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The Street Egan's Wake.

BY J. C. COWDRICK,

AUTHOR or “ BROADWAY BILLY” 81mm
“SANDY SAM,” “emu” JOHN." “nun-
.BOW ROB,” “ msco DAN.” 210.

CHAPTER I.
ANOTHER “ DIFFIKILTY ” BBEWING.

“SWEET permters! Skinny. but here‘s an-
other piece of consumed crookeduess a~hrewin’,
sure's ye’re bum. Jest cast yer weather eye
over there. Here’s another chance fer me her
try my hand at defective—I mean detective—-
work, an’ above myself along in th’cornferdonee
of Inspector Br— Hello! did ye Ice that r" , _, ._ _, V

10 W” night. and the hour '88 mn- my, run mun AS ma: WAS. oouu) nor um um nmu'xox m m M: ,
, ~TWO boil» ttltcomel' 0‘ Brotdny and“ mm: m rm: mom WAv.menluu. _ r ‘

 

   

 

 

other street, were putting away their stock in
trade and closing their stand for the night.

To those who have not read the previous
“Broadway Billy ” stories, we may say that
Broadway Billy and his partner, who was
known as “ Skinny,” had formerly been boot—
biacks, but had now risen to the dignitv of
" curbstone merchants.” They owned a pros-
perous little corner-stand, and were doing well.

Billy’s name was TVilliam Weston, but he
seldom heard it applied in all its dignity, and
is for Skinny—that was what he was generally
called. He was a very thin boy, and the name
fitted him well.

Billy’s great ambition was to becdme a self—
made man, and he seemed to be on the right
road. He was strictly honest, as was his part-

aer, and they were making money. Billy at-
tended night school some of the time, and was
icking upa fair education, but he still clung
ondly to his former bootblack patois when or.
the street.

In his way, Broadway Billy was something of
r. detective, and a pet hobby of his was to gain
the recognition of the police officials. He was
never so happy as when prying into some mys—
tery, to aid the right and defeat the wrong, and
some of his exploits, as recorded in previous
stories, certainly did not lack’for merit.

And now for our story.

‘ What d’ye mean?” queried Skinny, as he
paused in his work, " has th’ fever broke out on
ye a ain?”

“ t has, for sure. When th’ detective fever
gits hold of a boy of my age, size, an’ previous
condition, it’s bound ter run its course same
nanny other distress that human flesh is heir
to.”

“ But," Skinny demcnded, “ what was it ye
seen? Was it some aWiul tragedyl”

“I dunno but it was, and that is jest what I
mean ter find out. You jest shut up shop, in
weighty pardner, an’ keep things straight till
return. I 'm goin’ ter foller that carriage.”

“ C _J' out! you’re only foolin’.”
" a. 11?” —

" II~ ye ain’t ye’d orter be. I’ll be glad when
th’ detective fever leaves ye, so’s ye kin keep
yer nose out 0’ other people’s business an’ ’tend
more to yer own."

“Thank ye, Skinny. You’re awful plain-
spoken, un’ not very considerate 0’ my feelin’s;
but, 1 forgives ye. '2. shows yer bringin’ up.
I kin assure ye that ain‘t foolin’, nn’ when you-
der carriage moves hence, I shall foller it.”

“Ar’ what will ye foller it for?" Skinny in-
sisted

“ 'I_ere, now ye’re gettin’ back to first prin-
ciples,” Billy declared. “ If you wasn’t-so fat,
Sli'my, yer ideas would be more at yer com-
mand an’ easier to get hold of. Too much fat
ain’t good for brain, nohow. I tried ter git
yer eyes onto th‘ difficulty when I seen it, but
you couldn‘t get ’em focused in th’ right quar-
ter sooner enough. I’ll give ye th’ facts. Ye
see that carriage over there, don’t ye?”

“ Yes,” Skinny responded, “ I see that.”

“ Well, keep yer eye on it fer a second or two
an’ I'll unwind. Jest a little further 11 th’
street is a store with several big ’lectric ights
in front. See that?”

' “ Yes, I see that.”

“-Well, keep yer eyes onto them, too. Or
one on them an’ one on th’ carriage, jest as ye
please.”

“ Uhl stop chinnin’,” exclaimed Skinny, “ an’
give me th’ facts.” ,

“You’re too im atient, my gay an’ festive

rdner,” protes Billy. ‘It ain’t good fer
gt folks to be in too much of a hurry. A fat
man died in a hurry, once: but that was ina
railroad smash. I won’t delay no longer, though.
fer th’ carriage may start 0 at any minute, an’
then ye’d be left in th’ darkness 0’ unlightened-
ness in regard to th’ matter, an’ ye wouldn‘t
also well. I hate—3’

‘ e11, do tell me, an’ stop yer palaverin’l”

“ Jest so. Well, when I first sot my eye onto
that carriage, it was ’tween me an’ th lights,
an’ I could see right through it. An’ what d’ye
s’pose I seen?” ~

' Give it up.”

“ I’ll tell yo. I seen a real party young lady
a-strugglin’ ter at out 0’ th’ hands of a rascally-
lookin man, an’ 6 had one hand over her month
'an' was pushin’ her back into her seat. Then
jest as th’ carriage stopped where it is now,I
seenth’ winner pulled‘ own an'a white hand
conic out. But it was only for a second. As
quick as a wink th’ hand was pulled in, an’ th’
winder was shut up ag’in, sla l ’

" That does look crooked,” kinny confessed. .

‘f Sweet rtatersl I should say it does!” ex-
claimed B lly.

 

another diflikilty a—brewin’ an’ I know it. An’
I’m goin’ ter be in at th’ b‘ilin’, if I kin git there,
you bet! I tell ye I’m death on mysteries an’
dark ways, every time, an’ I mean ter show my
friend, th’ Inspector, that— Hellol there is an-
other fellcr gettin’ inter th’ carriage; an’ there
th’ carriage goes; an’ here goes me."

The foregoing has explained the situation:
Broadway illy had witnessed a strange pro-
Ceeding, and he meant to know what was
going on.

The carriage had stopped for some minutes
before a hotel, evidently waiting for the man
who had just got into it, and now it turned and
started up-town. '

When it had turned for starting, Billy was
holding on behind, and, waving his hand to his
partner, both carriage and boy disappeared In
short order.

“ Sooner er later,” Skinny commented, as he
gazed at the retreating carriage, “that boy is
goin’ ter be killed. He is all th’ time pokin’ his
nose inter places where he’s got no business.
He’s a ripper though, is Billy, au’ he’s done some
bully good pieces of shadowin’. I hope he’ll
come out all right, but I expect nothin’elsc than
some day I’ll have ter drape cur corner stand
with uiournin’. If it wasn’t for me he’ll be no
good at this business, an’ it’s lucky for us both
that I don’t ketch th’ fever too.”

With these comments Skinny turned to his
work and finished putting away the stock and
locking up.

As the carriage rolled away the boy sleuth
swung his legs up over the rear axle, there being
room and to spare, and taking a good hold with
his arms, drew himself up close and held on.

“ Here I go anyhow,” he mused. “ If there
is any crooked work afloat, au’ from inderca-
tions 0’ ’pearauces I reckon there is, they mustn’t
forget to count me in.”

The carriage rolled straight on, and was quite
evidently oing some distance up-town.

On up roadway to Union Square it went,
and then, strange to say, it wheeled around into
University Place and went straight down into
Wooster street.

When it finally stop

fashioned house, it he covered not less than

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

 

d, before a large, old- i tention of retreating, that was settled.

i

three miles of actual distance, and yet was not ‘

more than half a. mile away from its starting-
int.

Billy, who knew every foot of the great city,
noticed this at once.

“Sweet pertatersl” he exclaimed, under his
breath, “didn’t I know it! If there ain’t a rot-
ten etgg somewhere in Denmark, why all this
Ton - oollshness? I’ll bet th’ heel o’ my left
boot there’s a diflikilty a-brewin’, an’ a big one,
too. NC w, Billy, keep yer eyes open.”

The carriage htv’ng stop (1, Billy let himself
down to the ground, hearti y glad of the oppor-
tunity to do so.

He ke t- well under the shadows, and wai" d
for deve opments.

They soon came.

The door of the carriage opened at once, and
a man sprung out.

A woman then followed, assisted by the man
in the carria e, and receiVed and supported by
the one outsi e.

Then followed the other man.

“ Wait here.” they ordered their driver and
then they led the woniau toward the house, one
on each side of her.

The woman, seemingly, was ill and weak, and
did not seem capable of the lively inevements
Billy had seen her making only a short time
previously. ,

As they ascended the steps the door opened to
receive them, closing as soon as they had en-
tered.

A moment later, a basement door opened. and
some one, presumably a servant, came out and
"our, down the street.

“ That seems ter settle it.” mused Broadway
Billy. “They’re inside. an’ I’m here. I’m sort
0’ shut out in th’ cold—ez it were. Hang me, if
[ wouldn’t like ter see th’ inside 0’ that den,
though, an’ if it wasn’t fer th’ driver I believe
I’d try some’ way ter git in. Jest as like as not
that servant left th’ basement door open. It
might not be jest accordin’ ten Hoyle, an’ might
not meet th’ ’proval of Inspector Br— Hello!
w at’s th’ J ehu doin’?”

he driver was getting down, and, as thou h
to give the boy just the chance he wanted. 6
went around to the other side of the horses to
ad not some 'part of their harness. .

illy was a. boy to think and act almost at
one and the same time, and no sooner was the
coast clear than he slip out from under the
carriage and dodged to t a basement door of the

“I tell ya Skinny, there is house.

 

‘——~

~—————‘_._‘.-,_.,. ,

So far so good: and trying the door carefully

and finding it unfastened, he opened it and

glided in.

 

CHAPTER II.
BILLY ON THE TRAIL.

WHEN Broadway Billy found himself actually
inside the house, and with the door closed be-
hind him, his heart began to beat a little faster
than usual.

Of course, the door was right at hand and un-
fastened, and he could easily retreat, but he
had no idea of doing so.

Having embarked upon the adventure, he
meant to see it to the end.

He had opened and closed the door quite noise~
lessly, and now he stood undecided what he
should do next.

Just ahead of him was a flight of stairs lead-
ing to the floor above. On his left was a door,
partly open, showing a dimly-lighted dining-
i‘oom. Further down the hall was another door,
closed, but light could be seen under it.

This last door evidently belonged to the
kitchen, and, late as the hour was, voices were
heard in that direction.

Billy listened for a few moments, and soon
learned that the servants had company and
were doing their best to enjoy themselves.

“Only th’ )ot-sliugers havin’ a sort 0’ social
jubilee, ’ the oy mused.

He knew at once that this was no place for
him. He might be discovered at any moment,
be taken for a thief and arrested.

This, to say the least, would be very 'un-

i pleasant and inconvenient.

Billy had made too many good friends,
though, to fear any serious results from such a
mishap. And, too, he was not unknown at
Police Headquarters. What he had most to look
out for was persons who, instead of arresting
him and turning him over to the police. might
murder him. If he was known to the police for
the several neat pieces of work he had done, he
was not unknown to many of the greatest ras-
cals in the city.

But which way should he go? He had no in-
Should
he go up the stairs?

While he stood there, in the corner-jamb be—
hind the door, he heard other v01ces on the fluor
above, but those in the kitchen being much the
louder, he could not make out any words.

If he ventured up to the next floor, he miaht
be in even more danger than where he was. But
he had entered the house with an object to gain,
and clearly that was not to be gained by stand-
in still.

e must do something.

In a moment more he ventured to move to—
ward the stairs.

Barely had he taken two steps, however, when
he heard some one approaching the door from
without.

Springing quickly back, he just had time to
reach his corner when the door 0 ened. .

The person who entered was t e one who had
gone out only a few minutes previously. and
under her apron she carried a pail, which she
took out as soon as she closed the door.

It was evidently a pail of beer, with which
the servants meant to regale themselves.

“ Runnin’ th’ growler, hey?” thought Billy, as
he squ ~ezed hack into his corner as though try-
ing to make himself invisible. “Wonder what
sort 0’ coop I’ve got inter, anyhow.”

The servant stopped to fasten the door, and it‘

was a wonder that she did not see the boy.

She did not. though. and as soon as she had
made the door secure, she went on and entered
the kitchen.

“ Sweet )ertaters! but that was a narrow call
fer my scalp,” muttered Billy, “ an’ I reckon I’ll
take my chances an’ venture up—stairs.”

Once more he left his corner and advanced.

He reached the foot of the stairs all right, and
began to ascend.

All went well until he was about half-way to
the top. Then one of the steps gave a oud

creak.

Instantly the boy stopped, expecting discovery
must surely follow.

Evidently, though, the noise was not heard,
or if it was. no one paid any attention to it, for
no one appeared.

With muttered imprecations against creaking
steps in general, and these in particular, Billy
went on.

This time he reached the top without further
minme' ‘ th hall I

n appearance, a u per was or supe-
rior to the lower one. ‘Igwas well carpeted, and
furnished as balls in the better class of homes
usually are.

 

 

 

 

 

a; ‘

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

A {’29-’91  , ..

 

Broadway

 

One light was burning dimly in the front
end of the hall, but the rear end was quite
dark.

Billy hastened with silent care to place him-
self in the shadowed end.

Once there, he felt he was secure for the time
being.

The door of a room—the parlor—was slightly
ajar, and it was in that room that the voices
\VPI'Q.

The boy tried to catch some words, but was
too far awa to be able to do so.

For some ittle time he remained in his new
hiding-place, and then, beginning to realize that
he was not getting on very fast, so far as gain—
ing any information was concerned, he was
about to steal forward to the door when it sud-
denly swung open, and several persons came
out.

Instantly Billy crouched back into a corner.

The persons who came out of the room were,
first, a woman; then two other women, hard—
featured and masculine in appearance, leading
a beautiful girl between them; and lastly, two
men.

The irl seemed to be half-asleep, as though
under t e influence of some powerful drug.

The woman ahead led the way upstairs, the
others followmg her.

“That’s th’ gal that's in th’ difiikilty,” mut-
tered Billy, “ an’ I know it. I bet my boots she’s
here as a prisoner, an’ ag’in' her will, too. I
wonder what in Old Nick is up, anyhow? “Ion-
der if I dare follcr ’em up?”

Leaving his place of concealment, he crept
along the wall to the stairs, and then, as soon as
those ahead had turned on the next landing, he
be an to go up after them.

is heart was in his throat, as the saying has
it, but more with excitement than with appre-
liension.

When the boy arrived at the top of the stairs,
the others were just going up the next flight.

Billy pauSed again to let them get a little
start ahead of him.

The landings were but dimly lighted, and by
usin care he had a reasonable chance of not be-
ing iscovered.

Few words were being spoken, and none of
importance.

\Vhen the persons he was watching were
half—wa up the next flight of stairs, Billy start—
ed to f0 low, keeping close to the wall and uSing
.all the care he could command.

And so they went on. leaders and follower,
until the very top of the house was reached.

There it was almost dark.

Billy did not venture toput hishead above
the landin , however, until he could learn what
was to be one.

Lucky it was for him that he did not, for
there the woman who was leading the way turn-
ed on the as to its full extent.

Then Bi 1y saw something that gave him quite
a start.

The upper story of the house looked far more
like a prison than private dwelling.

There were several heavy doors on both sides
of the hall, not more than eight feet apart, and
each one was secured on the outside with two
large hooks.

