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UNDER THE LAMP-SHINE.
air mass If. mains.

We stood together ’midst tropical dusk,
’Midst tropical fragrance subtle as balm;

Under the twilight’s purpling shadows,
Under the triumph palm.

Above, around us, shone tremulous lamps,
With tremulous glimmer of prisoued moons,
And catching sparkles of fountain's waters
A hundred torrid blooms.

He hid in the folds, on my fluttering breast—
’I‘was fluttering softly, for love 0 him——

A rare, pale blossom, with trembling fingers,
Under the lamp-shine dim.

Darker, softer, his luminous eyes— .
So luminous star-like, dazzling mine—
And somewhere, I heard, like Wings of angel,
A pulsing, wordless rhyme:

Between me, ever, and passionate joys-— _
The passionate pleasures a man must prize——

Your face will linger in fair, proud beauty,
And dusk of its slumb’rous eyes;

“ Last night I waltzed to the mystical beat—
The mystical, maddening rhythm of Strauss—
Under the glare of a thousand gas-jets
Flooding the grand old house.

" Circled away to the beautiful dream—
As beautiful as the form I prest—
And. somehow, in love’s intense delirium,
I held her to my breast.

" Softly the odor of heliotrope blows— ,
Our lieliotrope blossomssweeterthan myrrh—
Floated up from her throbbing bosom
With rare old laces‘ stir;

“ Was it a marvel the sleeping power—
Slumbering at dearth of touch of thine—
Thrilled with exquisite. wild pulsations,
This passionate heart of mine?

“ Is it a marvel the passionate joys— .
The passionate pleasures a man must prize—
Mutely appeal in all ’wildering faces,
And glow of all brilliant eyes?”

Thus he reasoned, my princely love-—
Princely in feeling, royal in mien—

Thus he wooed, and won me, my lover—
Under the lamp-shine’s gleam!

The Tell-Tale Watch.

BY AN EX-DETECTIVE.

ARTHUR EATON, book-keeper and teller of
the Sagamore bank, C-——, was standing at his
desk writing, when—

“ Good-morning, Eaton, how is everything
with you i” greeted his ear.

So engrossed with his work as not to have
heard any one step on the straw matting that
covered the floor, he looked up in surprise and
saw a gentleman of about his own age—twenty-
five—standing near him, just outside the wire
screen.

“ Well. I declare,” he replied, “ can it really
be you, Fender?”

‘ It is I, and no mistake,” was the smiling re

use.
“ I am delighted to see you,” said Eaton, risk
ing and passing to the opening in the screen
through which he was wont to receive and pay
out money; through which he now extended his
hand to grasp that of the stranger. “ W'here
in the world did you come from?" be con-
tinued.
“ Stafford has been my home for the t six
years. I have saved a little mOney an am on
my way to Texas, where I intend investing it in
the cattle business. I made a detour from the
direct route, in order to call upon an old
chum.” V , .
“I angular! cu did. Youwill remain with
meafew ya, ' , 
“ Hardly that. ~Tl11tomrow, «mm
for on tohavemedoso, butImustbein New
ork to-morrow afternoon, whence I startwith

chem.”
"A visit with you will not onlybe convenient
for but most ble to me. I regrettha't it is
to be so brie ,” he answered, cordially. “ If
you will step into our private oflice, just beyond
you, I will join you there as soon as I have fin-
ished a letter that must 0 in the next mail.”

“ Certainly,” returned ender; “ don’t let me
interfere with your work.” .

And he entered the designated apartment.

In a short time Eaton was with him and

said.
“ The cashier has arrived and kindly excused
me from my labors for the day. If it please
on we will take a drive about the town, which
has some fine scenery, of which I remember you
were always fond. I will first carry your sachel
to my room upstairs, and then we Will start.”

He suited theaction to the word and then the
two left the building.

It was a happy ay for both; a reminder of
the time, ei ht years before, when they were
chums at reenwood Academy, where the
warmest friendship developed itself between
them, that had led their fellow students to
denominate them “ Damon and Pythias.”

