight, each time stopping for dinner
at Mrs. Ballou's. His name, she believed, was Brooks,
and he had talked of setting up as an agent on his own
responsibility.
Did she know Mr. Dwight's place of residence?
He lived on the C. & L. road, somewhere between
Sharon and Amora. Mrs. Ballou could not recall the name
of the town.
I did not need that she should; a sewing machine
agent whose name I knew, and who lived somewhere
between Amora and Sharon, would not be difficult to
find.
“How did Mr. Dwight travel?”
“In a very nice covered wagon, and with a splendid
team.”
“How long since Mr. Brooks and Mr. Dwight paid a
visit to Groveland 2”
Mrs. Ballou thought it was fully six months since their
last visit,


192 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“That would be nearly two months before Mamie Rutger
and Nellie Ewing disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen Dwight since?”
“Oh, yes; he comes at stated times, as usual.”
It was growing late, and I was more than satisfied with
my interview with Mrs. Ballou. I advised her to keep
Grace for the present under her own eye and, promising
that she should see or hear from me soon, took my
leave.
Mrs. Ballou had announced her intention to return by
the morning train.
We could not be traveling companions, as I was not to
leave the city until afternoon.
Reaching my room I sat into the small hours looking
over my notes, jotting down new ones, smoking and
thinking.
The next morning I saw Wyman and Earle, gave
them full instructions, and arranged to receive their re-
ports at the earliest possible moment, by express, at
Trafton. -
At noon I was in possession of all that could be learned
concerning the identity of the detectives employed by
'Squire Brookhouse. No officer of any of the regular
forces had been employed. Mr. Brookhouse had proba-
bl obtained the services of private detectives.
Private detectives, of more or less ability, are numerous


*REPARATIONS OF WAR. 193
in the city, and I was personally known to but few of these
independent experts. Most of those eould be satisfactorily
accounted for, and I turned my face toward Trafton, feel-
ing that there was little danger of being “spotted” by a
too knowing brother officer.
13 *9


194 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
CHAPTER XVI.
FLY CROOKS IN TRAFTON.
My train, which left the city early in the afternoon,
would arrive in Trafton at midnight. Foreseeing a long
and, in my then state of mind, tedious ride, I had armed
myself with a well-filled cigar case, and several copies of
the latest editions of the city papers, and we had not been
long on the wing before I turned my steps toward the
smoking car, biting off the end of a weed as I went.
A group of four, evidently countrymen, were just be-
ginning a game of cards. I took a seat opposite them and
idly watched their progress, while I enjoyed my cigar.
Presently agentleman from the front, seemingly attracted
by their hilarity, arose and sauntered down the aisle, taking
up his station behind the players, and quietly overlooking
the game.
He did not glance at me, as he passed, but, from my
lounging position, I could watch his face and study it at my
leisure. At the first glance it struck me as being familiar;
I had seen the man before, but where? Slowly, as I looked,
the familiarity resolved itself into identity, and then I
watched him with growing interest, and some wonder.


FLY CROOKS IN TRAFTON. 195
Seven months ago, while working upon a criminal case, I
had made the acquaintance of this gentleman at a thieves'
tavern, down in the slums. I was, of course, safely dis-
guised at the time, and in an assumed character; hence I
had no fear of being recognized now.
“Dimber" Joe” had been doing Government service, in
consequence of his connection with a garroting escapade,
and had but just been released from “durance vile.” His
hair was then somewhat shorter than was becoming; his
face was unshaven, and his general appearance that of a
seedy, hard-up rascal. The person before me wore his hair
a little longer than the ordinary cut; his face was clean
shaven, his linen immaculate, and his dress a well-made
business suit, such as a merchant or banker abroad might
wear. But it was Dimber Joe.
Evidently fortune had dropped a few, at least, of her
favors at Dimber Joe's feet, but it was quite safe to con-
jecture that some one was so much the worse off for his
present prosperity.
What new mischief was on foot? for it was hardly likely
that Dimber Joe, late the associate of river thieves, was
now undertaking an honest journey.
I resolved to watch him closely while our way was the
same, and to give my Chief an account of our meeting, to-
gether with a description of Joe’s “get up,” at the first op-
portunity.
.* Handsome.


196 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Accordingly, I remained in the smoking car during the
entire journey, but no suspicious or peculiar movement, on
the part of Dimber Joe, rewarded my vigilance, until the
brakeman called Trafton, and we pulled into that station.
Then Dimber Joe arose, stretched himself, flung a linen
duster across his arm, and, swinging in his hand a small
valise, quitted the car, stepped down upon the shadowy
platform just ahead of me; and, while I was looking about
for Carnes, vanished in the darkness.
“Well, Carnes,” I said, when we were once more alone
in our room at the hotel, “what has happened? Have
you seen anything that looks like a detective?”
“Niver a wan,” he replied. “I’ve kept an open eye on
every train from both ways, but the only arrival in this
city, worth making mintion of, has been—who d'ye
think?”
“Myself, I suppose.”
“No, sir! Not a bit of it. It's a cove that means no
good to Trafton, you may depend. It's Blake Simpson,
and he's rooming in this very house.”
“Blake Simpson | are you sure ?”
“Av coorse I’m sure ! Did ye ever know me to miss a
face? I never saw the fellow before he came here, but I’ve
made the acquaintance of his phiz in the rogue's gallery.
He came yesterday ; he wears good togs, and is playing the
gentleman; you know he is not half a bad looking fellow,
and his manner is above suspicion. He is figuring as a


“Then Dimber Joe arose, stretched himself, flung a linen duster
across his arm, and, swinging in his hand a small valise, quitted the
car.”—page 196. 197





FLY CROOKS IN TRAFTON. 199
patent-right man, but he'll figure as something else before
we see the last of him in Trafton, depend upon it.”
Blake Simpson was known, at least by name, to every
man on the force. He was a mixture of burglar, street
robber, and panel-worker; and was a most dangerous
character.
“Carnes,” I said, slowly, “I am afraid some new mis-
fortune menaces Trafton, if, as you say, Blake Simpson is
is already here, for Dimber Joe came down on the train
to-night, and is in Trafton.”
Carnes uttered a long, low whistle. -
“Blake and Dimber Joe '" he said. “A fine pair,
sure enough; and in what shape does the Dimber come?”
“He comes well-dressed, and looking like a respectable
member of society.”
“Well,” with a prodigious yawn, “we got here first, and
we will try and sleep with one eye open while they stay in
Trafton. What did you learn about the Brookhouse in-
vestigation, Bathurst?”
I told him the result of our search among the city detec-
tives, and finished by saying :
“Probably the new debutants will be strangers, and will
not interfere with our movements. I wish I knew whether
Bethel will eventually decide to employ a detective. I
don’t think he is the man to let such a matter drop.”
“He won’t take it up for the present, I fancy. Dr.
Barnard is dangerously ill; was taken yesterday, very sud-


200 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
denly. They depend entirely upon Bethel; he is in con-
stant attendance. I heard Porter say that the old gentle-
man's case was a desperate one, and that a change for the
worse might be expected at any moment.”
I was sorry to hear such news of the jovial old doctor.
His was a life worth something to the community; but I
was not sorry to learn that an immediate interview with
Dr. Bethel could be staved off, without exciting wonder or
suspicion in his mind; for, since my visit to the city, I had
reconsidered my intention to confide in the doctor, and re-
solved to keep my own counsel, at least for the present.
Previous to my visit to the city, we had decided that it
was time to explore the south road, and also that it was de-
sirable to “get the measure” of Jim Long at the earliest
opportunity.
We settled upon the best method by which to accomplish
the former, and undertake the latter, object. And then
Carnes, who had been very alert and active during my
absence, and who was now very sleepy, flung himself upon
his bed to pass the few hours that remained of darkness in
slumber.
I had not yet opened up to him the subject of the Grove-
land operations, thinking it as well to defer the telling
until I had received reports from Wyman and Earle.
We had now upon our hands a superabundance of raw
material from which to work out some star cases. But,
just now, the Groveland affair seemed crowding itself to


FLY CROOKS IN TRAFTON. 201
the front, while the Trafton scourges, and the villainous
grave-robbers, seemed to grow more and more mysterious,
intangible, and past finding out.
The presence of Blake Simpson and Dimber Joe gave
me some uneasiness; but, guessing that their stay in Traf-
ton would be short, I resolved not to bring myself into
prominence by notifying the authorities of the presence of
two such dangerous characters, but rather to trust them to
Carnes' watchfulness while I passed a day, or more if
need be, in exploring the south road.
As I settled my head upon my pillow after a long med-
itation, I remembered that to-morrow would be Sunday,
and that Tuesday was the day fixed for Miss Manvers’
garden party.


202 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XVII.
SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE.
Early on the following morning I visited Trafton's best
livery stable, and procuring a good team and light buggy,
drove straight to Jim Long's cabin, intending to solicit his
companionship on my ride. But the cabin was deserted;
there was no sign of Jim about the premises; and, after
waiting impatiently for a few moments, and uttering one
or two resounding halloos, I resumed my journey alone.
I had manufactured a pretext for this journey, which
was to be confided to Jim by way of setting at rest any
wonder or doubt that my maneuvers might otherwise give
rise to, and I had intended to seize this opportunity for
sounding him, in order the better to judge whether it would
be prudent to take him into our confidence, in a less or
greater degree, as the occasion might warrant.
Such an ally as Jim would be invaluable, I knew; but,
spite of the fact that we had been much in his society, and
that we both considered ourselves, and were considered by
others, very good judges of human nature, neither Carnes
nor myself could say truly that we understood Jim Long.
His words were a mass of absurd contradictions, be-


SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE. 203
-
traying no trait of his undividuality, save his eccentricity;
and his face was, at all times, as unreadable as the sphinx.
When you turned from his contradictory words to read his
meaning in his looks, you felt as if turning from the gam-
bols of Puck to peer into a vacuum. -
Regretting the loss of Jim's society, as well as the op-
portunity it might possibly have afforded, I urged my
horses swiftly over the smooth sun-baked road, noting
the aspect of the country as we flew on.
Straight and level it stretched before me, with field,
orchard, and meadow on either hand; a cultivated prairie.
There were well-grown orchards, and small artificial groves,
rows of tall poplars, clumps of low-growing trees, planted
as wind breaks, hedges high and branching, low and closely
trimmed. But no natural timber, no belts of grove, no
thick undergrowth; nothing that might afford shelter for
skulking outlaws, or stolen quadrupeds.
The houses were plentiful, and not far apart. There were
the pretentious new dwellings of the well-to-do farmers,
and the humbler abodes of the unsuccessful land tiller, and
the renter. There were stacks, and barns, and granaries,
all honest in their fresh paint or their weather-beaten
dilapidation; no haven for thieves or booty here.
So for ten miles; then there was a stretch of rolling
prairie, but still no timber, and as thickly settled as before.
Fifteen miles from Trafton I crossed a high bridge that
spanned a creek almost broad enough and deep enough


204 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
to be called a river. On either side was a fringe of hazel
brush and a narrow strip of timber, so much thinned by
the wood cutter that great gaps were visible among the
trees, up and down, as far as the eye could see.
I watered my horses here, and drawing forth a powerful
field glass, which I had made occasional use of along the
route, surveyed the country. Nothing near or remote
seemed worthy of investigation.
Driving beneath some friendly green branches, I allowed
my horses to rest, and graze upon the tender foliage, while
I consulted a little pocket map of the country.
I had been driving directly south, and the C. & L. rail-
road ran from Trafton a little to the southwest. At a dis-
tance of eighteen miles from that town the railroad curved to
the south and ran parallel with the highway I was now travel-
ing, but at a distance of eight miles. Ten miles further
south and I would come upon the little inland village of
Clyde, and running due west from Clyde was a wagon road
straight to the railroad town of Amora.
I had started early and driven fast; consulting my watch
I found that it was only half-past ten.
I had intended to push my investigation at least twenty-
five miles south, and although I was already convinced
that no midnight raiders would be likely to choose as an
avenue of escape a highway so thickly dotted with houses,
many of them inconveniently near the road, and so in-
sufficient in the matter of hills and valleys, forest and


SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE. 205
sheltering underbrush. I decided to go on to Clyde, hop-
ing, if I failed in one direction, to increase my knowledge
in another.
I put away map and field glass, lit a fresh cigar, turned
my horses once more into the high road and pursued my
journey.
It was a repetition of the first ten miles; broad fields and
rich meadows, browsing cattle and honest-eyed sheep;
thickly scattered farm buildings, all upright and honest of
aspect; the whole broad face of the country seemed laugh-
ing my investigations to scorn.
When I found myself within sight of Clyde I stopped
my team, having first assured myself that no spectator was
in sight and selected from the roadside a small, round peb-
ble. Looking warily about me a second time, I inserted
it between the hoof and shoe of the most docile of the two
horses.
It was an action that would have brought me into dis-
favor with the great Bergh, but in the little game I was
about to play, the assistance which a lame horse could ren-
der seemed necessary.
I promised the martyr a splendid rub down and an
extra feed as a compensation, and we moved on slowly
toward our destination, the near horse limping painfully,
and his comrade evidently much amazed, and not a little
disgusted, at this sudden change of gait.
The little village of Clyde was taking its noontide nap


206 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
when I drove down its principal street, and I felt like a
wolf in Arcadia; all was so peaceful, so clean, so prim and
so silent.
A solitary man emerging from a side street roused me
to action. I drove forward and checked my horses directly
before him.
Could I find a livery stable in the town 2 And was
there such a thing as a hotel?
Yes, there was a sort of a stable, at least anybody could
get a feed at Larkins' barn, and he kept two or three
horses for hire. As for a hotel, there it was straight ahead
of me; that biggish house with the new blinds on it.
Being directed to Larkins', I thanked my informant,
and was soon making my wants known to Larkins him-
self.
Thinking it quite probable that the hired team which I
drove might be known to some denizen of Clyde, I at once
announced myself as from Trafton; adding, that I had
driven out toward Clyde on business, and, being told that
I could reach Baysville by a short cut through or near
Clyde, I had driven on, but one of my horses having sud-
denly become lame, I had decided to rest at Clyde, and
then return to Trafton. I had been told that Baysville
was not more than seven miles from Clyde.
It is scarcely necessary to state that I had really no in-
tention of visiting Baysville, and that my map had in-
formed me as to its precise location.


SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE. 207
The truth was that I had dropped for the moment the
Trafton case, and had visited Clyde in the interest of
Groveland, thinking it not unlikely that this little hamlet,
being so near Amora, might be within the area traversed
by Mr. Ed. Dwight, the sewing machine agent.
He was said to live somewhere between Amora and
Sharon, perhaps here I could learn the precise location of
his abiding place.
Leaving my tired horses to the care of Larkins, I next
bent my steps towards the commodious dwelling which did
duty as hotel. There was no office, but the sitting-room,
with its homely rag carpet, gaudy lithographs, old fashioned
rocker, and straight-backed “cane seats,” was clean and
cool. There was a small organ in one corner, a sewing
machine in another, and an old fashioned bureau in a
third.
A little girl, of fourteen years or less, entered the room
timidly, followed by two younger children. She took from
the bureau a folded cloth, snowy and smooth, and left the
room quietly, but the younger ones, less timid, and perhaps
more curious, remained.
Perching themselves uncomfortably upon the extreme
edges of two chairs, near together but remote from me,
they blinked and stared perseveringly, until I broke the
silence and set them at their ease by commencing a lively
conversation.
The organ was first discussed, then the sewing machine


208 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
furnished a fresh topic. After a time my dinner was
served: but, during the half-hour of waiting, while my
hostess concocted yellow soda biscuit, and fried monstrous
slices of ham, I had gathered, from my seemingly careless
chatter with the children, some valuable information.
While I ate my dinner, I had leisure to consider what I
had heard.
My hostess had not purchased her sewing machine of
Ed. Dwight, but he had been there to repair it; besides, he
always stopped there when making his regular journeys
through Clyde. They all liked Dwight, the children had
declared; he could play the organ, and he sang such funny
songs. He could dance, too, “like anything.” He lived
at Amora, but he had told their mother, when he had paid
his last visit, that he intended to sell out his route soon,
and go away. He was going into another business.
If Mr. Dwight lived at Amora, then Mrs. Ballou had
misunderstood or been misinformed. She was the reverse
of stupid, and not likely to err in understanding. If she
had been misinformed, had it not been for some purpose?
The machine agent had talked of abandoning his present
business, and leaving the country shortly.
If this was true, then it would be well to know where
he was going, and what his new occupation was to be.
Before I had finished doing justice to my country din-
ner, I had decided how to act.
Returning to Larkins' stable I found that he had dis-


SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE. 209
covered the cause of my horse's lameness, and listened to
his rather patronizing discourse upon the subject of “halts
and sprains,” with due meekness, as well as a profound
consciousness that he had mentally set me down as a city
blockhead, shockingly ignorant of “horse lore,” and wholly
unfit to draw the ribbons over a decent beast.
He had been assisted to this conclusion by a neighboring
Qlydeite, who, much to my annoyance, had sauntered in,
and, recognizing not only the team, but myself, had volun-
teered the information that:
“Them was Dykeman's bays,” and that I was “a rich
city fellow that was stayin' at Trafton;” he had “seen me
at the hotel the last time he hauled over market stuff.”
Having ascertained my position in the mind of Mr.
Larkins, I consulted him as to the propriety of driving the
bays over to Amora and back that afternoon.
Larkins eyed me inquisitively.
“I’spose then you’ll want to get back to Trafton to-
night?” he queried.
Yes, I wanted to get back as soon as possible, but if
Larkins thought it imprudent to drive sofar with the team,
I would take fresh horses, if he had them to place at my
disposal. And then, having learned from experience that
ungratified curiosity, especially the curiosity of the country
bumpkin with a taste for gossip, is often the detective's
worst enemy, I explained that I had learned that the dis-
tance to Baysville was s' than I had supposed, and I


210 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
had decided to drive over to Amora to make a call upon
an acquaintance who was in business there.
Mr. Larkins manifested a desire to know the name of
my Amora acquaintance, and was promptly enlightened.
I wanted to call on Mr. Ed. Dwight, of sewing machine
fame.
And now I was the helpless victim in the hands of the
ruthless and inquisitive Larkins.
He knew Ed. Dwight “like a book.” Ed. always “put
up” with him, and he was a “right good fellow, any way
you could fix it.” In short, Larkins was ready and will-
ing to act as my pilot to Amora; he had “got a flyin' span
of roans,” and would drive me over to Amora in “less,
than no time”; he “didn’t mind seeing Ed. himself,” etc.,
etc.
There was no help for it. Larkins evidently did not
intend to trust his roans to my unskilled hands, so I ac-
cepted the situation, and was soon bowling over the road
to Amora, téte-à-téte with the veriest interrogation point in
human guise that it was ever my lot to meet.
Larkins did not converse; he simply asked questions.
His interest in myself, my social and financial standing, my
occupation, my business or pleasure in Trafton, my past
and my future, was something surprising considering the
length, or more properly the brevity of our acquaintance.
Even my (supposed) relatives, near and remote, came in
for a share of his generous consideration.


SOUTHWARD TO CLYDE. 211
To have given unsatisfactory answers would have been
to provoke outside investigation.
A detective's first care should be to clear up all doubt or
uncertainty concerning himself. Let an inquisitive person
think that he knows a little more of your private history
than do his neighbors, and you disarm him; he has now
no incentive to inquiry. He may ventilate his knowledge
very freely, but by so doing he simply plays into your
hands.
If the scraps of family history, which I dealt out to
Larkins during that drive, astonished and edified that
worthy, they would have astonished and edified my most
intimate friend none the less.
By the time we had reached our destination, I was burst-
ing with merriment, and he, with newly acquired knowl-
edge. -
I had made no attempt to extract information concern-
ing Ed. Dwight, on the route. I hoped soon to interview
that gentleman in propriaepersonae, and any knowledge not
to be gained from the interview I could “sound” for on
the return drive.


212 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A SEWING MACHINE AGENT.
On arriving within sight of Amora, I had reason to
congratulate myself that I had brought Larkins along as
convoy.
Amora was by no means a city, but it was large enough
to make a search after Mr. Dwight a proceeding possibly
lengthy, and perhaps difficult.
Larkins knew all about it. We drove past the Semi-
nary, quite a large and imposing structure, surrounded by
neat and tastefully laid out grounds, through a cheery-
looking business street, and across a bridge, over a hill, and
thence down a street which, while it was clean, well built,
and thrifty of aspect, was evidently not the abode of Amora's
la beau monde. -
In another moment Larkins was pulling in his reins be-
fore a large, unpainted dwelling, in front of which stood a
pole embellished with the legend, “Boarding House.”
Several inquiring faces could be seen through the open
windows, and the squeak of an untuneful violin smote our
ears, as we approached the door.
Larkins, who seemed very much at home, threw open


A SEWING MACHINE AGENT, 213
the street door; we turned to the right, and were almost
instantly standing in a large, shabbily-furnished parlor.
Two of the aforementioned faces, carried on the shoulders
of two blowzy-looking young women, were vanishing
through a rear door, through which the tones of the violin
sounded louder and shriller than before. Three occupants
still remained in the room, and to one of these, evidently
the “landlady,” Larkins addressed himself.
“Good evening, Mrs. Cole. We want to see Ed. I hear
his fiddle, so I spose he can be seen ?”
Proffering us two hard, uninviting chairs, Mrs. Cole
vanished, and, through the half-closed door, we could hear
her voice, evidently announcing our presence, but the
violin and “Lannigan's Ball” went on to the end. Like
another musical genius known to fame, Mr. Dwight evi-
dently considered “music before all else.”
With the last note of the violin came the single syllable,
“Eh?” in a voice not unpleasant, but unnecessarily
loud.
Mrs. Cole repeated her former sentence; there was the
sound of some one rising, quick steps crossed the floor and,
as the door swung inward to admit Mr. Dwight, I advanced
quickly and with extended hand.
When he halted before me, however, I stepped back in
feigned surprise and confusion.
But Dwight was equal to the occasion. Before I could
drop or withdraw my hand, he seized it in his own large


214 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
palm, and shook it heartily, the most jovial of smiles light-
ing his face meanwhile. - -
“You’ve got the advantage of me, just now,” he said, in
the same loud, cheery tone we had heard from the kitchen,
“but I'm glad to see you, all the same. Larkins ! hallo,
Larkins, how are you,” and, dropping my hand as suddenly
as he had grasped it, Dwight turned to salute Larkins.
When their greeting was over, I stammered forth my ex-
planation.
I had made a mistake. Mr. DeWhyte must pardon it
Hearing at Clyde that a Mr. DeWhyte was living in Amora,
and that he was engaged in the sale of sewing machines,
I had supposed it to be none other than an old school friend
of that name, who, when last I heard of him, was general
agent for a city machime manufactory. It was a mistake
which I trusted Mr. DeWhyte would pardon. I then pre-
sented my card and retired within myself.
But the genial Dwight was once more “happy to know
me.” Shifting his violin, which he had brought into the
room, from underneath his left elbow, he rested it upon his
knee, and launched into a series of questions concerning my
suppositious friend, which resulted in the discovery that
their names, though similar, were not the same, and that
the existence of a Mr. Edward DeWhyte and of Ed.
Dwight, both following the same occupation, was not after
all a very remarkable coincidence, although one liable to
cause, mistakes like the one just made by me.


=s
-
==
#.
->
El
- *s
-
“When he halted before me, however, I stepped back in feigned
surprise and confusion.”—page 213.








215





A SEWING MACHINE, AGENT. 217
After this we were more at our ease. I proffered my
cigar case, and both Larkins and Dwight accepted weeds,
Dwight remarking, as he arose to take some matches from
a card-board match safe under the chimney, that, “smok-
ing was permitted in the parlor,” adding, as he struck a
match on the sole of his boot, that he “believed in comfort,
and would not board where they were too high-toned to
allow smoking.”
Conversation now became general; rather Larkins,
Dwight, and the two hitherto silent “boarders” talked, and
I listened, venturing only an occasional remark, and study-
ing my “subject” with secret interest.
“When are you comin’ our way again, Dwight?” asked
Larkins, as, after an hour's chat, we rose to take our leave.
“I don’t know, Lark. ; I don’t know,” said Dwight, in-
serting his hands in his pockets and jingling some loose
coin or keys as he replied. “I don’t think I'll make many
more trips.”
“Sho! Ye ain't goin’ to take a new route, I hope?”
“N-no; I think I'll try a new deal. I’ve got a little
down on the S. M. biz., and talk of taking up my old
trade.” -
“What! the show business?”
“Yes; I’ve got a pretty good chance for salary, and
guess I'll go down south and do a little of the heel and
toe business this Winter,” rattling his heels by way of
emphasis. *10
1


218 6üT OF A LABYRINTH.
This fragment of conversation wasamine which I worked
faithfully during our Clydeward drive, manifesting an in-
terest in Mr. Ed. Dwight which quite met with the appro-
val of Larkins, and which he was very ready to build up
and gratify. -
I remained in Clyde that night, and before retiring to
rest in the tiny room assigned me in the “hotel,” I made
the following entry in my note-book:
Ed. Dwight, sewing machine agent, living at Amora, is
taller than the medium, but slender, and of light weight,
being narrow of chest, with slim and slightly bowed legs,
and long arms that are continually in motion; large, nervous
hands; small head, with close-cropped curly black hair;
fine regular features, that would be handsome but for the
unhealthy, sallow complexion, and the look of dissipation
about the eyes; said eyes very black, restless and bold of
expression; mouth sensual, and shaded by a small, black
mustache; teeth, white and rather prominent.
He is full of life and animation; an inveterate joker, his
“chaff” being his principal conversational stock in trade.
He is loud of speech, somewhat coarse in manner, rakish in
dress, and possesses wonderful self-confidence. He is con-
sidered a dangerous fellow among the country girls, and
gets credit for making many conquests. Is fickle in his
fancies, and, like the sailor, seems to have a sweetheart in
every port.