“ Sweet rtatersl” Billy came very near ex-
claiming a end, but managed to hold back,
“ what sort 0’ a den 0’ hard times ai.‘ iniquity
have I got inter, anyhow? It ’pears fer me I’m
bound ter tumble inter th.’ worst sort 0’ holes in
all Gotham. when I put on my war-paint. This
looks like a sort 0‘ private jail. Wonder what
it all means?”

Having lighted the gas, the woman—who
seemed to be the proprietress of the house—open-
ed one of the heavy doors and invited her com-
panions to enter.

They all did so, the two hard-faced women
with the girl between them goin first, the two
men next, and the proprietress fo lowing after.

Then another light was lighted in the room—
or cell, for it was more like the latter.

“ You see,” Billy then heard the pro rietress
remark, “ what a neat cage I have or such
prett birds.”

“ es, Madam Winchester," one of the men
responded, “and I guess she will not be likely to
get out of your hands.”

“ Well, hardly ” with a laugh. “ And now
let me return to t e parlor. My women will at-
tend to her.”

Broad‘ny . Billy halt»in et silently sprung
up the remainingngteps, an darted to the fur-
thest end of the din , where, fortunately, he
found a large trunk ind which he quickly
concealed himself.

Madam Winchester and the two men left the
room and passed down-stairs, the woman turn-

 

ing down the light in the landing as she passed
it

“ That was another purty close shave,” Billy
thought, “ but a miss is as good as 9. mil '.
What next on th’ programme? This is begin-
nin’ ter grow jest a trifle interestin’, n0w, an’ 1
want ter see it to th’ end.”

For the present he dared not leave his hiding-

lace.
p “ I wonder who this one is?” he heard one of
the two women remark.

“That ain’t none of our business,” the other
answered. “ We gets our pay, an’ that is all we
need worry about.”

“ Well. you needn’t be so short an’ snappy
about it.”

“ I didn’t mean to be, but that is jest th’ facts,
all the same. Come, now, let’s get her un-
dressed an’ into th’ bed, so’s we can get down to
th’ kitchen ag’in.”

” \Vell, hold her up 50’s I can. She’s got a
gOod dose 0’ drug in her, I reckon. She won‘t
know what’s happened when she wakes up in
th’ mornin’.”

“ You’re about right.”

Considerable more of such talk followed, and
then the two women put out the light in the
room, came out and hooked the door, and then
went down to join their companions in the re-
gions below.

“ Sweet pertetersl” exclaimed Billy. in a low
tone, as soon as lhey were gone, “ but this just
peels th’ top crust. I knowed there was a di—
lemmer a-Irowin’, soon’s I spotted th’ horns, an’
now I’m uite aware of it. Here’s a coiisarned
dilfikilty iere, full size: an’ so am I. I’m goin’
inter this case, I am, teeth. toe-nails, an’ tongue;
an’ if I kin get that gal out 0‘ here I‘m goin’ ter
do it. There‘ll be a right lively scrimmage, I
have no doubt, but I’ll try ter keep on top 0’ th’
heap if I can, we bet!”

CHAPTER III.
conNEaEnl

WHEN the two hard-faced women went dowu-
stairs, the boy raised himself from behind the
trunk and was startled to hear a groan in one of
the cell-like rooms.

It was the one nearest to where he stood.

Instantly followed others, and then in one of
the rooms was heard a woman praying fervent-
ly, and in still another some one was sobbing
bitterly.

Billy's hair seemed to stand on end.

Where all had been so silent before, now were
heard the most dismal sounds imaginable.

What did it all mean?

“Sweet pertaters!” Billy muttered, “I won-
der if I’m awake? I dunno but I’ll hev ter stick
a pin inter myself ter see. Have I ot inter a
chamber of horrors, nightmares. an sich like?
If I wasn’t here on biz, I reckon I'd make tracks
out, mighty quick. But, I am here on biz, an’ I
mean ter know th’ hull secret 0‘ this royal crib,
we bet!”

But the boy was at loss to know just what
moer to matkebéiexti th t . ht

‘ vs 0 r a ‘ is amemcs mig
keerful,”Iie reflecptetf, “ or ill won’t come ou’t
right. an’ mebby I won’t either. I’ve got no
special desire ter stay here ani longer than I
want ter, Lord knows. It stri es me, from th’
general ’pearances 0’ th’ looks 0’ th’ ranch that
it must be asort 0"Frivate mad-house. Won-
der if I’m right. hat remains ter be seen.
Now, what am I ter do? This ain’t no pleasant
place her tarry in, au’ I feel hea sorry fer that
purty girl they’ve Jest shut up.’

He t ought for a few moments, and then the

-sound of voices below decided him.

“ I’ll steal down to th’ parlor door,” he said to
himself, “ an’ listen ter what is said. Mebby I’ll
git onto th’ leadin’ facts 0’ th’ sarcumstances. It
IS a heap resky, I own, but it is jest onpossible
ter hear anything away up here, an’ so here
goes. If I git nabbed I‘ll have ter trust ter my
limber tongue.”

t_ His mind made up on the point, he lost no
me.

Getting out from behind the trunk, he began
at once to descend the stairs.

His movements were silent, but rapid, and in
a few moments he was in the lower hall, on the
main floor.

The parlor door was slightl ajar, and the
boy moved across to it as qu ckly as he could
and listened.

He was now walking u
one of the servants shonl come up from below,
or one of the trio in the lor should come out
suddenly, he would sure y be discovered. ’

The nearest point of concealment that offered

n very tender ice. If

‘»-r .. . :4--

  
 
 
 

_.,~~..., _ My 1 E,»
gagswn L,  . .

Billy’s Death Racket. 3

 

 

 

was at the rear of the hall. in the shadow of the
stairway, and Billy measured the distance and
calculated the advantages at a glance.

About the first scrap of the conVersation he
caught was this:

“ Butit has always been my rule, entlemen,
to deal direct with the principal, and supposed
I was (loin so in this instance.”

It was ll adam Winchester who spoke.

“ No, you are not dealing with the princi 1
direct, madam,” one of the men returned, “ £315
through us—or through me. I am, as I said, a
lawyer, and I have charge of the case.”

And—pardon me, but it has slipped nie—your
name?"

“ My name is Carter, madam; Robert Car-
ter.”

“ And it is to you I am to look for the pay-
ments, then?”

“ It is; all the business will be done through
me.”

“ And I am never to know who the principal
is, or anything about my new boarder, eh?”

“ That is it, exactly.”

Broadway Billy was taking this all in, eager-
ly. It proved that he was not far wrong in his
“ mad-house ” theory.

And while he listened he resolved to risk a lit-
tle more, in order to see as well as hear.

Accordingly, he moved another pace and
peered into the room.

The door was only an inch or two ajar, and
the room being lighter than the hall, he stood a.
fair chance of not being seen.

The three persons there were sitting with
their faces toward the door, and so the boy had
a good opportunity to look at them.

“ I’ve got ye all photographed on th’ tin-pan
0’ my brain, my beauties,” he muttered, “ an’ I
don‘t forgit faces very easy, ’specially sich evil-
lookin’ mugs as yourn.”

Madam Winchester was just turning to speak
to the other of the two men.

“ And you, sir,” she said, “ you are a doctor,
I believe I understood you to say?”

“ Yes, madam.” was the reply, “ I am 1‘. doc-
tor: my name is Phelps Ketcham.”

“ Ketcham—I will try to remember it. I find
it very hard to retain namts. I suppose you
will visit the patient occasionally, will you
not?”

“ “’ell—er, yes, occasionally. but not fre—
quently. You see it is such a mild case.”

“ You say it is; I have yet to learn what you
call ‘ mild. ’”

“ Of course: but I assure you it is a mild case,
and by that I mean that the young lady is not
violent] insane. At least, she has never shown
any suc s mptoms of it. Hers is a genuine
case of ma ness, though. She—”

“ Sir! would you insinuate that I have any in
my care who are not mad?" the woman inter-
rupted, warmly.

“ No, no, certainly not,” was the return, “ but
in this case no possible doubt can be raised.
She has been examined by the very best of in-
sanity experts. But her madness, as I said be-
fore, is not violent. On the contrary, it is a
Very mild case.”

“,Then she will be the more easy to take care
7

“ N o doubt.”

“ Further, madam,” said Mr. Carter, the law-
yer, “ you are requested to see that she has the
very best of care and attention.”

" Certainly.”

“ You see, she has the insane idea that she is
the daughter of some wealthy man, and an
heiress. That is all nonsense. At prescnt her
hobby is that she is Miss Vina Harrington, of
No. — West — street. The fact is, Miss Har-
rington is dead. She died two days ago, and
will be buried io-morrow. This young lady was
her schoolmate, and ever since the news of Miss
Harrington’s death reached her, she has insisted
that she is Miss Harrington.  make this ex la-
nation so that you may know just how to cal
with the patient."

“ I understand, sir, I understand perfectly,”
the woman assured.

“ I’ll bet yer life ye do,” thought the young
spy; “ I begin ter understand it myself.”

“ And above all things," Mr. Carter then
went on tocaution, “she must not be given a
chance to escape.”

Madam Winchester Ian bed.

“ Do you think she is ikely toescape, after
wha‘tvvou saw up-stairs?”

“ ell. no; but then I wanted to give you full
instructions just as they were given to me.”

“ Oh! it is all right: but it is never neces-
to caution me not to allow a patient to ones
One has never escaped yet, and I have kept
place for a number of years.” '

of

 

 
   
    
  
  
    
   
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
    
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
    
  
   
    
   
  
  
   
 
  
   
  
    
   
  
    
   
   
     
     
       
       
       
     
     
       
       
         
       
     
       
       
       
     
         
     
       
     
     
   
     
      
 

    
       
     
       
      

  

4 Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

“ Yes, and yOur place was, as I have told you,
highly recommended to us."

" have had a great many patients,” the
woman explained, “ and many have been taken
(l‘-\lly completely cured, after a few months.
Some I now have, have been with me for years.
Some others, alas! have died here.”

“That is to be ex )ected,” remarked Doctor
Ketcliain, sadly. “ eath is an invader who
respects no time or place.”

“ Well, madam,’ the lawyer next said, “I
will pay you now for the first quarter, and will
take your receipt for the same. How much did
I understand you to say?”

" My charge for patients of the first class is
seventy-five dollars a month. You want the
young lady to have, you said, the Very best of
care and attention, and—”

"Exactly, exactly; and that wll be two hun-
dred and twent -five for the quarter. Here is
the money, an you will please sign this re-
cei t.”

bile speaking, the lawyer counted out the
required sum, and then enteriu' the amount
upon an already-filled-out receipt, anded money
and receipt to the woman, together with his

pen.

Madam Winchester first put the money into
her pocket, and then signed the receipt and
handed it and the pen bac .

“ Thank ou,”said Mr. Carter, politely. “ And
now, Mr. etcham, our business being done, we
will go.”

Both gentlemen arose, and Broadway Billy
savlvl the.r it was time tor him tododge out of
si t.

e turned to do so, but at that instant the
loose step in the stairs gave a loud creak, show-
ing that some one was coming up.

“ Sweet pertaters!” Billy muttered, “ but
here’s a tight fix. Which wa am I ter turn l”

He had no time to decide. 6 was now half-
way between the front room door and the base-
ment stairs, and there was danger in both di—
rections.

In the first place, if he had darted quickly up
the stairs leading to the floor above, he might
have escaped; but he had his mind set upon the
rear end of the ball as his best retreat, and of
course had no warning of any one coming up
the lower stairs before the step’ creaked.

He saw this now, and was a out to try it, late
as the chance was, when the parlor d00r swung
open and Madam Winchester and the two men
stepped out and at the same time one of the
mentioned hard-featured women appeared at
the top of the basement stairs.

The boy was fairly caught; he know it would
require his best efforts to get him out of the fix;
he put his inventive brain instantly at work;
and, to gain time, he set his limber tongue in
motion.

“Sweet pertaters l” he exclaimed, before any
one else could speak. " I thought I’d got inter a
deaf an’ dumb ’sylum! There didn’t seem ter be
nobody ter home—oz it were. I knocked at th’
parlor door, but ye didn’t seem ter hear me, an’

was jist goin’ ter holler down below ter see if I
couldn't raise th’ cook, er somebod else. I’m
glad ter see ye’ve all come to. I‘m ere on biz,

be, an’ if there’s a man in this camp called
Carter, he’s tli’ feller I want ter see.”

 

CHAPTER IV.
100 SHARP FOR THE SHARPS.

BROADWAY BILLY was making a bold strike,
and he did not see his way clear.

It is the desperate case that requires the des—
perate remedy, though, as the old saw has it,
and he meant to apply the remedy in this in-
stance in strong doses.

He had hit upon a plan—that is, the idea upon
which to build—and had, as usual, plunged right
in.

Here he was, in a strange housa without per-
mission, and now had boldly declared that he
was there on business; in fact, had announced
that he wanted to see Lawyer Carter 9. man
whom he had never seen or heard of in his life,
until within the last five minutes.

How was he to get out of it? He hardly
knew: but he was a rapid thinker, and putting
together all that he had overheard. he thought
he could invent some sort. of plausible story.

But he had no time to study it out; whatever
came from his tongue he would have to stick to,
covering his tracks as best he could.

, " You want to see a man named Carter?” the
lawvm- immediame asked.

“Yes,” Billy answered; “leastwisc I ghoul
do. 'Is that your name!” ' ,

0‘  n"

 

“ You’re my turnip, then, sure. I’ve come
here a-purposc ter see ye. How d’ye do?" and
the audacious young Arab offered his hand.

This was all to gain time.

Mr. Carter failed to notice the proffered hand,
but demanded:

“ \Vell, what do on want?”

“Pardon me, ll 1. Carter,” interrupted the
proprictress of the place, thus giving the boy
just the chance to collect his ideas; “ but let me
ask the young vagabond a question or two.”

“ Do so, madam,” said the lawyer, as he gave
wa at once.

‘ Boy,” the woman demanded severely, “how
did on get into this house?”

“ Valked in," answered Billy, promptly.

“ Let us have no attempt at levity, ’ said the
woman, more severely than ever. “ I asked
you how you got in.”

“Might just as well ’cuse me of a ’tempt at
sooercide as ter ’cuse me o’ levity,” Billy re-
turned. “ I cher trifle. I am solid truth
clear through. I told ye I walked in, an‘ sol
did. Did ye s’pose I was carried in?”

“ Boy. will you answer my question?” the
proprietress demanded fiercely, with a stamp of
the foot.

Billy jumped in pretended alarm.

“ Great cats!” he exclaimed, “ I thought ye
was goin’ ter jump on me. I have answered

er—

“ Oh! I mean what door did you enter at?
Who let you in?” the woman interrupted.

“Why didn’t ye say so, then?” asked Billy,
with an injured air. “ It is just like a woman,
ter ask questions wrong-end-first an’ then expect
a whgle cyclopeeder 0’ information. You asked
me- ~

“ Oh! you little wrefch !” and with this inter-
ruption the now thoroughly angered woman
caught Billy by the shoulders and gave him a
severe shaking; “ now, will you kee still, and
answer, my question, as you should ’

The doctor and the lawyer both seemed to be
highly amused, and even the hard‘faced servant
Tor nurse—allowed her features to relax a lit-
t e.

“ Now, ma’m, be reasonable,” Billy admonish-
ed. as soon as he was released. “ How (1’ e
speck I’m goin’ ter answer e if I keep still? It
is iiest onpossible, an’ can’t did nohow. But,
1’] hasten an’ try ter make th’ ’int clear to ye,
fer I ain’t by no means fond o bein’ shook up.
I him in by that door—that door right there,”
pointing to the street door.