The following morning when admittance to
the bank was sought, the outer door was found
to be fastened, nor did a severe pounding upon
it bring any one to open it.

At once notified, the cashier came and opened
the bank. Proceeding to the room occupied by
the teller, he discovered the latter indiv1dual in
a slee so profound that a rough shaking failed
to wa en him, and the same was true of his
companion. 0n the bed lay a sponge, near it
an em )ty bottle: while the room smel ed strong-
lv of c loroform.
~ The cashier was impressed that there had
been “ foul play.”and the impression was con-
firmed by an examination of the safe, whose
contents were mostly gone.

A physician was summoned to attend the oc—
cupants of the teller’s room, who finally suc-
ceeded in bringing them to semi—consciousness.

At this point my part in the drama began. I
was sent for to work up the case, and reached
C——— a few hours subsequent to the discovery
of the burglary.

On my arrival the tellQ' and his friend were
still in a stupid condition, and neither could
answer my questions coherently. Therefore,
after having carefully examined the premises, I
addressed myself to the cashier.

From him I learned that about six thousand
dollars in bills had been removed from the safe
-—this small amount being all of that kind of
money in the safe, because a large remittance
had been made a few days before to the clear-
ing-house; that no coins, checks, drafts or nego—
tiable bonds had been touched ; that an entrance
to the bank had doubtless been effected by
picking the lock of the outer door: that, on go-
ing to the safe, the teller’s key had been found
in its lock by the cashier. _ .

Later in the day, the teller and his friend
were able to converse intelligently. I then
found that Fender had lost above eleven hun—
dred dollars, in bills, a valuable gold watch and
chain. The teller had suffered no personal loss
having no money—in bills—in his pockets, and
his watch being a cheap silver one.

“ Were you disturbed in the night?” I asked
Eaton. .

“I was not. Mr. Fender and I sat up till a
late hour, and I dropped to sleep soon after
touching the bed, I presume. I am a sound
sleeper, and a considerable noise is required to
waken me.”

“ Aml you, Mr. Fender?” I inquired.

“ I thought I heard steps drawing near the
bank, and left my bed tolook out of the window.
I stumbled and fell, making a noise that pro-
bably frightened the person or persons coming
toward the bank, if such there were; for, when
I looked from the window, nobody was visible
though the moon shone brightly.

“ Have you any idea what time it was?”

“I have not, as I did not consult my watch.
As my friend has said, we sat up until a late

aalee .
The stolen bills could not, of course. be identi—
fied; possibly, the watch might. So:

 

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a:

“Can you describe your watch to me, Mr.
Fender?” I asked.

“ It was of a medium size, made at Geneva.
The front case was enameled in blue, and the
back was stellated. The end of the push-piece
was a small diamond.”

“ Thank you,” I said, making a memorandum
of the description.

Returning to the private office with the cash-
ierz I asked:

‘ You have no doubt as to the integrity of
your teller!”

“ Not the least,” he replied in surprise. “ I
have known him from boyhood, and repose the
utmost faith in him.”

“ You know that one might chloroform him—
self after committing a crime?”

“ He never would,” was the answer, almost
indi nantly. ‘

“ 0w about Mr. Fender?”

“ Personally, he is a stranger to me, but Eaton
is enthusiastic in praising him.”

It was decided to offer a liberal reward for
the recovery of the stolen property, a larger for
the apprehension of the burglar or burglars.
Further than that L132 matter was er tirely in
111" auds- “I: v. D ‘ ; “5— M}: ;.:‘.

his concl‘Eion reached I went-t3 prosecute
my investigations outsi e. I could not learn
that any suspicious characters had been seen in
the lace; and, responsive to a telegram sent to
Sta 0rd, I received one that read: ’

' .

“During the six years that he was here James
Fender won universal respect by his industry and
sterling integrity."

Fender endured his 10$ with admirable cour-
age, though his disappointment at bein unable
to prosecute his project was evident. He wrote
his partner, that waste be, how things were and
returned to Stafford, thinking—correctly—that
he would be able to obtain a situation there,
where he was so favorably known.