A SEWING MACHINE AGENT. 219
He is a singer of comic songs, a scraper upon the violin,
and a some time song and dance man.
Has sold sewing machines for nearly three years in
Amora and vicinity, and is now preparing to return to the
stage and to go South.
Early the next morning Ibade Larkins a friendly fare-
well, and turned my face toward Trafton.
Nothing noteworthy had occurred during my absence.
Blake and Dimber Joe had observed Sunday in the most
decorous fashion, attending divine worship, but not together,
and remained in and about the hotel all the rest of the day
and evening, treating each other as entire strangers, and,
so far as Carnes could discover, never once exchanging word
or glance.
One thing Carnes had noted as peculiar: Jim Long had
haunted the hotel all day, manifesting a lively interest in
our city birds, watching them furtively, entering into con-
versation with one or the other as opportunity offered, and
contriving, while seeming to lounge as carelessly as usual,
to keep within sight of them almost constantly during the
day and evening.
Dr. Barnard was still in a critical condition; Carnes had
not seen Bethel since Saturday.
“And what elephant's tracks did ye's find till the south
av us?” queried Carnes, after he had given me the forego-
ing information. “ Any ‘nish’ lairs, quiet fences, or cosy
jungles, eh?”


220 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Whereupon I gave him a full description of the journey
over the south road, reserving only the portion of my
yesterday's experience that concerned, for the present, only
Mr. Ed. Dwight and myself.
“So there's nothing to get out of that,” said Carnes, after
listening to my recital with a serious countenance. “What
do you think now, old man? If they don’t run their
booty over that road, where the mischief do they take it?”
“That we must find out,” I replied, “And in order to
do that we must investigate in a new direction.”
“How 2” -
“Think a moment. We decided at the first that these
systematic thieves had, must have, a rendezvous within half
a night's ride from Trafton.”
“Yes; an' I stick to that theory.”
“So do I. All these robberies have been committed at
distances never more than twenty-five miles from Trafton;
often less, but never more.”
“Just so.”
“Within a radius of twenty-five miles around Trafton,
east, north, and west, and at all intermediate points, it has
not been safe to own a good horse. There is but one break
in this unsafe circle and that is to the south. Now, that
south road, one day, or two days, after a robbery, would be
anything but safe for a midnight traveler, who rode a swift
going horse or drove with a light buggy. Carnes, get your
map and study out my new theory thereon.”


A SEWING MACHINE AGENT. . 221
Carnes produced his map and spread it out upon his
knee, and I followed his example with my own.
“Now, observe,” I began, “the south road runs straight
and smooth for twenty miles, intersected regularly by the
mile sections.”
“Yes.”
“Until a little north of Clyde, two miles, I believe they
call it, a more curving irregular road runs southeast. Now,
follow that road.”
“I’m after it.”
“It continues southeast for nearly ten miles, then the
road forks.”
“Yes.”
“One fork, running directly south, takes you straight to
some coal beds at Norristown—”
“Aye, aye!”
“The other runs beyond the county line and it is not on
our maps; it takes an easterly course for nearly twenty
miles, terminating at the river.”
“Ah! I began to see!” -
“From Trafton to the river, then, is a little more than
forty miles. You cross the river and are in another State.
Up and down the river, for many miles, you have heavy
timber; not far inland you find several competing rail-
roads. Now, my belief is, that after the excitement fol-
lowing these robberies has had time to die out, the horses
are hurried over this fifty miles of country, and across the


222 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
river, and kept in the timber until it is quite safe to ship
them to a distant market.”
“But meantime, before they are taken to the river, where
are they ambushed, then?”
“Under our very noses; here in Trafton!”
Carnes stared at me in consternation.
“Old man,” he said, at last, drawing along, deep breath,
“you are either insane—or inspired.”
“I believe I have caught an inspiration. But time will
test my idea, “whether it be from the gods or no. These
outlaws have proven themselves cunning, and fertile of
brain. Who would think of overhauling Trafton for these
stolen horses? The very boldness of the proceeding in-
sures its safety.”
“I should think so. And how do you propose to carry
out your search?”
“We must begin at once, trusting to our wits for ways
and means. In some way we must see or know the con-
tents of every barn, stable, granary, store-house, outbuild-
ing, and abandoned dwelling, in and about Trafton. No
man's property, be he what he may, must be held exempt.”
“Do you think, then, that the stolen horses, the last haul
of course, are still in Trafton?”
“It is not quite a week since the horses were taken ; the
“nine days' wonder is still alive. If my theory is correct,
they are still in Trafton!”.


HAUNTED BY A FACE. 223
CHAPTER XIX.
BIAUNTED BY A FACE.
It was the day of Miss Manvers' garden party, and a
brighter or more auspicious one could not have dropped
from the hand of the Maker of days.
Never did the earth seem fairer, and seldom did the sun
shine upon a lovelier scene than that presented to my gaze
as I turned aside from the dusty highway, and paced slowly
up the avenue leading to the Hill House.
Even now the picture and the scenes and incidents of the
day, rise before my mental vision, a graceful, sunlit, yet
fateful panorama.
I see the heiress, as she glides across the lawn to greet
me, her brunette cheeks glowing, her lips wreathed in
smiles. She wears a costume that is amarvel of diaphanous
creamy material, lighted up here and there with dashes of
vivid crimson. Crimson roses adorn the loops and rippling
waves of her glossy hair, and nestle in the rich lace at her
throat. And, as I clasp her little hand, and utter the com-
monplaces of greeting, I note that the eye is even more
brilliant than usual, the cheek and lip tinged with the
vivid hue left by excitement, and, underneath the gay


224 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
badinage and vivacious hospitality, a suppressed some-
thing:—anxiety expectation, displeasure, disappointment;
which, I can not guess. Ionly see that something has ruffled
my fair hostess, and given to her thoughts, even on this
bright day, an under current that is the reverse of pleasant.
The grounds are beautiful and commodious, tastefully
arranged and decorated for the occasion, and the élite of
Trafton is there; all, save Louise Barnard and Dr. Bethel.
“Have you heard from Dr. Barnard since noon?” queries
my hostess, as we cross the lawn to join a group gathered
about an archery target. “I have almost regretted giving
this party. It seems unfeeling to be enjoying ourselves
here, and poor Louise bowed down with grief and anxiety
beside a father who is, perhaps, dying.
“Not dying, I hope.” . .
“Oh, we all shall hope until hope is denied us. I sup-
pose his chance for life is one in a thousand. I am so
sorry, and we shall miss Louise and Dr. Bethel so much.”
“Bethel is in close attendance?”
“Yes, Dr. Barnard has all confidence in him; and
then—you know the nature of his relation with the family?”
“His relation; that of family physician, I suppose?”
Miss Manvers draws back her creamy skirts as we brush
past a thorny rose tree.
“That of family physician; yes, and prospective son-
in-law.”
“Ah! I suspected an attachment there.”


f{AUNTED BY A FACE. 225
“It appears they have been privately engaged for some
time, with the consent of the Barnards, of course. It has
only just been publicly announced; rather it will be; I
had it from Mrs. Barnard this morning. Dr. Barnard de-
sires that it should be made known. He believes himself
dying, and wishes Trafton to know that he sanctions the
marriage.”
Her voice has an undertone of constraint which accords
with her manner, and I, remembering the scene of a week
before, comprehend and pity. In announcing her friend's
betrothal she proclaims the death of her own hope.
I do not resume the subject, and soon we are in the midst
of a gay group, chattering with a bevy of fair girls, and
receiving from one or two Trafton gallants, glances of
envious disfavor, which I, desiring to mortify vanity, at-
tributed to my new Summer suit rather than to my own
personal self.
Arch Brookhouse is the next arrival, and almost the
last. He comes in among us perfumed and smiling, and
is received with marked favor. My new costume has now
a rival, for Arch is as correct a gentleman of fashion as
ever existed outside of a tailor's window.
He is in wonderful spirits, too, adding zest to the mer-
riment of the gay group of which he soon becomes the
Center.
After a time bows and quivers come more prominently
into use. Archery is having its first season in Trafton.
15


226 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Some of the young ladies have yet to be initiated into the
use of the bow, and presently I find myself instructing the
pretty sixteen-year-old sister of my friend, Charlie Harris.
She manages her bow gracefully, but with a weak hand;
her aim is far from accurate, and I find ample occupation
in following the erratic movements of her arrows.
Brookhouse and Miss Manvers are both experts with
the bow. They send a few arrows flying home to the very
center of the target, and then withdraw from the sport, and
finally saunter away together, the hand of the lady resting
confidingly upon her escort's arm. -
“Arn’t they a pretty couple?” exclaims my little pupil,
twanging her bow-string as she turns to look after them.
“I do wonder if they are engaged.”
“So do I,” I answer, with much fervor.
She favors me with a quick roguish glance, and laughs
blithely.
“I don’t know,” turning back to her momentarily for-
gotten pastime. “Mr. Brookhouse has been very attentive,
and for a long time we all thought him the favored one,
until Dr. Bethel came, and since you appeared in Trafton.
Ah! I'm afraid Adele is a bit of a flirt.”
And astute Miss sixteen shoots me another mischievous
glance, and poises her arrow with all the nonchalance of a
veteran.
Again I glance in the direction taken by my hostess and
her cavalier, but they have disappeared among the plen-
tiful shrubbery.


HAUNTED BY A FACE. 227
I turn back to my roguish little pupil, now provokingly
intent upon her archery practice.
Once more the arrow is fixed; she takes aim with much
deliberation, and puts forth all her strength to the bending
of the bow. Twang! whizz! the arrow speeds fast and
far—and foul. It finds lodgment in a thicket of roses,
that go clambering over a graceful trellis, full ten feet to
the right of the target.
There is a shout of merriment. Mademoiselle throws
down the bow with a little gesture of despair, and I hasten
toward the trellis intent upon recapturing the missent
arroVW.
As I am about to thrust my hand in among the roses, I
am startled by a voice from the opposite side; startled be-
cause the voice is that of my hostess, thrilling with intens-
est anger, and very near me.
“It has gone far enough ! It has gone too far. It must
stop now, or—”
“Or you will make a confounded fool of yourself.”
The voice is that of Arch Brookhouse, disagreeably con-
temptuous, provokingly calm.
“No matter. What will it make of you?”
The words begin wrathful and sibilant, and end with a
hiss. Can that be the voice of my hostess?
Making a pretense of search I press my face closer to
the trellis and peer through.
I see Adele Manvers, her face livid with passion, her


228 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
eyes ablaze, her lips twitching convulsively. There is no
undercurrent of feeling now. Rage, defiance, desperation,
are stamped upon her every feature.
Opposite her stands Arch Brookhouse, his attitude that
of careless indifference, an insolent smile upon his coun-
tenance.
“If I were you, I would drop that nonsense,” he says,
coolly. “You might make an inning with this new city
sprig, perhaps. He looks like an easy fish to catch; more
money than brains, I should say.”
“I think his brains will compare favorably with yours;
he is nothing to me—”
Brookhouse suddenly shifts his position.
“Don’t you see the arrow?” calls a voice behind me, and
so near that I know Miss Harris is coming to assist my
search.
I catch up the arrow and turn to meet her.
No rustle of the leaves has betrayed my presence; the
sound of our voices, and their nearness, is drowned by the
general hilarity.
We return to our archery, and the two behind the screen
finish their strange interview. How, I am unable to guess
from their faces, when, after a time, they are once more
among us, Brookhouse as unruffled as ever, Miss Manvers
flushed, nervous, and feverishly gay.
Throughout the remainder of the fête, the face of my
hostess is continually before me; not as her guests see it,


“It has gone far enough! It has gone too far. It must stop
now, or—” page 227.

229





HAUNTED BY A FACE. 231
fair, smiling, and serene, but pallid, passionate, vengeful,
as I saw it from behind the rose thicket. And I am
haunted by the thought that somewhere, sometime, I have
seen just such a face; just such dusky, gleaming, angry eyes;
just such a scornful, quivering mouth; just such drawn
and desperate features.
Now and then I find time to chuckle over the words,
uncomplimentary in intent, but quite satisfactory to me—
“a city sprig with more money than brains.”
So this is the ultimatum of Mr. Brookhouse? Some
day, perhaps, he may cherish another opinion, at least so
far as the money is concerned. -
Then, while the gayety goes on, I think of Groveland
and its mystery; of the anonymous warning, the album
verse, the initials A. B. Again I take my wild John Gil-
pin ride, with one arm limp and bleeding.
“Ah,” I say to myself, thinking wrathfully of his taunt-
ing words and insolent bearing, which my hostess had
seemed powerless to resent, “Ah, my gentleman, if I should
trace that unlucky bullet to you, then shall Miss Manvers
rejoice at your downfall!”
What was the occasion of their quarrel? What was the
meaning of their strange words?
Again and again I ask myself the question as I go home
through the August darkness, having first seen pretty Net-
tie Harris safely inside her father's cottage gate.
But I find no satisfactory answer to my questions. I


232 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
might have dismissed the matter from my thoughts as only
a lover's quarrel, save for the last words uttered by Brook-
house. But lovers are not apt to advise their sweethearts
to “make an inning” with another fellow. If jealousy
existed, it was assuredly all on the side of the lady.
Having watched them narrowly after their interview be-
hind the rose trellis, I am inclined to think it was not a
lover's quarrel; and if not that, what was it?
I give up the riddle at last, but I can not dismiss the
scene from my mental vision, still less can I banish the re-
membrance of the white, angry face, and the tormenting
fancy that I have not seen it to-day for the first time.
I am perplexed and annoyed.
I stop at the office desk to light a cigar and exchange a
word with “mine host.” Dimber Joe is writing ostenta-
tiously at a small table, and Blake Simpson is smoking on
the piazza.
The sight of the two rogues, so inert and mysterious,
gives me an added twinge of annoyance. I cut short my
converse with the landlord and go up to my room.
Carnes is sitting before a small table, upon which his
two elbows are planted; his fingers are twisted in his thick
hair, and his head is bent so low over an open book that
his nose seems quite ready to plow up the page.
Coming closer, I see that he is glowering over a pictured
face in his treasured “rogues' gallery.”
“If you want to study Blake Simpson's cranium,” I say,


i{AUNTED BY A FACE. 233
testily, “why don't you take the living subject? He's
down-stairs at this moment.”
“I’ve been studying the original till my head got dizzy,”
replies Carnes, pushing back the book and tilting back in
his chair. “The fact is, the fellow conducts himself so
confoundedly like a decent mortal, that I have to appeal
to the gallery occasionally to convince myself that it is
Blake himself, and not his twin brother.”
I laugh at this characteristic whim, and, drawing the
book toward me, carelessly glance from page to page.
Carnes prides himself upon his “gallery.” He has a
large and motley collection of rogues of all denominations:
thieves, murderers, burglars, counterfeiters, swindlers, fly
crooks of every sort, and of both sexes.
“They’ve been here four days now,” Carnes goes on,
plaintively, “and nothing has happened yet. It's enough
to make a man lose faith in ‘Bene Coves.’ I wonder—”
“Ah!” The exclamation falls sharply from my lips, the
“gallery” almost falls from my hands.
Carnes leaves his speech unfinished and gazes anxiously
at me, while I sit long and silently studying a pictured
face.
By-and-by I close the book and replace it upon the
table.
One vexed question is answered; I know now why the
white, angry face of Adele Manvers has haunted me as a
shadow from the past.


234 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I arise and pace the floor restlessly; like Theseus, I
have grasped the clue that shall lead me from the maze.
After a time, Carnes goes out to inform himself as to the
movements of Blake and Dimber Joe.
Midnight comes, but no Carnes.
The house is hushed in sleep. I lock the door, ex-
tinguish my light, and, lowering myself noiselessly from
the window to the ground, turn my steps toward the scene
of the afternoon revel. -
In the darkness and silence I reach my destination, and
scaling a high paling, stand once more in the grounds of
The Hill.


“Ah!” The exclamation falls sharply from my lips, the “gal-
lery” almost falls from my hands.-page 233.

235





SOME BITS OF PERSONAL HISTORY. 237
CHAPTER XX.
SOME BITS OF PERSONAL HISTORY.
While Miss Manvers was bidding farewell to the latest
of her guests, and the “average Traftonite” was making
his first voyage into dreamland, Dr. Barnard closed his
eyes upon Trafton forever, and slept that long, sound, last,
best sleep that comes once to all of us, and I, as well as
numerous other restless sleepers, was awakened in the early
morning by the sound of the tolling bell.
It was sad news to many, for Dr. Barnard was an old
and well-beloved citizen.
It afforded a new subject for gossip to many more, who
now learned for the first time that Louise Barnard was af-
fianced to Dr. Carl Bethel, and that Dr. Barnard, with
almost his latest breath, had proclaimed his entire faith
in the young man's honor, by formally sanctioning his en-
gagement with Louise.
I had not seen Bethel since my return from the city, un-
til we met that day, and exchanged a few words across the
dinner table.
He looked worn and weary, and seemed to have forgot-
ten his own annoyances and interests in the absorption of


238 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
his regret for the loss of his old friend and associate, and
sympathy with the sorrow of his beloved.
I had spent the entire morning in writing a long letter
to my Chief, giving a detailed account of my acquaintance
with Miss Manvers, and a description of the lady, her style
of living, and, above all, more graphic than all, my expe-
rience of the previous day, up to the moment when I closed
the “rogues' gallery” and opened my eyes to a new and
startling possibility. -
This document I addressed to a city post-office box, and,
having sealed it carefully, registered and dispatched it
through the Trafton post-office.
In the afternoon I received an express package from
Baysville. It was a book, so the agent said. Innocent
enough, no doubt, nevertheless I did not open it until I
had closed and locked my door upon all intruders.
It was a book. A cheap volume of trashy poems, but
the middle leaves were cut away, and in their place I found
a bulky letter.
It was Earle's report from Amora.
It was very statistical, very long, and dry because of its
minuteness of detail, and the constant recurrence of dates
and figures. But it was most interesting to me.
Arch Brookhouse and his brother, Louis, had both been
students at Amora.
Grace Ballou and Nellie Ewing had been fellow-students
with them one year ago. Last term, however, Arch had


SOME BITS OF PERSONAL HISTORY. 239
not been a student, but Louis Brookhouse, Grace Ballou,
Nellie Ewing, Mamie Rutger, Amy Holmes, and Johnny
La Porte, had all been in attendance.
For the last three named this was their first term.
Mamie Rutger had been expelled for misconduct, during
the last half of the term.
Johnny LaPorteand Louis Brookhousehad been “chums”
and were, accordingly, pretty wild.
Very littlecould be learned concerning Amy Holmes, pre-
vious to her coming to Amora. She was said to be an orphan,
and came from the South. Nothing more definite could
be learned concerning her abiding place. She was lively,
dashing and stylish, not particularly fond of study; in fact
was considered one of the “loudest” girls in the school.
Her escapades had been numerous and she had, on more
than one occasion, narrowly escaped expulsion. She was
particularly intimate with Nellie Ewing, Mamie Rutger,
and Grace Ballou; and had been seen, on several occasions,
in the company of Arch Brookhouse, who was very often
at Amora. -
Concerning Ed. Dwight, Earle could say very little.
Dwight had left town with his team early on Monday
morning, and had not yet returned. Earle had managed,
however, to obtain lodgings at Dwight's boarding-house,
and had made the acquaintance of one of the “girls,” who
had contributed the information that Arch Brookhouse had
several times dined there with Dwight.


240 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
This is an abbreviated account of what Earle's report
contained. Accompanying said report was an autograph
obtained from Professor Asa Bartlett, and it bore not the
slightest resemblance to the printed album lines.
Considering the time consumed in the investigation, Earle
had done remarkably well. He had done well, too, in go-
ing to Baysville to send the letter.
How many threads were now in my hands, and yet how
powerless I was for the time!
Only yesterday I had made, or so I believed, two most.
important discoveries, and yet I could turn them to no ac-
count for the present.
Upon the first, it would be unwise to act until further
information had been forwarded me by my Chief.
As for the second, there was nothing to do but watch.
I could not take the initiative step. Action depended solely
upon others, and as to the identity of these others I scarce
could give a guess.
Louis Brookhouse had not been seen outside his home
since his arrival, in a crippled condition, the day after Grace
Ballou's escapade. I must see Louis Brookhouse. I must
know the nature of that “injury” which Dr. Bethel had
been called upon to attend.
For the first, I must bide my time until the youth was
sufficiently recovered to appear in public. For the second,
I must rely on Bethel, and, until the last sorrowful tribute
of respect and affection had been paid the dead, I could
scarcely hope for an interview with him. -


SOME BITS OF PERSONAL HISTORY. 241
A crisis must come soon, but it was not in our power to
hasten it.
So long as Dimber Joe and Blake Simpson continued
inert and seemingly aimless, so long as the days brought
no new event and the nights brought neither discovery on
our part nor movement on the part of the horse-thieves,
Carnes and I had only to wait and watch-watch—watch.
Our days, to the onlooker, must have seemed only idle
indeed, but still they were busy days.
Carnes roamed about the town, inspecting the barns and
buildings closely, when he could venture a near approach
without arousing suspicion or objection; at a distance, when
intrusion would be unsafe or unwelcome.
Dr. Barnard was buried on Thursday, and on the after-
noon of that day, as I was returning from the funeral in
fact, I received a report from Wyman.
Stripped of its details, and reduced to bare facts, it
amounted to this:
The “dummy” had proven of actual service. Wyman
had found him with very little trouble, and in just the
right place. He was domiciled with the La Porte family,
and had been since the first week of his advent among the
Grovelanders, and Wyman was indebted to him for much
of the information contained in his report.
Acting according to our instructions, or, rather, as we
had expected and desired, overacting them, the “dummy”
had soon contrived to let the Grovelanders know that he
16 *11


242 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
was a detective, sent out from the city to occupy the prem-
ises and keep his eyes open. He talked freely of the miss-
ing girls, always frankly avowing that it was his opinion,
as well as the opinion of his superiors, that the two girls
had been murdered. Indeed, he darkly hinted that certain
facts corroborative of this theory had been discovered, and
then he lapsed into vagueness and silence. When ques-
tioned as to his system or intentions regarding the investi-
gation he became profoundly mysterious, oracular, and un-
satisfactory.
The result was all that we could have wished. The less
intelligent among his critics looked upon him as a fountain
of wisdom and cunning and skill. The more acute and ob-
servant fathomed his shallowness, but immediately set it
down as a bit of clever acting, and, joining with their less
penetrating neighbors, voted our “dummy” “wise as a ser–
pent” underneath his “harmless as a dove” exterior, and
looked confidently forward to something startling when
he should finally arouse to action.
To which class of critics Johnny La Porte belonged,
Wyman had been unable to discover, for during his stay
in Groveland he had not seen young La Porte.
Whatever his opinion may have been, the young man had
been among the first to seek our “dummy's" acquaintance,
which he had cultivated so persistently that within less than
a fortnight the two had become most friendly, and appar-
ently appreciative of each other's society, and the “dummy”


SOME BITS OF PERSONAL HISTORY. 243
had found an abiding place underneath the hospitable roof
of La Porte pere.
Johnny La Porte was a spoiled son. He seemed to have
had his own way always, and it had not been a way to
wisdom. He was not dissipated; had none of the larger
and more masculine vices, but he was idle, a shirk at school
and at home. He had no business tact, and seemed as little
inclined to make of himself a decent farmer as he was inca-
pable of becoming a good financier, merchant, or mechanic.
He was short of stature, and girlishly pretty, having small
oval features, languid black eyes, black curly hair, and a -
rich complexion of olive and red.
He drove a fine span of blacks before a jaunty light car-
riage, and was seldom seen with his turnout except when
accompanied by some one of the many pretty girls about
Groveland.
In fact, he was that most obnoxious creature, a male flirt.
He had roved from one bright Groveland flower to
another, ever since his graduation from jackets to tail coats.
During the previous Autumn and Winter, he had been very
devoted to Nellie Ewing; but, since their return from school,
in the Spring, his attentions had not been quite so marked,
although Nellie had several times been seen behind the
blacks and in company with the fickle Johnny.
In short, after reading all that Wyman could say of him,
I summed Johnny La Porte up, and catalogued him as
follows:


244 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
Wain, weak, idle, handsomé, fickle, selfish, good-natured.
when not interfered with, over fond of pleasure, easily in-
fluenced, and a spendthrift.
What might or might not be expected of such a character?
He was, as Mrs. Ballou had said, popular among the
young people, especially the young ladies; and where do
you find a young man that drives a fine turnout, carries a
well-filled purse, dances a little, sings a fair tenor and plays
his own accompaniment, is handsome, and always ready
for a frolic, who is not popular with the ladies?
Wyman had not seen La Porte, and for this reason:
On the evening of the 17th, young La Porte had driven
away from home with his black horses, telling our “dummy,”
in confidence, that he was “going to take a pretty girl out
riding.” -
La Porte and the “dummy” “roomed together,” in true
country fashion; and, at midnight, or later, the “dummy”
could not be precise as to the lateness of the hour, he re-
turned. Entering the room with evident caution, he never-
theless awoke the “dummy,” who, turning lazily on his
pillow, saw La Porte taking from a drawer something
white, which our “dummy” supposed to be a handful of
handkerchiefs, and from a shelf a bottle of brandy.
On seeing the open eyes of our “dummy,” La Porte had
explained as follows:
One of his horses went lame a bit, and he intended to
give him a little treatment. The “dummy” must not dis-


T
T:
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RA': -
£ | - T
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#
“Entering the room with evident caution, he nevertheless awoke
the “dummy,” who, turning lazily on his pillow, saw La Porte
taking from a drawer something white,”-page 244.