The woman looked surprised.

“What! you entered by that door?” she de-
mended.

“ Jest so, ma’m.”

“I don’t believe it. You are telling me a
falsehood. That door is always kept locked.”

“ Ma’m,” said Billy, solemnly, “your cruel
words cut me to the sore-I mean the quick. I
cannot tell a lie; I did it with my little—I nzean
iI’er’say my great-granddad was a preacher, an’

“ Boy, will you listen? I tell you that d00r is
alwavs kept locked, and—”

“ 0t always, ma’m, er I wouldn’t be here. I
found th’ d00r unfastened, an’ in I kem. Th’
spring must ’a’ fooled ye this time, sure.”

Mr. Ketcham stepped to the door and tried it.

It was locked.

“ The door is locked,” he announced.

Broad way Billy went forward to look at it.

He saw at a glance that it was fastened with
a ni rht—lock.

“ n course it is locked,” he said. “18’
when th’ door was shut last time it work all
right. Ithought I heard somethin’ click. But
say, this ain’t no Court 0’ Special Sessions, wi’
th’ grand jury on th’ sofa, is it? So fur ez I
kin see, it ain t; an’ as I’m here on biz, I’d like
ter state my biz an’ git home. M mammy will
be cryin’so awful hard that her fa se teeth won't
fit fer a week. 1—"

“ But what right had you to enter my house
in this way?” demanded Madam Winchester.
“ Why did you not. ring?”

“ I acted accordin’ ter orders, ma’m,” the boy
returned promptly.

“ You were ordered to steal into my house
like a—” ‘

“Sweet pertaters!” cried Billv, “ but you do
weary me. If I ever git married, I reckon it’ll
be to a deaf an’ dumb gal.”

“ Listen to me, boy,” broke in Lawyer Car-
ter. “ Who sent you here, and what do you
want?”

Billy had by this time got his story made
l;p,l&hd was now ready for the worst of the or-
( ea .

“ There!” he exclaimed, “ that is hoes-sense.
If I’d been ’lowed ter state th’ true facts 0’ th’

 

sarcumstances first off, th’ hull afi’air would ha‘
been settled an’ I’d been half-way home. If
there’s any one thing that I hate more’n an-
other—”

“ Hold on,” ordered Carter; “ that is not to
the point. Tell me your story, now, and in few
words.”

“ Yours ter command,” responded Billy, with
a how, “an’ here goes: Ye see, I was comin’
through West —— street, a little while ago,
when a man kem out of No. —, an’ asked me if
I could run on an errand for him. I ’lowed I
could, if he would roll a full—moon inter my
pocket. He passed over th’ coin at once, au’ I
told him ter state th’ biz. He-—” .

“ You say it was a man t” the lawyer inter--
ru )ted. .

illy “ caught on” at once, and saw that his
story was going to have a fair chance of being
believed.

In mentioning W'est —— street, and No. -,
he was repeating the address he had only. a few
minutes before heard the lawyer mention to
Madam Winchester as the home of Vina Har-
rington.

He saw now that the lawyer would take the
bait, but that he must say that it was a woman
who had sent him.

The lawyer’s interruption proved to the boy’s
satisfaction that his employer was a Woman.
The tone of his question proved it, unless he was
laying a trap for the boy to fall into; but Bill
was a keen judge of human nature, and let
secure in his position.

“Did I saya man?” he responded at once;
“ then that was a slip. I meant ter say it war a
woman. No wonder I git mixed up. after all
th’ cross-questions ye've fired at me. Ye’Ve got
me so excited an’ confused that I don’t know
which pocket my right hand goes inter: Yes,
it was a woman.”

“ Well, go on— 0 on i”

“Jest so. We] , th’ lad asked me if I know—
ed th’ city, an’ I ’lowed I id. Then she gev me
a note.

“ ‘ This note,’ sez she, ‘is fer Mr. Robert
Carter, an’——’ ” .

“ Where is the note?” Carter demanded, in
haste.

Billy was now secure. .

“ That’s jist where the constarned mean little
difficulty comes in,” protested Billy. “ I’ve lost
‘ 'I?

"‘ The deuce you have i” cried the lawyer,
angrily. “ I‘ve a notion to wring your neck for

“ Hold yer bosses, now,” admonished the boy,
“ an’ hear me out. If I’d knowed ye would git
so mighty hufi’y over a little thing like that, I
wouldn’t ’a’ come here ter tell ye. I’ve tried
ter do th’ best I could, an’ I didn’t lose it a-
pu In

Wren, what did the note say? Did you iead
it?”

“ , do I look like a feller that kin read
writin ? Do ye see anything ’bout me that p’ints
to’ards a college cddycation?”

“ Come, come! go on with your story.” '

“ Jest what I’m tryin’ ter do, boss, if ye’ll only
give me half a show, I’m—”

“ Go on—go on 1"

“Well, th’ lady sez ter me, sez she, ‘ I want

on ter find Mr. Carter an’ give him this note.

e may be at th‘ —— Hotel. If not, then take
it at once to No. —- Wooster st: eet. He will be
there, I think.’

“ ‘ An’ if he ain’t?’ inquires I.

“ ‘ Then,’ sez she, ‘ burn th’ note up an’ don’t
look no further. It don’t ’mount ter much, any.
how.’ ”

“ But,” said Madam Winchester, “ you said
she told you to enter my house without knock-
ing. How about that?’

‘ That’s about, all of it. ‘ Don’t raise th’ dead
ringin’ th’ bell,’ sez th’ lady, {buthif th’ door
hapgeps tor be unfastened, go right in.' Ye see
I di .

“ It is strange; I do not understand how the
door came to be left unfastened. I Will have a
new lock put on it the first thing .to-morrow.”

“Well,” said Billy, “ I’ll be gom’. I’m sorry
I lost th‘ note. but when I found I had, an’ there
was no help for it, I wasn’t so mean as not let
come here an’ tell ye. Good-night, all, an’——”

“ You hold on,” ordered Carter, layin his
hand roughly upon the lad’s arm; “wait til you
are told to go. Phelps,” turning to Dr. Ketch-
am, “what do you think of this story?”

“ Hang me if I know.” was the answer. “ It
must be straight, though, I guess; else how could
it be told? It could not he invented, that is cer-
tain." . . t
“'No, that is plain enough: but still it ham 8
little strange.” . v. I

 

 

 

 

   
 

 

 

   

,ter let ’em git their feelers enter me ag‘in,

‘in. I’m death on evil doin’s, an’ I’ll make th’

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

  

 

 

, “ Boy,” demanded the doctor, “ how long were
you here before we found you ?”

“Two seconds, more or less,” Billy replied. “ I
just eeped inter th’ parlor, aii’ then turned ter
see 1P1 couldn’t find a servant.”

“ Do you know us!”

“ No; but I reckon ou’re th’ owners 0’ this
house. I think I saw t ’ lady payiu’ her rent to

.,n

 Ohl let him go,” said the lawyer, “ he don’t
know any more than the law allows. \Ve will
go and see about the note. Go, you young ras-
cal I"

"Kerrect,” said Billy: and he lost no time in
placing himself on the other side of the door.

 

CHAPTER V.
IN CLOSE QUARTERS AGAIN.

“ SWEET pertaters an’ Boston beans!” was the
street‘sleuth’s exclamation, as soon as he was ‘
clear of the house.

“ That was a narrow squeeze, if anybody kin
tell what that is,” he muttered, “an’ I had ter
stretch th’ truth awfully ter git out. I hate a
he as bad as I hate had money, but when my
liberty, an’ mebby my life, too, "pends on my
lyin‘, I’d like ter see th’ feller that kin git ahead
o’ me. All is fair in love an’ war, so I’ve heard,
.an' this kin be figgered inter tn’ war racket.
Au’ it is war. too: leastwise it will he. [believe
there is dark deeds around, an’ I want to shed a
little light onto ’em. I’m never so ha py as
when Im up to my ears in detective ifflkil-
ties.‘

The boy had by this time reached a corner of
the street, and there he stopped.

“Now, look here, Billy,” he said to himself,
“ I hope you ain’t goin’ tor give n th’ game,
jest ’cause ye got nabbed, be ye? on an’ me a
is party good pards, Billy, an’ we’ve been inter
more consarned little diflikilties than we kin
shake a stick at. This little trouble wasn’t a
’skeeter bite. Grit skart? \Vell, we reckon not.
\Ve’re goiu’ ter see this thing out if it takes a
l_,g_ii

Billy meant what he said.

‘ " I wonder what’s ter be their next move?” be
reflected. “ Let me sum up th’ case au’ see how it

. taiids. In th’ first place I scented th’ difllkilty
a-brewin’, au’ took th’ trail. It led me to that
old rookery that I’ve just got out of. That
’stiiblishineut is a sort 0 private mad—house, er
else I’m no prophet. They’ve just took a girl in
there, an’ they mean ter pay seVeiity-live dollars
a month for her keep. That looks might scaly,
ter say th’ least. Let me put on my ()I( think-
in’-cap, an’ see if I kin git th’ leadiu’ ideas
through my hair.”

The boy pulled off his cap, and scratched his
head vigorously.

“ Anybody might think, ter see me,” he
mused, “that I was after creepers; but I ain’t;
I’m tryin’ ter rake up ideas. I ’i'nost wish I'd
been born wi’ less hair an’ more brains. Brains
is handy ter have with ya, sometimes. Now let
me see. That gal thinks, so they said, that she
is one Vina Harrington, of No. — West
street. That same Vina, so they said, is dead,
.an’ is ter be planted ter—morrer. Jest so, uncle;
but now unfold another chapter. In order ter
git out 0’ that den, I had ter lie like sin. I hit
*tn’ nail square on top too. I told ’em I had
been sent from No. - West — street, an’ the
swollered th’ story like a bummer swollers his
teddy. What does that show?”

Billy scratched again, evidently for more
ideas, and then ulled on his cap in a way that
showed his min was made up.

“It means some sort 0’ p’izen work goin‘ on,"
he decided, “ au’ I’m goin ter know jest what
it is. I’ve grappled wi’ long-hour dilemmers
afore now, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter take a back seat
this time, we bet! Now, one of two things is
ter bedid—I might say three. One is, ter git
back inter that crib an’ try ter see th’ gal; an-
other is, ter go up an’ see what is ter be learned
at No. — West —— street; an’ th‘ third, for Jay
fer Doctor Ketcham an’ Lawyer Carter an‘ fol-
ler ’eiu ag’in. Reckon I’d better do th’ last-
mentioned. I must be most mighty keerful not

 

though, fer it they do they’ll make it onpleasant
fer me. An’ inebby I won’t make it onpleasant
fer them, if I git a whack at ’em. I’m jest goin’
ter buckle on my armor, now, an’ wade right

fur fly, we betl Sev’ral yarns have been writ
up about me, an’ mebby this case will make an-
other. If so, they kin call it Broadway Billy‘s
Battle; but jest how th’ said B. B. is goin’ ter
come out, remains ter be seen."

Not only was Billy talking away at a lively l

 

gait, in half-muttered tones, but he was think-

in .

It was clear that something of an evil nature
was being carried on, but what it was he could
not clearly see.

As usual, he had stumbled upon the case right
in the middle—as it were—and could not grasp
either end.

But he had a theory, and that theory was that
the girl just imprisoned in the private mad-
house was Vina Harrington.

That was all he could fix upon.

How, though, Vina could be both dead and

; alive at one and the same time, puzzled him.

The real Vina was reported dead, and her
funeral was to take place on the morrow.

Surely there could be no deception about that;
at least none so far as Billy could then see.

“Th’ ways that are dark au’ th’ tricks that
are vain, are numerous, though,” he reasoned,
“ an’ villain is always inventin’ some new dodge
ter hoodwin jestice.”

While reflecting upon what to do next, the

, idea came to the boy to get back, if possible, to

his old place under the carriage.

This would give him one gocd ad vantage.

If he remained where he was, and the carriage
should start in the opposite direction at a rapid
gait, he Would be left and would lose the trail.

He had decided that his best course was to fol-
low the two men. He now knew where the girl
was, and could not forget the house, so his wisest
course was to make an effort to learn more.

The two men were likely to appear at any
moment, so he had no time to lose.

Crossing the street, he went back to where the
carriage was standing on the opposite side.

The driver was upon the seat, nodding sleep—

ily.

Billy passed right on for a little distance, and
then under cover of a wagon that happened at
that moment to come lumbering along, gained
his desired point.

He had just reached the carriage when the
two men came. out of the house.

One gave directions to the driver, both got iii-
to the carriage, Billy caught hold with legs and
arms, and away they all Went.

The carriage turned and proceeded in the
direction it had come; namely, to Union Square.

There it fell into Broadway, and continued on
up that great thoroughfare to West street.

It turned there, and soon stopped before a
large house.

Billy noticed at once, in the dim light, that
there was crape hanging on the bell—knob.

“ Somebod is dead here, anyhow,” was his
thought. “ t ’pears ter me that I‘ve got a big-

er thin on hand than I counted on. Mebby

1\lvgin’t able ter git onto th’ main facts, after
a .

As soon as the carriage stopped, both men get

out.

Billy pulled himself up close to the body of
the vehicle to escape discover .

A Word to their driver, andy then the pair as-
cended the broad steps and entered the house.

Late as the hour now was. the doors were
eVidently uufastened, unless the lawyer pos-
sessed a key which he could use with remark-
able quickness.

The secret of it was soon out.

A few moments after the two men had en-
tered, another man came out and went to a
wagon that stood just ahead of the carriage.

Billy had not noticed this wagon before.

It proved to be an undertaker’s wagon.

No doubt he had left the door open, or others
had left it open for him.

That, though, did not matter.

What the boy most wanted was to find some
easy means of getting into that house.

Any one who did not know the boy might
think that one adventure of the kind would be
sufficient for one night.

Billy did not look at it that way. He had
been captured once, but that was no proof that
he would be taken again. He was in earnest,
and he knew that he must run great risks in
order to gain.

Could he have foreseen, however, the trap that
was yawning for him, he might well have hesi-
tated and backed out.

The carriage-driver and the undertaker ex-
changed a few words of Commonplace nature,
and then the undertaker took a large ba from
the wagon—a be that was well filled With ob-
jects very irregu ar in shape, and uite heavy.

“ Ice?” queried the carriage—driver, and the
undertaker responded, “ Ice.”

The bag seemed to be wet, and no one could
have had a suspicion that it contained anything

 

e 96.
On the undertaker’s wagOn was a boy, and as

p . 4-0.”.

 

soon as the bag was taken out the undertaker
ordered him to drive home, put away the horse
and wagon, and go to bed.

The lad drove away immediately, and the
undertaker went up the steps and entered the
house with the bag upon his shoulder.

Billy noticed that he did not secure the door
after him, in fact—did not quite close it.

Here was the young street scout’s chance to
enter. Dare he accept it?

It did not take him long to make up his mind
that he would.

He had already let go bis hold of the carriage,
in order not to let the driver feel the movement
after it had stopped and he had settled down to
doze, and he retreated silently up the street for
some yards.

Then he turned to the sidewalk and came bold-
1y back.

Already the driver had leaned over in his fa-
vorite position for dozing.

Billy made no unnecessary noise, but went
straight to the broad steps, ran up to the door,
opened It carefully, and went in.

The driver glanced up lazily as he heard the
boy’s feet on the steps, but paid no further at-
tention.

The instant he was in the hall Billy cast a
quick glance around.

he was discovered, it was his intention to
beat a hasty retreat. There would be no use
trying to tell another “ ghost story" to Carter
and Ketcham.