It was a very mysterious case, but I went to
work upon it with a rim.

“ Good—evening, Mr. Fender,” I said, to that
gentleman, some two weeks after the events
above narrated, as I met him on the street in
Stafford.

“ Good-evening, sir,” he replied.

“ Can I have a few moments’ private conver-
sation with you ’9”

“ Yes, sir. Please come with me to my board-
ing-place. You have the advantage of me as I
do not know your name.”

“ Brown.”

“ That does not materially tend to your re-
cognition—I am acquainted with so many of
that name,” he returned, laughingly.

“ Probably if I told you my name is John
Brown you would not be any better off,” I said,
jocosely.

“ I think not.”

“ Well. there is considerable in a name, and
no mistake.”

With badinage of one kind or another, I pre-
vented much talking on his part until his room
was reached and he had lighted a lamp. Then I
inquired:

‘ Do you recognize me now?”

“ I must confess I do not,” he answered.

“ Nor now!” I continued, removing a false
beard and a pair of spectacles.

“ Oh, yes. You are the detective employed to
work up the Sagamore bank burglary.”

“ Exactly. Did you ever see this before?”
drawin a watch from mypocket and holding it
toward im.

“ It is mine beyond a. doubt. Where did you
get it?”

“ From a pawnbroker’s shop in Boston.”

“ Indeed?”

. I. - "

“ That you bin-glanced the Sagamore bank.”

“On what _ ds, do you prefer such a‘
charge ' me?”’and there was not the
quiver of a nerve as he put the question.

“It seemed, from the first, very singular to
me that any person or persons could gain acces
to the room where you and Eaton s ept on the
night of the burglary without wakin either of
you, as more or ess noise would res t from an
attempt to do so; not so singular, however, as
that one of you could be chloroformed and not
wake the other. That you were not chloro-
formed at the same time was proved by the fact
that only a single sponge was used.

“ You recov from the effects of the anaes—
thetic more slowly than did Eaton, whereas the
physician said your temperament was such as
ought to enable you to recover more quickly
than did he, an evidence that your insensibility
was fictitious and—overdone.

\ “ Eaton testified to your excellent moral
character; so did a telegram that I received at

in answer to one sent here making in-
qui concerning it.

“ mehow I could notrid myself of the be-
lief that you were the guilty pers So I came
here from C—-—— ten days ago,i a still other
disguise than that worn this evening—and made
inquiries concerning you, pretending that I de—
sired to secure the services of such a person as
you seemed. Every one spoke of you in the
highest terms.

“ I learned that you were the sole support of
your aged parents; that with the utmost
economy, on your salary, you could hardly
make the two ends meet. I then knew that you
could not have eleven hundred dollars of your
Own; that if such a sum were in our hands it
must have been borrowed. I coul not find that
you had no otiated any loan. I did learn that
your ostensi le reason for leaving Stafford was
to take a lucrative position offered you in New
York; that when you returned you gave as a
reason the fact that the burglary had deprived
you of the limited funds at your disposal and

on did not wish to go to a strange place penni-
ess, as you virtually were.

“ Four days ago, you Went to Boston, and I
followed you thither. I kept constantly near
you, and traced you to a pawnbroker’s shop,
whcrc I saw you leave your watch. After that.
you went to a bank and deposited five thousand
dollars. -

“ 1 might have arrested you then and there
but preferred not to ruin you if I could avoid
it. No reputable detective ever seeks to do
this,and many a criminal escapes the full penalty
of the law by throwing himself upon the mercy
of one of our profession. So I say: return the
spoils, ay my expenses and you shall not be
arrest . I have arents dependent _u 11 me
for support and t oroughly appreCia e your
situation.” . I

Fender, who had manifested no emotion, sob-
bed convulsively. Presently, he said: .

“I knew that Eaton was employed in the
Sagamore bank and roomed in the building, I
went there solely to burglarize the institution,
carrying chloroform and sponge. confident that
I could accomplish my purpose Without being

uspected.