245





SOME BITS OF PERSONAL HISTORY. 247
turb himself, as the hired man was on hand to render all
the necessary help. -
Then, as he was leaving the room, La Porte had added:
“By the by, if the horse comes out all right, and I am
gone when you turn out in the morning, tell the old man
that I am off for Baysville to see about the club excursion.”
| Wondering vaguely what species of lameness it was that
must be treated with brandy and bandaged with linen
handkerchiefs, the “dummy” fell asleep, and finding the
young man absent on the following morning, delivered his
message as directed.
It was received without comment, as such excursions
were of frequent occurrence, and as no one presumed to
question the movements of the spoiled young pleasure
seeker.
He did not return on the next day, but the morning of
the 19th brought him home, not, however, as he went, but
in company with a sewing-machine agent whom he called
Ed., and whose full name was Edward S. Dwight.
La Porte stated that his horse was lame again, and that
he had left his team at Amora, and returned with Dwight
in the machine wagon.
During that day La Porte accompanied Dwight on his
rounds among the farmers, and early the following morn-
ing the two returned together to Amora.
That was a week ago. The following Sunday, La Porte
and Dwight had again visited Groveland, this time with


248 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
La Porte's own turnout. During the day they had made
several calls upon young ladies, and this time our “dummy,”
being cordially invited, accompanied them on their rounds.
On Monday morning, as before, they returned to Amora.
and since then had not reappeared in Groveland.
Wyman, according to instructions, had visited Mrs.
Ballou. She had nothing new to communicate, but she
gave into his hands a small package, which Wyman had
inclosed with his report. -
It contained three photographs; one of Miss Amy
Holmes, one of Johnny La Porte, and a third of the same
gentleman and Mr. Ed. Dwight, a rather rakish-looking
duo.
I read and re-read Wyman's long, complete descriptive
report. I studied the photographed faces again and again,
and that evening, before the sunset had fairly faded from
the west, I told Carnes the whole story, and placed before
him the printed letter and the autographs, photographs and
reports.


250 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
be speedily followed by something in the way of an opinion.
“It’s a queer muddle,” he says at last, coming back to
his chair and dropping into his former attitude of interested
attention. “It’s a queer muddle; and, it seems to me, you
have got hold of the wrong end of the business.”
“How the wrong end?” -
“Why, you have your supposed principals and acces-
sories, and, perhaps, the outline of a plot; but where is
your motive?” -
“Where, indeed! I have not even found a theory that
suits me, although I have pondered over various supposi-
tions. You are good at this sort of analysis, Carnes. Can't
you help me to some sort of a theory that won’t break of its
own weight?”
Carnes bit his under lip and pondered.
“How far have you got?” he asked, presently.
“I will tell you how I have reasoned thus far. Ex-
perience and statistics have proved that, of all the missing
people, male and female, whose dead bodies are never found,
or whose deaths are never satisfactorily proven, more than
three-fourths have eventually turned up alive, or it is found
they have lived many years after they were numbered among
the missing. In the majority of cases, say four to one,
where missing persons, supposed to have been dead, are
proved to be alive, it is also proved that they have “disap-
peared’ of their own free will. In the list of missing young
girls, the police records show that two-thirds of those sup-


“EVOLVING A THEORY.” - 251
posed to have been murdered or abducted, have eloped or
forsaken their friends of their own free will. Let us keep
in mind these statistics and begin with Nellie Ewing. Was
she murdered? Was she forcibly abducted? Did she run
away?” -
“Umph! If she were a man I might venture an opinion,”
broke in Carnes.
“Let us see. She left her house at sunset, riding a
brown pony, and intent, or seeming so, upon visiting her
friend, Grace Ballou.”
“Grace Ballou–oh!” Carnes lifts his head, then drops
it again, quickly.
I note the gesture and the ejaculation, and smile as I
proceed.
“She had announced her intention of spending the night
with her friend Grace, but instead of so doing, she is sud-
denly afflicted with a headache, and, at dusk, or perhaps
even later, she sets out, on her brown pony, for home, a
distance of about four miles.”
“Um—ah!” from Carnes.
“She is not seen after that. Neither is the brown pony.
Was she murdered? If so, no trace of her body, no clue
to her murderer, no motive for the deed, has been discovered.
And the horse; if she was murdered, was the horse
slaughtered also? And were they both buried in one
grave? She was riding alone, after nightfall, over a
country road. She might have been assailed by tramps or


252 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
stragglers of some sort, but the first investigation proved
that nothing in the form of tramp, or stranger of any sort,
had been seen about Groveland, neither on that day nor for
many days previous. And again, a tramp who might have
killed her to secure the horse, would hardly have tarried
to conceal the body so effectually that the most thorough
search could not bring it to light. Nor would he have
carried it with him beyond the reach of search. Was she
murdered for revenge, or from motives of jealousy? Then,
in all probability, the brown horse would have been found
wandering somewhere at large.” -
“It won’t do,” mutters Carnes, half to himself, and with
a slow wag of the head; “it won’t do.”
“That's what I said to myself, after reviewing the pros
and cons of the ‘murder theory. Now, was Nellie Ewing
abducted? She may have been, but, again, there's the
missing horse. If a tramp or a horse-thief would take the
horse, and leave the girl, a desperate lover would just as
surely take the girl and leave the horse. Again, an avari-
cious lover might, with some difficulty, secure both horse
and rider, but he could hardly travel far with an unwill-
ing girl and a stolen horse, without becoming uncomfort-
ably conspicuous. Did the young lady elope? If so, then
it is my belief that she and her horse parted company very
soon after she left the widow Ballou's. And here ends my
theorizing. How, and why, and whither, the horse was
spirited away, I can not guess.”


“EVOLVING A THEORY.” 253
~
“If the thing had occurred in Trafton,” says Carnes,
thoughtfully, “one might account for the horse.”
“True; but as it did not occur within the limit of the Traf-
ton operations, I naturally concluded that, if the young lady
really did abscond, her lover must have had a confederate
who took charge of the horse. But, at first, this seemed to
me improbable.” -
“Why improbable?”
“Because I did not view the matter, as you do now, in
the light of after discoveries and developments.”
“Then you think now that Miss Ewing eloped?”
“I think she was not murdered; and the elopement
theory is much more plausible, more reasonable, all things
considered, than that of abduction. First of all, there are
the movements of the girl herself. Supposing her quar-
tered for the night with her friend Grace, Squire Ewing
felt no uneasiness at her absence, even when it was pro-
longed into the second day. Might she not have consid-
ered all this when she planned her flight? When she was
actually missed, she had two days the start of her inquiring
friends.”
“True.”
“Then, not long after, Mamie Rutger, a friend and school-
mate of the missing Nellie, also disappears. While it is
yet daylight, or at least hardly dark, she vanishes from her
father's very door-step,andisseen no more. Now, let mecall
your attention to some facts. Farmer Rutger's house stands


254 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
on a bit of rising ground; the road runs east and west.
To the east of the house is a thick grove of young trees
planted as a wind-break for the cattle. This belt of trees
begins at the front of the house and extends northward, the
house being on the north side of the highway, past the
barns, cow stables, and sheep pens. So while a person in
the front portion of the house, on the porch or in the door-
yard, can obtain a clear view of the road to the west, those
farther back, in the kitchen, the stables, or the milking
sheds, are shut off from a view of the road by the wind-
break on the one hand, by a high orchard hedge on the
other, and by the house and thick door-yard shrubbery in
front. For over an hour, on the night of her disappear-
ance, Mamie Rutger was the only person within view of
this highway. The hired girl was in the kitchen washing
up the supper things. Mrs. Rutger, who, by-the-by, is
Miss Mamie's step-mother, was skimming milk in the
cellar, and Mr. Rutger, with the two hired men, were water-
ing and feeding the stock and milking the cows. When
the work for the night was done and the lamps were lighted,
if they thought of Mamie at all it was as sitting alone on the
front piazza, or perched in her chamber window up-stairs,
enjoying the quiet of the evening. It was only when their
early bed-time came that the girl's absence, and more than
that, her unusual silence, was noted, and that a search
proved her missing. Was she murdered? That theory in
this case is so unreasonable that I discard it at once.”
Carnes nodded his head approvingly.


“EVOLVING A THEORY.” 255
“Was she abducted ? Possibly; but to my mind, it is
not probable. Mamie Rutger was a gypsyish lassie, pretty
as a May blossom, skittish as a colt, hard to govern and
prone to adventurous escapades. Her father was kind
and her step-mother meant to be so, but the latter per-
petually frowned down the girl's innocent hilarity, and
curbed her gayety, when she could, with a stern hand.
They sent her to school to tame her, and the faculty, after
bearing with her, and forgiving her many mischievous
pranks because of her youth, at last sent her home in dis-
grace, expelled. If this girl, wearied of a humdrum farm-
house existence and thirsting for a broader glimpse of the
gay outer world, had planned an elopement or run-away
escapade, she could have chosen no better time. While all
the others are busy at their evening task, she, from the
front, watches for a swift horse and a covered buggy, which
comes from the west. Sure that no eyes are looking, she
awaits it at the gate, springs in, with a backward glance,
and when she is missed, is miles away.”
“Yes, I see,” comments Carnes, dryly; “it’s a pity
your second sight couldn’t keep ’em in view till ye see
where they land.”
I curb my imagination. That useful quality is deficient
in the cranium of my comrade; he can neither follow nor
sympathize.
“Well, here is the condensed truth for you,” I reply,
amiably; “for this much we have ocular and oral testi-


256 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
mony: Four young ladies attend school at Amora; all are
pretty, under the age of discretion, and, with perhaps one
exception, little versed in the ways of the world and its
wickedness. During their sojourn at school, where they
are not under constant discipline owing to the fact that
they all board outside of the Seminary, and all together,
they are much in the society of four young men, two of
whom are students of the Seminary. This quartette of
youths are more or less good looking, and all of them
notably ‘gay and festive, after the manner of the stereo-
typed young man of the period.”
“Right you are now,” ejaculated Carnes.
“Just how these gentlemen divided their affections or
attentions,” I continue, “it is difficult to say, in regard to
all. We know that Mr. Johnny La Porte was the chosen
cavalier of Miss Ewing, and that Arch Brookhouse and
Amy Holmes were frequently seen in each other's society.
We are told that the eight young people formed frequent
pleasure parties; riding, picnicking, passing social evenings
together.
“They leave school; their jolly companionship is over.
By-and-by, Nellie Ewing disappears; a little later,
Mamie Rutger is also missing; after a little time the other
two young ladies are caught in the act of escaping from
home, by the means of a ladder placed at their chamber
window by an unknown man, while a second, it is sup-
posed, awaits their coming with horses and vehicle. This


“EVOLVING A THEORY.” 257
much for the ladies of this octette. Now, upon inquiring
after the whereabouts of the gentlemen, we find that upon
the night of this last named escapade, Johnny La Porte,
with his buggy and horses, was absent from home from
sunset until after midnight. That he returned when all the
household was asleep, and securing some clean handker-
chiefs and a flask of brandy, ostensibly to doctor a sick
horse, he again goes, and returns after an absence of two
days, accompanied by another member of the octette, Mr.
Ed. Dwight.”
“That's a point,” assented Carnes.
“Now, we have previously learned,” I resume, “that said
Dwight is about to abandon his old trade and quit the
country. We also remember that Mrs. Ballou shot at, and
believes she hit, the man who was assisting her daughter
and guest to escape from the house. Very good. During
the time that Johnny La Porte is absent from his home,
Mr. Louis Brookhouse is brought home to Trafton, in a
covered buggy, by some unknown friend, with a crippled
limb l’’
“I see; that's a clincher,” muttered Carnes.
“This much for three of the gay Lotharios,” I con-
tinue. “Now for Arch Brookhouse. In Grace Ballou's
autograph album is a couplet, very neatly printed and
signed A. B. It bears date one year back, and one year
ago Grace Ballou and Arch Brookhouse were both students
at Amora. Not long since I received an interesting letter
17


258 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
of warning, and I believe it was written by the same hand
that indited the lines beginning ‘I drink to the eyes of
my schoolmate, Grace.’”
Carnes opened his lips, but I hurried on.
“I have noted one other thing, which, if you like,
you may call coincidence of latitude. The eldest of the
Brookhouse brothers is a resident of New Orleans. At
about the time of Nellie Ewing's disappearance, Louis
Brookhouse went to New Orleans, returning less than two
weeks ago. Amy Holmes is vaguely described as being
‘somewhere South, and Ed. Dwight meditates a Southern
journey soon.”
“It looks like a league,” says Carnes, scratching his
head, and wrinkling his brows in perplexity. “Are they
going to form a colony of some new sort? What's your
notion ?”
“My notion is that we had better not waste our time
trying to guess out a motive. Consider the language of
the telegram sent by Fred Brookhouse to his brother, and
the reply to it, and then reflect upon the possible meaning
of both. The New Orleans brother says:
Hurry up the others, or we are likely to have a balk.
Arch answers:
Next week L— will be on hand.
“Hurry up the others! What others? Why are they


“EVOLVING A THEORY.” 259
likely to have a ‘balk? Are the two missing girls there,
in charge of Fred Brookhouse, and are they becoming res-
tive at the non-appearance of the others? If they had suc-
ceeded in escaping, would Grace Ballou and Amy Holmes
have gone to New Orleans in company with Louis Brook-
house ?”
“By Saint Patrick, I begin to see l’’ cried Carnes.
“The telegram sent by Arch,” I resume, “implies that
Louis was already here, or near here. Yet he made his
first appearance at his father's house two days later. Is
Ed. Dwight going to New Orleans to embrace the ‘heel
and toe business,” under the patronage of Fred Brookhouse,
who, it is said, is connected with a theater? Is Johnny
La Porte in hiding at Amora? or has he already ‘gone to
join the circus?’”
Carnes springs suddenly to his feet.
“By the powers, old man, I see how it looks to you;” he
cries, “an ye’ve got the thing by the right end at last. I’ll
go to New Orleans; only say when. But,” here his face
lengthens a little, “ye must get Wyman, or some one else,
here in my place. I wish we had got that horse rendez-
vous hunted down.”
“As to that,” I respond, “give yourself no uneasiness;
“I believe that I have found the right place, and to-night
I mean to confirm my suspicion.”
Carnes stares astonished.
“How did you manage it?” he asks, “and when?”


260 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Two days ago, and by accident. You will be surprised,
Carnes. It is a barn.”
“It is?”
“A lead-colored barn, finished in brown.”
“What 9”
“It is large, and nearly square,” I hasten to say, enjoy-
ing his marked amazement. “A large stack of hay is
pitched against the rear end, running the length of it. It
has a cupola and a flagstaff.”
Carnes simply stares.
“I will send for Wyman if I need his help. What I
am studying upon- now is a sufficient pretext for sending
you away suddenly.”
“I’ll furnish that,” Carnes says, with a droll roll of his
eye. “To-morrow I'll get drunk—beastly drunk. You
shall inquire after me about the hotel and at Porter's. By-
and-by I will come into the office too drunk to be endura-
ble. You must be there to reprimand me. I grow in-
solent; you discharge me. I go away somewhere and sleep
off the effects of my spree. You pay me my wages in the
presence of the clerk, and at midnight I board the train en
route for the Sunny South. You shall hear from me—”
“By telegraph,” I interrupt. “We shall have a new
night operator here within the week. I arranged for that
when I was in the city, and wrote the old man, yesterday,
to send him on at once.”
“All right; that's a good move,” approved Carnes,


“EVOLVING A THEORY.” 261
“And now,” I said, rising hastily, and consulting my
watch, “I must go. To-night, or perhaps in the ‘small
hours, we will talk over matters again, and I will explain
myself further. For the present, good-by; I am expected
to-night at the Hill; I shall pass the evening in the society
of Miss Manvers.”


262 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XXII.
TWO DEPARTURES.
On the ensuing morning, Carnes and I enacted the
“quarrel scene,” as planned by him the previous night.
A more aggravated case of drunkenness than that pre-
sented by Carnes, a little before noon, could not well be
imagined. He was a marvel of reeling stupidity, offensive
hiccoughs, and maudlin insolence. -
Quite a number of people were lounging about the office
when Carnes staggered in, thus giving me my cue to com-
mence. Among the rest were Dimber Joe and Blake
Simpson. Our scene went off with considerable eclat; and,
having paid Carnes at the office desk, with a magnificent
disregard for expense, I turned to leave the room, looking
back over my shoulder, to say with my grandest air:
“If you think yourself sufficiently sober, you may come
up-stairs and pack your things. The sooner you, and all
that belongs to you, are out of my sight, the better I shall
be pleased.”
I had been in my room less than half an hour, when I
heard Carnes come stumbling noisily through the passage.
When he was fairly within the room, he straightened


2
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“If you think yourself sufficiently sober
and pack your things.”—page 262.












263





TWO DEPARTURES, 265
himself suddenly, and uttered a sound midway between a
laugh and a chuckle.
“Old man,” he said, coming slowly toward me, “I don’t
think I’ll take the down train.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” winking absurdly, and then staring up at the
ceiling while he finished his sentence, “the snakes are be-
ginning to crawl. Blake Simpson has just paid his bill,
and ordered his baggage to be sent to the 4:30 train.”
“Ah! And you will take the same train?”
“Exactly; I’m curious to see where he is going, and to
find out why. We must not remain together long, old
man. Do you go down-stairs and tell them that I am
sleeping off my booze up here. I shan’t be very sober by
4:30, but I’ll manage to navigate to the depot.”
I went down to the office, after a few more words with
Carnes.
Simpson and Dimber Joe had both disappeared. Two
or three men were smoking outside, and a man by the
window was falling asleep over a newspaper three days
old. Mine host, in person, was lounging over the desk.
He was idle, and inclined to be talkative.
“You weren’t trying to give Barney a scare, I suppose?”
he said, as I approached the desk. “Do you really mean
to let him go?”
“I certainly do,” I replied, as I lounged upon the desk.
Then, coming nearer mine host, and increasing the distance
*12


266 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
between myself and the old man by the window; “I have
been tolerably patient with the fellow. He has his good
points, but he has tired me out. Patience has ceased to be
a virtue. I can do very well without him now. He never
was much of a valet. But I thought him quite necessary
as a companion on my fishing, hunting, and pedestrian ex-
cursions. However, I have become pretty well acquainted
with places and people, and I find there are plenty of guides
and compainions to be picked up. I can do very well with-
out Barney, especially as of late he is drunk oftener than
he is sober.”
Mine host smiled fraternally. It was not my custom to
be so communicative. Always, in my character of the
wealthy aristocrat, I had maintained, for the benefit of those
about me, an almost haughty reserve, only unbending when,
because of my supposed financial importance, I “was made
much of" in the social circles of the Trafton élite. To-day,
however, I had an object to gain, and I did not bestow my
condescending confidence without the expectation of “value
received.”
“You’ll have no trouble about finding company,” said
mine host, with a benign smile. “As you say, Barney
has been a good many times off. He hasn’t kept the best
of company. He's been too much with that Briggs.”
“Yes,” I assented, carelessly; “I have repeatedly warned
him to let the fellow alone. Has he no occupation?”
“Briggs? he's a sort of extra hand for 'Squire Brook-


TWO DEPARTURES. 267
house; but, he plays more than he works,” trifling with the
leaves of his register, and then casting his eye slowly down
the page before him. “Here's an odd thing, you might
say,” laughing, as he lifted his eye from the book, “I’m
losing my most boisterous boarder and my quietest one at
the same time.”
“Indeed; who else is going?”
My entertainer cast a quick glance towards the occupant
of the window, and lowered his voice as he replied:
“The gentleman in gray.” -
“In gray?” absently. “Oh! to be sure, a-a patent-
right agent, is he not?”
Another glance toward the window, then lowering his
voice an additional half tone, and favoring me with a
knowing wink, he said:
“Have you heard anything concerning him?”
“Concerning the gentleman in gray?”
My entertainer nodded.
“Assuredly not,” said I, affecting languid surprise.
“Nothing wrong about the gentleman, I hope?”
“Nothing wrong, oh, no,” leaning over the desk, and
speaking slowly. “They say he is a detective.”
“A detective!” This time my surprise was not entirely
feigned. “Oh—is not that a sensationalism?”
“Well,” said my host, reflectively, “I might think so if
I had heard it from any of the ordinary loungers;-the
fact is, I had no right to mention the matter. I don’t think
it is guessed at by many.”


268 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
He was beginning to retire within himself. I felt that
I must not lose my ground, and became at once more in-
terested, more affable.
“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Holtz, I am quite interested.
Do you really think the man a detective? Pray, rely on
my discretion.”
There were two hard, unpainted chairs behind the office
desk, and some boxes containing cheap cigars, upon a shelf
against the wall. I insinuated myself into one of the chairs,
and presently, Mr. Holtz was seated near me in the other,
smoking one of his own cigars, at my expense, while I,
with a similar weed between my lips, drew from him, as
best I could, all that he had heard and thought concerning
Mr. Blake Simpson, the gentleman in gray.
It was not much when all told, but Mr. Holtz consumed
a full hour in telling it.
Jim Long had been so frequently at the hotel since the
advent of Blake and Dimber Joe, that mine host had re-
marked upon the circumstance, and, only two days ago, had
rallied Jim upon his growing social propensities.
Whereupon, Jim had taken him aside, “quite privately
and mysteriously,” and confided to him the fact that he,
Jim, had very good reason for believing Blake and Dim-
ber, or, as my informer put it, “The gent in gray and the
other stranger,” to be detectives, who were secretly work-
ing in the interest of 'Squire Brookhouse.
What these very good reasons were, Jim had declined to


TWO DEPARTURES. - 269
state. But he had conjured Mr. Holtz to keep silent about
the matter, as to bring the “detectives” into notice would
be to impair their chances of ultimate success.
Mr. Holtz had promised to keep the secret, and he had
kept it—two days. He should never think of mentioning
the matter to any of his neighbors, he assured me fervently,
as they, for the most part, being already much excited over
the recent thefts, could hardly be expected to keep a dis-
creet silence; but I, “being a stranger, and a different
person altogether,” might, in Mr. Holtz's opinion, be safely
trusted.
I assured Mr. Holtz that he might rely upon me as he
would upon himself, and he seemed quite satisfied with
this rather equivocal statement.
Having heard all that mine host could tell, I remained in
further conversation with him long enough to avoid any
appearance of abruptness, and then, offering the stereotyped
excuse, “letters to write,” I took a second cigar, pressed
another upon my companion, and nodding to him with
friendly familiarity, sauntered away to meditate in solitude
upon what I had just learned. :
And so, if Mr. Holtz had not exaggerated, and Jim
Long was not mistaken, Blake Simpson and Dimber Joe,
two notorious prison birds, were vegetating in Trafton in
the character of detectives!
What a satire on my profession | And yet, absurd and
improbable as it seemed, it was not impossible. Indeed,


270 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
did not this theory account for their seemingly aimless so-
journ here?
Jim Long was not the man to perpetrate a causeless jest.
Neither was he one to form a hasty conclusion, or to make
an assertion without a motive.
Whether his statement were true or false, what had been
his reason for confiding it to Mr. Holtz? It was not be-
cause of any especial friendship for, or attachment to, that
gentleman. Jim had no intimates, and had he chosen such,
Mr. Holtz, gossipping, idle, stingy, and shallow of brain,
would scarcely have been the man.
Why, then, had he confided in the man?
Did he wish the report to circulate, and himself remain
unknown as its author? Was there some individual whose
ears he wished it to reach through the talkative landlord?
I paused in my reflections, half startled by a sudden
thought.
Had this shrewd, incomprehensible Yankee guessed my
secret? And was Mr. Holtz's story intended for me? .
Iarose to my feet, having formed a sudden resolution.
I would know the truth concerning Jim Long. I would
prove him my friend or my enemy, and the story told by
Mr. Holtz should be my weapon of attack.
As for Blake and Dimber, if they were figuring as dum-
my detectives, who had instigated their masquerade?
Again I started, confronted by a strange new thought.
'Squire Brookhouse had telegraphed to an agent to em-


TWO DEPARTURES. 271
ploy for him two detectives. My Chief had been unable to
discover what officers had been employed. Carnes and
myself, although we had kept a faithful lookout, had been
able to discover notraces of a detective in Trafton. Indeed,
except for ourselves and the two crooks, there were no
strangers in the village, nor had there been since the rob-
bery.
If Blake and Dimber were playing at detectives, why
was it? Had the agent employed by 'Squire Brookhouse
played him a trick, or had he been himself duped?
'Squire Brookhouse had telegraphed to his lawyer, it was
said. A lawyer could have no motive for duping a wealthy
client, nor would he be likely to be imposed upon or ap-
proached by such men as Blake and Dimber.
Had Squire Brookhouse procured the services of these
men? And if so, why?
Carnes was endeavoring to sustain his rôle by taking a
much needed nap upon his cot, but I now roused him with
eager haste, and regaled his sleepy ears with the story I
had just listened to below stairs.
At first he seemed only to see the absurdity of the idea,
and he buried his face in the pillow, to stifle the merriment
which rose to his lips at the thought of the protection such
detectives would be likely to afford the innocent Traftonites.
Then he became wide awake and sufficiently serious, and
we hastily discussed the possibilities of the case.
There was not much to be done in the way of investiga


272 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
tion just then; Carnes would follow after Blake so long as
it seemed necessary, or until he could inform me how to
guard against any evil the crook might be intent upon.
Meantime I must redouble my vigilance, and let no
movement of Dimber's escape my notice.
To this end I abandoned, for the present, my hastily
formed resolution, to go at once in search of Jim Long, and
bring about a better understanding between us. That er-
rand, being of less importance than the surveillance of the
rascal Dimber, could be left to a more convenient season,
or so I reasoned in my pitiful blindness.
Where was my professional wisdom then? Where the
unerring foresight, the fine instinct, that should have warned
me of danger ahead?
Had these been in action, one man might have been
saved a shameful stigma, and another, from the verge of
the grave.