No one was to be seen, though, and he pushed
the door shut without an noise.

The hall was richly urnished, bespeaking a
home of Wealth.

On each side was a door, and both were partly
0 )cu.

1Beyond one of the doors all was darkness.
The other room was lighted, but not very
brightly.

This latter room was handsomely furnished,
and Billy heard voices within.

“'ith one more cautious look around, to make
quite sure that he was not seen, the more-than-
daring lad advanced silently to the door of this
room and looked in.

Four persons were there.

He recognized Carter and Ketcham at once,
and besides these there were a handsome, queen-
ly-looking woman, and a fine-looking man.

The woman seemed to be about twenty-two or
tiiree years of age, and the man about ten years
0 der.

Billy had no time to catch what was being
said, for no sooner had he looked in than he
heard steps coming up from the lower part of
the house.

He sprung up, and glanced around for some
place to hide. The dark room on the opposite
side of the hall n as the only place that offered.
There was not a second to spare, so into that
room the boy sprung, and began to grope around
for a place of concealment.

The footsteps had now gained the top of the
stairs, and were coming alon , the hall.

Billy moved with cautious aste, and the next
moment brought up against an object that
proved to be a coffin.

 

CHAPTER VI.
TEE MYSTERY or THE con-IN.

“ SWEET pertaters I” he ejaculated under his
breath, “what is this? Hang me if it ain’t a
coffin!”

Billy’s nerves were good, but they received
quite a shock.

It cannot be very pleasant to run against a
coffin in the dark.

The boy had no time to spare, for the steps
were right‘at the door, as it seemed.

He felt his way around the coffin, and then he
came into contact with a big high-back chair.

'l‘o dodge around behind that chair was but
the work of a second.

At the same instant the door opened.

The opening of the door to its full extent threw
some light into the room, and Billy peered out
from behind the chair to learn who had entered.

It was the undertaker.

The man advanced to the middle of the room,
and there lighted one jet of the chandelier.

Billy gave a start. Was be well bid from
view! or was he not concealed at all?

He cast a hasty glance about to assure himself
upon that point, and, to his great satisfaction,
found that he could not have chosen a better
place had the room been fully lighted.

The hi chair stood in a corner of the room,
well back, and right before it stood the comn,
upon resta 7_

 
   
 
   
  
   
 
  
    
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
     
   
   
  
     
    
     
    
   
    
    
   
  
   
   
  
    
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
      
   
     
       
       
     
     
     
       
   
         
     
       
       
       
     
     
       
        
       
     
         
     
     
     
     
         
     
   
 

r, V. -.

‘i't‘:,"..4g r I»

   
 

 

 

 'r

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

 

 

The chair was covered and there was space
enoulgh behind it for two boys of Billy’s size.

“ hank goodness I’m all safe so far,” the boy
thought, “ an’ now I’m ready ter see all that
goes on. Ring up th’ curtain, Sammy—if that’s
yer name, an’ let th’ elephant begin ter dance.

’m inter this thing up ter my ears, now, an’ I’m
ready fer anything.”

Having satisfied himself that he could not be
seen, the boy looked out slyly, around the chair
and under the coffin, to see what was going on.

The man was just moving the bag from near
the door, where, evidently, he had laid it down
on first entering the house, and before going
down to the lower floor.

He carried it near to the coffin and laid it
down upon a piece of old carpet.

It was rather a strange way of handling ice,
as Billy thought, and the more so since no ice-
box was to be seen.

The boy could not understand it.

Having placed the bug where he wanted it,
the undertaker turned down the light and went

out.

Billy listened to learn where he was going.

As near as he could tell he merely crossed the
hall to the other room.

The young sleuth listened closely, and heard a
low rap at the opposite door.

“ Come in!” responded a voice.

“ Now,” decided Billy, “ I must bear some-
thin’ of what they’ve got for say, an’ this ain’t
th’ place ter hear it. I must crawl out an’ git
near th’ other door. It Won’t take me two
seconds to retreat to my hidin'-place, if any one
comes this way; an’ if I’m seen— Well, I must
take th’ chances. Here oes."

To decide was to act, and he left his lace of
concealment at once andscrossed to the oor.

b With cautious care he next looked out into the
a .

The coast was all clear, and not a sound was
to be heard save the voice in the o posite room.

Hesitating only a moment, Bil y slipped out
and crossed the hall to the opposite door.

There he listened.

“ You say you are all ready?” were the first
words he caught, and they were spoken by the
woman.

“Yes, Miss Harrington,” was the reply: and
Billy, venturing to look in, saw that it was the
undertaker who replied.

“ Very well,” said the lady, “ sit down for a
moment and then we will assist you. Our
scheme seems to have miscarried a little, or is

I likely to, 1 fear.”

“ How so?” queried the undertaker, with sud-
den interest.

" Why, some young rascal of a boy is trying
to play an underhand game with me, it seems,"
the lady explained.

“ Whatl are we discovered?”

“I do not know, but I believe that boy has
leashed enough to cause us trouble if he wants

“ And what boy is it you speak of i What has
he been doin ?”

“ I will te l you, sir, since we are all con-
cerned in the matter, and must stand together.”

“ Pra do so.”

“Well, while Mr. Carter and Mr. Ketcham
were in the Wooster street house attending to

, that part of the affair, they discovered a boy in

the hall. They caught him, and the boy told
them he had come there from this house, 'ving
street and number, with a note for Mr. arter.
He said the note was given him by a lady.

_ Now it is positively certain that the boy’s story

was false, and what he was doing there and how
he could make up such a story are mysterious.”
f  This is serious,” said the undertaker, thought-
u v. ‘

“ So I and Mr. Hoodley consider it,” the lady
agreed.

“ Yes I do consider it so,” said the gentleman
who had been called by name, “and I do not
know what to make of it.”

“ And what became of the boy?” the under-
taker asked.

“ Why,” answered Ketcham, “ we allowed him
to go. We could n doubt his stor , as it was
straight in every pa icular. He loo ed like an
honest lad, and certainly deceived us in a very
clever manner.”

“ He did, indeed,” echoed Carter. “ And it
is something we cannot see through. I am
sorry, now, that we (lid not bring him back
here with us.”

“ Bet yer life I ain’t, then,” thought Billy.
“ I’m obliged to ye fer yer opinion 0’ my hon-
est’pearanee, an' so forth, an I reckon it’ll be
healthy fer me ter keep out o’ yer hands this
tlme. Lordyl my life wouldn’t be worth a cent

‘1! ye get yer paws onto me again. Must feel

 

my way awful keerful now, or I’ll git my mam-
my’s best boy inter th’ wu’st consarned diflikilty
he was ever in.”

The boy was indeed in great danger and
{little suspected the awful fate that was awaiting

1m.

Could he have known what the next hour
would bring forth, he could be excused had he
then and there given up the case and left the
house.

But he did not know, and so he remained. In-
deed, perhaps he would have defied danger and
remained, anyhow. He was brave and daring
to the last degree.

A great deal more was said, but as no points
were brought out that were new to Bi 1y, or
that will give the reader any insight into the
dark plot, we will pass over them.

The lady finally rose and said:

“ \Vell, Mr. Buryall,” addressing the under-
taker, “ I suppose you are waiting for us, so we
will attend you.”

“ If you please,” said Buryall, with a bow, as
he got up.

Broadway Billy had been keeping one eye
upon the hall, in order not to let any one take
him b sur rise, and he now left the door and
dodge bac ' unobserved into the room where
the coffin rested.

There he lost no time in getting behind the big
chair as before.

A moment later the woman and the four men
came in, closing the door behind them, and, as
Billy noticed, locking it.

“ This is ruther a bad box ter be into,” mused
the boy, “ but they sha’n’t find me if they don’t
go pokin’ ’round this corner. No fear that I’ll
tell ’em I’m here; sweet pertaters, no!”

Billy had dropped flat upon the floor, half-
under the big chair, and by looking out under
the coffin could see all that went on.

The light was turned up at once, and then
the undertaker opened the bug he had brought.

“ This,” he remarked, “is ice.”

This caused the others to laugh, and Billy
thought they did not conduct themselves as per-
sons should in the presence of the dead.

In a moment he saw the joke.

The undertaker took from the bag several
large and heavy stones.

\Vhat could be the meaning of this?

“ Are you sure you have guessed the right
weight?” the woman asked.

“There’s no guess-work about it,” the under-
taker answered. “I weighed them; and, taken
all together, they weign just a hundred and
twenty pounds.”

“ That is the right weight. And now can you
fit them into the coffin so they will remain in
place? It would be dreadful to have one of
them move when the coffin is being handled.”

“ Oh! we will take care of that, hey, my
friends?” turning to Ketcham and Carter.”

“ We will, of course,” they responded.

Billy now began to see light ahead in the
case.

These evil»minded rsons were plannin to
have a mock burial omhe vcry girl whom tiey
had so rem ntly incarcerated in the private mad-
house.

“ Go it, my beauties,” the boy said to himself,
“ but don’t forgit to count me in. If I don’t
upset yer little game it’ll be ’cause I can't. If I
don’t wake u yer ideas at th’ time 0’ th’ funeral
to-morrer, ca 1 me a Dutchman. If I don’t spin
a yarn ter Inspector Br—— Hellol they’re
openin’ th’ coffin.”

Having moved the stones where they would
be handy, the undertaker now began to take the
lid from the coffin.

In a few minutes it was done.

Then, strange as it may seem, the light shone
through the coffin, through several holes in the
bottom and sides.

This proved that it was empty, and Billy
Wondered what the holes were for.

He noticed, too, that there were several
smaller ones in the lid, catching the light
through them as the undertaker removed it.

This was something for the boy to puzzle his
brain over for a time.

Later on it would all be made clear.

The coflin o )ened, the undertaker, assisted by
Carter and etcham, began to put in the
stones, first wrapping them carefully in pieces
of the old carpet.

While this was being done, Miss Harrington
and Mr. Hoodley sat looking on in silence.

At last, after quite a little work, the stones
were all in place, and so packed that there was
no danger of their moving.

Then the lid of the coffin was ut on, and this
time it was screwed down tig tly, evidently
not to be again removed.

 

Billy saw that the were done; but, contrary g;
to his expectations, t ey did not at once leave
the room. Instead, they began a conversation
that gave the boy the key to the whole mys-
tery.

 

CHAPTER V11.
WHAT BILLY ovnnnnan).

BEFORE recording what the young demmnVe
heard, it may not be out of place to say a few
words regarding the Harrington famil .

Stanton Harrington, now dead, ha married
twice, and had two children—one by his first
wife and one by the second.

The second wife, too, was now dead.

Both the children were girls, and there was a
difference of four years in their ages.

The first—born was now twenty-two, and her
name was Irene. The ounger, the one now
said to be dead, was ina, a pretty girl of
eighteen.

Stanton Harrington had been rich, and after
his death it was found that he had made his will
thus:

The. property was not to be divided until Vina
became eighteen, and then it was to go to her
and Irene in equal parts. In the event of either
dying, childless, before that time, then the whole
of the property was to go to the other.

Neither of the girls had yet married, and
V'na's birthday was now near at hand.

Death, however, has stepped in at the last
hour. and Vina, as it is reported, is no more.
All through the day her friends have been drop.
ping in, and have seen her. silent form 1 'ing
in the coffin, pale and cold in death. An on
the morrow the funeral is to take place.

Vina had a lover. one Harvey Baldwin, who
has been away from home for some weeks on a
Western trip. He is expected home soon, but
it is not thought he can arrive in time for the
funeral.

Irene, too, has a lover—Joseph Hoodley, by
name—and she and be are present in the room
with Buryall, Ketcham and Carter, and all are
concerned in the bold piece of villainous work
of which we write.

When Buryall had set home the last screw in
the coffin-lid, he said:

“ There, the job is done.”

“ Are you quite sure it is well done?” inquired
Miss Harrington.

“ It could not he done better.” was the reply.
“ Not one of the stones can move an inch.”

“ And you are sure of the weight?”

“ Yes, as I have already assured you.” I

“Then I do not see how we can fail in our
plans,” Irene observed.

“ No, nor I,” said Carter.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Jose h Hoodley, as
be straightened up with an air 0 business, “ let
us have a final talk and a final understand-
in ."

[‘2‘ Quite correct,” remarked Ketcham. “ We
must understand one another .rfectly, and we
must all understand all the pomts of the case.”

“ Unless we do,” put in Carter, “ we are liable
to make a mess of it.”

“ Quite right,” assented Hoodley, “ uite
right: and now let us go over the w ole

und.

“ And,” said Irene, “let there not be the
slightest point left unguarded.”

“ In the first place, ’ began Hoodley, address-
ing the three hired rascals, “ you are bound to
me by ties you cannot and dare not break. 18
this not so?’

“ It is so,” the three answered.

“And, for the sum of five thousand dollars
each, you have agreed to help Miss Harrington
and me in this work.”

“We have,” said Carter, speaking for them
all.

“ And you know,” continUed Hoodley “ that
if one of us fail we all fail. If one oes not
play his part well, all must suffer.”

The three men nodded.

“ And you know. too,” Hoodley went on,
“ that if we are found out we will be sent to
State’s Prison—perhaps for life.”

Again they nodded.

“Therefore, you see how very important it
is for us to have a perfect understanding. To
that end, Miss Harrington and I have let on
into the secret in full, so that on will un er-
stand just what is required 0 you, knowing
what is at- stake. We must win or we must
fail, and, whichever it provo, we must stand or
fall together. You understand that, I pre-
sume'i”

“ Perfectly. sir.”

“Very well; and new for the rticulars of."
the case again. You know what tanton Har-

 

 

   

 

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket. 7

 

 

rington’s will was, and it Will not be necessary
to mention that. I will come to the vital points
of the scheme at once. In the first place, by the
terms of the will, if either of the daughters died
before the younger became of age, all the wealth
was to go to the other.
our plot hinges. Irene has no love for her half-
sister, and, with my assistance, she has put her
out of the way in order to come in for all of the
property.”

Broadway Billy could hardly keep quiet, dan-
gerous as his position was.

“Sweet pertaters!” he mentally exclaimed,
“ but didn’t I know it? If this ain‘t th’ wu’st
eonsarned diffikilty I’ve seen in two ages or
more. There’s goin’ ter be a tremenjus racket,
there is; about ’twixt right an’ wrong, an’ I’m

roiu’ ter boost up th’ right ter git there, we bet! ‘

f ’peai‘ances goes fer anything, it’s goin’ ter be
a mighty hot racket. too.
make ’em think there’s a howlin’ cyclone broke
loose it won’t be my fault. I‘ll lay th’ hull case
afore Inspector Br— This ain’t no time to
plan, though; I must listen now an’ think
after.”

“ We have had no idea or intention of killing

the girl, h0wevcr, as you know,” the rascal w cut ‘
“We had no intention or desire to take i

on.
murder upon ourselves. Instead, we hit upon a
better and safer scheme, and one that answers
the pur ose just as well. Your part in the game,
Doctor 'etchain, is to be mentioned first.”

The doctor nodded, and taklng that part of
the recital upon himself, said:

“ Yes, my art came first. For many weeks I
have been ‘ octoring’ the young woman, and
under my careful treatment she grew weaker
day by day until two days ago, when she died.
Then my friend, Mr. Buryall, was called in.”

“ Quite ri ht,” said the undertaker.

a funeral.”

Hoodley now took hold‘ again.