“ I desired the money in order to make my
parents more comfortable than I have been able
to on my salary. I intended to restore the
stolen money at some future time, with interest
in full.

“I pawned my watch, hoping it would be
discovered in the pawnbroker’s shop—where it
was my purpose to leave it unredeemed—and
throw any one, employed upon the case, off the

track.

“ Where did I conceal the money while in
C-——? In the linings of my coat which you,
though suspecting me, did not examine.”

The Sagamore bank was satisfied to recover
its property without any questions, as I insisted
must be the case: surprised that the burglar had
paid all charges for my services. And Eaton
was rejoiced that his friend had been no loser.
Fender’s one crime the public never suspected.

To think we are able is almost to be so; to
determine upon attainment is-i‘mquently attain—
ment itself. Thus earnest resolution has often
seemed to have about it almbst a savor of cm-
nipotence.

MW. c. V I

f

 

“IN T-_E FAIR LONG AGO ”

BY MRS. ADDIE D. ROLLSTON.

I stand in the cool, green valley, and look on the
hillsides brown,

Where the fragrant winds are blowing the tinted
blossoms down;

Across the misty river the shadows come and go,

While earth and Sky are crimson with the sunset’s
after glow. '

Long years ago I wandered along this selfsame

way.
How sbweeg the haunting memory of that fair Octo-
er a ! '
The sumac hung its banners out of gayest, brightest

re ,
The dead ferns strewed the forest-path their emer-
ald beauty fled!

The same bright sunshine glimmers down as in the
olden days,

The starry blossoms shed their sweets along the
leafy ways;

No chapges have the sad years wrought except
Within my heart,

From which the hopes of youth I’ve watched in hit-
terness depart!

In drelpilrlis'l’ve felt the breezes that blew across the
l s.

In drealilns' I’ve heard the music of merry rippling
f'l Si

Ah! many a day of sweetness, of witchery and of

ower

Have shone with equal splendor upon me since that
hour!

I’ve wandered through this valley amid the spring-
time glow.

And when the hills were frosted with the winter’s
chilling snow!

I’ve watched the trees of summer their dewy leaves
unfold,

And autumn’s blighting fingers weave shad ows dense
and cold 1

Within the halls of memory I’ve reared a holy
s rine

Where 1faces of the “ long ago ” in fadeless beauty
s ine!

And so the haunts of sunny youth awake no bitter

pain.
Though all the sweets of one lost hour can never
come again!

Lightweight Detective;

OLD BLAZES,

THE SOVEREIGN OF THE ROCKS.

A Tale of New York Hovels and Marble
Halls.

BY ALBERT w. AIKEN.

CHAPTER XI.
on THE TRACK.

WHEN the police made their appearance in'

the yard, prepared to arrest the combatants, and
so put an end to the disturbance which had
been reported to them as verging upon a riot,
the sight of the hated blue-coats seemed to put
new life into the discomfited Irishman.

Here were his ancient foes, and he immedi~
ately defied them to mortal combat, and the re-
sult was, as we have before stated—clubs soon
proved to be trumps and McGinm's was lugged
off by the policemen, who were forced to almost
carry him, and almost all the people in the yard

‘ ’ followed.
4:  are  coolggionethat is not a;
' , ‘f Weld you “View 

Warned b the cry that the “co 5” were
coming, Hugz Strong disappeared in t e crowd,

 Home. iss‘ws'ym  ‘eré the boy'and girl:

were standing, and ‘ , quick to appreciate
the situation, vellum to pilot the stranger
to a safe harbor while 11ch was strugghng
with the police.

Eel-like, the boy wri gled through the crowd,
the members of whic had premed forward
eagerly to witness the fight between McGinnis
and the policeme some of them evincing a dis-

ition to lend t e vagabond a. helping hand,
or the average inhabitant of the tenement
house of the great city is, as a rule, far more
apt to look upon the policeman as a foe than a
friend.