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 273
CHAPTER XXIII.
A SHOT IN THE DARK.
That afternoon dragged itself slowly away.
I left Carnes in our room, and went below to note the
movements of the two crooks.
They were both upon the piazza; Blake smoking a well-
colored meerschaum and seemingly half asleep, and the
Dimber, with his well-polished boot heels elevated to the
piazza railing, reading from a brown volume, with a coun-
tenance expressive of absorbed interest.
I seated myself where I could observe both without
seeming to do so, and tilting my hat over my nose, dropped
into a lounging attitude. I suppose that I looked the per-
sonification of careless indolence. I know that I felt per-
plexed, annoyed, uncomfortable.
Perplexed, because of the many mysteries that surrounded
me. Annoyed, because while I longed to be actively at
work upon the solution of these mysteries, I could only sit
like a sleepy idiot, and furtively watch two rascals engaged
in killing time, the one with a pipe, the other with a French
novel. Uncomfortable, because the day was sultry, and
the piazza chairs were hard, and constructed with little
18


274 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
regard for the ease of the forms that would occupy them.
But there comes an end to all things, or so it is said. At
last there came an end to my loitering on the warm piazza.
At the proper time Carnes came lumbering down-stairs
seeming not yet sobered, but fully equipped for his journey.
He took an affectionate leave of the landlord, receiving
some excellent advice in return. And, after favoring me
with a farewell speech, half maudlin, half impertinent,
wholly absurd, and intended for the benefit of the lookers-
on, who certainly enjoyed the scene, he departed noisily,
and, as Barney Cooley, was seen no more in Trafton.
A few moments later, “the gentleman in gray” also took
his leave, bestowing a polite nod upon one or two of the
more social ones, but without so much as glancing toward
Dimber Joe or myself. He walked sedately away, fol-
lowed by the hotel factotum, who carried his natty travel-
ing bag.
Still Dimber read on at his seemingly endless novel,
and still I lounged about the porch, sometimes smoking,
sometimes feigning sleep.
At last came supper time. I hailed it as a pleasant re-
spite, and followed Dimber Joe to the dining room with
considerable alacrity.
Dr. Bethel came in soon, looking grave and weary. We
saluted each other, but Bethel seemed little inclined to talk,
and I was glad not to be engaged in a conversation which
might detain me at the table after Joe had left it.


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 275
Bethel, I knew, was much at the house of the Barnards.
The shock caused by the loss of her husband, together with
the fatigue occasioned by his illness, had prostrated Mrs.
Barnard, who, it was said, was threatened with a fever, and
Bethel was in constant attendance.
As yet there had been no opportunity for the renewal
of the conversation, concerning the grave robbery, which
had been interrupted more than a week since by Mr. Brook-
house, and afterwards effectually cut off by my flying visit
to the city. -
When the Dimber left the table I followed him almost
immediately, only to again find him poring over that ab-
sorbing novel, and seemingly oblivious to all else.
Sundown came, and then twilight. As darkness gathered,
Dimber Joe laid down his book with evident reluctance
and carefully lighted a cigar.
Would he sit thus all the evening? I was chafing in-
wardly. Would the man do nothing to break this mon-
otony?
Presently a merry whistle broke upon the stillness, and
quick steps came down the street.
It was Charlie Harris and, as on a former occasion, he
held a telegram in his hand.
“For you,” he said, having peered hard at me through
the gloom. “It came half an hour ago, but I could not get
down until now.”
I took the envelope from his hand and slowly arose.


. 276 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“I don’t suppose you will want my help to read it,” he
said, with an odd laugh, as I turned toward the lighted
office to peruse my message.
I gave him a quick glance, and then said:
“Come in, Harris, there may be an answer wanted.”
He followed me to the office desk, and I was conscious
that he was watching my face as I perused its contents.
This is what I read by the office lamp.
4 -. H., c, n, c, e, o, g, k, i, m, b, -, s, i, a -.
A cipher message. I turned, half smiling, to meet the
eye of Harris and kept my own eyes upon his face while
I said:
“I’m obliged to you, Harris, your writing is capital, and
very easily read. No answer is required.”
The shrewd twinkle of his eye assured me that he
comprehended my meaning as well as my words.
I offered him a cigar, and lighted another for myself.
Then we went out upon the piazza together.
We had been in the office less than four minutes, but in
that time Dimber Joe had disappeared, French novel and
all. Much annoyed I peered up and down the street.
To the left was the town proper, the stores, the depot,
and other business places. To the right were dwellings
and churches; a hill, the summit and sides adorned with the
best residences of the village; then a hollow, where nestled
Dr. Bethel’s small cottage; and farther on, and back


A SHOT IN THE DARK, 277
from the highway, Jim Long's cabin. Beyond these an-
other hill, crowned by the capacious dwelling of the Brook-
house family. -
Which way had Dimber gone?
It was early in the evening, too early to set out on an ex-
pedition requiring stealth. Then I remembered that Joe
had not left the hotel since dinner; probably he had gone
to the post office.
Harris was returning in that direction. I ran down
the steps and strolled townward in his company.
“It’s deuced hot,” said Harris, with characteristic
emphasis, as he lifted his hat to wipe a perspiring brow.
“My office is the warmest hole in town after the breeze
goes down, and I’ve got to stay there until midnight.”
“Extra business?” I inquired.
“Not exactly; we are going to have a night operator.”
“Ah!” The darkness hid the smile on my face.
“That will relieve you a little?”
“Yes, a little; but I'm blessed if I understand it.
Business is unusually light just now. I needed an assist-
ant more in the Fall and Winter.”
“Indeed,” I said, aloud. Then to myself, “But Carnes
and I did not need one so much.”
Our agency had done some splendid work for the tele-
graph company whose wires ran through Trafton; and I
knew, before requesting a new operator in the town, that
they stood ready to oblige my Chief to any extent com-


278 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
patible with their own business. And my Chief had been
expeditious indeed.
“Then you look for your night operator by the down
express?” I questioned, carelessly. -
“Yes; they wired methat he would cometo-night. Ihope
he'll be an obliging fellow, who won’t mind taking a day
turn now and then.”
“I hope so,” I replied, “for your sake, Harris.”
We had reached the post-office, and bidding him good
night, I entered.
A few tardy Traftonites were there, asking for and re-
ceiving their mail, but Dimber Joe was not among them.
I went slowly back to Porter's store, glancing in at
various windows as I passed, but saw not the missing
Iman.
How had he eluded me? Where should I look for
him? -
Returning to the hotel, I sat down in the seat lately oc-
cupied by the vanished crook, and pondered.
Was Dimber about to strike? Had he strolled out thus
early to reconnoiter his territory? If so, he would return
anon to equip himself for the work; he could not well
carry a burglar's kit in the light suit he wore.
Suddenly I arose and hurried up the stairs, resolved
upon a bold measure.
Hastily unlocking my trunk, I removed a tray, and from
a skillfully concealed compartment, took a pair of nippers,


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 279
some skeleton keys, and a small tin case, shaped like the
candle it contained. Next, I removed my hat, coat, and
boots; and, in another moment, was standing before the
door of the room occupied by Dimber Joe. I knocked
lightly and the silence within convinced me that the room
was unoccupied.
The Trafton House was not plentifully supplied with
bolts, as I knew; and my nippers assured me that there
was no key in the lock.
Thus emboldened, I fitted one of the skeleton keys, and
was soon within the room, making a hasty survey of Dim-
ber Joe's effects.
Aided again by my skeleton keys, I hurriedly opened
and searched the two valises. They were as honest as they
looked.
The first contained a liberal supply of polished linen, a
water-proof coat and traveling-cap, together with other
articles of clothing, and two or three novels. The second
held the clerical black suit worn by Dimber on the evening
of his arrival in Trafton; a brace of linen dusters, a few
articles of the toilet, and a small six-shooter.
There was nothing else; no concealed jimmy, no “tools”
of any description.
It might have been the outfit of a country parson, but
for the novels and the revolver. This latter was loaded,
and, without any actual motive for so doing, I extracted
the cartridges and put them in my pocket.


280 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
In another moment I was back in my own room, baffled,
disappointed, and puzzled more than before. *
Sitting there alone, I drew from my pocket the lately re-
ceived telegram, and surveyed it once more.
4= H, c, n, c, e, o, g, k, i, m, b-s, i, a-.
Well might Harris have been puzzled. Arrant nonsense
it must have seemed to him, but to me it was simplicity it-
self. The dispatch was from Carnes, and it said:
“He is coming back.”
Simplicity itself, as the reader will see, by comparing the
letters and the words.
“He is coming back.” This being interpreted, meant,
“Blake Simpson is now returning to Trafton.”
Was I growing imbecile?
Blake Simpson had departed in the daylight, doubtless
taking the “tools of his trade” with him, hence the in-
nocent appearance of his partner's room, for partners, I
felt assured, they were.
He was returning under cover of the darkness; Dimber
had gone out to meet him, and before morning, Trafton
would be supplied with a fresh sensation.
How was I to act? How discover their point of attack?
It yet lacked more than two hours of midnight. Trafton
had not yet gone to sleep.
Blake was coming back, but how?
My telegram came from a village fifteen miles distant-


|
=
I fitted one of the skeleton keys.”—page 279.
“Thus assured






281


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 283
Blake then must have left the train at that point, and Carnes
had followed him. He had followed him until assured that
he was actually returning to Trafton, and then he had sent
the message.
Blake might return in two ways. He might hire a con-
veyance and drive back to Trafton, or he might walk back
as far as the next station, a distance of five miles, and there
wait for the night express.
It seemed hardly probable that he would care to court
notice by presenting himself at an inn or livery stable. He
would be more apt to walk away from the village, assume
some light disguise, and return by the train. It would be
a child’s trick for him to drop from the moving train
as it entered the town, and disappear unnoticed in the
darkness.
Carnes might return by that train, also, but we had
agreed that, unless he was fully convinced that Blake meant
serious mischief, and that I would need his assistance, he
was to continue on his journey, as it seemed important that
he should be in New Orleans as soon as possible.
After some consideration, I decided that I would attach
myself to Dimber, should he return, as it seemed iikely that
he would, it being so early. And if he failed to appear,
I would lie in wait for the night express, and endeavor to
spot Blake, should he come that way.
Having thus decided, I resumed my hat, coat and boots,
extinguished my light, locked my door and went down-stairs.


284 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
The office lamp was burning its brightest, and there un-
derneath it, tilted back in the only arm-chair the room
could boast, sat Dimber Joe; his hat hung on a rack be-
side the door, a fresh cigar was stuck between his lips, and
he was reading again that brown-covered French novel !
I began to feel like a man in a nightmare. Could that
indolent-looking novel reader be meditating a crime, and
only waiting for time to bring the hour?
I went out upon the piazza and fanned myself with my
hat. I felt discomposed, and almost nervous. At that
moment I wished devoutly that I could see Carnes.
By-and-by my absurd self-distrust passed away, and I
began to feel once more equal to the occasion.
Dimber's room was not, like mine, at the end of the build-
ing. It was a “front room,” and its two windows opened
directly over the porch upon which I stood.
I had the side door of the office in full view. He could
not leave the house unseen by me.
Mr. Holtz came out to talk with me. I complained of
a headache and declared my intention to remain outside
until it should have passed away. We conversed for half
an hour, and then, as the hands of the office clock pointed
to half-past ten he left me to make his nightly round
through kitchen, pantries, and dining-room, locking and
barring the side door of the office before going. And still
Dimber Joe read on, to all appearances oblivious of time
and all things else.


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 285.
A wooden bench, hard and narrow, ran along the wall
just under the office window, affording a seat for loungers
when the office should be overfull, and the chairs all occu-
pied. Upon this I stretched myself, and feigned sleep, for
a time that seemed interminable.
Eleven o’clock; eleven loud metalic strokes from the
office time keeper. -
Dimber Joe lowered the leg that had been elevated,
elevated the leg that had been lowered, turned a page of his
novel and read on. The man’s coolness was tantalizing. I
longed to forget my identity as a detective, and his as a
criminal, and to spring through the window, strike the
book from his hand, and challenge him to mortal combat,
with dirks at close quarters, or pistols at ten paces.
Half-past eleven. Dimber Joestretched his limbs, closed
his book, yawned and arose. Whistling softly, as if not to
disturb my repose, he took a small lamp from a shelf be-
hind the office desk, lighted it leisurely and went up-stairs.
As he entered the room above, a ray of light from his
window gleamed out across the road. It rested there for,
perhaps, five minutes and then disappeared.
Had Dimber Joe closed his novel to retire like an honest
man?
Ten more long minutes of quiet and silence, and then the
stillness was broken by a long, shrill shriek, sounding half
a mile distant. It was the night express nearing Trafton
station.



286 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
As this sound died upon the air, another greeted my ears;
the sound of swift feet running heedlessly, hurriedly; com-
ing directly toward me from the southward.
As I rose from my lounging place and stepped to the end
of the piazza the runner came abreast of me, and the light
streaming through the office window revealed to me Jim
Long, hatless, coatless, almost breathless.
The lamp light fell upon me also, and even as he ran he
recognized me.
Halting suddenly, he turned back with a quick ejacula-
tion, which I did not understand.
“Long, what has happened?”
The answer came between short, sharp breaths.
“Carl Bethel has been shot down at his own door! For
God’s sake go to him! He is there alone. I must find a
doctor.” - -
In another instant he was running townward at full
speed, and I was flying at an equal pace through the dark
and silent street toward Dr. Bethel's cottage.


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“Carl Bethel has been shot down at his own door! For God’s
sake go to him! He is there alone. I must find a doctor.”-page 286.

287


JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HAND. 289
CHAPTER XXIV.
JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HAND.
As I ran through the silent, dusky street, keeping to the
road in preference to risking myself, at that pace, over some
most uncertain “sidewalks,” for pavements were unknown
in Trafton, my thoughts were keeping pace with my heels.
First they dwelt upon the fact that Jim Long, in making
his brief, hasty exhortation to me, had forgotten, or chosen
to ignore, his nasal twang and rustic dialect, and that his
earnestness and agitation had betrayed a more than ordinary
interest in Carl Bethel, and a much more than ordinary dis-
may at the calamity which had befallen him.
Carl Bethel had been shot down at his own door!
How came it that Jim Long was near the scene and
ready for the rescue, at eleven o'clock at night? Who had
committed the deed? And why?
Some thoughts come to us like inspirations. Suddenly
there flashed upon my mind a possible man and a probable
motive.
Blake Simpson was coming back. Contrary to my ex-
pectations, he had probably entered Trafton on foot, hav-
ing made the journey by means of some sort of conveyance
* 19 *13


290 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
which was now, perhaps, carrying him away from the
scene of his crime.
This would explain the singular apathy of Dimber Joe.
He had walked out earlier in the evening to ascertain that
the way was clear and the game within reach, or, in other
words, at home and alone. Then perhaps he had made
these facts known to his confederate, and after that, his
part in the plot being accomplished, he had returned to
the hotel, where he had kept himself conspicuously in sight
until after the deed was done. Here was a theory for the
murder ready to hand, and a motive was not wanting.
Only a week since, some party or parties had committed
a shameful outrage, and the attempt had been made to
fasten the crime upon Carl Bethel. Fortunately the
counter evidence had been sufficient to clear him in the
eyes of impartial judges. The doctor's courage and popu-
larity had carried him safely through the danger. His
enemies had done him little hurt, and had not succeeded
in driving him from Trafton. Obviously he was in some-
body's way, and the first attempt having failed, they had
made a second and more desperate one.
Here my mental diagnosis of the case came to an end.
I had reached the gate of the doctor's cottage.
All was silent as I opened the door and entered the
sitting-room. A shaded lamp burned softly on the center-
table, and beside it stood the doctor's easy-chair and foot-
rest. An open book lay upon the table, as if lately laid


JIM LONG SEHOWS HIS HAND. 291
down by the occupant of the chair, who had put a half-
filled pipe between the pages, to mark the place where he
had stopped reading when interrupted by—what?
Thus much I observed at a glance, and then turned
toward the inner room where, upon the bed, lay Carl
Bethel.
Was he living or dead? -
Taking the lamp from the table I carried it to the bed-
side, and bent to look at the still form lying thereon. The
loose coat of white linen, and also the vest, had been drawn
back from the right shoulder; both were blood-stained,
and the entire shirt front was saturated with blood.
I put the lamp upon a stand beside the bed, and ex-
amined closer. The hands were not yet cold with the
chill of death, the breath came feebly from between the
parted lips.
What should I do?
As I glanced about the room while asking myself this
helpless question, there came a step upon the gravel outside,
quick, light, firm. Then the door opened, and Louise
Barnard stood before me.
Shall I ever forget that woful face, white as the face
of death, rigid with the calmness of despair? Shall I ever
banish from my memory those great dark eyes, too full of
anguish for tears? It was another mental picture of
Louise Barnard never to be forgotten.
“Carl, Carl!”


292 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
She was on her knees at the bedside clasping the limp
hand between her own, bowing her white face until it rested
upon his.
“Carl, Carl ! speak to me!”
But there was no word of tenderness in answer to her
pitiful appeal, no returning pressure from the still hand,
and she buried her head in the pillows, uttering a low moan
of despair.
In the presence of one weaker than myself, my own help-
lessness forsook me. I approached the girl who knelt
there believing her lover dead, and touched her shoulder
lightly.
“Miss Barnard, we have no time now for grief. He is
not dead.”
She was on her feet in an instant.
“Not dead! Then he must not die!”
A red flush mounted to her cheek, a new light leaped to
her eye. She waited to ask or give no explanation, but
turned once more and laid her hand upon the blood-ensan-
guined garments.
“Ah, we must waste no more time. Can you cut away
this clothing?”
I nodded and she sprang from the room. I heard
a clicking of steel and the sound of opening drawers, then
she was back with a pair of sharp scissors in her hand.
“Use these,” she said, taking command as a matter of
course, and flitting out again, leaving me to do my work,


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“Carl, Carl! speak to me!”-page 292.

293





JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HAND. 295
and as I worked, I marveled at and admired her wonderful
presence of mind—her splendid self-control.
In a moment I knew, by the crack of a parlor match
and a responsive flash of steady light, that she had found
a lamp and lighted it.
There were the sounds of another search, and then she
was back again with restoratives and some pieces of
linen.
Glancing down at the bed she uttered a sharp exclama-
tion, and all the blood fled out of her face. I had just laid
bare a ghastly wound in the right shoulder, and danger-
ously near the lung.
It was with a mighty effort that she regained her self-
control. Then she put down the things she held, and said,
quite gently:
“Please chafe his hands and temples, and afterward try
the restoratives. There is a fluid heater out there. I must
have warm water before—”
“ Long has gone for a doctor,” I interrupted, thinking
her possibly ignorant of this fact.
“I know ; we must have everything ready for him.”
She went out and I began my work of restoration.
After some time passed in the outer room, she came
back to the bedside and assisted me in my task.
After a little, a faint sigh and a feeble fluttering of the
eyelids assured us that we were not thus active in vain.
The girl caught her breath, and while she renewed her


296 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
efforts at restoration I saw that she was fast losing her self-
control.
And now we heard low voices and hurrying footsteps.
It was the doctor at last.
Excepting Bethel, Dr. Hess was the youngest practitioner
in Trafton. He was a bachelor, and slept at his office, a
fact which Jim took into account in calling for him, instead
of waking up old Dr. Baumbach, who lived at the extreme
north of the village.
Dr. Hess looked very grave, and Jim exceedingly anxious,
as the two bent together over the patient.
After a brief examination, Dr. Hess said:
“I must get at Bethel’s instruments. I know he keeps
them here, so did not stop to fetch mine.”
“They are all ready.”
He turned in surprise. Miss Barnard had drawn back
at his entrance, and he was now, for the first time, aware
of her presence.
“I knew what was required,” she said, in answer to his
look of surprise. “They are ready for you.”
The doctor moved toward the outer room.
“I must have some tepid water,” he said.
“That, too, is ready. I shall assist you, Dr. Hess.”
“You!”
“Yes, I. I know something about the instruments. I
have helped my father more than once.”
“But—”


JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HANI). 297
“There need be no objection. I am better qualified than
either of these gentlemen.”
He looked at me, still hesitating.
“I think you can trust the lady,” I said; “she has
proved her capability.”
“Very well, Miss Barnard,” said the doctor, more
graciously; “it may try your nerves;” and, taking up some
instruments, he turned toward the inner room.
“I shall be equal to it,” she replied, as, gathering up
some lint, and going across the room for a part of the
water, fast heating over the fluid lamp, she followed him.
“Doctor, can’t we do something?” asked Jim Long.
“Nothing at present.”
How still it was! Jim Long stood near the center of
the room, panting heavily, and looking down at a dark
stain in the carpet, -a splash of human blood that marked
the place where Bethel had fallen under the fire of the as-
sassin. His face was flushed, and its expression fiercely
gloomy. His hands were clenched nervously, his eye
riveted to that spot upon the carpet, his lips moved from
time to time, as if framing anathemas against the would-be
destroyer.
After a time, I ventured, in a low tone:
“Long, you are breathing like a spent racer. Sit down.
You may need your breath before long.”
He turned, silently opened the outer door, making
scarcely a sound, and went out into the night.


298 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
That was a long half hour which I passed, sitting beside
the little table with that splash of blood directly before my
eyes, hearing no sound save an occasional rustle from the inner
room, and now and then a low word spoken by Dr. Hess.
To think to the purpose seemed impossible, in that still-
ness where life and death stood face to face. I could only
wait; anxiously, impatiently, fearing the worst.
At last it was over; and Jim, who evidently, though
out of sight, had not been out of hearing, came in to listen
to the verdict of Dr. Hess.
“It was a dangerous wound,” he said, “and the patient
was in a critical condition. He might recover, with good
nursing, but the chances were much against him.”
A spasm of pain crossed Louise Barnard's face, and I
saw her clench her small hand in a fierce effort to maintain
her self-control. Then she said, quite calmly:
“In his present condition, will he not require the con-
stant attention of a surgeon?”
Dr. Hess bowed his head.
“Hemorrhage is likely to occur,” he said. “He might
need surgical aid at a moment's notice.”
“Then, Dr. Hess, would you object to our calling for
counsel—for an assistant?”
He elevated his eyebrows, more in surprise at the pro-
noun, I thought, than at the suggestion, or request.
“I think it might be well to have Dr. Baumbach in to-
morrow,” he replied.


JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HAND. 299
“I was not thinking of Dr. Baumbach,” she said. “I
wish to send to New York for a doctor who is a relative
of Mr. Bethel's. I know—it is what he would wish.”
Dr. Hess glanced from her face to mine and remained
silent.
“When my father was sick,” she went on, now looking
appealingly from the doctor's face to mine, and then over
my shoulder at Jim, who had remained near the door,
“Dr. Bethel said that if he had any doubts as to his case,
he should telegraph at once for Dr. Denham, and he added
that he knew of no surgeon more skillful.”
Still no answer from Dr. Hess.
Jim Long came forward with a touch of his old impa-
tience and accustomed quaintness in his words and manner.
“I’m in favor of the city doctor,” he said, looking, not
at Dr. Hess, but straight into my face. “And I’m en-
titled to a voice in the matter. The patient's mine by
right of discovery.”
Miss Barnard gave him a quick glance of gratitude, and
I rallied from the surprise occasioned by the mention of
“our old woman,” to say:
“I think you said that this gentleman is a relative of
Dr. Bethel's; if so, he should be sent for by all means.”
“He is Dr. Bethel's uncle,” said Miss Barnard.
“Then,” I repeated, with decision, “as a relative he should
be sent for at once.”
“Most certainly,” acquiesced Dr. Hess, who now saw


300 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
the matter in, to him, a more favorable light. “Send for
him; the sooner the better.”
“Oh,” breathed the anxious girl, “I wish it could be
done at once.”
“It can,” I said, taking my hat from the table as I spoke.
“Fortunately there is a new night operator at the station;
he came to-night, or was expected. If he is there, we shall
save time, if not, we must get Harris up.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Dr. Hess went to take a look at his patient, and came
back, saying:
“I will remain here until morning, I think.”
“And I will come back as soon as possible,” I responded,
turning to go. -
Jim Long caught up his hat from the floor, where he
had flung it on entering.
“I reckon I had better go along with you,” he said, sud-
denly assuming his habitual drawl; “you may have to
rout Harris up, and I know right where to find him.”
I was anxious to go, for a reason of my own, and I was
not sorry to have Jim's company. “Now, if ever,” I
thought, “is the time to fathom ‘the true inwardness of
this strange man.”
We waited for no more words, but set out at once, walk-
ing briskly through the night that seemed doubly dark,
doubly silent and mysterious, at the witch's hour of one
o'clock.


JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HAND. 301
We had walked half the distance to the station, in per-
fect silence, and I was studying the best way to approach
Jim and overcome his reticence, when suddenly he opened
his lips, to give me a glimpse of his “true inwardness,”
that nearly took me, figuratively, off my feet.
“Men are only men, after all,” he began, sententiously,
“and detectives are only common men sharpened up a bit.
I wonder, now, how you are going to get the address of this
Dr. Denham 2”
I started so violently, that he must have perceived it,
dark though it was. -
What a blunder! I had walked away from the cottage
forgetting to ask for Dr. Denham's address.
Uttering an exclamation of impatience, I turned sharply
about.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’m going back after the address, of course.”
“I wouldn’t do that; time's precious. Do you go ahead
and send the message. I’ll run back and ask after the ad-
dress.” - • -
“Long,” I said, sharply, “what do you mean?”
“I mean this,” he replied, his tone changing suddenly.
“I mean that it's time for you and I to understand each
other!”


302 OUT OF A LABYIRINTII.
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH ITAKE JIM ON TRUST.
“It is time for you and I to understand each other.
Don't stop there looking moon-struck! Go ahead, and
don’t waste time. I’ll run back and ask for the address.
Miss Barnard, if she scented a secret, might be trusted with
it. But, Dr. Hess—his brain has not kept pace with the
steps of the universe.”
With these remarkable words, Jim Long lowered his
head, compressed his elbows after the fashion of a profes-
sional prize-runner, and was off like a flying shadow, while
I stood staring after him through the darkness, divided
betwixt wonder at his strange words and manner, and dis-
gust at my own stupidity.
What did he mean? Had he actually discovered my
identity? And, if so, how?”
While waiting for a solution to these riddles, it would be
well to profit by Jim's advice. So I turned my face to-
ward the village, and hurried forward.
As I approached the station, a bright light from the
operator's window assured me that I should not find the
office empty, and coming stealthily toward it, I peered in,


IN WHICH ITAKE JIM ON TRUST. 303 .
to see, seated in the most commodious office chair, Gerald
Brown, of our agency, the expected “night operator.”
On a lounge opposite the window, lay Charlie Harris
asleep.
I tapped softly on the open casement, and keeping my-
self in the shadow whispered:
“Come outside, Gerry, and don’t wake Harris.”
The night-operator, who knew the nature of the services
required of him in Trafton, and who doubtless had been ex-
pecting a visit, arose quietly and came out on the platform
with the stealthy tread of a bushman.
After a cordial hand-clasp, and a very few words of
mutual inquiry, I told Brown what had happened at the
doctor's cottage, and of my suspicions regarding Blake
Simpson; and, then, using a leaf from my note-book, and
writing by the light from the window, I wrote two mes-
sages, to be sent before Harris should awake.
The first was as follows:
DoCTOR CHARLES DENHAM,
No. 300 –— street, N. Y.
Carl Bethel is in extreme danger; requires your professional ser-
vices. Come at once. BATHURST.
The second was addressed to our office, and was much
longer. It ran thus:
CAPT. B., A —, N. Y.
Murder was attempted last night ; Bethel the victim. See that
Denham comes by the first train to attend to him. Give him some


IN WEIICH ITAKE JIM TRUST. 305
Gerry agreed with me in this, and, as at that moment we
heard footsteps approaching, which I rightly guessed to be
those of Jim Long, we separated at once, and I went for-
ward to meet Jim. -
Before, I had deemed it necessary to press the siege, and
lead Jim to talk by beginning the attack in a voluble
manner. Now, I was equally intent upon holding my
own forces in reserve, and letting him open the engage-
ment, which, after a few moments' silence, he did.
A few rods away from the depot stood a church, with
broad, high steps leading up from the street, and a deep,
old-fashioned portico.
Here Jim came to an abrupt halt, for we had turned our
steps southward, and said, with more of courtesy in his
voice than might have been expected, considering his re-
cent abruptness:
“Let us go up there, and sit under the porch. It's
safer than to talk while walking, and I fancy you would
like me to explain myself.”
I followed him in silence up the steps, and sat down
beside him on the portico. -
“I wonder,” began Jim, lowering his voice to insure
himself against possible eavesdroppers, “I wonder why
you have not asked me, before this time, how it happened
that I was the first to discover Bethel's condition, or, at
any rate, the first to give the alarm.”
“There has scarcely been time,” I replied, guardedly.
20


306 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Besides I, being so nearly a stranger, thought that a
question to be more properly asked by Miss Barnard or
the doctor.”
“You are modest,” said Jim, with a short laugh.
“Probably it will not occur to Miss Barnard to ask that
question, until her mind is more at ease concerning Bethel's
condition. As for Dr. Hess, he had asked it before he
took off his nightcap.”
“And did you answer it,” asked I, maliciously, “in the
same good English you are addressing to me?”
“I hope not,” he replied, laughing again. “I told him
the truth, however, in a very few words, and now I will
tell it to you. Last night—I suppose it is morning now
by the clock—I spent the evening in the village, princi-
pally about the Trafton House. I presume you are won-
dering how it came that you did not see me there, for I
happen to know that you spent the entire evening in the
office or on the porch. Well, the fact is, I was there on a
little private business, and did not make myself very con-
spicuous for that reason. It was late when I came home,
and, on looking about the cabin, I discovered that my gun
was missing. My door, for various reasons, I always leave
unlocked when absent, so I did not waste any time in won-
dering how the thief got in. I missed nothing else, and,
after a little, I went outside to smoke, and think the mat-
ter over. I had not been out many minutes before I heard
the report of a gun,—my gun, I could have sworn. It


IN WHICH ITAKE JIM ON TRUST. 307
sounded in the direction of Bethel's cottage, and I was not
many minutes in getting there. I found the door open,
and Bethel lying across the threshold, wounded, as you
have seen. He was almost unconscious then, but as I bent
above him he whispered one word, Louise.’ I could not
leave him lying there in the doorway, so I lifted him and
carried him to the bed, and then, seeing that it was a
shoulder wound, and that he still breathed, I rushed off,
stopping to tell Louise ižarnard that her lover was wounded
and, maybe, dying, and then on again until I saw you, the
very man whose help I wanted.”
“And why my help rather than that of another?”
“Because, next to that of a physician, the presence of a
detective seemed most necessary.”
“Long,” I said, turning upon him sharply, “this is the
second time you have referred to me as ‘a detective. Will
you be good enough to explain?”
“I have spoken of you as a detective,” he replied, gravely,
“because I believe you to be one, and have so believed since
the day you came to Trafton. To explain in full would
be to occupy more time than you or I can well spare to
story telling. I have watched you since you first came to
this place, curiously at first, then earnestly, then anxiously.
I believe you are here to ferret out the authors of the many
robberies that have happened in and about Trafton. If
this isso, then there is no one moreanxious to help you, or who
could have a stronger motive forso doing, than Jim Long.”


308 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
*
He paused for a moment, but I remained silent, and he
began anew.
“I think you are interested in Bethel and his misfortunes.
I think you know him for the victim of those who believe
him to be what you really are.”
“You think there are those who fear Bethel because
they believe him to be a detective? Is that your meaning?”
“That is my meaning.” -
“Long,” I said, seriously, “you tell me that your gun
was stolen last night; that you recognized the sound of the
report coming from the direction of Bethel's house.”
He moved closer to me and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“It was my gun that shot Bethel,” he said, solemnly.
“To-morrow that gun will be found and I shall be accused
of the crime. If the devils had possessed my knowledge,
it would have been you, instead of Carl Bethel, lying some-
where now, dying or dead. I say these things to you to-
night because, if my gun is found, as I anticipate, and I
am accused of the shooting, I may not be able to serve Carl
Bethel, and he is not yet out of danger. If he lives he will
still be a target for his enemies.”
He spoke with suppressed emotion, and my own feel-
ings were stirred as I replied:
“Long, you have been a mystery to me from the first,
and I do not read your riddle even now, but I believe you
are a man to be trusted. Give me your hand, and depend
upon it you shall not rest long under a false accusation.


IN WHICH ITAKE JIM ON TRUST. 309
Carl Bethel, living, shall not want a friend; Carl Bethel,
dead, shall have an avenger. As for you, and myself—”
“We shall understand each other better,” he broke in,
“when the time comes for me to tell you my own story
in my own way.” -
“Then,” I said, “let us go back to Bethel. I want to
take a look about the premises by the first streak of day-
light.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Jim, “that is what I wanted to hear
you say.” *


310 THE TRAIL OF THE ASSASSIN.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE TRAIL OF THE ASSASSIN.
During the night there was little change in Bethel’s con-
dition, and in the gray of dawn Miss Barnard went reluc-
tantly home, having been assured by the doctor that the
patient was in no immediate danger, and, by Jim and my-
self, converted to the belief that he might be safely trusted
for a short time to our care.”
A little later, with the first clear light of the dawn, I left
Jim on guard at the bedside, and went to take a survey of
the premises.
I was not long in convincing myself that there was little
to be discovered outside, and returning to the house seated
myself in Bethel's easy-chair.
“Long,” I called softly,–somehow since last night
I could not bring myself to use the familiar “Jim,” as of
old.
He came from the inner room looking a mute in-
quiry.
“Long, you had ought to know something about your
own gun; was that wound of Bethel's made at long or
short range?” -


OUT OF A LABYRINTH. 311
He looked surprised at first, then a gleam of intelligence
leaped to his eyes.
“What do you mean by short range?” he asked.
“Suppose Bethel to have stood on the steps outside, was
the gun fired from behind that evergreen just beyond, and
close to the gravel walk, or from some other point equally
distant?”
He opened the door and glanced out at the tree, seeming
to measure the distance with his eye.
“It was further away,” he said, after a moment's reflec-
tion. “If the scoundrel had stood as you suggest, the muz-
zle of the gun would have been almost at Bethel's breast.
The powder would have scorched his clothing and his
flesh.”
“Do you think it may have been fired from the gate, or
a few feet beyond it?”
“Judging by the appearance of the wound, I should say
it must have been from a little beyond the gate.”
“I think so too,” I said. “I think some one drove to
the gate last night with a light buggy, and two small horses.
He or they drove quite close to the fence and stopped the
horses, so that they were hidden from the view of any one
who was nearer the house. The buggy was directly before
the gate and so close that it could not have been opened, as
it swings outward. The horses were not tied, but they were
doubtless well trained animals. A man jumped out of the
buggy, and, standing beside it, on the side farthest from


312 THE TRAIL OF THE ASSASSIN.
the gate, of course, leveled your gun across the vehicle and
called aloud for the doctor. Bethel was alone, sitting in
this chair by this table. His feet were on this footstool,”
touching each article as I named it. “He was smoking this
pipe, and reading this book. The window was open, and
the blinds only half closed. The man, who probably drove
close to the fence for that purpose, could see him quite
distinctly, and from his attitude and occupation knew him
to be alone.
“When Bethel heard the call, he put down the book and
pipe with cool deliberation, pushed back the footstool and
opened the door, coming from the light to the darkness.
At that moment he could see nothing, and leaving the door
open he stepped outside, standing clearly outlined in the
light from within. Then the assassin fired.”
Jim Long came toward me, his eyes earnestly searching
my face.
“In Heaven's name, what foundation have you for such
a theory,” he asked, slowly.
“Excellent foundation,” I replied. “Let us demonstrate
my theory.”
Long glanced at his charge in the inner room, and then
said, “go on.”
“Suppose me to be Bethel,” I said, leaning back in the
big chair. “That window is now just as it was last night,
I take it?”
“Just the same.”


|
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“When Bethel heard the call, he put down the book and pipe
with cool deliberation, pushed back the footstool and opened the
door,”—page 312.
*14 313





316. OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
are some bits of paper scattered about; do not step where
you see any of these.”
He obeyed my directions, striding over and around the
marked places.
“Now,” I called, retaining my position on the door-step,
“step about four feet from the gate, and from that dis-
tance how must you stand to take aim at me, on this spot?”
He shifted his position a trifle, went through the motion
of taking aim, looking down at his feet, then dropped his
arms, and said:
“I can’t do it; to aim at you there, I would have to
stand just where you have left some bits of paper. In any
other position the bushes obstruct the sight.”
I came down to the gate and swung it open.
“Just what I wanted to establish. Now for the next
test,” I said. “Mark me, Long; do you see those bits of
paper along the fence? Go and look at the ground, where
they lie, and you will see the faint impression of a wheel.
Just before the gate where the vehicle stood for a moment,
the print is deeper, and more easily noticed. I said that
the gun was fired across the buggy; you have convinced
yourself that aim could be taken from only one position,
at this distance. The man must stand where those bits of
paper are scattered. Now, look;” I bent down and
gathered up the fragments of paper; “look close. Here
is a fine, free imprint from the heel of a heavy boot. As
there is but one, and that so marked, it is reasonable to


THE TRAIL OF THE ASSASSIN. 317
suppose that the assassin rested one foot upon the buggy
wheel, thus throwing his weight upon this heel.”
Long bent to examine the print and then lifted his head
to ejaculate: -
“It is wonderful!”
“It is simplicity itself,” I replied; “ the a, b, c of the
detective's alphabet. I said there were two horses; look,
here is where one of them scraped the fence with his teeth,
and here the other has snatched a mouthful of leaves from
the doctor's young shade tree. Here, too, are some faint,
imperfect hoof-prints, but they are enough to tell us, from
their position, that there were two horses, and from their
size, that the animals were pretty small.”
Long examined the different marks with eager attention,
and then stood gazing fixedly at me, while I gathered up
my bits of paper.
“I shall not try to preserve these as evidence in the
case,” I said. “I think we shall do very well without.
them. They were marked for your benefit, solely. Are
you convinced?”
“Convinced | Yes, convinced and satisfied that you are
the man for this business.”
We returned to the house, each intent on his own
thoughts.
The sun was rising in a cloudless sky. It would not be
long before curious visitors would be thronging the cottage.
After a time I went to the door of the room where Jim had
resumed his watch,


318 . OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Long,” I asked, in a low tone, “do you know any
person in Ireton?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know whether this fellow Tom Briggs has any
relatives about Trafton?”
He pondered a moment.
“Yes,” he said, finally. “He has a brother somewhere
in the neighborhood. I dont know just where. He comes
to Trafton occasionally.”
“What is he like?”
“He is not unlike Tom, but goes rather better dressed.”
“Do you know his occupation?”
“A sort of horse-trading character, I think.”
I considered for a time, and then resumed my catechism.
“Among the farmers whose horses have been stolen, do
you know one who is thoroughly shrewd, cautious and re-
liable?”
“I think so,” after a moment's reflection. “I think
Mr. Warren is such a man.”
“Where can he be found?”
“He lives five miles northwest of Trafton.”
“If you wished to organize a small band of regulators, say
six or eight, where could you find the right men, and how
soon?” -
“I should look for them among the farmers. I think
they could be organized, for the right purpose, in half a
day's ride about the country.”


THE TRAIL OF THE ASSASSIN. 319
As my lips parted to launch another question, the outer
door opened slowly and almost noiselessly, and Louise Bar-
nard brushed past me and hurried to the bedside.
“Miss Barnard—”
“Don’t lectureme, please,” she said, hurriedly. “Mamma
is better and could spare me, and I could not sleep. I
have taken a cordial, and some food. You must let me
stay on guard until Dr. Denham arrives. I will resign
my post to him.”
“Which means that you will not trust to us. You are
a ‘willful woman, Miss Barnard, and your word is our law,
of course. There is actually nothing to do here just now
but to sit at the bedside and watch our patient. And so,
if you will occupy that post, Long and myself will take a
look at things out of doors.”
She took her seat by the bedside, and, beckoning Jim to
follow me, I went out, and, turning to see that he was close
behind me, walked to the rear of the house.
Here we seated ourselves upon the well platform, where
Jim had once before stationed himself to watch the pro-
ceedings of the raiding party, and for a full half-hour re-
mained in earnest consultation.
At the end of that time, Jim Long saddled and bridled
the doctor's horse, led him softly from the yard, mounted,
and rode swiftly away to the northwest.


320 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XXVII.
AN ANGRY HEIRESS.
Very soon after Jim's departure, the first visitors arrived
at the cottage, and most welcome ones they were.
Miss Barnard, who seemed capable of wise thought in
the midst of her grief and anxiety, had dispatched her own
servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and, early as was
the hour, that good man had hastened to the cottage, with
his wife at his side. Their presence was comforting to Miss
Barnard and myself. Mr. Harris was the right man to as-
sume responsibilities, which I, for various reasons, had no
desire to take upon myself, and Mrs. Harris was the very
companion and assistant needed by the anxious girl. They
were soon in possession of all the facts, as we knew them,
concerning the previous night, and its calamity.
I say, as we knew them; Miss Barnard had heard noth-
ing concerning the part Jim's gun was believed to have
played in the sad affair, and I did not think it necessary to
enlighten either her or Mr. Harris on that subject, at that
time. -
Leaving Bethel in such good hands, I went back to the
hotel. But before I could breakfast or rest, I was called


AN ANGRY HEIRESS. 321
upon to repeat again and again all that I could or would
tell concerning this new calamity that had befallen Dr.
Bethel, for the news of the night was there before me.
As I re-entered the office, after quitting the breakfast
table, I found a considerable crowd assembled, and was
again called upon to rehearse my story.
“It looks sorter queerish to me,” commented a hook-
nosed old Traftonite, who had listened very intently to my
words. “It’s sorter queerish! Why warn’t folks told of
this sooner? Why warn’t the alarm given, so’at citizens
could agone and seen for theirselves how things was?”
I recognized the speaker as one who had been boister-
ously and vindictively active on the day of the raid upon
Bethel's cottage, and I fixed my eye upon his face with a
look which he seemed to comprehend, as I retorted:
“Dr. Bethel has received one visit from a delegation of
“citizens who were desirous to see for theirselves how things
was, and if he suffered no harm from it, it was not owing
to the tender mercies of the ‘citizens’ aforesaid. The at-
tendance of a mob last night would not have benefited
Bethel. What he needed was a doctor and good nursing.
These he had and will have,” and I turned upon my heel
to leave the room.
“I should say,” spoke up another voice, “that there was
a detective needed around there, too.”
“Nothing shall be lacking that is needed,” I retorted,
over my shoulder, and then ascended the stairs, wishing
21


322 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
heartily, as I entered my room, that Trafton and a large
majority of its inhabitants were safely buried under an
Alpine avalanche.
Two hours later I awoke, and being in a more amiable
mood, felt less inclined to consign all Trafton to annihila-
tion.
Going below I found the office comparatively quiet, and
Dimber Joe and the new operator socially conversing on
the porch.
Gerald's presence was a relief to me. I felt sure that he
would keep a sharp eye upon the movements of Dimber,
and, being anxious about the situation of Bethel I returned
to the cottage.
Dr. Hess stood in the door-way, in conversation with
Mr. Harris.
“How is the patient?” asked I, approaching them.
“Much the same,” replied the doctor. “But there will
be a change soon.”
“Has he spoken?”
“No; he will hardly do that yet, and should not be al-
lowed to talk even if he could. When the change comes
there will be fever, and perhaps delirium.”
I passed them and entered the sick-room.
Mrs. Harris sat by the bed. Louise Barnard was not
there.
“We have sent Louise home,” Mrs. Harris whispered,
seeing me glance about inquiringly. “The doctor told her


AN ANGRY HEIRESS. 323
*
that if she insisted upon remaining she would soon be sick
herself, and unable to help us at all. That frightened her
a little. The poor child is really worn out, with her
father's sickness and death, her mother's poor health, and
now this,” nodding toward the bed.
“Have you had any visitors?”
“Oh, yes. But we knew that the house must be kept
quiet, and Mr. Harris has received the most of them out
in the yard. Dr. Hess says it will be best to admit none
but personal friends.” -
“Dr. Hess is very sensible.”
Going back to join the two gentlemen, I saw that Dr.
Hess was hastening toward the gate with considerable
alacrity, and that a pony phaeton had just halted there.
Swinging the gate wide open, the doctor assisted the oc-
cupant to alight.
It was Miss Manvers.
There was an anxious look upon her face, and in her
eyes a shadow of what I had once discovered there, when,
myself unseen, I had witnessed her interview with Arch
Brookhouse on the day of the garden party. She was pale,
and exceedingly nervous.
She said very little. Indeed her strongest effort to pre-
serve her self-control seemed almost a failure, and was very
evident to each of us. She listened with set lips to the
doctor's description and opinion of the case, and then
entered the inner room, and stood looking down at the


324 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
figure lying there, so stalwart, yet so helpless. For a mo-
ment her features were convulsed, and her hands clenched
each other fiercely. Her form was shaken with emotion
so strong as to almost overmaster her. It was a splendid
picture of fierce passion held in check by an iron will.
She came out presently, and approached me.
“You were one of the first to know this, I am told,”
she said, in a low, constrained tone. “Please tell me
about it.”
I told her how I was called to the rescue by Jim, and
gave a brief outline of after events.
“And has all been done that can be?” she asked, after
a moment of silence.
“Not quite all, Miss Manvers. We have yet to find
this would-be murderer and bring him to justice.” I spoke
with my eyes fixed on her face.
She started, flushed, and a new excited eagerness leaped
to her eyes.
“Will you do that? Can you?”
“It shall be done,” I replied, still watching her face.
She gave a little fluttering sigh, drew her veil across her
arm, and turned to go. -
“If I can be of service, in any way,” she began, hesi-
tatingly.
“We shall not hesitate to ask for your services,” I in-
terrupted, walking beside her to the door, and from thence
to the gate, a little to the annoyance of Dr. Hess, Ifancied.


328 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
JIM GIVES BAIL.
Upon Jim's reappearance in the cottage, Mrs. Harris in-
stalled him as nurse, and, herself, set about improvising a
kitchen in the rear room. -
Mr. Harris had been despatched to town for sundry
articles, and, at noon, we were served with a plentiful lunch,
of which we partook in rather primitive fashion.
Not long after, while Jim and I were conversing out
under the trees, and Mr. Harris was discoursing to two
Trafton ladies who had called to proffer service and sym-
pathy, I saw Gerald Brown coming toward the cottage,
and guessing that his real business was with me, whatever
pretext he might present, I advanced to the gate and met
him there.
He carried in his hand a telegraph envelope, which he
proffered me ostentatiously over the gate.
I opened it and read:
N. Y., etc., etc.
Will come to-night. DENHAM.
Underneath this was written:
They are wild in town, are about to arrest Jim Long for the shoot-
ing of Bethel.


JIM GIVES BAIL. $29
Two pair of eyes, at least, were looking out from the
cottage door and window.
I turned the message over, and resting it upon the gate
post, wrote the following:
Don't lose sight of Dimber; telegraph to the Agency to ask if Blake
has arrived. Tell them not to let him get out of reach. We may want
him at any moment.
While I was writing this Gerry shifted his position, so
that his face could not be seen by the observers in the house,
and said:
“Dimber is in it. He claims to have seen Long with
his gun near Bethel's house last night. The gun has been
found.”
“Of course,” I returned. “We will put a muzzle on
friend Dimber very shortly.”
I refolded the message and returned it to Gerry, who
touched his hat and turned back toward the village.
Going to the door of the cottage, I informed Mr. Harris
and the ladies that the new operator had just brought the
news we so much wished for, viz.: the coming of Bethel's
uncle from New York by that night's express. Then,
sauntering back to my old place under the trees, I com-
municated to Jim the purport of the postscript written by
Gerry.
He listened attentively, but with no sign of discompos-
ure visible upon his countenance.
“I’ve had time to think the matter over,” he said, after


330 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
a moment's silence, “and I think I shall pull through, but,”
with a waggish twinkle in his eye, “I am puzzled to know
why that young man going up the hill should take so much
interest in me, or was it Harris?”
“It was not Harris,” returning his look with interest.
“That young man going up the hill is Gerald Brown, of
New York. He's the new night operator, and he will not
fail to do his duty, in the office and out of it.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Jim, turning his eyes once more to-
ward the receding form of Gerry.
I let my own gaze follow his and there, just coming into
sight on the brow of the hill, was a party of men.
It consisted of the constable, supported by several able-
bodied citizens, and followed, of course, by a promiscuous
rabble.
Jim gave vent to a low chuckle.
“See the idiots,” he said, “coming like mountain ban-
dits. No doubt they look for fierce resistance. Don’t
let them think you are too much interested in the case.”
“I won’t,” I said, briefly, for the men were hurrying
down the hill. “It would not be politic, but I’ll have
you out of their clutches, Long, without a scratch, sure
and soon.”
I turned toward the house as I finished the sentence, and
Jim arose and went toward the gate; not the man of easy
movements and courteous speech who had been my compan-
ion for the past twenty-four hours, not Long, the gentleman,


JIM GIVES BAIL. 331
but “Long Jim,” the loafer, awkward, slouching, uncouth
of manner and speech.
As the crowd made a somewhatnoisy approach, Jim leaned
over the gate and motioned them to silence.
“Gentlemen,” he said, seriously, “ye can’t be any too
still about this place, an’ ye’d a showed better gumption
if ye hadn’t paid yer respects in a squad, as if ye was comin'
to a hangin'. Somehow ye seem mighty fond o waitin’ on
Dr. Bethel in a gang.”
Acting upon a hint from me, Mr. Harris now went out,
and in milder words, but with much the same meaning, ex-
horted the visitors to quiet.
And then, casting a quick glance behind him, and a
somewhat apprehensive one toward Jim, the constable read
his warrant. The two men inside the gate listened with
astonished faces. Indeed, Jim's assumption of amazement,
viewed in the light of my knowledge concerning its genuine-
ness, was ludicrous beyond description.
Mr. Harris began an earnest expostulation, and turned
to beckon me to his assistance, but Jim checked him by a
gesture.
“We can’t have any disputing here,” he said, sharply.
“Don’t argy, parson; tain’t wuth while.” -
Then he opened the gate and stepped suddenly out among
them.
“I’ll go with ye,” he said, “for the sake of peace.
But,” glaring about him fiercely, “if it wan't fer makin' .