“Such are the facts,” he said. “You, doc-
tor, did your work so well that for two whole
days the young woman has been, in pomt of
fact, like one dead. All day yesterday she was
seen in her cofiln, and no one could suspect that
she was not dead. The deception has been per-
feet.”

“ And during that time,” interrupted Carter,
“I_had my part to perform. I had to find a
private mad-house, where, by paying well, a
certain young woman whom we know could be
placed. And once there, she would be as one
dead.”

“ So far all has worked well,” continued

Hoodley. “ Tonight the girl came out of her '
ike

trance sleep, we took her awa ' at once, and
she is now, you tell me, safe in r adam \Vin-
Chester’s mad-house.”

“ She is there, safe enough,” declared Carter.
“ And we took her such a roundabout way that
she‘ cannot possibly guess where she is.”

‘ And as for escape,” added Ketcham, “that
is finite out of the question.”

‘ Well, we will consider her as out of the
way. ’ Hoodley went on. “ And now comes
another difiicult part to play. To—morrow the
funeral has tobe held, and the coffin must not
be opened again. It is for you, Buryall, to
look out for that.”

“ Oh! I Will take care of that,"the undertaker
declared confidently. “I will announce that a
sudden change has taken place in the girl’s ap-
pearance, and that the coffin cannot be open-
ed

“ You must be prepared for Baldwin,” said
Irene. “He may arrive to—morrow in time to
attend the funeral, and if he does he will be
sure to demand to be allowed to see the corpse.”

“ He cannot see it,” returned Buryall, deter-
minedly, “ for the coffin shall not be opened
a ain. If he insists upon it I will refer him to

iss Harrington.” _

“ And I,” said Irene, “ Will deny him the
privilege of seeing her. If. necessary. I can say
that the doctor has forbid the opening of the
coffin again.”

“Perhaps,” suggested HOOdIGS’, “ an order
from the doctor not to open the coffin again
would be good to have.”

“ That would not do,” said Ketcham.

“ Why not?” Hoodley demanded.

“ Because, the only reason I could give would
be danger of infection, for some causo or other,
and all the girl’s friends know well enough that
the cofiin is full of holes.”

“ True enough; I did not think of that.”

“ Another piece of Vina’s silly Work.” said
Irene, In a tone of disgust. “ She always had a
horror of being buried alive, and made me pro—
mise, in the presence of several rsons, that I

would have plenty of holes put in her with to

And it is upon this that ‘

Lordy! if I don’t I

' _ “ I came 5
With this co n, and made every preparatimi for .

admit air, and that I would have the coffin left
in a vault for at least a week, if possible.”

"And there is another source of danger," re-
marked Carter. “Suppose some one opens the
coffin while it is in the vault.”

“ We must run the risk of that,” said Hood-
ley. “ That is somethingr we cannot help.”

“ I will take care that the coffin is not left
there many days, though,” declared the under-
taker.

“Have we considered every point now 2” ask-
ed Irene.

“ I believe we have,” answered Hoodley. “ I
can think of nothing else at present. You will
continue to explain that it was Vina's request
that no one should be employed to sit up with
her body, and do all in your power to close the
eyes of the servants. To—morrow your grief
, nmst be something terrible.”

“ ()h! I will take care of all that. I have in-
! vented a hundred falsehoods to use if neces-
i sar '.’
1! “Then there is nothing more to be done to-
, night, and we may as well go.”

" Yes, I think so. Gather up your things,
1 Mr. Buryall,” Irene directed, “and I will close
and lock the room.”

The undertaker picked up his tools, and in a
moment they were ready to leave the room.

Their conversation had been carried on in low
tones, and it would have been impossible for a'ny
one outside the room to hear them.

Broadway Billy, though, had taken in every
word, eagerly.

It was a worse case than he had ever dream-
ed of finding.

“ SWeet pertaters!” he mentally ‘exclaimed,
“ but this does beat all! It’s enough ter make
, angels weep. Who would ever think that sich
a fine—lookin’ woman could be sich a deep-d 'ed
| villain? I’m beginniii’ ter lose faith in th’ iull
, human race. If this little plot ain’t somethin’
E jest awful, then I’ll sell my boots. 'l‘h‘ idea 0’
 puttiii’ her sister inter a iiiad-house, then have

 

.- a iiiock-funeral over her ter make believe she’s
dead, jest ter git th’ hull 0’ th’ old man’s boodle.
 Ugh! it makes my flesh creep ter look at her.
: Jest hell on, though, my pesky critters, aii’ see
'2 who holds th’ best trump on th’ last round. W'i1~
liain 0’ Broadway is inter this game, clear up to
his ears, an’ if he don’t make a rattlin’ among
th’ dry bones ye kin call his name Mud. Jest
, clear th’ coast an’ let me out here, an’ I’ll be at
i Police Headquarters as soon as th’ sun is up.
1 ’1] put th’ hull thing right enter Inspector
' Br—"
I Just at that instant the boy felt an uncontrol-
lable desn‘e to sneeze, and, do what he would,
he could not hold it back. He clapped both
hands over his nose and mouth. and held on
desperately, but, despite all his efforts, out came
a startling sneeze—“ Ah-choo 1”

CHAPTER VIII.
BILLY’S PERIL.

IMAGINE the result of that untimely sneeze.

Ketcham. Carter and Buryail were just mov—
ing toward the door; Irene was following them;
and Hoodley was waiting to turn out the light.

The instant they heard the sneeze they all
stopped short, and Buryall let his tools fall to
floor in his alarm.

“ Sweet poi-raters !” Billy exclaimed in thought,

“ but I’m in for it now.”

He remained perfectly quiet, however, hoping
that he might yet escape detection.

But his hope was useless. for the sneeze had
been only too loud and genuine.

“ What was that?” demanded Buryall in quick
alarm.

I: gidp’t you sneeze?” questioned Ketcham.

I O. .

“ It came from the coffin,” declared Irene,
trembling with excitement and fear.

“ It certainly did come from that direction,”
avowed Hoodley.

“ So I thought, too,” agreed Carter.

For a moment they all stood and looked at
one another in silent wonder.

“ “ It is very strange,” said Irene presently,
for there is certainly no one here but us five.”
All looked around sharply.

Billy'drew himself as far back into his corner
as Dossible, and almost held his breath.
It was. for him, it trying moment.
“ There are few places here where a person
could conceal himself,” Hoodley reflected.
2: Perhaps it was a cat,” suggested the doctor.
Ah! perhaps you are right.” agreed the un-

 

dertaker. "_Let’s look around.”
“But,”ohjected Irene, “we have no cat in
the house."
"One may have of: in from the street,

 

. though,” insisted the octor.

 

“ Well, if no one of us five sneezed,” Hoodley
resumed, “ the noise was made b some other
person or thing. Come, we wi I search the
room.”

Billy saw that he was certain to be found now.

Still he remained quiet.

All five of the evil plotters began to look
around, moving chairs and other articles of fur-
niture, and Hoodley and the undertaker moved
toward the corner where the boy waS.

They passed around the coffin, one_ at each
end, and both looked behind the big chair at the
same time.

“ Thunder!”

“ Furies!”

Such were their exclamations.

“ “'hat is it?” asked the others.

“ This is what it is,” answered Hoodley, and
reaching d0wn he caught hold of Billy’s arm
and pulled him out in no gentle manner.

“ Sweet pertaters!” exclaimed the boy, “ I
hope ye won’t pull out my arm, mister; I’ve
only got two, and I can’t spare one nohow.
What’s all th’ 'olly row about, anyhow? How
kem I here? ow long hev I been asleep?
How—”

“ Shut up!” hissed Hoodley, giving him a
rough shaking.

Billy was pretty badly frightened, but he had
a remarkable nerve, and was as cool as usual.

As for Carter and Ketcham, they could only
look on in open—mouthed amazement.

“ What are you two staring at?” demanded
Hoodley, as he noticed them. “ Do you know
him?‘

“ It is the same boy we met at Madam Win-
cbester’s,” answered Carter.

“ The same boy!”

“ Yes,” agreed Ketcham, “ it is the same
boy.”

“ How came be here. then?”

The two men shook their heads.

“ How came you here?” Hoodley asked, as he
gave his prisoner another hard shaking.

“ Well, that’s just what I’m tryin’ tor git
through my hair,” answered Billy. “ How did
I come here? It’s a puzzler ter me, an’ I give it

31

“ What! you young whelp, do you mean to
tell me you do not know how you came here?”
Hoodley grated.

“ Sich is about th’ fact,” returned Billy. “ If
you kin shed any light outer th’ case I’d be most
happy fer have ye do so. Say, what’s been
goin’ on here anyhow? Lord 1” and the boy
gave a start of pretended surprise as he turned
his eyes toward the coffin, “ somebody dead?”

“ You are doing well, my lad,” said Carter,
as he advanced and laid his hand upon Billy’s
other shoulder, “ but it won’t work. We have
seen you before, and your game has come to an
end. You are an infernal young spy.”

Buryall had been eying the young detective
keenly, and he now spoke.

“Say,” he announced, “ I know that little
imp!”

‘ You do?” from all.

“Yes, I do; and he is one of the worst little
bloodhounds in the whole city. He is a detec-
tive, out and out, and is in with the police. He
did a bad job for a friend of mine once, and I
vowed then I’d fix him for it if I had to wait
ten ears.”

Billy’s doom was sealed.

Every one present looked pale and deter-
mined, and the boy plainly saw that he was in
a bad fix. .

For some moments no one spoke.

“ Well, what are we to do?” Ketcham finally
asked.

“ This boy must die,” added Hoodley, in a
fierce. earnest whisper.

“ No, not that,” objected the woman; “I will
not agree to that. e must be disposed of in
some other way.”

“There is no other way,” decided Hoodley.
“He knows our secrets, and he shall not leave
this house alive. Here, Carter, gag and bind
him.”

Hoodley and Ketcham held the boy so that he
could not move, and in a few moments Carter
and Buryall had him securely ga ged and bound.

It was not by any means the ffrst time the lad
had been in the same fix, but this time he felt
that it was to be his last adventure.

But he did not give up hopes. He had es-
caped before from frightful dangers, and perhaps
he would escape again.

There was no denying, though, that he was in
deadly peril. ‘

“ Now,” Hoodley questioned, “ how are we to
dispose of him?”

“ There is but one way,” answered Ketcham;
“ he must die.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 w“ New

 

 

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

“ No, no,” pleaded the woman; “there must
be no murder done. That will place us all
in danger of our lives. You must find some
other way.”

“ We have no choice in the matter,” Hoodley
returned. “ He must die. He knows our
secret, and while he lives we are not safe.”

“ Yes, he must and he shall die," the under-
taker added. “ He shall not leave this house
alive.”

The woman covered her face with her hands.

“It is terrible,” she moaned. “ I am almost
sorry now I ever planned the thing at all. illust
he diet Must we have blood upon our handsi”

“ It will not be upon yours,” assured Hoodley,
shortly.

“ And the crime need never be known,” added
Ket::ham.

“ Well, how is he to be disposed of?” dc»
mended Carter. “ “'6 have no time to fool
about the matter.”

Hoodley thought.

“ You must give him a dose of poison, doctor,”
he finally suggested, in a tone of command,
“and as soon as he is dead We will bury him in
the cellar. Our safety oe )Ol](lS——”

“ No, no I” implored reiie, “not that, not
that! I would not stay in the house another
night!"

" lt cannot be done that way,” added the
doctor, “ for I have no poison with me.”

“ And it is certain that no blood must be
spilled,” observed Carter.

Billy, now lying on the floor in a helpless con—
dition, heard his fate thus debatcd, and it must
he confessed that his hopes were few.

There was another pause.

“ We must hang him,” Ketcham at length
advised. “That will leave no tell-tale marks,
and Buryall can take the body to the Morgue.
He can tell some story about finding it in some

lace or other; or, better still, we can hang the
ad in some out—of-the‘way place, and leave him
there.”

“ And run the risk of being caught in the
act,” objected Hoodley. “ Oh, no, I thank you!
The boy must die in this room, and the body
must be disposed of in this house.”

Irene Harrington threw herself upon a chair,
pale, trembling, weeping.

She had a bad heart, but murder was beyond
her. The horror of that crime unnerved her.
She did not seem to realize that in putting her
sister in a mad-house, there to die by degrees,
was only murder of another kind, and even
more horrible.

" He must not be killed,” she insisted.

“ But,” urged Hoodley, impatiently, “think
what we have at stake. If we do not kill him
now, while he is in our power, we will not be
safe for a moment.”

“ Perhaps we can buy his silence,” the woman
suggested.

“ No, we can’t,” declared the undertaker. “ I
know something about Broadway Billy, and—”

" What!” exclaimed Ketcham, “is this the
boy we have heard so much about of late?”

“ It is that very vagabond sleuth!”

“All the more reason then, why he- should
not escape us,” counseled l-Ioodley.

“ Ha!” Buryall suddenly exclaimed, “ I have
an idea.’

“ What is it?” queried Hoodley.

“ Let us remove the stones from the coffin
and ut him in.”

“ t won’t do,” Hoodley decided at once. “ He
could move 01' groan, no matter how tightly we
bound him, and would explode the whole
game.”

“ I can fix that,” averred Ketcham.

u H0“. g”

“ I can give him a sleeping potion, as I hap-
pen to have some with me, and he will sleep
twenty-four hours, 'ust as the girl did."

“ Ah! that is ettcr,” Hoodley aesented.
“ Into the coffin he shall go. It is about the only
plan we have, and it is a good one. After the
funeral Buryall can attend to the matter. Once
we get him into the vault, all will be well.”

Broadway Billy’s hair seemed fairly to stand
on end, and a cold perspiration appeared upOn
his face. There did not seem to be a shadow of

hose now.
octor Ketcham took a little bottle from his
pocket, shook its contents, and looked at it to-
ward the light.

“ There is enough of it,” he announced “ and
let us lose no time in getting it into him.

 

CHAPTER IX.
A HORRIBLE FATE.

Tammi: is no denying the fact that Billy’s sit-
uation was now desperate indeed.

 

He had laced himself in the hands of men
who woul show him no mercy.

And well did he realize his danger.

“Sweet pertaters!” was his mental exclama-
tion, “I guess it‘s all up With me, this time.
Seems ter me I kin fecl th’ awful grip 0’ death
outer my breathin’ machine. I guess it’s all up
wi’ me, an’ my battle won't amount to shucks.
I guess Willyuni 0’ Broadway has played his
last game, an’ is about tci' be boxed up. I hate
th' l(, ce 0’ hein’ beat by sich a pesky set 0’ ras-
cals, but I s’pose it’s th’ fortune 0" war. Well,
thank goodness i’ve got a hoodlc. in th’ bank, an’
mom is provile for. “'ish they’d give inea
chance ter send her a good-by, but th’ chances is
they won’t. Hello! th’ doctor is gettin’ out his
p’izan.”

The doctor, having shaken the contents of the
little bottle, prepared to pour the stuff into the
boy’s mouth.

“Come, Carter,” he directed, “get that gag
out of his mouth for a moment.”

Carter and Buryall hastened to obey.

“ If you make a sound you litile imp," Carter
threatened, while he. was removing the gag,
“ I’ll knock your head off.”

“ And I’ll put my heel on your neck,
niented Buryall.

In a moment the gag was out of the boy’s
mouth, and the doctor stood all ready to pour
the drug,r down his throat when Billy gave vent
to a yell that would have done credit to a wild
Indian.

“Thunder!” cried Carter, as he slapped his
hand over the boy’s mouth, “ what did you do
that for?"

Buryall snatched up one of his tools and,
but for Hoodley, would have hit him on the
head.