The officers were sturdy, resolute fellows
though, used to handling just such men as Mc-
Ginnis, and the rom t and effective way in
which they used 1: eir c ubs upon their prisoner,
who acted like a crazy man the moment he
caught sight of the officers, tended to cool the
ardor of the crowd, so the crowd contented itself
with wrathful cries and oaths, and permitted
McGinnis to be dragged away.

This behavior on the gart of the bystanders
allowed the Lightweig t to escape without
attracting observation.

The boy led the way to the entry of the rear
house.

Experience had taught him that the chances
were that the policemen would “lay out” the
Irishman, and then that they would convey
their prisoner through the front entry into the
street, and the crowd would follow, leaving the
yard deserted.

For even those of the crowd who had no idea.
of going to the station-house flocked to the street
to see the captive dragged off .

In the darkness of the entry they would be
safe from observation.

The boy’s calculations were correct.

He succeeded in safely piloting Sally and the
stranger to the entry and gaining its shelter.

Corny advised that they proceed to the ex-
treme end of it, where the cellar stairsdescended
under the main ones.

“You see, it’s a dark corner back there,”he
remarked, “ and the folks w’ot come in will
h’ist right up—stairs to their rooms and nobody
won’t go back there.”

The advice was good and Hugh admitted its
wisdom.

The end of the entry was as dark as a pocket,

and there Wasn’t any likelihood of anybody (lis-
covering that there was a soul there unless they
took the trouble to come clear to the end of the
entry. '
“ obody will come here unless they want to
go down-cellar, and you kin bet yer boots that
there ain’t nar folks got any call for to go
down-cellar at t is ’ere time of night," the boy
observed. shrewdly.

“ Oh, there isn’t any danger of anybody dis-
covering us here unless thejy come purposely to
seek us out,” Hugh observe .

“ I don’t think anybody tumbled to our leetle
game,”Corny remarked with an air of profound
wisd

om.

“ They are too busy a-looking at the cops and
McGinnis. Hear the Irishman howl l” he
added.

McGinnis was yelling at the top of his lungs
as be resisted the efforts of the policemen to drag
him from the yard.

“ Oh, I hope they will not kill him,” the girl
observed with a shudder as she listened to the
wild cries.

“ Don’t ou beafeard of that; the old man has
got a has as hard as a pavin -stone, and then
he’s used for to git hammered, ’ the boy replied,
confidentl .

“ If he ldn’t it into a fight with the peelers,
and t knocked out at least once a month he
woul n’t know w’ot to make of it.

“ It’s like bread and meat to him; it’s w’ot the
cuss lives on.”

“ Very unsubstantial diet I should think,”
Hu h remarked.

“ t’s fun for him; that is the way he enjoys
himself,” Corny explained.

“ Bless yer, he does it reg’lar. Why, we
don’t see the light of his precious countenance
here more than one quarter of the time.

‘ “ on he ain’t up to the Island Win
time he’s in some stone jug waiting his trial, an _
it’s allers for ’sa’lting and battering some mp.”

“ I should think that he and the members of
the police force must be pretty well acquainted
by this time,”Hugh remarked.

.. . ..A~».~u.~..n.‘.—a ..v m. u.

 

“ Oh, they all know him, you can bet all the
ducats you’ve got on that!” the boy asserted.

“ They don’t fool with him much now, I tell
you, but they jest go in for to knock him out at
the first lick l”

By this time the warlike Irishman had been
partially subdued, and the police having got
him out of the yard his yells became fainter and
fainter as the procession moved toward the
station-house.

“ What possessed the brute to attack you ?”the
Lightweight inquired of the girl.,

“ Oh, I can spin that yarn to you, right off the
reel!” Corny exclaimed before the girl could get
a chance to reply.

“ The miserable fraud is her uncle, you
know.”

And then he told the story of the girl’s life.

The young man listened to the tale with in—
dignation.

“ Why, this fearful old wretch may strike you
a blow which will disable you for life one of
these days!” he exclaimed.

“ That’s so! that is w’ot I’ve often told you,
ain’t 1. Sally?” said Corny.