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there a man here that's got a pistol?”—page 332.
















333


- -


336 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
was now standing, with an expectant look on her benevo-
lent countenance, and and replied, laconically:
“Bail.”
“Good! I was thinking of that.”
“Jim,” broke in Mrs. Harris, eagerly, “who did it?
We'll all bless his kindness.” .
He advanced to the door, planted his right foot upon
the lower step, rested his elbow on his knee, pushed his
hat off his forehead, and grinned benignly on us both.
“Then I’m the feller that'll walk off with the blessin’,”
he said, with a chuckle. “I went my own bail to the tune
of five thousand dollars ”
Mrs. Harris gave a gasp of surprise. I seated myself
on the corner of the step farthest from Jim, and, seeing
that he was about to volunteer a further explanation, re-
mained silent.
At the same moment I observed what was unoticed by
the other two; Miss Barnard had left her post and was
standing behind Mrs. Harris.
“Ye see,” continued Jim, giving me a sidelong glance,
and then fixing his eyes upon the hem of Mrs. Harris's
apron, “Ye see, I had ter appear afore Jestice Summers.
Now, the Jestice,” with another sidelong glance, and an
almost imperceptable gesture, “is a man an a brother. I
ain’t agoin’ ter say anythin’ agin’ him. I spose he had to
do his duty. There was some in that office that wanted
ter see me put where I couldn't be so sassy, but I didn't


JIM Grv.ES BAIL. 337
mind them. The minit I got in my oar, Ijest talked right
straight at the Jestice, an’ I told him in short order that
ef I was sure of bein’ treated on the square, I’d jest waive
an examination. An’ then I kind o' sighed, an’ appealed
to their feelin's, tellin’ them that I hadn’t no friends nor
relations, but that may be, ef they gave me half a show,
an didn't set my bail too high, may be some one would go
my security, an’ give me a chance ter try ter clear myself.
Wall ef you could a looked around that office, ye’d a
thought my chance o' gittin security was slim. The
Jestice called the time on me, an’ allowed 'twould be fair
ter give me bail. An then Squire Brookhouse, an one or
two more, piped in with objections, until the Jestice put
the bail up ter five thousand. Of course that wilted me
right down. Everybody grinned or giggled, an nobody
didn’t offer any more objections, an’ the bizness was fin-
ished up. Then, when they had got ter a place where there
was no backin’ out, I jest unbuttoned my coat an’ vest
whipped off a belt I'd got fixed handy for the 'casion, an’
counted five thousand dollars right down under their noses!”
Here he paused to lift his eyes to the face of Mrs.
Harris, and to see. for the first time, his third auditor, who
now came forward to grasp his hand, and utter rejoicings
at his present liberty, and indignant disapproval of the par-
ties who had brought against him a charge which she un-
hesitatingly pronounced absurd and without reasonable
foundation.
22 *15





VIGILANTS. 343
“We have an organized party, sir.” Here Jim inter-
poses.
“Ye see, I happen ter belong ter the vigilants. An’
when ye asked me ter name a reliable man, why, I jest
thought I’d bring you an’ Mr. Warren together an’’twould
simplify matters. 'Twant my business to explain jest
then.”
“Charlie,” says Mr. Warren, addressing the young man
near the door, “go outside and see that no one comes within
seeing or hearing distance. We want Long here.”
The young vigilant mounts guard and I turn again to
Mr. Warren.
“Mr. Long has explained the nature of my business?”
“Yes, you may be sure it was a surprise to me.”
“How many men have you?”
“Fifteen in all.”
“And you have all failed to find a clue to the identity
of 'e horse-thieves?”
“Yes, sir, we have failed. We have organized in secret
and worked in secret. We hoped and expected to sift this
matter to the bottom, and we have failed utterly. But Jim
tells me that you have succeeded where we have failed.”
“Not quite that. Listen, gentlemen. I know where to
put my hands, now, to-night, upon the six horses that were
stolen one week ago. If it were merely a question of the
recovery of these, I should not need your aid. It might be
worth something to me if I recovered the horses, but it will


346 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
with grave tenderness, before going to the bedside of his
patient.
He took absolute command of the cottage, and no one,
not even Louise, ventured to oppose him or raise the voice
of argument. He took all responsibility out of my hands,
and dismissed me with his usual formula.
“Go about your business, you young rascal. I might
have known you’d be at some new deviltry shortly. Go
about your business, and by the time I get Bethel on his
feet, you’ll have me another patient, I’ll be bound.”
But Jim found favor in the eyes of “our old woman,”
who straightway elected him general assistant, and he soon
discovered that to be assistant to Dr. Denham was no sin-
ecure. Indeed, a more abject bond slave than Jim, during
that first week of Bethel's illness, could not well be
imagined.
“Our old woman's” scepter extended, too, over poor
Louise. He was as tender as possible, allowing her to assist
him when she could, and permitting her to watch by the
bedside four or five hours each day. But beyond that she
could not trespass. There must be no exhausting effort,
no more night vigils.
Louise rebelled at first; tried coaxing, then pouting,
then submitted to the power that would wield the scepter.
The good doctor brought from the city a package sent
me by my Chief, which he put into my hands at the first
opportunity.


VIGILANTS. 347
It contained papers, old and yellow; some copied memo-
randa, and two photographs. When I had examined all
these, I breathed a sigh of relieved surprise.
Another link was added to my chain of evidence, another
thread to the web I was weaving.
Without that packet I had cherished a suspicion. With
it, I grasped a certainty.


A CHAPTER OF TELEGRAMS. 349
found it easy to touch the pulse of Trafton gossip, and knew
what they thought at Porter's concerning Bethel's calamity,
Long's arrest and subsequent release under bail, etc., without
seeming to have made an effort in search of information.
The two questions now agitating the minds of the Traf-
ton gossips were: “Who shot Dr. Bethel, if Jim Long did
not?” and “Where did Jim Long, who had always been
considered but one remove from a pauper, get the money
to pay so heavy a bail?” - -
The theories in regard to these two questions were as
various as the persons who advocated them, and were as
astounding and absurd as the most diligent sensation-hun-
ter could have desired.
Jim's gun had been found in a field less than half a mile
from Bethel's cottage, by some workmen who had been
sent by 'Squire Brookhouse to repair one of his farm fences,
and I learned, with peculiar interest, that Tom Briggs was
one of these workmen.
Upon hearing that the gun had been found, Dimber Joe
had made his statement. He had seen Jim Long, between
the hours of nine and ten P. M., going in the direction of
the cottage, with a gun upon his shoulder.
of course, when making this assertion, he had no idea
of the use to which it would be put; and equally, of course,
he much regretted that he had mentioned the fact when he
found himself likely to be used as a witness against Long,
whom he declared to be an inoffensive fellow, so far as he


350 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
had known him, and toward whom he could have no ill-
will.
In due time, sooner, in fact, than I had dared hope, there
came a message from Carnes.
It came through the hands of young Harris. Carnes,
having sent it early in the day, and knowing into whose
hands it would probably fall, had used our cipher alphabet:
4. F d, t, t, o w n—u h e—n a x-, -, -. C—.
This is the cipher which, using the figure at the head as
the key, will easily be interpreted:
Found. What next? CARNES.
Found! That meant much. It meant that the end of
the Groveland mystery was near at hand!
But there was much to learn before we could decide and
reply to the query, “What next?”
While Harris was absent for a few moments, during the
afternoon, the night operator sent the following to Carnes:
Where found? In what condition? What do you advise?
Before midnight, this answer came:
In a fourth-rate theater One well, the other sick. Their friends
had better come for them at once. Can you get your hands on
Johnny La Porte?
To this I promptly replied:
Telegraph particulars to the Agency. We can get La Porte, but


352 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CARNES TELLS HIS STORY.
The time came when Carnes told me the story of his
New Orleans search. As he related it to me then, let him
relate it now:—
Arrived in New Orleans without trouble or delay, at
three o'clock in the afternoon. Registered at the “Hotel
Honore,” a small house near the levees; giving my name
as George Adams, sugar dealer, from St. Louis.
Then began a hunt among the theaters, and, before seven
o'clock I had found the place I wanted,—“The Little
Adelphi,” owned and managed by “Storms & Brookhouse.”
It is a small theater, but new and neatly fitted up, has a
bar attached, and beer tables on the floor of the auditorium.
I made no effort to see Brookhouse, but went back to the
“Honore,” after learning that money would open the door
of the green room to any patron of the theater.
After supper I refreshed my memory by a look at the
pictures of the missing young ladies, including that of Miss
Amy Holmes, and then I set out for the little Adelphi.
There was never an easier bit of work than this New
Orleans business. The curtain went up on a “Minstrel


CARNES TELLS HIS STORY. 353
first part,” and there, sitting next to one of the “end men,”
was Mamie Rutger!
Her curly hair was stuck full of roses. She wore a very
short pink satin dress, and her little feet were conspicuous
in white kid slippers. If Miss Mamie was forcibly ab-
ducted, she has wasted no time in grieving over it. If she
has been in any manner deceived or deluded, she bears it
wonderfully well. She sang her ballad with evident en-
joyment, and her voice rang out in the choruses, clear and
sweet. Her lips were wreathed in smiles, her cheeks
glowed, and her eyes sparkled. Occasionally she turned
her head to whisper to the blacked-up scamp who sat at
her right hand. Altogether she deported herself with the
confidence of an old habitue of the stage. Evidently she
had made herself popular with the Little Adelphi audi-
ences, and certainly she enjoyed her popularity. -
After the first part, I watched the stage impatiently, it
being too early to venture into the green-room.
Mamie Rutger did not re-appear, but, after an hour,
occupied principally by “burnt cork artists,” Miss Lotta
Le Clair, “the song and dance Queen,” came tripping from
the wings; and Miss Lotta Le Clair, in a blue velvet coat
and yellow satin nether garments, was none other than
Amy Holmes! She danced very well, and sang very ill;
and I fancied that she had tasted too often of the cheap
wine dealt out behind the bar. Very soon after her exit
I made my way to the green-room, piloted by the head
23


354 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
waiter. I had, of course, gotten myself up for the occasion,
and I looked like a cross between a last year's fashionplate
and a Bowery blackleg.
It is always easy to make a variety actress talk, and
those at the Little Adelphi proved no exception. Two or
three bottles of wine opened the way to some knowledge.
By chatting promiscuously with several of the Adelphi
belles, I learned that Amy Holmes and Mamie Rutger,
who, by the way, was “Rose Deschappelles” on the bills,
lived together. That Amy, who was not known at the
theater by that name, was “a hard one,” and “old in the
business;” while “Rose” was a soft little prig who “wore
her lover's picture in a locket,” and was “as true to him
as steel.” The girls all united in voting Amy disagreeable,
in spite of her superior wisdom; and Mamie, “a real nice,
jolly little thing,” spite of her verdancy.
The fair Amy was then approached, and my real work
began. I ordered, in her honor, an extra brand of wine.
I flattered her, I talked freely of my wealth, and displayed
my money recklessly. I became half intoxicated in her
society, and, through it all, bemoaned the fact that I could
not offer, for her quaffing, the sparkling champagne that
was the only fitting drink for such a goddess.
The Adelphi champagne was detestable stuff, and Miss
Amy was connoisseur enough to know it. She frankly con-
fessed her fondness for good champagne, and could tell me
just where it was to be found. -


356 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
had judged her to be, my plans might fail and, in that case,
the girl might work me much mischief.
I weighed the possibilities thoughtfully, and resolved to
risk the chances.
Accordingly, on the morning after my visit to the Little
Adelphi, I sent my first telegram, and made arrangements
for putting my scheme into execution.
The beginning of the programme was carried out, as
planned by the young lady.
We drove to the cafe, kept by Louis Meniu, and tested
his champagne, after which I began to execute my plans.
“Louis Meniu might be all very well,” I said, “but
there was no man in New Orleans, so I had often been told
by Northern travelers, who could serve such a dinner as
did the chef at the P Hotel. Should we drive to this
house and there eat the best dinner to be served in the
city?”
The prospect of dining at a swell hotel pleased the young
iady. She gave instant consent to the plan, and we turned
back to the city and the P Hotel. - -
Here we were soon installed in a handsome private par-
lor, and, after I had paused a few moments in the office,
to register, “Geo. Adams and sister, St. Louis, Mo.,” I
closed the door upon servants and intruders, and the en-
gagement commenced. -
Having first locked the door and put the key in my
pocket, I approached Miss Amy, who stood before a mirror,


CARNESTELLS HIS STORY. 357
carelessly arranging a yellow rose in her black frisettes.
Dropping my swaggering, half-maudlin, wholly-admiring
tone and manner, I said, quietly:
“Now, Miss Amy Holmes, if you will sit down opposite
me, we will talk things over.” -
She started violently, and turned toward me with a stare
of surprise, in which, however, I could observe no fear.
The name had caused her astonishment. I had been care-
ful to address her by her stage name, or rather the one she
chose to use at the theater. I hardly suppose her real name
to be Holmes,—probably it is Smith or Jones instead.
She let the hand holding the rose drop at her side, but
did not loosen her grasp of the flower.
“Look here,” she exclaimed, sharply. “Where did you
pick up that name? and what kind of a game are you giv-
ing me, anyhow?”
After the surprise occasioned by the utterance of her dis-
carded name, my altered tone and manner had next im-
pressed her.
“I got that name where I got several others, Miss Amy,
and the game I am playing is one that is bound to win.”
She sat down upon the nearest chair, and stared mutely.
“How would you like to go back to Amora, Miss
Holmes? Or to Groveland and the widow Ballou's?”
She sprang up with her eyes flashing, and made a sudden
dash for the door. Of course it resisted her effort to
open it.


358 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Open that door,” she said, turning upon me a look of
angry defiance. “You are either a fool or a meddler.
Open the door!”
I laid one hand somewhat heavily upon her shoulder,
and led her back to the seat she had just vacated.
“Possibly I may be both fool and meddler,” I replied,
in a tone so stern that it seemed to arrest her attention, and
impress her with the fact that I was neither trifling nor to
be trifled with. “But I am something else, and I know
more of you, my young lady, and of your past career, than
you would care to have me know. Perhaps you may never
have heard of Michael Carnes, the detective, but there are
others who have made his acquaintance.”
Now, all this was random firing, but I acted on the
knowledge that nine-tenths of the women who are pro-
fessional adventuresses have, in their past, something either
criminal or disgraceful to conceal, and on the possibility
that Miss Amy Holmes might not belong to the exceptional
few.
The shot told. I saw it in the sudden blanching of her
cheek, in the startled look that met mine for just an instant.
If there were nothing else to conceal, I think she would
have defied me and flouted at my efforts to extract infor-
mation on the subject of the Groveland mystery.
But I had touched at a more vulnerable point. If I
could now convince her that I knew her past career, the
rest would be easy.


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“Open that door,” she said, turning upon me a look of angry de-
fiance.—page 358.

359





CARNESTELLS HIS STORY. 361
It was a delicate undertaking. I might say too much,
or too little, but I must press the advantage I had gained.
Her attention was secured. Her curiosity was aroused.
There was a shade of anxiety on her face.
Drawing a chair opposite her, and seating myself therein,
I fixed my eyes upon her face, and addressed her in a tone
half stern, half confidential:
“You are a plucky girl,” I began, “and I admire you
for that; and when I tell you that I have followed you, or
tracked you, from the North, through Amora, through
Groveland, down to the Little Adelphi, you will perhaps
conjecture that I do not intend to be balked or evaded, even
by so smart a little lady as you have proved yourself. I
bear you no personal ill-will, and I much dislike to perse-
cute a woman even when she has been guilty of”
I paused; she made a restless movement, and a look of
pain flitted across her face.
“Perhaps we may be able to avoid details,” I said, slowly.
“I will let you decide that.”
“How?” with a gasp of relief or surprise, I could hardly
guess which. -
“Listen. Some time ago two girls disappeared from a
little northern community, and I was one of the detectives
employed to find them. I need not go into details, since
you know so much about the case. In the course of the
investigation, we inquired pretty closely into the character
of the company kept by those two young ladies, and learned
*16


362 - OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
that a Miss Amy Holmes had been a schoolmate of the
missing girls. Afterward, this same Amy Holmes and
a Miss Grace Ballou made an attempt to escape from the
Ballou farm house. The scheme was in part frustrated,
but Amy Holmes escaped. Mrs. Ballou furnished us
with a photo of Miss Amy Holmes, and when I saw it I
knew it !”
44 Ah p
This time it was an interjection of unmistakable terror.
It gave me my cue.
“I knew it for the picture of a young woman who had—
committed—a crime; a young woman who would be well re-
ceived at police headquarters, and I said to myself I will
now find this young person who calls herself Amy Holmes.”
A look of sullen resolution was settling upon her face.
She sat before me with her eyes fixed upon the carpet and
her lips tightly closed.
“I have found her,” I continued, mercilessly. “And
now—shall I take you back with me, a prisoner, and hand
you over to the officers of the law, or will you answer
truthfully such questions as I shall put to you, and go
away from this house a free woman?”
She was so absorbed by her own terror, or so over-
shadowed by some ghost of the past, that she seemed to
take no note of my interest in the Groveland business, ex-
cept as it had been an incidental aid in hunting her down.
“Do you think I would trust you?” she said, with a


CARNESTELLS HIS STORY. 363
last effort at defiance. “You want to make me testify
against myself.” -
“You mistake, or you do not understand. I am at
present working in the interest of the Groveland case. My
discovery of you was an accident, and my knowledge con-
cerning you I am using as a means toward the elucidation
of the mystery surrounding the movements of Mamie
Rutger and Nellie Ewing. Mamie Rutger I saw last
night at the Little Adelphi. Nellie Ewing is no doubt
within reach. I might find them both without your as-
sistance. It would only require a little more time and a
little more trouble; but time just now is precious. I have
other business which demands my attention at the North.
Therefore, I say, tell me all that you know concerning
these two girls—all, mind. If you omit one necessary de-
tail, if you fabricate in one particular, I shall know it.
Answer all my questions truthfully. I shall only ask such
as concern your knowledge or connection with this Grove-
land affair. If you do this, you have nothing to fear from
me. If you refuse—you are my prisoner. You compre-
hend me?”
She eyed me skeptically.
“How do I know that you will let me go, after all?”
she said.
“You have my promise, and I am a man of my word.
You are a woman, and I don’t want to arrest you. If you
were a man, I should not offer you a chance for escape. Do


AMY HOLMES CONFESSES. 365
CHAPTER XXXII.
AMY HOLMES CONFESSES.
“You say that you have seen Mamie Rutger at the
theater,” began the unwilling narrator, rather ungraciously,
“and so I should think you wouldn’t need to be told why
she ran away from home. She wanted to go on the stage,
and so did Nellie Ewing. Every country girl in christen-
dom wants to be an actress, and if she has a pretty face and
a decent voice she feels sure that she can succeed. The
girls had both been told that they were pretty, and they
could both sing, so they ran away to come out at the Little
Adelphi.
“Mamie took to the business like a duck to water.
Nellie got sick and blue and whimsical, and has not ap-
peared at the theater for several weeks. They live at 349
B
place.”
I made a careful note of the address, and then said:
“Well, proceed.”
“Proceed! what more do you want to know? I have
told you why they ran away and where to find them.”
This was too much. My wrath must have manifested
itself in face and voice, for she winced under my gaze and
made no further attempt to baffle or evade me.


366 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“I want to know who devised the villainous plot to
allure two innocent country girls away from home and
friends? Who set you on as decoy and temptress, and what
reward did you receive? There are men or scoundrels con-
nected with this affair; who are they; and what means have
they used to bring about such a misfortune to the girls and
their friends? Tell the whole truth, and remember what I
have said. If you evade, omit, equivocate, I shall
know it!”
“Will you give me time?” she faltered.
“Not ten minutes. Do you want time to telegraph to
Arch Brookhouse? It will be useless; he is in the hands
of the detectives, and no message can reach him.”
“What has Arch done?” she cried, excitedly. “He is
not the one to be blamed.”
“He has done enough to put him out of the way
of mischief. You have secn the last of Arch Brook-
house.”
“But Fred is the man who set this thing going!”
“Very likely. And Arch and Louis Brookhouse were
the brothers to help him. What about Johnny La Porte
and Ed. Dwight? You see I know too much. There are
two officers down-stairs. If you have not finished your
story, and told it to my satisfaction, before half-past four,
I will call them up and hand you over to them. It is now
ten minutes to four.”
She favored me with a glance full of impotent hatred,


AMY HOLMES CONFESSES. 367
sat quite silent for a long moment, during which I sat be-
fore her with a careless glance fixed on my watch.
Then she began: -
“I worked at the Little Adelphi over a year ago. There
was a hot rivalry between us, the Gayety, and the ‘Frolique.”
Fred Brookhouse was managing alone then; Storms—only
came into partnership in the Spring.
“During the winter the Gayety brought out some new
attractions,—I mean new to the profession; no old names
that had been billed and billed, but young girls with
fresh faces and pretty voices. They were new in the
business, and the ‘old stagers, especially the faded and
cracked-voiced ones, said that they would fail, they would
hurt the business. But the managers knew better. They
knew that pretty, youthful faces were the things most
thought of in the varieties. And the ‘freshness of the new
performers was only another attraction to green-room
visitors. Nobody knew where these new girls came from,
and nobody could find out; but they drew, and the Little
Adelphi lost customers, who went over to the ‘Gayety.’
“Fred Brookhouse was angry, and he began to study
how he should outdo the ‘Gayety, and “put out the new
attractions.
“At the carnival season, Arch and Louis Brookhouse
came down; and we got to be very good friends. Do you
mean to use anything that I say to make me trouble?” she
broke off, abruptly. -


368 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“Not if you tell the entire truth and spare nobody.”
“Then I will tell it just as it happened. Arch and Fred
and I were together one day after rehearsal. I was a
favorite at the theater, and Fred consulted me sometimes.
Fred wanted some fresh attractions, and wondered how
they got the new girls at the ‘Gayety.’ And I told him
that I thought they might have been “recruited. He did
not seem to understand, and I explained that there were
managers who paid a commission to persons who would get
them young, pretty, bright girls, who could sing a little,
for the first part, and for green-room talent.
“I told him that I knew of an old variety actress who
went into the country for a few weeks in the Summer, and
picked up girls for the variety business. They were some-
times poor girls who “worked out, and were glad of a
chance to earn an easier living, and sometimes daughters
of well-to-do people; girls who were romantic or ambitious,
stage-struck, and easily flattered.
“Fred asked me how I knew all this, and I told him
that I was roped into the business in just that way.”
“Was that true?”
“Yes; it was true,” a dark shade crossing her face.
“But never mind me. Fred asked me if I knew where to
go to find three or four pretty girls. He said he did not
want “biddies; they must be young and pretty; must be
fair singers, and have nice manners. He could get gawks
in plenty. He wanted lively young girls who would be


370 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
back after a while to astonish the natives with her success
as an actress.
“Nellie Ewing was more difficult to manage, but I found
out that she was desperately in love with Johnny La Porte.
Johnny had begun by being in love with Nellie, but her silly
devotion had tired him, and besides, he is fickle by nature.
“I told Arch that if we got Nellie, it would have to be
through La Porte. Arch knew how to manage La Porte,
who was vain, and prided himself upon being a “masher.’
He thought to be mixed up in a sensational love affair,
would add to his fame as a dangerous fellow. He sang a
good tenor, and often sang duets with Nellie.
“Louis Brookhouse had a chum named Ed. Dwight;
Ed. had been, or claimed to have been, a song and dance
man. I don’t think he was ever anything more than an
amateur, but he was perpetually dancing jigs, and singing
comic songs, and went crazy over a minstrel show.
“Louis used to take Grace out for an occasional drive,
and one day he introduced Ed. to Mamie.
“After a time, Arch and Louis thought they could better
their original plan. Arch is a shrewd fellow, with a strong
will, and he could just wind Johnny La Porte around his
finger. Johnny took him for a model, for Arch was a
stylish fellow, who knew all the ropes, and had seen a deal
of the world; and Johnny, while he had been a sort of
prince among the Grovelanders, had never had a taste of
town life.