“ Hold!” commanded Hoodley, “do not
strike him; he might bleed like it stuck pig.”

The undertaker, with' muttered curses, laid
the tool down.

“ What is to be done now?” questioned Carter.

“I’ll sho,v you," hissed Kctchani. “Here,
Buryall, hold this bottle, and when I give the
word, pour the stuff into his mouth.”

Buryall took the bottle, and Kctcham took
charge of Billy.

lVith one hand he clutched the boy’s throat,
and with the other closed his nose so that he
would have to open his mouth in order to
breathe.

Billy tried to cry out again, but could not do

” supple

so.

Ketcham held on tightly, and in a moment the
be had to open his mout to gasp for breath.

Then the doctor directed the undertaker to
pour in the drug.

Buryall did so, and as soon as it was well into
the boy’s threat the doctor released his hold a
little.

Billy was now gasping for air. and the mo-
mont the doctor’s hand relaxed a little, down
the drug went.

The boy had been powerless to resist.

Ketcham then told Carter to replace the gag,
and in a few minutes the boy was as helpless as
he had been before.

“ I reckon it’s all up now,” he mused. “ Theyv’e
got their nasty dose inter me, an’ no doubt I’ll
soon be asleep. An’ I reckon I won’t wake up
ag’in, either. I wish I’d tooken Skinny’s ad-
vice au’ not poked my nose inter other folks’
affairs, an’ then I wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t
help it, though, no inore’n I could fly. I have
got ter do somethin’ when th’ fever breaks out
on me, or I’d bu’st. But I guess th’ fever will
be cured this time. an’ so will I. Wonder what
Inspector Br— Hellol somebody is comin’.”

True enough, steps were heard coming along
the hall, and in a moment more there came a
knock at the door.

‘2‘,Curse it!” hissed Hoodley, “who can that

V

“ It must be a servant, alarmed by the cry the
boy gave,” answered Irene. “ I will see."
1 Slhe went to the door and opened it just a
itt 6.

It pas one of the servants, as she had sup—

so .

“ What is the matter?” the servant asked. “ I
thought I heard some one scream.”

“ It- wa. I,” answered Irene.

“ You?"

“ Yes. The undertaker has 'ust closed the
coffin over my poor sister, and came in to see

her before he did so, and the change in her ap-
pearance was so startling that it caused me to
cryr out. You may return to bed.”

‘ Has the body changed, then?” '

“ Yes, very much. We shall not be able to
open the coffin to—niorrow.”

“ Oh! that is dreadful.”

 

 

 

“ Yes, it is indeed.”

“ And can 1 do anything, Miss Harrln n!”

“ No nothing. If you are wantedl w1 call
you. Return to bed.”

The servant turned away, and Irene closed
theldoor and turned to her accomplices with a
Sllll (‘.

“ How was that?” she grinned.

“ It was fine,” Hoodle complimented. “You
have played well the 'rst card of to-morrow’s
game.”

“ You certainly have,” added the doctor.
“ The information will be passed from servant
to M~‘l'VilIlt, and it will be no ’news by the time
the funeral takes place.”

" It was a splendid
Blii'yull. _

“ Vell, Come,” urged Hoodley. “ we must get
the stones out of the coffin and the boy into it as
soon as possible.”

“That is so," agreed Carter, “ for the hour is
late.

Broadway Billy listened to every word. He
was beginning to feel the effects of the drug,
and. was growing sleepy. He was anxious to
know his fate, awful as it was.

“ I am more in favor of getting him out of
the house at once, if it can be done,” said
Irene.

“ It can’t be done, safely,” Hoodley opposed.
“ It required all our cunning to get the girl out,
without creating suspicion. We might get him
out, and then run right into the arms of a o-
lii-cman. No, it won’t do. This is the only p an
open to Us.”

“ Mr. Hoodley is right,” the doctor supported.
“ This plan is the best.”

Bui-yall was already at work taking the lid
from the coffin.

After some minutes this was done, and then
the stones were carefully removed.

Billy was by this tlllle'alfllOSt gone. He could
hardly keep his mind fixed upon what was go—
ing on, and the voices of his enemies sounded
far away.

The last he remembered was of being lifted
u ) and placed in the coffin, and of seeing the lid
piaced over him. After that, all was blank for
many hours.

The boy once in the coffin, Buryall lost no
time in replacing the lid and setting home the
screws.

“ T ere,” he said, as he gave the final turn to
the last screw; “ he is boxed. Now the coffin is
sealed for good and all.”

“ And what about the stones?” asked the
woman. _

‘l‘ezll‘hey must be disposed of,” Hoodley de-
cu .

“And it is little less difficult to dispose of
them than of the boy,” remarked Carter.

“The only difference is,” observed Buryall,
“ they are in several pieces, while the boy was
all in one lump.”

“Is there any place in the house where we
can put them out of sight for the present?”
asked Hoodley.

“ I do not want them left in the house,” ob-
jected Irene.

“ They will have to be left here, if we cannot
get them away,” Hoodley said, decisively.

“ Well,” returned Irene, “ I do not know
where they can be put. The servants will be
certain to find them, and such a find, in this
houm, would lead to much talk. No; they posi-
tive! must be taken out.”

“ You are right,” Hoodley admitted; “ I did
not think of that part of it. What can be done,
Buryall?”

“Bury all would be a good plan,” interrupted
Carter, with a weak attempt at a pun, “if we
only had some place. to bury them.”

“ You ought to be ashamed to attem t a pun
on such a solemn occasion,” protested uryall,
putting on a funeral air.

And then he added:

“ I think we can manage it. We will all leave
the house together, and your carriage is waiting,
is it not?” to Carter.

“ Yes, it is waiting,” Carter answered.

“ ‘v‘v'ell, there are but six of the stones in all,
and we can take them out and put them into the
carriage. hiding them under the seats. They
are likely to lie there for weeks before the driver
will discover them.”

“ But.” objected Hoodley, “ the driver will
see them.”

“ He will not suspect. The largest two I
will carry in the bag. and the others you can
put under your coats until you get into the
carriage.”

“ ell, we will try it. They must be disposed
of in some way, and I can think of no better
plan.”

stroke 1” exclaimed

 

 

 

 

  
 
 

- 43

 

 

3}. we,
. _ ‘

 

 

 

 

 

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

Buryall put the two heavier ones into the bag,
together with all the odds and ends of carpet
with which they had been fitted into the coffin,
and the other men selected from the others to
carry. .

W hen they were ready, Hoodley said:

“ Now, we must not forget what is to be done
to-niorrow. The main part of the task falls to
Buryall, though Miss Harrington‘s part may
prove by no means easy to play.

" Rest assured that it shall not be,” the un—
dertakei' promised.

“ And be sure, too, that I shall not fail in my
part,” Irene assured, decidedly.

No more was to be said, and after Buryall
had given one final look around, to see that he
was leaving everything in good order, they left
the room.

Miss Harrington waited behind a moment to
turn out the light, and then she followed and
locked the door after her.

After a. few \‘x'hispered words, then, the men
left the house and Irene entered the room on the
other side of the hall.

When she was alone she threw herself upon a
chair with a smile of triumph.

" At last!” she said half aloud to herself, “ all
is to be mine, and I can bestow it all upon the
man I love. I was more than half afraid to
mention the scheme to him at first, but Joseph
Hoodley is no fool and he gave me his aSsistance
at 01130. My baby faced Sister—or half—sister,
(and how 1 hate her!) is well disposed of, and
my path is clear. To-morrow she will be buried
as everybody will believe, and then all will be
over. Ha, ha, ha! I have it all, all. While
she is pining away in the mad—house, I shall be
living, like a queen, having everything my own
way.

In this strain she continued to run on for
some time, but at length she rose and locked the
house and retired to her room.

And in the coffin in the lonely room below,
lay Broadway Billy, bound, gagged, and un-
conscious. He was like one dead.

lVould he escape? or would the evil plotters
carry their scheme to the end?

If no one interfered on tho morrow, the coffin
would certainly be taken to the vault, and,
later on, and perhaps while the boy was still
alive the undertaker would have it buried.

CHAPTER 
ANOTHER HAND IN THE GAME.
SKINNY, Broadway Billy‘s slim and Slender
urtner, was just opening the corner-stand for
' usiness next morning, when Mrs. ll eston,
Billy’s mother, appeared. _

“ Skinny,” she inquired, “ where in the world
is Billy?”

“ Give it up, ma’m,” Skinny answered. “ He
started ofl’ last night, all on a snddint, tei‘ do
some detective work, an’ be hain’t got back

v "

“ Oh, my! and perhaps he has got into trou-
ble. I do Wish he would give up such work and
attend to business”

“So do I ” Skinny avowed, “ but I’m ’frnid
he won’t. When th’ fever breaks out on him
he‘s jest no good at all. As I was thinkiii’ last
night, I expect nothin‘ else than some 0’ these
days he’ll be gettln’ killed. an’ I’ll have ter drape
our stand wi’ niournin’ fer him. He wants a
good talkin’ to, docs Billy.”

“It is no uso talkin‘ to him,” declared Mrs.
Weston, “ for he is bound to have his own way
anyhow He is a good boy, but he causes me a
deal of Worry. Can't you tell me where he
went?” _

“ Haven’t th’ slightest idea, ina’m.”

Skinny rattled on then, and told her all he
knew about the matter. _ , _

“ Well, I suppose he Will come home again, as
usual, if he don‘t get killed,” the woman re-
flected, “ and I may as well content myself until
he arrives. 1 don’t wish him any bad luck,

oodness knows, but I do hope that some time
he’ll get such a scare that he Will be glad to keep
himself out of other people’s affairs in future.”

“That’s jest where tli’ pain is.” declared
Skinn . “Billy is a boy that can’t be scared
off. othin’ short 0’ bein’ killed will ever cure
him. I’m afraid.”

While they were talking, a man came up and
ate  at the stand. .
B.uki’nny recognized him at once as a friend of

i y s.

This man was one Speare, a detective who
sometimes employed Billyto lend him a little
assistance in parts where Billy could do better
work than he could himself.

“ Where is Billy this morning?” he asked.

-, -, '- 3- 'w. .-, ri'4> .1
W 1-“. adhere-Jew. s ,- (.,.'.i'r.«ry;1..3;;'., .
-  A . r map-.r‘fffgb fiug‘t- ‘ - . -

    

“1

  

    

race a

The one im— .
portant point is—do not let the coffin be open- E
ed.”

“ That’s what we an’ his mother here would

I
i like ter know,” Skinny re )lied.

 

Speare looked at Mrs. l eston, lifting his but
as he asked:

“ Are you Billy’s mother?”

“ Yes, sir,” the woman replied.

“ Then,” said Spoare, “ I must congratulate
you. Your boy is one of the wisest little fellows
for his years this city can show, and is bound
to make his mark. He is as smart as light-
ning.”

“ Thank you, sir,” returned the widow, blush-
ing with pride.

“ And you say you don’t know where Billy is?”
turning again to Skinny.

“ No, sir, I don’t. He rot th’ fever onto him
again lzist night. 1111’ no 'nowin’ what sort 0’ a
scrape he’s got inter by this time.”

“ The ‘ fever ?’-—what do you mean by that?”

“ Th’ detective fever.”

“ Oh! I see. Tilt!) he is working up another
case, is be?”

“Yes, I s’pose so. He got his eye onto what
he thought might be a diliikilty last night an'
off he went.”

At this point Mrs. lVeston interrupted to take
her leave, saying she would go home, and re-
questing Skinny to send Billy to her as soon as
he came. ‘

“'hen she was gone, Skinny gave Speare, the
particulars of Billy’s going off.

As they were talking a carriage came down
Broadway, turned into the cross—street where
the two were standing, and came to a. stop only
a few yards from them.

Skinny, glancing at it casually, gave a sudden
start.

The detective noticed it at once, and asked:

“ What did you see?”

“That carriage,” said Skinny.

“ What about it!”

“ It’s th’ very one Billy follered off, or I’m a
bow-legged tailor.”

“ Is that so?”

H Yex. 71

“ How do you know?”

“ Why, I noticed it last night when Billy call-
ed my ’tention to it.”

“How could you see it in the darkf—that is,
so as to remember it?"

“ Ohl it wasn’t dark, ye know, owin’ to th’
’lectric lights.”

“ That is s 0.
one?”

“ Yes, I’m sure of it now. It’s the same
horses, anyhow, an’ th’ same driver. too.”

“Good enough! I will have a little talk with
the gentleman presently.”

While they were talking the driver got down,
opened'his carriage, and began to dust it out.

The detective and Skinny watched him.

Presz‘ntly, much to their surprise, he began to
swear like a pirate. ‘

“ Wonder what‘s cuttin’ him up so?" Skinny
questioned.

“ Something has gone wrong,” the detective
inferred.

Out from under the seats of his carriage the
driver drew several stones of good size.

He was as mad as a hornet, as the saying
goes, and if swearing would have created a fog,
it would have rivaled anything ever seen in
London.

The detectiVe went forward, in an idle way,
and asked:

“ W hat seems to be the trouble, my friend?"

The driver glared at him like an untamed
savage.

“ What‘s th’ matter?" be repeated; “ there’s
matter enough! Some gun-blasted son of a red—
head soap-b’iler has been fillin’ my carriage full
0’ pavin’ stones! Jest look here. an’ here.”

“ Well, that is rather a rough joke,” the de-
tective agreed.

“ Rough! well I should say So.”

“ But. there’s no damage done, is there?”

. “No, I guess not; but, dang me if wouldn’t
like ter know who done it, an’ I’ll bet I’d get
even wi’ him.”

. “ Well, I wouldn’t care so long as no damage
is done. No doubt you will find out who did it.
and then you can get even with him.”

“ If I do, I will, you bet!”

It _S€‘ems to me I’d ought to know you,” the
detective. reflected; “ where have I seen you i”

The driver glanced at him more closely.

“ Don’t k
ed, “ but, mebby I ha ve,
some w heres sometime.”

“ That must be it. And what will you charge
to take me up to the Fifth Avenue Hotel now?”

“ A dollar.”

, “.All right. we,“ 8‘0. No objections to my
riding on the box, have you?”

And you are sure it is the same

Mebby I’ve druv ye

     

 

now as I ever seen you,” he return- ‘

 

“ No, if ye want ter ride there; but I reckon
th’ inside is better.”

“ I prefer the box.”

“ All right, git right up there, an’ as soon as
I rct these stone out we’ll be off."

he detective mounted the box, and the
driver. taking the several stones from the car-
riage, deposited them slyly in a row on the edge
of the curb.

As soon as they were out he sprung up he-
side his passenger, gave the word to his horses,
and they started, the detective giving a nod at
Skinny as they turned around into Broadway.

“ I guess you were out late last night,” the
detective presently remarked.

The driver looked lip quickly.

“ What makes you think so?” he demanded.

“Why, your horses seem just a trifle rusty,
and you look a little sleepy.”

“ Well. you’ve hit it about right,” the Jehu
confessed; “ I was out a little late.”

“ I thought so. 1— Ah! now I guess I re-
member where I saw you.”

“ You do?”

4‘ XYeS.”

“ Where was it?”

“ In front of the — Hotel, about ten o’clock
last night.”

The driver bestowed another very searching
look upon his passenger, but the detective was
looking intently at the horses.

“ [ was there about that time,” the driver con-
feSSed.

“ Of course you were,” in a matter-of—fact
sort of way. " I could not recall at first where
it was I saw yen, but now I remember well
enough. _ I was in the reading-room at the time,
looking out the window, we will suppose. You
drew up and stopped before the hotel, and
presently a man came out and got into your
carriage and you then went away up Broad-
way}!