“I tell you w’ot it is, boss: if she’d take my
advice, she would cut and run some time when
this beast of an Irishman is taking his constitu-
tional up at the Island.

“ I would just hide myself away so that when
he got back to the city he wouldn’t be able for
to find me.

‘7‘ It wouldn’t be a hard job for her to do, boss,
’cos he wouldn’t do much hunting after her. The
moment he gits back from the Island he allers
goes and ban s up round some liquor saloon un-
til he gits as ull as a goat and then he goes for
to climb on some policeman’s eyebrow, and they
run him in ag’iii.

“ I most certainly would get out of his way.”

“ Cert!” cried the boy, emphatically, the mo-
ment the young man finished the remark.

‘ ‘ You can bet your life on that! And so would
any one else.

“ I tell Sally that this durned Irish galoot ain’t
got no call on her, anyway. He never spent no
money on her. She’s allers got her own livin
since her mother died, and afore, too. I tel
you, if I was her, I’d dust out so quick that it
would make my head swim.”

“ It certainly is what you ought to do,” the
youn man advised.

“ e tie of relationship certainly doesn’t bind
you to live with such a brute. If you need any
assistance, I will be glad to give it. I am not a
rich man, but I’ve a shot or two in the locker
and you are quite welcome to it.”

“ Bully for you!” cried Corny, who was never
able to keep still.

“ Say, ou’re a sailor, ain’t you?”

“ Yes; have followed the sea for a living.”

“ I thought so, from yer looks.”

“ I haven’t been able to thank you yet for
coming to my aid,” the girl remarked.

“ Oh, don’t trouble yourself about that, for it
isn’t worth while. But, by the way, as you live
in the house, you can giVe me some information.
I want to find a man named Thomas Maxin, who
used to live in Forty-second street and moved
from there to this house.”

“ You won’t find him, boss,” the boy replied,
immediately.

“ Why not?” '

“ He’s passed in his checks—kicked the bucket
’bout two weeks ago.”

“ Dead?”

“ Yes, sir-ee.” .

“ That is unfortunate; I had hoped to gain
some information from him. What has become
of his family?”

“ Nobody knows, I guess; but if anybody
does. I kin find out for you if on want me to.”

“ Yes; I do. I want to see ifyI can get anyin-
to the old house in Forty-

formation in
w eretheyused to live. It has

beenbumtdotvn,andastherekamystcr¥

about the fire, for the house is unoccupied,

., thought that there might be a chance for me to‘

get a clew to the mystery from theMaxins, as
they onl recently moved out of the house.”

“ Oh, was up to that fire!” the boy exclaim-
ed. “ But ’twas ’bout. all through afore I got
there.

“ Say! was that true ’bout the feller
gitting a gal out by shinning up the telegraph-
“has...

“By 01! I’ll bet it was you!” cried Corny,
as the i ea suddenly came to him.

“ You’re jest the kind of feller fer to do sich a
thing!”

The Lightweight laughed.

“ Well. I was in the neighborhood at the
time; but now I must bid you adieu. Get what
information you can for me in regard to these
folks and I will pay you well for your trouble.”

“Come tomorrow night; maybe I can find
out by that time.”

“ All right: I’ll be here.”

Then Hugh took his departure.

CHAPTER XII.
IMPORTANT INFORMATION.

BY this time the yard had resumed its normal

uiet.

q A little ruction like the one that had taken
place was of too common an occurrence for the
inhabitants of the tenement houses to pay much
attention to after the skirmish ended.

A dozen times at least the old tenants had
witnessed a battle between the big Irishman
and the policemen, ending always with the
downfall of McGinnis and his departure for the
police station, more or less damaged.

The young man crossed the yard without ex—
citing any attention from any one, passed
through the front house, and when he gained
the street hesitated for a moment to deliberate
upon the next thing to be done.

Heart and soul the Lightweight had gone
into the work which he had undertaken.