AMY HOLMES CONFESSES. 373
I sprang to my feet, for the moment forgetting that the
creature before me was a woman. I wanted to take her by
the throat and fling her from the window.
“Go on!” I almost shouted. “Go on; my patience is
nearly exhausted. Is Nellie Ewing seriously ill?”
“She is fretting and pining; she thinks she is dying, and
she loves Johnny La Porte as much as ever.”
“And Mamie Rutger?”
“She was glad to run away. One evening when every
body about the farm was busy, she waited at the front gate
for Ed. Dwight. People were used to the sight of his
covered wagon, and it was the last thing to suspect. But
Mamie Rutger went from her father's gate in that wagon,
and she and Dwight drove boldly to Sharon, and both took
the midnight train as the others did at Amora.
“Ed. only went a short distance with Mamie; he came
back the next morning. Mamie was plucky enough to
come on alone.”
“And then you and Grace Ballou tried to elope?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I won’t trouble you to tell you that story. I
know all about it. Now, listen to me. I have registered
you here as my sister, and you are going to stay here for
one week a prisoner. You are to speak to no one, write to
no one. . You will be constantly watched, and if you at-
tempt to disobey me you know the consequences. As
soon as Mr. Rutger and 'Squire Ewing arrive I will set


376 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I can imagine Johnny La Porte, under the impression
that he was preparing for a day's lark, oiling his curly locks,
scenting his pocket handkerchief, and driving Wyman,
in whom he thought he had found a boon companion, to
Sharon, actually flying into the arms of the avengers, at the
heels of his own roadsters. I should have driven over that
ten miles of country road, had I been in Wyman's place,
bursting with glee, growing fat on the stupidity of the
sleek idiot at my side.
But Wyman is a modest fellow, and given to seeing only
the severe side of things, and he says there is no glory in
trapping a fool. Possibly he is right. -
I should like to have seen Johnny La Porte when he
was brought, unexpectedly, before 'Squire Ewing and
Farmer Rutger, to be charged with his villainy, and offered
one chance for his life. He had heard the Grovelanders
talk, and he knew that the despoilers of those two Grove-
land homes had been dedicated to Judge Lynch.
Small wonder that he was terror-stricken before these
two fathers, and that under the lash of Wyman's eloquence
he already felt the cord tightening about his throat.
I don’t wonder that he whined and grovelled and sub-
mitted, abjectly, to their demands. But I do wonder that
those two fathers could let him out of their hands alive;
and I experienced a thrill of ecstacy when I learned that
Wyman kicked him three times, with stout boots!
That must have been an unpleasant journey to New


JOHNNY LA PORTE IS BROUGHT TO BOOK. 377
Orleans. The two farmers, stern, silent, heavy of heart,
and filled with anxiety. La Porte, who was taken in hand
by Wyman, writhing under the torments of his own con-
science and his own terror, and compelled to submit to his
guardian's frequent tirades of scorn and contempt, treated,
for the first time in his life, like the poltroon he was.
I found the two girls at the address given by Amy
Holmes; and, more to spare the two farmers the sight of
her, than for her sake, I did not compel her to repeat her
story in their presence, but related it myself instead.
It's not worth while to attempt a description of the
meeting between the two girls and their parents. Mamie
was, at first, inclined to rebel; but Nellie Ewing broke
down completely, and begged to be taken home. She was
pale and emaciated, a sad and pitiful creature. Her father
was overcome with grief at sight of the change in her. He
could not trust himself to speak to her of Johnny La
Porte; and so—what a Jack of all trades a detective is—he
called me from the room and delegated to me the unpleas-
ant task. *
I did it as well as I could. I told her as gently as pos-
sible that Johnny La Porte was in New Orleans, and asked
if she wanted to see him. She cried for joy, poor child,
and begged me to send for him at once. And then I told
her why we had brought him; he was prepared to make
what reparation he could. Did she wish him to make her
his wife? She interrupted me with a joyful cry.


380 OUT OF A LARYRINTH.
“Exactly. The horse! and you! You see, the daughter
has been found, but the horse has not.” -
“But—I can prove—”
“You can prove nothing. I know all about the affair.
You carried Nellie Ewing away in your own carriage.
You handed her pony over to an accomplice. I have, at my
finger's ends, testimony enough to condemn you before any
jury, and the only thing that can save you from the fate
of a common horse-thief, is—your own good behavior.”
“What do you want?” he said, abjectly. -
“I want to see you hung as high as Haman. But that
poor girl in the next room wants something different, and
I yield my wishes to hers. She is so foolish as to value
your miserable existence, and so I give you this one chance.
Go home with your wife, not to your home, but hers, and
remain there so long as she needs or wants you. Treat
her with tenderness, serve her like a slave, and try thus to
atone for some of your past villainy. Quit your old as-
sociates, be as decent and dutiful as the evil within will let
you. So long as I hear no complaint, so long as your wife
is made happy, you are safe. Commit one act of cruelty,
unkindness, or neglect, and your fate is sealed. And, re-
member this, if you attempt to run away, I will bring you
back, if I have to bring you dead.”
He whined, he blustered, he writhed like a cur under
the lash. But he was conquered. "Squire Ewing behaved
most judiciously. Poor Nellie was foolishly happy. Mamie


“I took him by the shoulders, and lifting him fairly off his feet
shook him as a terrier shakes a rat.”-page 879.

381


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-


JOHNNY LA PORTE IS BROUGHT TO BOOK. 383
Rutger, too, became our ally, and, after a time, La Porte,
who loved his ease above all things, seemed resigned, or .
resolved to make the best of the situation. I think, too,
that he was, in his way, fond of his poor little wife. Per-
haps his conscience troubled him, for when a physician was
called in by the anxious father, her case was pronounced
serious, and the chances for her recovery less than three in
ten. The physician advised them to take her North at
once, and they hastened to obey his instructions. -
Our next care was to quiet Fred Brookhouse, for the
present, and punish him, as much as might be, for the
future.
Accordingly, Brookhouse was arrested, on a trumped-up
charge, and locked up in the city jail, and then Wyman
and myself gave to the Chief of police and the Mayor of
the city, a detailed account of his scheme to provide attrac-
tions for his theater, and took other measures to insure for
the Little Adelphi a closer surveillance than would be at
all comfortable or welcome to the enterprising manager.
Brookhouse was held in jail until we were out of the city,
and far on our way Northward, thus insuring us against the
possibility of his telegraphing the alarm to any one who
might communicate it to Arch, or Ed. Dwight, and then,
there being no one to appear against him, at the proper
time, he was released.
Amy Holmes remained a prisoner at the hotel, conduct-
ing herself quite properly during the time of her com-


HOW DR. BETHEL WAS WARNED. 385
CHAPTER XXXIV.
HOW BETHEL WAS WARNED.
While Carnes was solving the Groveland problem, in
that far-away Southern city, we, who were in Trafton,
were living through a long, dull week of waiting. -
There were two dreary days of suspense, during which
Carl Bethel and Dr. Denham wrestled with the deadly
fever fiend, the one unconsciously, the other despairingly.
But when the combat was over, the doctor stood at his post
triumphant, and “Death, the Terrible,” went away from
the cottage without a victim.
Then I began to importune the good doctor.
“When would Bethel be able to talk? at least to answer
questions? For it was important that I should ask, and
that he should answer one at least.”
I received the reward I might have expected had I been
wise. “Our old woman” turned upon me with a tirade of
whimsical wrath, that was a mixture of sham and real,
and literally turned me out of doors, banished me three
whole days from the sick room; and so great was his as-
cendancy over Jim Long, that even he refused to listen to
my plea for admittance, and kept me at a distance, with
grim good nature.
- 25 #17


386 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
At last, however, the day came when “our old woman”
signified his willingness to allow me an interview, stipulat-
ing, however, that it must be very brief and in his presence.
“Bethel is better,” he said, eyeing me severely, “but he
can’t bear excitement. If you think you must interview
him, I suppose you must, but mind, I think it's all bosh.
Detectives are a miserable tribe through and through. Is
not that so, Long?”
And Jim, who was present on this occasion, solemnly
agreed with him.
And so the day came when I sat by Bethel's bedside and
held his weak, nerveless hand in my own, while I looked
regretfully at the pallid face, and into the eyes darkened
and made hollow by pain.
The weak hand gave mine a friendly but feeble pressure.
The pale lips smiled with their old cordial friendliness, the
eyes brightened, as he said:
“Louise has told me how good you have been, you and
Long.”
“Stuff,” interrupted Dr. Denham. “He good, indeed;
stuff! stuff! Now, look here, young man, you can talk
with my patient just five minutes, then—out you go.”
“Very well,” I retorted, “then see that you don’t
monopolize four minutes out of the five. Bethel, you may
not be aware of it, but, that cross old gentleman and myself
are old acquaintances, and, I’ll tell you a secret, we, that
is myself and some friends,—”


“And so the day came when I sat by Bethel's bedside and held
his weak, nerveless hand in my own.”—page 386.

387


HOW BETHEL WAS WARNED. 389
“A rascally lot,” broke in the old doctor, “a rascally
lot!”
“We call him,” I persisted, “our old woman l’’
“Humph!” sniffed the old gentleman, “upstarts! “old
woman,’ indeed!”
But it was evident that he was not displeased with his
nickname in the possessive case.
We had judged it best to withhold the facts concerning
our recent discoveries, especially those relating to his
would-be assassin, from Bethel, until he should be better
able to bear excitement. And so, after I had finished my
tilt with the old doctor, and expressed my regret for
Bethel's calamity, and my joy at his prospective recovery,
I said:
“I have been forbidden the house, Bethel, by your two
dragons here, and now, I am only permitted a few moments’
talk with you. So I shall be obliged to skip the details;
you shall have them all soon, however. But I will tell you
something. We are having things investigated here, and,
for the benefit of a certain detective, I want you to answer
me a question. You possess some professional knowledge
which may help to solve a riddle.”
“What is your question?” he whispers, with a touch of
his natural decisiveness.
“One night, nearly two weeks ago,” I began, “you and
I were about to renew an interview, which had been in-
terrupted, when the second interruption came in the shape


390 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
of a call, from 'Squire Brookhouse, who asked you to ac-
company him home, and attend to his son, who, so he said,
had received some sort of injury.”
“I remember.”
“Was your patient Louis Brookhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Did you dress a wound for him?”
He looked at me wonderingly and was silent.
“Bethel, I am tracing a crime; if your professional
scruples will not permit you to answer me, I must find out
by other means what you can easily tell me. But to resort
to other measures will consume time that is most valuable,
and might arouse the suspicions of guilty parties. You
can tell me all that I wish to learn by answering my ques-
tion with a simple ‘Yes, or ‘No.’”
While Bethel continued to gaze wonderingly, my recent
antagonist came to my assistance.
“You may as well answer him, boy,” “our old woman”
said. “If you don’t, some day he'll be accusing you of in-
gratitude. And then this is one of the very rare instances
when the scamp may put his knowledge to good use.”
Bethel looked from the doctor's face to mine, and smiled
faintly.
“I am overpowered by numbers,” he said; “put your
questions, then.”
“Did you dress a wound for Louis Brookhouse?”
& Yes.”


| HOW BETHEL WAS WARNED. 391
“A wound in the leg?”
“Yes, the right leg.”
“Was it a bullet wound?”
“Yes.”
“Did you extract the ball?”
“I did.”
“Who has it?”
“I. Nobody seemed to notice it. I put it in my
pocket.”
“Brookhouse said that his wound was caused by an ac-
cident, I suppose?”
“Yes, an accidental discharge of his own pistol.”
“Some one had tried to dress the wound, had they not?”
“Yes, it had been sponged and—”
“And bound with a fine cambric handkerchief,” I inter-
rupted.
“Yes,” with a stare of surprise, “so it was.”
“How old was the wound, when you saw it?”
“Twenty-four hours, at least.”
“Was it serious?”
“No ; only a flesh wound, but a deep one. He had
ought to be out by this time.”
“Can you show me the bullet, sometime, if I wish to
see it?”
“Yes.”
My five minutes had already passed, but “our old
*
woman” sat with a look of puzzled interest on his face, and


394 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
beside me, were both gazing at my tell-tale countenance,
and looking expectant and eager.
“Doctor,” I said, turning to “our old woman,” “you
remember the day I came to you with my wounded
arm 2”
“Umph! Of course.”
“Well, shortly before getting that wound I received just
such a thing as this,” striking the letter with my forefinger,
“a warning from the same hand. And now I am going
to find the man who shot me, who shot Bethel, and who
robbed the grave of little Effie Beale, here, in Trafton,
and very soon.”
“What is it? I don’t understand,” began Bethel.
But the doctor interposed.
“This must be stopped. Bethel, you shan’t hear ex-
planations now, and you shall go to sleep. Bathurst, how
dare you excite my patient! Get out.”
“I will,” I said, rising. “I must keep this letter,
Bethel, and I will tell you all about it soon; have
patience.”
Bethel turned his eyes toward the doctor, and said,
eagerly:
“Why did you call him Bathurst?”
“Did I?” said the old man, testily. “It was a slip of
the tongue.” -
The patient turned his head and looked from one to the
other, eagerly. Then he addressed me:


HOW BETHEL WAS WARNED. 395
“If you will answer me one question, I promise not to
ask another until you are prepared to explain.”
“Ask it,” I replied. -
“Are you a detective?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” closing his eyes, as if weary. “I am
quite content to wait. Thank you.”


396 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XXXV.
WE PREPARE FOR A “PARTY.”
My first movement, after having made the discovery
chronicled in the last chapter, was to go to the telegraph
office and send the following despatch:
Arrest Blake Simpson instantly, on charge of attempted assass-
ination. Don't allow him to communicate with any one.
This message was sent to the Agency, and then I turned
my attention to other matters, satisfied that Blake, at least,
would be properly attended to.
Early the following morning Gerry Brown presented
himself at the door of my room, to communicate to me
something that instantly roused me to action.
At midnight, or a little later, Mr. Arch Brookhouse had
dropped in at the telegraph office; he was in evening dress,
and he managed to convey to Gerry in a careless fashion
the information that he, Arch, had been enjoying himself
at a small social gathering, and on starting for home had
bethought himself of a message to be sent to a friend.
Then he had dashed off the following:
ED. Dwight, Amora, etc.
Be ready for the party at the Corners to-morrow eve. Notify
Lark. B.— will join you at Amora. A. B.


WE PREPARE FOR A “PARTY.” 39/
“There,” he had said, as he pushed the message toward
the seemingly sleepy operator, “I hope he will get that in
time, as I send it in behalf of a lady. Dwight's always in
demand for parties.”
Then, with a condescending smile as he drew on his right
glove, “Know anybody at Amora?”
“No,” responded Gerry, with a yawn, “nor anywhere
else on this blasted line; wish they had sent me East.”
“You must get acquainted,” said the gracious young
nabob. “I’ll try and get you an invitation to the next
social party; should be happy to introduce you.”
And then, as Gerry was too sleepy to properly appreciate
his condescension, he had taken himself away.
“Gerry,” I said, after pondering for some moments
over the message he had copied for my benefit, “I’m in-
clined to think that this means business. You had better
sleep short and sound this morning, and be on hand at the
office as early as twelve o’clock. I think you will be re-
lieved from this sort of duty soon, and as for Mr. Brook-
house, perhaps you may be able to attend this ‘party’ in
question, even without his valuable patronage.”
After this I went in search of Jim Long. I found him
at Bethel's cottage, and in open defiance of “our old
woman,” led him away where we could converse without
audience or interruption. Then I put the telegram in his
hand, telling him how it had been sent, much as Gerry
had told the same to me,”


WE PREPARE FOR A “PARTY.” 399
“Yes, all. It will not be child's play. I think Mr.
Warren is the man to lead one party, for there must be
two. I, myself, will manage the other. As for you and
Gerry—”
“Gerry?” inquiringly.
“Gerald Brown, our night operator. You will find him
equal to most emergencies, I think.”
“And what are we to do?”
“Some special business which will depend on circum-
stances. We must capture the gang outside of the town,
if possible, and the farther away the better.”
“But—”
“Wait. There are others who must not take the alarm
too soon.”
“They will ride fleet horses, remember that.”
“Long,” I said, earnestly, “we won’t let them escape
us. If they ride, we will pounce upon them at the very
outset. But if my theory, which has thus far proven itself
correct, holds good to the end they will not ride.”


OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
SOMETHING THE MOON FAILED TO SEE.
It has come at last; that night, almost the last in August,
which I and others, with varying motives and interests,
have so anxiously looked forward to.
It has come, and the moon, so lately banished from the
heavens, had she been in a position to overlook the earth,
would have witnessed some sights unusual to Trafton at
the hour of eleven P. M.
A little more than a mile from Trafton, at a point where
the first mile section crosses the south road, not far from
the Brookhouse dwelling, there is a little gathering of
mounted men. They are seven in number; all silent, all
cautious, all stern of feature. They have drawn their horses
far into the gloom of the hedge that grows tall on either
side, all save one man, and he stands in the very center of
the road, looking intently north and skyward.
Farther away, midway between Trafton and Clyde, six
other horsemen are riding southward at an easy pace.
These, too, are very quiet, and a little light would reveal
the earnest faces of Messrs. Warren, Harding, Benner,
Booth, Jaeger and Meacham; the last mentioned being


SOMETHING THE MOON FAILED TO SEE. 403
*
crackling of a twig beneath a man's boot, and almost at
the same instant the last light disappears from the windows
of the “Hill House.”
One, two, three. Three darks forms approach, one
after the other, each pauses for an instant beside the light
buggy, and seems to look up to the dull red spark, which
is all of Arch Brookhouse that is clearly visible through
the dark. Then they enter the gate and are swallowed up
in the blackness of the avenue. -
And now, a fourth form moves stealthily down the
avenue after the others. It does not come from without
the grounds, it starts out from the shrubbery within, and
it is unseen by Arch Brookhouse. -
How still the night is ! The man who follows after the
three first comers can almost hear his pulses throb, or so he
fancies.
Presently the three men pause before the door of the
barn, and one of them takes from his pocket a key, with
which he unlocks the door, and they enter.
As soon as they are inside, a lantern is lighted, and
the three men move together toward the rear of the barn,
the part against which is piled a monstrous stack of
hay. -
Meanwhile the watcher outside glides close to the wall
of the building, listening here and there, as he, too, ap-
proaches the huge hay pile.
And now he does a queer thing. He begins to pull


“He works noiselessly, and very soon has made an opening, into
which he crawls.”-page 404.

405





SOMETHING THE MOON FAILED TO SEE. 407
tunnel, but must withdraw by a series of retrograde move-
ments more laborious than graceful.
A moment more, and from among the poplars and ever-
greens a light goes shooting up, high and bright against
the sky; a long, red ribbon of fire, that says to those who
can read the sign, -
“The Trafton horse-thieves are about to move with their
long-concealed prey. Meacham's matched sorrels, Hop-
per's two-forty’s, and the bay Morgans stolen from 'Squire
Brookhouse.”
It was seen, this fiery rocket, by the little band waiting
by the roadside more than a mile away.
“There it is!” exclaims young Warren, who is the leader
of this party—“It is the red rocket. They are going with
the wagons; it's all right, boys, we can’t ride too fast
now.”
The seven men file silently out from the roadside and
gallop away southward.
At the four corners, not far from the house on the hill,
where, a short time before, a single individual had stationed
himself, as a sentinel in the darkness, this signal rocket
was also seen, and the watcher uttered an exclamation
under his breath, and started out from underneath the tree
that had sheltered him.
He could never remember how it happened, but his next
sensation was that of being borne to the ground, clutched
with a tiger-like grip, crushed by a heavy weight.


“Lie still, Joe Blaikie! I’ve waited for this opportunity for eight
long years, and it won’t be worth your while to trifle with Harvey
James now.”—page 408,

409





SOMETHING THE MOON FALLED TO SEE. 411
Those within the barn have not seen the rocket, of course;
and presently they come forth and harness the six horses
to two huge wagons that stand in readiness. Four horses
to one wagon, two to the other. The wheels are well oiled,
and the wagons make no unnecessary rumbling as they go
down the dark poplar avenue.
At the gate the foremost wagon halts, just long enough
to enable the driver to catch the low-spoken word that tells
him it is safe to proceed.
“All right,” Arch Brookhouse says, softly, and the two
wagons pass out and down the hill, straight through the
village of Trafton.
At the foot of the hill, where the four roads cross, the
drivers peer through the darkness. Yes, their sentinel is
there. The white handkerchief which he holds in his
hand, as a sign that all is safe, gleams through the dark,
and they drive on merrily, and if the sound of their wheels
wakens any sleeper in Trafton, what then? It is not
unusual to hear coal wagons passing on their way to the
mines.
Should they meet a belated traveler, no matter. He
may hear the rumble of the wheels, and welcome, so long
as the darkness prevents him from seeing the horses that
draw those innocent vehicles of traffic.
Meanwhile, his duty being done, Arch Brookhouse heaves
a sigh of relief, gathers up his reins, and chirrups to his
horse.


412 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
But the animal does not obey him. Arch leans for-
ward; is there something standing by the horse's head?
He gives an impatient word of command, and then, -yes,
there is some one there.
Arch utters a sharp exclamation, and his hand goes be-
hind him, only to be grasped by an enemy in the rear,
who follows up his advantage by seizing the other elbow
and saying:
“Stop a moment, Mr. Brookhouse; you are my prisoner,
sir. Gerry, the handcuffs.”
The man at the horse's head comes swiftly to my assist-
ance, Arch Brookhouse is drawn from his buggy, and his
hands secured behind him by fetters of steel. Not a cap-
tive to be proud of; his teeth chatter, he shivors as with
an ague. -
“Wh—who are you?” he gasps. “Wh—what do you
want?”
“I’m a city sprig,” I answer, maliciously, “and I’m an
easy fish to catch. But not so easy as you, my gay Lothario.
By and by you may decide, if you will, whether I possess
most money or brains; now I have more important busi-
ness on hand.”
Just then comes a long, low whistle.
“Gerry,” I say, “that is Long. Go down to him and
see if he needs help.”
Gerry is off in an instant, and then my prisoner rallies:
his cowardly faculties, and begins to bluster.