“ That’s correct,” owned the driver; “ you’ve
got it all down pat.”

“And, from what could be seen, you had a
lively female passenger aboard, too,” the detec-
tive ventured.

“ Say,” demanded the driver, abruptly, “ was
there anything ye didn’t see?”

The detective laughed.

“ Oh! es,” he returned. “plenty of thin , I
suppose, at I saw about all that took p ce
while you were in front of the hotel.”

“ I should say ye did!"

“ What was the matter with the young wo-
man i” Speare openly asked.

“ Crazy.”

“Crazy, eh? I thought perhaps there was
some crooked work going on. It was none of
my business, though, and I know enough to
keep, my nose out of affairs that do not concern
me. '

“ That's more than a good many folks can
sav.

“ Yes. I suppose so. You took the young
woman,to an asylum, I presume?”

(t

“ No! Then she has friends who will care for
her in private, no doubt.”

H I 8’ ()se so.” .

“ And what became of the boy who caught on
behind your carriage when you started from
the hotel?”

Once more the driver roused up, and looked
squarely at his passenger.

The detective was still looking at the horses.

“ Did that cuss foller me from th’ hotel?”

“ You saw him, then?”

“ Dast it, yes 1”

“No doubt he was curious to know what was

oing on.”

“ Well, I hope he found out, but I don’t be-
lieve he did.”

“ Did you know him?”

“ No. _I only seen him fer a minute, when
they fired him out of th’ house.”

H Ab! he went to spying and got caught, did
he? Served him right.”

“ I take it you ain’t none too friend] to’rds
spyers nn’ sich like," the driver remar ed, in-
quisitively.

The detective gave him a nudge, and bestowed
upon him a smile and a wink that, to the driv.
er’s mind, Spoke volumes.

“ I thought so.” the driver commented.

The detective laughed.
h‘?‘”You thought I was no friend to the police,
e

“ You’re right.” ,

“And I sup you drivers have to be mi hty
carefipl what kind of work you are doing, out

on

“ Oh! we never know anything. ‘ We do our
work and take our fares, and then we forget all

    

    
    
 
    
 
  
    
  
   
    
  
   
  
    
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
    
  
  
    
    
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
   
 

 

 

      
       
     
       
   
       
       
     
         
       
       
   
       
       
       
       
       
      

  
    

 

   

10

 

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

l u“ r I I 1
about it. We minds our own business, we does. freely, and the detective did not allow him any l On up ther went, the cabman growing the
s

We don’t hear nothin’ or see nothin’, an’, of
course, we don’t know nothin’.”

“ Ha, ha, ha! I see. And if the police were to
ask about that young lady, you Wouldn’t be
able to remember her at all.”

“That’s about it. Ye see, I took herto a
house in Wooster street, but if they went to
askin’ me I wouldn’t be able to remember th’
name of th’ street fer th’ life of me.”

“ And that was the house the boy was fired 1

out of?

“ Yes.”

“Did you see him again?”

“ Yes, I seen him again lip-town, where he
went into th’ other house, an]— But, what are
you interested in that boy for?"

CHAPTER XI.
A STARTLING QUESTION.
DETECTIVE SPEARE was trying hard to draw

‘the driver out, but was not meeting with great

success.
And now the driver was growing a little sus-
llL'lOIIN‘.
I The detective saw that he must say something
to allay suspicion, and must take more care not
to arouse it again.

“Oh!” he returned careleSSly, “I was only
thinking perhaps .he was hired by somebody to
watch what was going on.”

“ No, I guess not,” the driver opposed, “ If
he was spyin’ at all I guess he was doin’ it on
his own account.”

“ Well, it makes no difference to me, any-
how," declared the detective, “ and I guess I
better keep still or you will begin to think I am
prying into affairs that do not concern me. Say!

)ull up here and let’s go in and have something.
’m dry.”

As Speare spoke he pointed at a saloon of the
better class which they were approaching.

The driver obeyed, nothing loth, and when the
carriage stopped they both sprung down.

“ There is nothing stuck up about me,” as-
sumed the detective, " and when I like a fellow
I want him to know it. Come right in and let
us smile.”

“ Well, hang me if you ain’t a team,” the as-
tonished drivor declared in turn, “ an’ I’m proud
ter do as you say.”

The driVer could trust his team alone for a
few moments, and they entered the saloon.

The detective called for liquor of the best, and
told the driver to name his choice.

“ Oh!” the latter exclaimed, “ I’m no darned
hog, I ain’t, an’ what’s good enough for you
won’t go ag’in’ me, I reckon. I’ll take the
same.” -

And so they drank: and not only once, but
twice.

The detective settled the score, and as they
passed out he remarked:

“That is the stuff that goes to a man’s toes,
and makes life worth living.”

“ You’re right,” echoed the driver as he wiped
his mouth upon his sleeve, “ an’ I’m heartily
’bliged to ye.”

They returned to the box, and the carriage
rolled on.

“ That is what puts new blood into a fellow
when he’s out late, too,” the detective con-
tinued. ~

“You’re right again,” the driver returned.
5 .3 little of it last night wouldn’t ha’ gone

a .’

“ You didn’t get any, eh?”

“ Not a darn smell.”

“ Well, that was hardly fair. Now, I and my
pals never go round at night without keeping
our driver warm.”

“ I’d like ter be yer driver then.”

“ 'Well, no doubt I’ll be able to give you a job
some time. Where do you hang ii ?”

The driver gave his name an address, of
which the detective made a careful mental note.

“ You said you were out quite late, I believe?”
he remarked.

“ Yes; I guess it was two o’clock before I put
up my team.”

“ On the go most of the time?”

“ Well, yes and no. Ye’s see there was a. good
deal of waitin’.”

“ 1 see. I wouldn’t like that.”

“ No. nor I don‘t.”

“ N o doubt you turned a clever penny,
though, and covered a considerable number of
miles.”

" Well, yes, I was paid good enough, and
went around and about for some miles, too.”

The driver was becoming more willing to talk

rest.
“ You are out early, after being out so late,”
Speare remarked.
“ I always am,” was the reply. “ I take good
1 keer o’ myself an’ bosses, an’ we’re allus around
i on time in th’ mornin’.”
l “ Suppose you are out all night, though, how
1 then?”
I “ Oh! well, then of course I take the day ofl’,
or part of it.”

The detective could not seem to get at what
he wanted.

He kept on, though, and as the driver became
more open, he finally got him switched upon the
right track.

“ Talkin’ about coverin’ ground an’ goin’
round—about ways,” he presently remarked, “ I
did some o’ that last night.”

“ So!" the detective interrogated in an en-
couraging tone.

“ Yes. Ye see I started from th’ Fifth Av-
enue Hotel an’ went up to West —— street.
Then from there clean down to th’ —- Hotel.
From there right back to Union Square, an’
then right back down into Wooster street, an‘
stopped not over half a mile from where I’d
started from. That is what I call goin’ around.
Then from there right back to West street,
an’ th’ Lord only knows how much furder.”

“ Well, that was something of a trip. I sup-
pose you brought the crazy girl from West —-
street.”

“ Yes; an’ then had ter go clean down to th’
-—~ Hotel to find her doctor—or was it th’ law-
yerf—somebody, anyhow.”

“And, for all you know, that boy followed
you all the way, from the very start.”

“ Jest as like as not; hang him!”

“ And you say you last saw him at the West
—— street house.”

“ Yes; but he went right in there as though
he lived there.”

“ \Vell, perhaps he does; but I just had a new
idea in mind.”

“ An’ what was that?”

“ Why, I thought perhaps it was the boy who
put the stones into your carriage, and he wanted
to see the fun when you found them. These
New York boys are terrors, and are up to all
kinds of devilment.”

“ Mebby you are right,” the driver reflected.
“ I’d like tcr know for sure, an’ then if I ever
seen him again, you bet I’d hurt him some.”

“ No doubt you can find him easily enough, if
you remember the number of that West —--—
street house, and know the name of the family
that lives there.”

“ I remember th’ number, it was No. —; but
I don’t know the name of the family.” .

“ we“, the Directory Would tell you that.
But, it is hardly worth while to bother with it,
for your carriage was notdamaged any.”

“ Mebby you’re right, but I tell ye I was mad
when I first found ’em.”

“ So I imagined from the remarks you made.”

There was, of course, a great deal more
of this conversation than we have recorded,
and the carriage was now nearing its destina-
tir n.

Speare had worked hard to gain the point of
information he was after, but had now at last
succeeded.

He wanted to know where Broadway Billy
had last been seen.

Now he knew that the driver had seen him
enter the house, No. — \Vest— street, at a
late hour, and he had not been seen since.

Speare was little interested in the matter con-
cerning the crazy girl. All he wanted was to
find Billy.

He had no suspicion, so far, that any harm
had come to the boy.

When they arrived at the hotel, the detective
handed the driver the sum agreed upon, and
bade him good-day.

J ust as Speare turned away, a man came out
of the hotel, advanced to the driver, and in
hurried tones asked:

“ Yi‘e you disengaged?”

“ es,” was the reply.

“ Then take me to No. — West —- street.”

1 Speare heard and saw, and resolved to fol-
ow.

There was a cab standing at a little distance
awa , and the detective engaged it.

“ ollow that carriage, ” he ordered, giving
the cabman a glimpse of his badge. and into the
cab he sprung.

The man he was following happened to be
Joseph Hoodley.

Speare did not know him, but he was now
interested in the house he had heard him direct
the driver to, and meant to know more.

m~

 

 

 

carriage wel in sight, and at la est —--
street was reached.

There the detective signaled his driver to stop,
and got out.

The driver was not a little surprised to see an
apparently old man getting out, instead of the
young one who had got in.

Speare had put on a Wig and heard, changing
his appearance wonderfully.

Telling his (-abman to wait for him, he went
down the street toward where the carriage had
now stopped, walking slowly.

He saw Hoodley get out and enter the house,
and when he drew nearer he noticed also the
crane on the door.

This made him doubt, for a moment, the car--
riage driver‘s story.

What possible business could Broadway Billy
have had in this house at so late an hour?

The driver had declared that the boy had en-
tered as though he belonged them.

Perhaps the one he had seen was not Billy at
all.

When be reflected, though, just what a daring
boy Billy was, he was ready to believe it was he
the driver had seen.

He walked on past the house, slowly, and on
to the next corner. Then he turned back.

He had been debating in his mind what to do,
and had now decided.

As he turned back he saw Hoodley come out
of the house again, enter the carriage, and
drive away.

Of course he had no object in following him
further.

When he reached the house again he ascended.
the steps, entered the outer door and knocked
lightly at the inner one.

A servant opened it at once.

“ ldesire to see the master of the house,” the
detective said.

“The master of the house, sir, is Miss Har—
rington,” the servant explained. “Do you de-
sire to see her, sir .1”

“ Yes, for a moment, if I may.”

The servant showed him into the parlor, and
asked his name.

“ You may tell your mistress a stranger de—
sires to see her for a moment, on business.”

The servant went out, and in a few moments
Irene Harrington entered the room.

She was clad in deep mourning, and was evi-
dentlv preparing for the. funeral.

“ You desire so see me?” she queried, as she
entered.

“Yes,” the detective answered, “ and I hope
you will pardon me for intruding at such atime.
I came to inquire concerning a boy who entered
this house about midnight last night, and—
llVl'Jiiy, madam, what is the matter? Are you
i 7

Irene had turned deathly pale, and had to
gras ) a chair for support. ,

“ t—it is nothing,” slie gasped, pressing her
hand to her side; “I am subject to such spells.
There, it is over now.”

She recovered almost as quickly as she had
been overcome.

“ A boy ?” she interrogated a moment later;
“let me see. 1— Ah! yes, I remember, now;
there was a boy came here with a message, quite
late, but he went away again at once.”

 

CHAPTER XlI.
VINA in THE MAD-HOUSE.

DETECTIVE SPEARE was puzzled.

What was it, he asked himself, that caused
this fair woman such alarm for a moment when
he mentioned the boyto her? Was something
wrong?

Her answer, too, was anything but clear.
What possible business could Broadway Billy
have found to use as a pretext for entering the
house?

Speare could not understand it.

It was possible that a messenger had called
late in the evening, and that the Woman knew
nothing about Billy’s coming, later; or it was
possible that the driver had been mis aken;
or— But, a hundred things could bethought of.

The woman‘s sudden paling, though, had but
one explanation—to the detective’s mind.

He could do nothing, though, but pass a few
remarks and back out with as good a grace as
possible.

“ Did you know the be ?” he asked.

“ Of course not,” was t e proud reply.

“ Pardon me; I thought rhaps you had
seen him before. You see t e boyIam after
has not been home all night, and was last seen
here. I must try and trace him further if I can.
Pardon me for intruding.”

, _~ ka‘mv

 

H... -.,_.._

 

‘-p,~_>u;~ j.- 

 

  

 

 

 

 

w- V ~- 3,:  .  Lu,“ ..,V

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

 

11

 

 

Again the woman’s face ew pale for a mo-
ment, and she trembled visiblz;

She soon recovered.

“ I am sorryI can give you no information
concernin him,” she Said, “ but so it is.”

“ Well, will go. May I inquire who is dead ?”
in a sad, sympathetic tone.

“ It is my poor sister,” Irene answered, burst—
ing at once into tears.

“ Believe me, I sympathize with you,” the de-
tective avowed. “ It is hard to lose those whom
we love.”

“It is indeed, and more so when the person is
one’s only relative.”

A few words more were exchanged, and then
Speare departed.

He had learned—nothing; but he had a snso
picion that the woman he had just left knew
more than she cared to tell.

And as he thought it all over carefully, he
began to see great complications and dangers
for Billy in the “ diflikilty” he had set out to
unravel.

Speare, as we have said, wanted to find Billy
because he wanted to use him. That, at least,
was his first object, but now that the boy seem-
ed to be missing, he wanted to learn what had
become of him. He liked the boy, and if he
was in danger he wanted to help him out.

He could do nothing more now, but if the boy
did not turn up in a reasonable time, he would
{chow where to begin a determined search for

mu.

He went back to the corner-stand, and there
left word with Skinny for Billy to come to his
office at noon, if he returned, and so, for the
time, gave 11 the search.

Speare ha been gone but a little time from
the Harrington house when Hoodley returned,
having only been away on a short errand.

He found Irene pacing the floor of the parlor,
pale and trembling.

“ What is the matter?” he asked in alarm.

“ We are lost—lost I” the woman exclaimed.

“ Lost?” repeated the rascal, sharing her
alarm, " what do you mean by that?”

" I mean all that the word implies,” the wo—
man returned. “ “7e are lost.”

" But, Irene, explain what you mean,” Hood-
ley urged, in no patient tone.

“ A man has been here inquiring for the
boy I”

“ Who was he?”

“ I do not know; I never saw him before. He
was a stranger to me.”

“ What did he say?”

“ He said he had come to inquire concerning
a boy who entered this house about midnight
last night."

Hoodley’s face grew dark and troubled.

What could this mean?

“ And what did you say to him?” he asked.

“ At first I did not know what to say, I was
so startled; but I gained my coolness as quickly
as I could and told him that a boy had called at
a late hour with a message, and that he went
away again at once. That was all I knew
about him.”

The rascal’s face brightened a little.

“ That was well done," he declared, “ and I
guess you have turned suspicion away. What
are we supposed to know about boys?”