He had got a clew to the whereabouts of the
last family who had lived in the old house, and
had followed it up at once: but from the present
outlook it did not seem as if it was going to
profit him much.

He stood right in front of the door: the strcet
was almost deserted. so he had opportunity for
reflection without being,r disturbed.

“ Now thcn ‘the next thing to be done is to
discover where this girl is to be found whom I
rescued from the burning house.

“ She certainly would be able to give me a
clew which would aid me to unravel the mys-
tery.”

“ I thank you for having saved my life!” clear
and distinct came the words to the ears of the
young man.

The voice was strong, sweet and musical.

The Lightweight stared about him in amaze-
ment.

Not a soul was within a hundred feet of him
in any direction.

Not a woman in sight, and yet the voice seem-
ed to be right at his elbow.

The tone was only a trifle louder than any one
would use in common conversation, and yet the
words came distinctly to his ears.

About a hundred feet down the street four
men were grouped in a door, all sitting down,
all smokin short pipes and busily engaged in
discussing cGinn ’s exploits.

The voice evidently could not come from
them, for they were all middle-aged working-
men. and by no possibility could their coarse
tones be mistaken for the clear voice of a young

irl.
8 “Do not attempt to discover where I am,”
continued the voice, as though the owner of it
was able to see the rson whom she was ad-
dressing and had noticed his look of amazement
and attempt to discover from whence the voice
came.

“There are certain circumstances which at

resent render it impossible for me to see you
in person and thank you for the great service
which you rendered me, but in gratitude is
just as great, and I full realize t at you have
placed me under an ob 'gation which I fear I
shell neVer be able to pay.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself on that score.
You may rest easy as far as that is concerned,”
the young man replied.

“But I shall not rest content until I have

 

found some way to show you how much I ap-
preciate the noble deed by which you saved my
ife when I believed myself to be beyond all
human aid and had commended my soul to
Heaven.”

“ Don’t speak of the subject again, I beg!”
the Lightweight exclaimed.

“ I only did what any other man would
have done under like circumstances, if he had
had the wit to think of the means by which
the rescue could be effected and was possessed
of the necessary skill to carry the plan out.

“ The first hook-and-ladder man who ar~
rived on the ground would have saved you be-
yond a doubt and thought nothing of it.”

“It is quite useless for you to attempt to
lessen the service,” she replied.

“I fully appreciate how great it was, and I
know that I owe my life to you, and while I
live I shall never forget it.”

“ Never is a long time,” he remarked.

“ Long or short, you will find that I mean
what I say.

“And now tell me, is there any way by
which I can serve you so as to prove how great
the gratitude is that I feel?

“ Gladly would I meet you face to face, but,
as I have informed you, there are circum—
s’tapces which for the present positively forbid
l ,

Hugh pondered for a moment.

This was a mysterious affair, and he did not
know what to make of it.

But then everything about the affair was
strange.

“ This is truly romantic,” he remarked.
“ And I begin to believe that you are not a
real flesh-and-blood girl, but a will-of—the-wisp
sort of creature who could not have been
harmed by the flames anyway, although I
must admit you felt decidedly like a human
when I carried you from the burning house.”

“ Oh, I am flesh and blood; there isn’t any
doubt about that.”

“ But what were you doing in the old house,
which was not occupied and supposed to be se-
curely locked?”

“ That is a secret which at present I cannot
reveal.”

Then a sudden thought occurred tothe Light-
weight, and in an impulsive way he gave utter-
ance to it at once.

“ It cannot be possible that it was you who set
fire to the building?” he exclaimed.

“ No, upon my soul, no!” the voice replied in
earnest accents.

“I do not mean to accuse you of having in—
tentionally fired the building, but it was dark
within the house and you could not have
possibly found your way around it without
the aid of a light, and I thought that by some
accident the fire was occasioned by your light.”

“ No, for the light I carried was a dark-lan-
tern—a bull’s-eye lantern, you know, such as
tfie police use, and there is no danger of fire with
t em.

“ Then, too, I feel pretty certain that I know
how the fire occurred.”