SOMETHING THE MOON FAILED TO SEE. 413
“What does this assault mean? I demand an explana-
tion, sir!”
“But I am not in the mood to give it,” I retort. “You
are my prisoner, and likely to remain so, unless you are
stolen from me by Judge Lynch, which is not improbable.”
“Then, y—you are an impostor!”
“You mistake; I am a detective. You shot at the
wrong man when you winged Bethel. You did better
when you crippled widow Ballou's hired man.”
“What, are you?—” he starts violently, then checks his
speech.
“I’m the man you shot, behind the hedge, Mr. Brook-
house, and I’ll trouble you to explain your conduct to-
morrow.”
My prisoner moves restlessly under my restraining hand,
but I cock my pistol, and he comprehending the unspoken
warning, stands silent beside his buggy.
Presently I hear footsteps, and then Gerry comes towards
me, lighting the way with a pocket lantern, which reveals to
my gaze Dimber Joe, handcuffed and crest-fallen, marching
sedately over the ground at the muzzle of a pistol held in
the firm clutch of Jim Long, upon whose countenance sits
a look of grim, triumphant humor.
“Here,” says Gerry, with aggravating ceremony, “is
Mr. Long, with sentinel number two, namely: Mr. Dim-
ber Joe Blaikie, late of Sing Sing.”
“And very soon to return there,” adds Jim Long, em-


414 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
phatically. “What shall we do with these fellows?”
“We must keep everything quiet to-night,” I say,
quickly. “If you and Gerry think you won’t go to sleep
over the precious scamps you might take them to the barn
and let them pass the night where they have hidden so
many horses. We will take them there now, and bind
them more securely. Then one of you can look after them
easily, while the other stands guard outside. All must be
done quietly, so that they may not take the alarm in the
house. If your prisoners attempt to make a noise, gag
them without scruple.”
“But,” gasps Brookhouse, “you can not; you have no
power.”
“No power,” mocks Jim Long. “We’ll see about that!
It may be unparliamentary, gentlemen, but you should not
object to that. If you give us any trouble, we will con-
vince you that we have inherited a little brief authority.”
Ten minutes later we have carried out our programme.
The two prisoners are safely housed in the hidden asylum
for stolen horses, with Jim Long as guard within, and
Gerry as sentinel without, and I, seated in the light buggy
from which I have unceremoniously dragged Arch Brook-
house, am driving his impatient roadster southward, in the
wake of the honest coal wagons,


CAUGHT IN THE ACT. 417
As the foremost wagon pauses, Larkins tosses his reins
to the silent man in the buggy, and advances, followed
by Dwight.
“Anything wrong?” queries Larkins.
“Not if you are all right,” replies a harsh voice, a voice
that has a natural snarl in it.
“All right, Cap'n; give us your orders.”
The two men in the wagon spring to the ground, and
begin to unharness the foremost horses. The other wagon
comes closer.
“You and Briggs are to take in these two teams. Tom
is to go on with the Morgans. Dwight is to take us back
to Trafton,” says the rasping voice.
Dwight comes closer, and then exclaims:
“By George, Captain, it's you in person.”
“Yes, it's me,” shortly. “Simpson failed to come, and
I wanted to have a few words with you and Larkins.
Hark! What's that?”
Wheels again; swift rushing, rattling wheels. Six
heads are turned toward the north, whence they approach.
Suddenly there is a whistle, short and shrill.
Men are bounding over the low hedge to the left! Men
are rising up from the long grass by the roadside!
Oaths, ejaculations, cracking of pistols, plunging of horses—
“The first man who attempts to run will be shot down!”
I hear these words, as I drive the Brookhouse roadster,
foaming and panting, into the midst of the melee,
27


418 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
In spite of the warning one man has made a dart for
liberty, has turned and rushed directly upon my horse.
In spite of the darkness his sharp eyes recognize the
animal. What could his son's horse bring save a warning
or a rescue?
He regains his balance, which, owing to his sudden con-
tact with the horse, he had nearly lost, and springs toward
me as my feet touch the earth. -
“Arch!”
Before he can realize the truth my hands are upon him.
Before he can recover from his momentary consternation
other hands seize him from behind.
The captain of the horse-thieves, the head and front and
brains of the band, is bound and helpless!
It is soon over; the horse-thieves fight well; strive hard
to evade capture; but the attack is so sudden, so unex-
pected, and they are unprepared, although each man, as a
matter of course, is heavily armed.
The vigilants have all the advantage, both of numbers
and organization. While certain ones give all their at-
tention to the horses, the larger number look to the prison-
erS.
Briggs, the silent man in the buggy, is captured before
he knows what has happened.
Tom Briggs, his cowardly brother, is speedily reduced to
a whimpering poltroon.
Ed. Dwight takes to his heels in spite of the warning of


“Men are bounding over the low hedge to the left! Men are
rising up from the long grass by the roadside!”—417. 419
1


422 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
stances, and Tom Briggs, who makes an occasional whimper-
ing attempt at self-justification, which is heeded by no
one, all maintain a dogged silence. And we move on at a
leisurely pace, out of consideration for the tired horses.
As we approach Trafton, the Summer sun is sending up
his first streak of red, to warn our side of the world of his
nearness; and young Warren reins his horse out from the
orderly file of vigilants, who ride on either side of the
wagons.
He gallops forward, turns in his saddle to look back
at us, waves his hat above his head, and then speeds away
toward the village.
I am surprised at this, but, as I look from one face to
another, I see that the vigilants, some of them, at least,
understand the movement, and so I ask no questions.
I am not left long in suspense as to the meaning of
young Warren's sudden leave-taking, for, as we approach
to within a mile of Trafton, our ears are greeted by the
clang of bells, all the bells of Trafton, ringing out a fiercely
jubilant peal. -
I turn to look at Squire Brookhouse. He has grown
old in an instant; his face looks ashen under the rosy day-
light. The caverns of his eyes are larger and deeper,
and the orbs themselves gleam with a desperate fire. His
lifeless black locks flutter in the morning breeze. He looks
forlorn and desperate. Thoseclanging bells are telling him
his doom.
*


CAUGHT IN THE ACT. 423
Warren has done his work well. When we come over
the hill into Trafton, we know that the news is there before
us, for a throng has gathered in the street, although the
hour is so early.
The bells have aroused the people. The news that the
Trafton horse-thieves are captured at last, in the very act
of escaping with their booty, has set the town wild.
Not long since these same horse-thieves have led Trafton
On to assault, to accuse, and to vilify an innocent man.
Now, those who were foremost at the raiding of Bethel's
cottage, are loudest in denouncing those who were then
their leaders; and the cry goes up,
“Hand over the horse-thieves! Hand them out! Lynch
law's good enough for them !”
But we are fourteen in number. We have captured the
prisoners, and we mean to keep them.
Once more my pistols, this time fully loaded, are raised
against a Trafton mob, and the vigilants follow my ex-
ample.
We guard our prisoners to the door of the jail, and then
the vigilants post themselves as a wall of defence about the
building, while Captain Warren sets about the easy task of
raisinga trusty relief guard to take the places of his weary men.
It is broad day now. The sun glows round and bright
above the Eastern horizon. I am very weary, but there is
work yet to be done.
Ileave Captain Warren at the door of the jail, and hasten
toward the Hill.


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“Then the vigilants post themselves as a wall of defence about
the building.”-page 423.


“THE COUNTERFEITER's DAUGHTER,” 427
she sees at a glance that I am not the jaunty, faultlessly-
dressed young idler of past days, but a dusty, dishevelled,
travel-stained individual, wearing, instead of the usual
society smile, a serious and preoccupied look upon my
face.
“Miss Manvers,” I say, at once, “you will pardon my
abruptness, I trust; I must talk with you alone for a few
moments.”
She favors me with a glance of keen inquiry, and a look
of apprehension crosses her face.
Then she turns with a gesture of careless indifference,
and leads the way to the drawing-room, where she again
turns her face toward me.
“I have before me an unpleasant duty,” I begin again;
“I have to inform you that Arch Brookhouse has been
arrested.”
A fierce light leaps to her eyes.
“Is that all ” she questions.
“The charge against him is a grave one,” I say, letting
her question pass unanswered. “He is accused of attempt-
ed abduction.”
“Abduction!” she exclaims.
“And attempted assassination.’
“Assassination! ah, who?”
“Attempt first, upon myself, in June last. Second at-
tempt, upon Dr. Carl Bethel.”
A wrathful look crosses her face.


428 OUT OF A LABYRINTH,
“I wish they could hang him for it!” she says, vindic-
tively. Then she looks me straight in the eyes. “Did
you come to tell me this because you fancy that I care for
Arch Brookhouse?” she questions.
“NO.”
“Why, then?”
“Because I am a detective, and it was my duty to
come. There is more to tell you. "Squire Brookhouse
and his gang were arrested last night in the act of remov-
ing stolen horses from your barn.”
Her face pales and she draws a long sighing breath, but
she does not falter nor evince any other sign of fear.
“So it has come,” she says. “And now you are here to
arrest me. I don't think I shall mind it much.”
“I have come to make terms with you, Miss Lowenstein,
and it will be your fault if they are hard terms. I know
your past history, or, at least—” -
“At least, that I am a counterfeiter's daughter, and that
I have served a term as a convict,” she finishes, sarcas-
tically. -
“I know that you are the daughter of Jake Lowenstein,
forger and counterfeiter. I know that you were ar-
rested with him, as an accomplice; that immunity was
offered you if you would testify against your father, the
lawyers being sure that your evidence alone would easily
convict him. I know that you refused to turn State's evi-
dence; that you scoffed at the lawyers, and rather than raise


430 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
I caught the look on your face, and knew that I had seen
it before, somewhere. I went home puzzled, to find Carnes,
better known to you as Cooley, looking at a picture in his
rogue's gallery. I took the book and began turning its
leaves, and there under my eye was your picture. Then I
knew that Miss Manvers, the heiress, was really Miss Adele
Lowenstein.”
“You say that it will be my fault if you make hard
terms with me. My father is dead. I suppose you under-
stand that?”
“Yes; I know that he is dead, but I do not know why
you are here, giving shelter to stolen property and abbet-
ting horse-thieves. Frankly, Miss Lowenstein, so far as
your past is concerned, I consider you sinned against as
much as sinning. Your sacrifice in behalf of your father
was, in my eyes, a brave act, rather than a criminal one.
I am disposed to be ever your friend rather than your
enemy. Will you tell me how you became connected with
this gang, and all the truth concerning your relations with
them, and trust me to aid you to the limit of my power?”
“You do not promise me my freedom if I give you this
information,”
she says, more in surprise than in anxiety.
“It is not in my power to do that and still do my duty
as an officer; but I promise you, upon my honor, that you
shall have your freedom if it can be brought about.”
“I like the sound of that,” says this odd, self-reliant
young woman, turning composedly, and seating herself near
*


432 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
man, always devising some new scheme. He knew that
without my father's assistance, he could hardly run a long
career at counterfeiting, and he knew that counterfeiting
would be dangerous business for my father to follow, in or
near the city, after his escape. -
“They talked and schemed and prospected; and the re-
sult was that they both came to Trafton, and invested a
portion of their gains, the largest portion of course, in two
pieces of real estate; this and the Brookhouse place.
“Before we had been here a year, my father grew ven-
turesome. He went to the city, and was recognized by an
old policeman, who had known him too well. They at-
tempted to arrest him, but only captured his dead body.
The papers chronicled the fact that Jake Lowenstein, the
counterfeiter, was dead. And we, at Trafton, announced
to the world that Captain Manvers, late of the navy, had
been drowned while making his farewell voyage.
“After that, I became Miss Manvers, the heiress, and
the good Traftonites were regaled with marvelous stories
concerning a treasure-ship dug out from the deep by my
father, ‘the sea captain.”
“Their main object in settling in Trafton, was to pro-
vide for themselves homes that might afford them a haven
should stormy times come. And, also, to furnish them
with a place where their coining and engraving could be
safely carried on.
“Then the 'Squire grew more enterprising. He wanted


“THE COUNTERFEITER’s DAUGHTER,” 433
more schemes to manage. And so he began to lay his plans
for systematic horse-stealing.
“Little by little he matured his scheme, and one by one
he introduced into Trafton such men as would serve his
purpose, for, if you inquire into the matter, you will find
that every one of his confederates has come to this place .
since the first advent of 'Squire Brookhouse.
“The hidden place in our barn was prepared before my
father was killed, and after that—well, 'Squire Brook-
house knew that I could be a great help to him, socially.
“I did not know what to do. This home was mine, I
felt safe here; I had grown up among counterfeiters and
law-breakers, and I did not see how I was to shake myself
free from them—besides—”
Here a look of scornful self-contempt crosses her face.
“Besides, I was young, and up to that time had seen
nothing of society of my own age. Arch Brookhouse had
lately come home from the South, and I had fallen in love
with his handsome face.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, as if expecting to see her own
self-scorn reflected back in my face, but I continue to look
gravely attentive, and she goes on:
“So Istayed on, and let them use my property as a hiding-
place for their stolen horses. I kept servants of their se-
lection, and never knew aught of their plans. When I
heard that a horse had been stolen, I felt very certain that
it was concealed on my premises, but I never investigated.
28 #19


“LOUISE BARNARD’s FRIENDSHIP.” 435
CHAPTER XXXIX.
“LOUISE BARNARD’s FRIENDSHIP.”
When she has finished her story there is a long silence,
then she says, with a suddenness that would have been sur-
prising in any other woman than the one before me:
“You say you have arrested Arch Brookhouse for the
shooting of Dr. Bethel. Tell me, is it true that Dr. Bethel
is out of danger?”
“He is still in a condition to need close attention and
careful medical aid; with these, we think, he will re-
cover.”
“I am very glad to know that,” she says, earnestly.
“Miss Lowenstein, I have some reason for thinking that
you know who is implicated in that grave-robbing busi-
ness.”
“I do know,” she answers, frankly, “but not from them.
The Brookhouses, father and sons, believed Dr. Bethel to
be a detective, and to be candid, so did I. You know
‘the wicked flee when no man pursueth.’ They construed
his reticence into mystery. They fancied that his clear,
searching eye was looking into all their secrets. I knew
they were plotting against him, but I had told Arch Brook-


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“I wish I knew how such a woman as Louise Barnard would ad-
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439





“LOUISE BARNARD’s FRIENDSHIP.” 443
heard the clanging bells and witnessed the excitement, but,
as yet, scarcely comprehends the cause.
“Mamma is so anxious,” she says, deprecatingly, to Mr.
Harris, “that I ran in to ask you about it, before going
down to see Carl—Dr. Bethel.”
While she is speaking, a new thought enters my head,
and I say to myself instantly, “here is a new test for
Christianity,” thinking the while of that friendless girl at
this moment a paroled prisoner.
“Miss Barnard,” I say, hastily, “it will give me pleasure
to tell you all about this excitement, or the cause of it.”
“If I understand aright, you are the cause, sir,” she re-
plies, smilingly. “How horribly you have deceived us
all !”
“But,” interposes Mr. Harris, “this is asking too much,
sir. You have been vigorously at work all night, and
now—”
“Never mind that,” I interrupt. “Men in my profes-
sion are bred to these things. I am in just the mood for
story telling.”
They seat themselves near me. Jim, a little less in-
terested than the rest, occupying a place in the background.
Charlie Harris is away at his office. I have just the au-
dience I desire. * -
I begin by describing very briefly my hunt for the Traf-
ton outlaws. I relate, as rapidly as possible, the manner
in which they were captured, skipping details as much as I


444 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
can, until I arrive at the point where I turn from the Traf-
ton jail to go to The Hill.
Then I describe my interview with the counterfeiter's
daughter minutely, word for word as nearly as I can. I
dwell on her look, her tone, her manner, I repeat her words:
“I wish I knew how another woman would view my posi-
tion. I wish I knew how such a woman as Louise Bar-
nard would advise me.” I omit nothing; I am trying to
win a friend for Adele Lowenstein, and I tell her story as
well as I can.
When I have finished, there is profound silence for a
full moment, and then Jim Long says:
“I know something concerning this matter. And I am
satisfied that the girl has told no more and no less than the
truth.”
I take out a pocket-book containing papers, and select
one from among them.
“This,” I say, as I open it, “is a letter from the Chief
of our force. He is a stern old criminal-hunter. I will
read you what he says in regard to the girl we have known
as Adele Manvers, the heiress. Here it is.”
And I read:
In regard to Adele Lowenstein, I send you the papers and copied
reports, as you request; but let me say to you, deal with her as mer-
cifully as possible. There should be much good in a girl who would
go to prison for two long years, rather than utter one word disloyal
to her counterfeiter father. Those who knew her best, prior to
that affair, consider her a victim rather than a sinner. Time may


THE STORY OF HARVEY JAMES. 447
CHAPTER XL.
THE STORY OF HARVEY JAMES.
It is late in the afternoon when I awake, for Mrs. Har-
ris has been better than her word.
Jim is already up, and conversing with Mr. Harris on
the all-absorbing topic, of course.
After a bountiful and well-cooked dinner has received
our attention, Jim and I go together to the cottage.
Here we are put upon the witness stand by “our old
woman,” who takes ample vengeance for having been kept
so long in the dark concerning my business in Trafton.
After he has berated us to his entire satisfaction, and
after Bethel, who, having heard a little, insists upon hear-
ing more, has been gratified by an account of the capture,
given for the most part by Jim Long, we go southward
again and come to a halt in Jim's cottage. Here we seat
ourselves, and, at last, I hear the story of Jim Long, or the
man who has, for years, borne that name.
“My name is Harvey James,” he begins, slowly. “My
father was a farmer, and I was born upon a farm, and lived
there until I became of age.


THE STORY OF HARVEY JAMES. 449
commenced to enjoy city life. I began with the theaters
and billiards, and went on down the grade. Before I had
been in town a month I became acquainted with Brooks,
the name then used by 'Squire Brookhouse. He professed
to be a lawyer, and this profession, together with his supe-
rior age, won my confidence, as, perhaps, a younger man
could not have done. After a time he made me ac-
quainted with Joe Blaikie and Jake Lowenstein, both bro-
kers, so he said.
“I was an easy victim; I soon began to consult the
“brokers' as to the best investment for a small capital.
“Of course they were ready to help me. I think I need
.not enter into details; you know how such scoundrels work.
We soon became almost inseparable, and I thought myself
in excellent company, and wrote glowing letters to my
mother and sweetheart, telling them of my fine new friends
and the promising prospect for a splendid investment, which
was to double my money speedily, and laying great stress
upon the fact that my prospective good fortune would be
mainly brought about by my “friends, th
brokers, who ‘knew the ropes.’
“At last the day came when I drew a considerable a
of money from my home bankers, to invest in city stock.
The ‘brokers’ strongly advised me to put in all I could
command, even to the extent of mortgaging my farm, but
this I would not do. I adhered to my stern old father's
principle, “never borrow money to plant, and I would not
29


THE STORY OF HARVEY JAMES. 451
was a long distance, and he would be out late. He had
about him a quantity of gold, paid in to him after banking
hours, and he did not like to take it with him. He wanted
to leave it in my keeping, as he knew that I intended pass-
ing the evening in my rooms, and as he was not afraid to
trust me with so large a sum.
“I took the bait, and the money, three rouleaux of gold;
and then, after I had listened to his regrets at his inability to
make one at our social game that evening, I bowed him out
and locked the door.
“As I opened my trunk and secreted the money in the
very bottom, underneath a pile of clothing and books, I
was swelling with gratified vanity, blind fool that I was,
at the thought of the trust imparted to me. Did it not
signify the high value placed upon my shrewdness and in-
tegrity by this discriminating man of business?
“Presently Brooks and Blaikie came, and we sat down
to cards and wine. Blaikie had brought with him some
bottles of a choice brand, and it had an unusual effect upon
me.
“My recollections of that evening are very indistinct.
I won some gold pieces from Brooks, and jingled them trium-
phantly in my pockets, while Blaikie refilled my glass.
After that my remembrance is blurred and then blank.
“I do not think that I drank as much wine as usual, for
when I awoke it was not from the sleep of intoxication.
I was languid, and my head ached, but my brain was not


458 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
“I did,” with a quizzical glance at me; “and it reached
you, I take it.”
“Yes; it reached me. And now, Long—it seems most
natural to call you so—I will make no comments upon your
story now. I think you are assured of my friendship and
sympathy. I can act better than I can talk. But be sure
of one thing, from henceforth you stand clear of all charges
against you. The man who shot Dr. Bethel is now in
limbo, and he will confess the whole plot on the witness
stand; and, as for the old trouble, Joe Blaikie shall tell
the truth concerning that.”
He lifts his head and looks at me steadfastly for a mo-
ment. -
“When that is accomplished,” he says, earnestly, “I
shall feel myself once more a man among men.”


460 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
She was not made a prisoner. Mrs. Harris and Louise
Barnard were not the women to do things by halves. They
used all their influence in her favor, and they had the
vigilants and many of the best citizens to aid them. They
disarmed public opinion. They appealed to men high in
power and won their championship. They conducted their
campaign wisely and they carried the day.
There were found for Adele Lowenstein, the counter-
feiter's daughter, “extenuating circumstances:” what the
jury could not do the governor did, and she went out from
the place, where justice had been tempered with mercy, a
free woman.
The Hill was sold, and Miss Lowenstein, who had
avowed her intention of retaking her father's name, sullied
as it was, prepared to find a new home in some far away
city.
One day while the trial was pending, Gerry Brown
came to me with fidgety manner and serious counten-
ance.
“Old man,” he said, anxiously, “I’ve been thinking
about Miss Lowenstein.”
“Stop it, Gerry. It's a dangerous occupation for a
fellow of your age.”
“My, age indeed! Two years, four months and seven-
teen days younger than your ancient highness, I be-
lieve.”
“A man may learn much in two years, four months, and


A GATHERING OF THE FRAGMENTS. 465
testimony against him at the famous trial of the Trafton
horse-thieves.
When the whole truth concerning the modus operandi
of the horse-thieves was made public at the trial, when the
Traftonites learned that for five years they had harbored
stolen horses under the very steeples of the town, and that
those horses, when the heat of the chase was over, were
boldly driven away across the country and toward the river
before a lumbering coal cart, they were astounded at the
boldness of the scheme, and the hardihood of the men who
had planned it.
But they no longer marveled at their own inability to
fathom so cunning a plot.


466 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER XLII.
IN CONCLUSION.
When Winter closed in, and the first snow mantled the
farms of Groveland, the poor girl whom Johnny La Porte
had reluctantly made his wife, closed her eyes upon this
earthly panorama.
She never rallied after her return from the South. They
said that she died of consumption, but her friends knew,
whatever medical name might be applied to her disease at
the end, that it began with a broken heart.
When it was over, and Nellie Ewing had no further
need of his presence, Johnny La Porte,—who, held to his
duty by the stern and oftentimes menacing eye of 'Squire
Ewing, as well as by the fear which Carnes had implanted
in his heart, had been as faithful and as gentle to his poor
wife as it was in his worthless nature to be, -now found
himself shunned in the community where he had once been
petted and flattered.
There was no forgiveness in the heart of 'Squire Ewing,
and his door was closed against his daughter's destroyer;
for such the Grovelanders, in spite of his tardy reparation,
considered Johnny La Porte.
He attempted to resume his old life in Groveland; but


IN CONCLUSION. 467
'Squire Ewing was beloved in the community, and when
he turned his back upon Johnny La Porte his neighbors
followed his example.
Nowhere among those cordial Grovelanders was there a
place or a welcome for the man who had blighted the life
of Nellie Ewing, and so he drifted away from Groveland,
to sink lower and lower in the scale of manhood—dissolute,
brainless, a cumberer of the ground.
Nellie Ewing's sad death had its effect upon thoughtless
little Mamie Rutger. She was shocked into sobriety, and
her grief at the loss of her friend brought with it shame
for her own folly, and then repentance and a sincere effort
to be a more dutiful daughter and a better woman.
Mrs. Ballou put her threat into execution after mature
deliberation. She put her daughter Grace into a convent
school, and then, to make assurance doubly sure, she rented
her fine farm, and took up her abode near that of the good
sisters who had charge of her daughter's mental and spiri-
tual welfare.
As for the Little Adelphi and Fred Brookhouse, they
both lost prestige after coming under the severe scrutiny of
the police. One iniquitous discovery concerning the theatre
and its manager led to more; and before another Spring
visited the Sunny South, the Little Adelphi and Fred
Brookhouse had vanished together, the one transformed
into an excellent green grocers' establishment, and the
other into a strolling disciple of chance.


470 OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
* *
* - :
* * * *
During the evening, however, the fair bride approached
Jim—or Harvey James—and myself, as we stood a little
aloof from the others. There was the least bit of a frown
upon her face, too, as she said:
“I can’t help feeling cross with you, sir detective.
Somebody must bear the blame of not bringing Adele
Lowenstein to my wedding. I wrote her that I should
take her presence as a sign that she fully believed in the
sincerity of my friendship, and that Trafton would thus
be assured of my entire faith in her, and yet, she declined.”
I do not know what to say in reply. So I drop my eyes
and mentally anathematize my own stupidity.
“Do you know why she refused to come?” she persists.
While I still hesitate, Jim—I must say Jim—touches
my arm.
“Your delicacy is commendable,” he says in my ear.
“But would it not be better to tell Mrs. Bethel the truth,
than to allow her to think the woman she has befriended,
ungrateful?”
I feel that he is wise and I am foolish; so I lift my
eyes to her face and say: -
“Mrs. Bethel, Adele Lowenstein had one secret that you
never guessed. If you had seen her, as I saw her, at the
bedside of your husband, on the day after the attempt upon
his life, you, of all women in the world, would understand
best why she is not at your wedding to-day.”
She utters a startled exclamation, and her eyes turn


IN CONCLUSION. 471
involuntarily to where Carl Bethel stands, talland splendid,
among his guests; then a look of pitying tenderness comes
into her face.
“Poor Adele!” she says softly, and turns slowly
away. -
“Adele Lowenstein is not the woman to forget easily,”
I say to my companion. “But there,” and I nod toward
Gerry Brown, “is the man who would willingly teach her
the lesson.” -
“Then,” says Jim, contentedly, “it is only a question of
time. Gerry Brown is bound to win.”
THE END.
IAWRENCE L. LYNCH'S WORKS.
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By WM. H. THoMEs. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50.
The heroes of “The Gold Hunters' Adventures” and “The Bushrangers” seek
excitement in a trip through Europe, and meet, in England, France and Ireland (among
the Tenians), with a constant succession of perilous adventures.
A Whaleman’s Adventures on Sea and Land.
By WM. H. THOMEs. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50.
A vivid story of life on a whaler, in the Pacific Ocean, and of adventures in the
Sandwich Islands, and in California in the early days, when the discovery of gold electri-
fied the whole world and attracted bold men to Wrest the mines of wealth from the
possession of Mexicans and Indians.
These most fascinating Tales of Adventure on Sea and Land are for
sale on all Railroad Trains, by all Booksellers, or will be sent postpaid
on receipt of price by The Publishers.
ALEX. T. LOYD & CO.,
CHICAGO.


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A New Detective Story. "
By LAwRENCE L. LYNCH,
Author of “SHADow ED BY THREE," "MADELINE PAYNE,” etc. (Ready Dec. 1st, 1884.)
“Don’t pull, boys; I've got the drop on ye : " Page 58.
DANGEROUS GROUND;
OR THE
JEE-IV-a-L. ICPE*I*EC*I*IV Es.
The author's latest and greatest work; intensely interesting. 45 Elegant Illustrations.
PRICE, $1.50.
Sold on all Railway Trains and by all Booksellers.


THE GOLD HUNTERS ADVENTURE
OR, WILD LIFE IN AUSTRALIA.
By WM. H. THOMES, author of “The Bushrangers,” “The Gold Hunters in Europe,”
"A Whaleman's Adventures,” “Life in the East Indies,” “Adventures on a
Slaver,” “Running the Blockade,” etc., etc.
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“Now for a rush.–Cut them to pieces!”
A FA SC I NAT I N G STORY_Q F A D VENTURE,


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