“ You do!” exclaimed the Lightweight, eager-
ly. “ Well now that is exactly whatlam trying
to discover.”

“ I am sure I can aid you then by telling you
what I know.

“ If you remember it was a moonlight night.”

“ Yes, I remember.”

“ Of course 1 had no business to be in the old
house, and naturally I started at every noise for
fear that some one had discovered my presence
there, and every once in a while I looked out of
the back windows to the yard, for I gained
entrance to the house by the rear door and I
had a nervous horror that somebody might
find out I was in the house and lay in wait in
the back yard to stop me when I went out.

“.When I looked out of the windows I was
cargul to stand wall back in the room so that if
there was any one in the yard they would not
be able to see me.

“ About five minutes before the fire occurred

‘I looked out of one of the windows and saw a

man steal cautiously into the yard through the
back gate.

“ He was evidently bent on mischief, for his
manner plainly indicated that he was afraid of
attracting attention, and so I watched him
with a horrid fear that he intended to enter the
house, and if that was his purpose I did not
know what I should do, for I recognized the
man.

' “ He formerly lived in this neighborhood, and
was reputed to be one of the greatest villains in
the city. .

“But he did not come to the door which led
into the house, but went to the one which led
into the rear apartment of the store.

“I crept close to the window and watched
him; he,did not seem to have any difficulty at all
in opening the door and then entered the apart-
ment.

“ I felt sure that he had not come for any good
pugpose, but I could not guess what he intended

o 0.

“ I placed my ear close to the floor in order to
listen.

“And then all of a sudden I heard a crash
like the breaking of glass—”

“ That was when he flung the lamp down so
as to make it look as if the lamp had exploded
and so set fire to the place.”

“ Yes, no doubt that is what was done,” she
observed: “ but at the time I never dreamed of
such a thing, and I listened, having no idea that
the house was on fire until I heard the peOple
cr out down—stairs and smelt the smoke.”

‘ Then of course I thought I understood why
the man had entered the house.

“ I rose to my feet and endeavored to csoape,
but I had waited too long: the stairway was all
on fire, and as I was well-nigh suffocated by the
smoke, I ran up—stairs thinking I could get out
by the scuttle on the roof , and the rest you
know.”
~ “ You have given me some important informa—
tion, thanks to the lucky accident of your hap—
pening to know the man who undoubtedly set
fire to the house.” Hugh observed.

“ I am very glad indeed to be able to be of
service to you," she replied.

“The man is named John Buddock, but he is
more often called Black Bud. and he is as des-
perate a ruffian as can be found in all New
York.”

“ I will see to him at once: but in regard to
g’ouréjelf. How long will you keep up this mys-
ery. ’

“ I do not know—I cannot tell at present.”

“ Suppose I want to see you .-’”

“ Come here any night at ten and I will be
here. And now good-by.” '

“ Good-by. ”

The Lightweight waited for a few moments.

“ Are you still there?” he asked.

No answer came.

“ Quite a mystery!” he mused: “but it will
keep, while I seek the aid of the detectives and
ascertain all I can in regard to this Black Bud,
for I fancy he is the man I want beyond a
doubt.”

Straight to Police Head-quarters he went.

CHAPTER XIII.
STRIKING A TRAIL.

THE rough, sailor—like appearance of the
amateur detective was not a passport to the
good opinions of the astute officers in charge of
the Police Head-quarters, and when he made
known his desire to see the superintendent u 1]
important business they were rather incline to
put obstacles in the we .

But Hugh Strong had dealt with too many
men in too many countries in his time to be-
turned from his purpose by the red-tapeism of a
petty official.

Politely but firmly he told them that he must
see the superintendent on articular business,
and when they demurred atlamitting him to the
presence of the chief and endeavored to ascer—
tain what the nature of his business was. he
quietly told them that it was so important that
it could be confided to the ears of the chief
alone, or to the official who represented the
chief in his absence.

“ IVell, the chief ain’t here, anyway, and the

Inspector is out, tOO,” the doorman said at last. _  ' J .

 

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