" It is more serious than you seem to think,”
said Irene, earnestly. “ W'lio is this man?
What is the boy to him? How does he know
that the boy came to this house?”

“I cannot answer your questions,” the man
replied, “ but of one thing be sure. The man
does not know that the boy is in the coffin, nor
is he likely to, and once the funeral is passed all
right, we can defy him."

“ But 1 am afraid the funeral will not pass off
all right. Something seems to tell me we are
now in more danger of discovery than we have
ever been. I am afraid.”

“Well there is no turning back now,” de-
clared oodley, “and we are forewarned of
danger ahead. So much the better. You must
nerve yourself to play your part, and all will
be well.”

“. Oh! I shall not fail to play my part,” Irene
vowed, determinedly, “ and if failure comes it
shall not be said that it was my fault.”

“ That is all you can do.”

_ In the mean time Broadway Billy was lying
lathe coffin, bound, gagged, silent and uncon-
seions.

But he was alive.

The arrangements for the funeral were going
steadily forward, and at two o’clock it was to
take place.

Would the boy be rescued before that time?

‘ I It did not seem possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything seemed to favor the evil persons l

of whose dark schemes he was a victim.

And what of the poor girl who was locked in
the dismal mad-house?

She was now up and dressed, in her narrow
cell, but from the effects of the drugs that had
been given her she was more than half ill, and
her mind was confused.

She could not Jealize where she was, and of 1

course it was of little use for her to ask her
brutal attendants.

The cries, groans and prayers of the victims ?

in the other cells came to her ears, and almost
maddened her.

She called aloud for her sister, whom she .

loved, and against whom she had not the slight-
est suspicion, but of course her cries were not
answered.

IVhere she was, she could not imagine, nor ‘
why she had been taken from home.

Her head ached, and her mind was confused.
She could not think.

And so the dreary hours passed.

When noon came Madam Winchester went up
to see her, with the servant who carried her ‘
dinner. '

They found the girl seated upon the edge of I
the bed, staring blankly up at the miserable lit—
tle window, which, by the way, was too high up
for herto reach, as though wondering why it :
was so small and so high, !

“ Good-morning, my dear,” said the proprie- .
tress, in her sweetest tone, not mindful of the
fact that it was a rather late hour for that salu-
tation; “how do I find you?"

Vina looked around in a stupid way, and
asked:

“ Where am I?”

“ Why, my dear, you are here, in my house,”
answered the woman. “ Do you not know
me?”

“ Where is my sister?” Vina questioned, pay—
ing no attention to what was asked.

" Your sister?” in a tone of surprise.

“ Yes; where is she!”

“Why, you have no sister, my dear; you are
my ward. Do you not remember?”

“No,l do not remember,” responded Vina,
pressing her hands to her head. “ Who are

on

“ Why, I am Madam IVinchester. You have
been very ill, you know, and are just recover- ,
ing. You have been placed in my care by your :
friends.” I

" I cannot understand it," spoke Vina, wea- _
rily. “ I am Vina Harrington, and my home is |
at No. —— West street. I Wish you would
send for my sister.”

“ But, you have no sister, my dear,” the 5
woman repeated. “ It is your poor little head i
that is playing you false again. Your mind
wanders, you know."

“ Yes, I have a sister,” Vina urged; “ I am
not crazy, madam.”

“It is your poor little head—poor little head,”
the woman repeated. “ You have been very ill,
and vonr mind is not quite right. You are not
Miss Harrington, for she is dead.”

Vina sprung to her feet with a scream.

“ My sister deadl” she cried. “ Oh! can it be
true? Tell me it is not so.”

“ You had no sister,” said the heartless ;
woman; “your name is not Harrington; it is
Vina Harrin ton who is dead 1”

Vina sta at her in utter bewilderment.

“ I am not Vina Harrington, you say?” she
repeated.

“ No, you are not. But, see what a tampting
dinner we have brought you. Come and eat it,
likelela,good dear, and you will soon be getting
we .

“ It is a lie—a he!” screamed a. voice from an
adjoining cell, with fierce and startling earnest-
ness. “ They want to drive you mad—mad!
Do not believe them; they lie—lie !”

Vina was startled, as well she might be, and
Madam VVinchester’s face grew black with ,

 

 

anger.

“ Attend to her,” she ordered, addressing the
servant.

The servant went out at once, and was heard
to enter the next door.

Then followed the sound of blows, accompa-
nied with screams and groans.

“ Ohl who is that? and what are they doing to
her?” asked Vina. greatly frightened.

“ She is a miserable drunken woman who
lives next door,” answered the proprietress,
falsely. “ You must not be frightened at her,
for she can do you no harm. And you must
pay no attention to what she says. Come, now,
and eat your dinner.”

Vina had seated herself upon the edge of the
bed again, and was now weeping.

 

l “ tell me—”

I “You had better eat while your dinner is
1 nice and warm.” the woman urged; “it will not
j be so nice after it gets cold.”
1, “ I cannot eat," declared Vina; “ I can on]
,‘think—think. Will you not tell me where
‘ am, and why I am here 3"

‘I have told you all that is necessary,” was
‘ the reply.

‘ “But you have told me falsely. Why have
I you done so? Vina Harrington is not dead, for
am she.”

“ It is your poor little head, your poor little
head,” said the woman, with retended pity,
as she moved to the door. “ our mind will
soon come right, my dear. Eat your dinner,
now, and then try to sleep. In an hour a ser
vaiit will come for the dishes."

“ Oh! do not leave me thus!” cried the poor
girl, puttingr out her hands toward the woman:
But the woman went out, closing
and fastening the door after her.

With a bitter cry of anguish Vina threw her—

3 self ugion the bed, sobbing as though her heart

woul break. ' _
And so began her imprisonment in the private-
mad-house.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
THE FUNERAL TAKES PLACE.

MENTION must now be made of another per--
son who is to play an active part in the ro—
malice.

His name has been mentioned. but he has not
been properly introduced to the reader.

Haney Baldwin was a young man of twenty-
six, well-to—do and of fine a pearance, and was
the accepted lover of Vina ari‘ington.

Recently he had been on a trip to the far
W'est, but was now returning home with all
possible haste.

At St. Louis, where he had stgxfied over for a
few days, a telegram had reach im, announc-
ing the death of the girl he loved.

And, as though the matter had been studied
by some one having an especial grudge against
him, that telegram had come to him 'ust after
the departure of the last train for the ast that
would leave the city in several hours.

How those hours dragged can be imagined.
Never had time passed so slowly for him.

He telegraphed at once, saying when he would
start, and requested that he might once more

I look upon the dear face of the girl he loved ere

she was laid away forever.

And now he was on the road.

Two o’clock came, and the funeral service was
being held in the parlors of the Harrington
House.

The coffin rested in the hall. between the two
large rooms, and was almost buried from sight
amid flowers.

Both rooms were filled with the friends of the
dead girl, and the minister stood in the hall, at
the head of the coffin, so that all might hear his
words.

It was a solemn occasion. for Vina Harrington.
had been a great favorite with all who had
known her.

As her friends had entered the house, near]
all had passed around the coffin to obtain a 100
at her face, and all were surprised to find that
the coffin was closed.

No one made any comments, for all supposed
that it would be opened later on.

When the minister concluded, however, he re-1
marked:

“I am r nested to say that, owing to a sad
change in t e ap aranee of the dead young
lady, the eoflin wi 1 not be opened.”

Instantly there was a general expression of
great disappointment. .

Many of those present had come long distances
to get one more look at Vina’s well-loved face.

Some of them pressed around Irene; who was
weeping bitterly. and begged her to let them
have-one more look at their friend.

But Irene refused.

It was far better, she told them, fer them to
remember her sister as they had last seen her,

than to be forever haunted by a vision of her .

face as it now appeared. .

The change. she assured them, was terrible.

Of course they could do no more, and had to
give up the idea.

Among those present was an old gentleman.
who claimed to have been a friend of Mr. Har-
rin ton’s.

e was a quiet man, and remained, with
some others—in fact, a good many others—r
standing in the hall.

He scemed to pay close attention toallthat- _

was said and done. ,
This man was Speare, the detective, but he.

.\

 

 
   
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
    
   
  
 
  

 

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12

Broadway

 

Billy’s Death Racket.

 

 

was not in the same disguise he had worn that
morning.

As Broadway Billy had not returned by noon,
the detective began to feel somewhat uneasy
about him.

He had thought over all he had learned from
the carriage-driver, and from the visit to the

“fest —— street house, and began to see that all ‘

was not right.
He had determined to attend the funeral.
Now, when it was announced that the coffin
cm] 1 not be opened, he began to grow more
suspicious than ever.

He could hardly bring his suspicions to a ‘

point where he could deflne them, but they ex—
Istcd.

At the last moment, almost, a young man
entered the house hurriedly but quietly.

This was HarVey Baldwin.

He looked travel-worn and weary, as though
he had come straight from the train to the
house. as he had.

When he saw that the coffin was not open,
a look of disappointment came over his face.

He asked the undertaker, though, to let him
see the dead.

“ The coffin has not been opened, sir,” the
undertaker said, “ and Miss Harrington has for—
bid my opening it. This is owing to the fact
that the corpse is not presentable.’ '

“ But I must see her!” persisted Harvey.
“" She was my promised wife, and I have a right
to see her.”

Detective Spears listened attentively.

“ Well,” said the undertaker, “ I cannot 0 on I

the coffin without permission from Miss ar-
rington, and I am sure she will not grant it. If
she. allows you to see she must let all see, and
She will tell you, as she has told every one else,
that it will be far better for you to remember
the young lady as you last saw her, than to be
forever haunted by the horrible picture her face
now presents.”

“ No matter what the change in her appear-
ance is,” declared the young man, “it is my
duty to see her, and see her I must. It is my
right. ’

He turned away at once to find Miss Har-
rington.

When he found her, though, it availed him
nothing.
opened. IVhat he would see, she declared,
would haunt him as a horrible picture as long as
he lived.

There was no help for it, so the young man
had to give up, as others had done.

Harvey was no stranger to most of those
present, and all who knew him sympathized
with him. They could not deny, though, that if
the facts were as stated, it was better the coffin
should not be opened.

The room being filled, Harvey returned to
the hall, where, by chance, he stopped near the
detective.

A moment later and a servant approached
bin.

' " Miss Harrington requests that you accom-
pany her in her carriage, where she has reserved
your place,” he said.

“ I will do so,” was the reply.

The servant turned away.

Detective Speare now touched Harvey on the
.arm, and asked:

‘;”Was the young lady your promised wife,
sir

“ Yes, sir,” was the sad reply, “ she was.”

“ Where can I see you for a. few moments
after the burial?”

“ Who are you?" Harvey in uired.

“ I am an old friend of r. Harrington‘s ”
was the reply, “ and I want to have a few wor s
with you in private.”

“ Is your business important?”

“ 1!: me; be of importance, to you.”

”. Very well; name a time and place where I
can see you.”

The detective did so, they were agreed upon,
and then Harvey went in to join Irene.

The pail-bearers had now taken their places,
and the coffin was carried out, the mourners
following, Harvey supporting Irene as she came
from the room.

Speare hastened away at once and hired a car-
riage, at a stable not far away, and joined the
others.

When the arrived at the cemetery, he saw
that the co n was placed in a vault.

It was soon over, and Broadway Billy was left
in the house of the dead, and the iron doors were
locked.

At the appointed hour, later in the day, Detec
tive Spears and Harvey Baldwin met.

After some words of greeting, the detective

She would not allow the coffin to be ‘

f “ I take you to
,‘ determined mind.’
I “ I have been said to possess those qualities,
,‘ sir,” was the reply.
“ I thought I was not mistaken. Now. sir, let

I me ask you, what do you think of your not being
I allowed to see that dead girl to-day?”
“ It is something I cannot understand. I have
I been told that the coffin was open yesterday, and
:‘ that she was seen by all who called. And, too,

it is said that her face was then perfectly pre-
I served (and why should it not have been?), and
l that she seemed more like one sleeping than like
, one dead.”
I “So I, too, have been told; and I tell you, Mr.
I Baldwin, there is something wrong.”
I

be a man of strong will and

“ What do you mean f”
“ \Vell, note these points: In the first place, is
it not an unusual thing for a body to be put into

1 its coffin, especially at this time of year, before
; the day of the funeral? This young woman was
I in her coffin all day yesterday. In the next
i‘ place, is it not impossi do for such a change to
I ave taken place in so short a time? Would not
I some indication of it have been noticed yester—
| day?”
I “ The same questions have presented them-
' selves to me, sir,” said Harvey.

“ \Vell, and how do you answer them?”

“ I do not answer them at all. They
, me completely.”
I “ And they do me, too. Now, when you were
! denied the privilege of seeing the body, I believe
i I saw a look or" stern determination come over
your face, as though you were resolved upon see-
ing it in spite of them all. Am I right?”

“ Such certainly was my determination, sir,”
was the reply, “ but I see now that I shall have
to give it up. It would be folly, I fear, to at-
‘ tempt it.”

“ Why so?"

“ BecaUse, it would involve a night visit to the
I cemetery, and discovery would not be at all
pleasant.”

“Suppose you had some one to go with you,
how then?”

“ Old man, what do you mean f”

“ I mean this,” the detective answered. “ At
midnight to-night I am going to the cemetery
" to open that coffin, and if you want to go
with me, I shall be glad to have your cem—

anv.’
p " You are going to 0 en the coffin!” Harvey
excl’aimed; “ what was ina Harrington to you,
sir?‘

“ She was nothing to me; I never saw her, so
far as I know.”

“ Then, why are you going to open the
coffin?”

“Because, I want to see what is in it I”

“ You .Vant to see what is in it! What, in the
. name of Heaven, do you mean?”

“ No other words can make my meaning any
clearer. I want to see what is in it.”

“My God! have you, then. a sus )icion that it
does not contain the body of Vina arrington?”

“ I have; though I may be greatly mistaken.
I am resolved to know.”

“ But, what is your suspicion?" Harvey asked
excitedly.

“ Will you first answer a question?”

u YPS'ii

“ What is your opinion of Irene Harrington?”

“ I herd] know. She is not like Vina was,
and I coul not trust her.”

“ Do you know what their father’s will was?”

“ No, I do not.”

The'detective then gave him all the particu—
lars of the case, so far as he knew them, and he
had made many inquiries into the matter since
morning; and Harvey had to admit that there
was good reason for suspicion, horrible as that
suspicion was.

“ And you will join me?” the detective asked.

“ Yes, decidedly; I will go with you, for I too
must know the truth.”

And so it was settled. A time was named
and a place of meeting appointed, and so they

parted.

puzzle

‘I
l
.
1

 

CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE CEMETERY VAULT.

“ SWEET per-taters!”

Broadway Billy, and alive, of course!

When he came to. the first he realized was
that he felt stiff. sore and cold.

He tried hard to think where he could be, and
what had taken place.

His head ached, and he could not collect his
thoughts.

All was inky darkness, and the air felt heavy
and oppressive.

 

 

 

 

 

  

He wondered where he could be.

The more he tried to think the clearer his
mind grew.

Trying to move, he found that he could not do
so, and then he realized that he was gagged and
bound.

Like a flash, then, the truth dawned upon
him, causing him the mental exclamation
quoted.

“ Great Caesar! but they did box me up, I
really believe!” he thought, in alarm. “ I won-
der if I‘m planted. Guess I must be, fer it feels
most awful cold an’ damp, an’ there ain’t a
sound to be heard. I guess I‘m done for this
time, sure pop.”

Moving his head from side to side, and also up
and down, he found that he was indeed in the
coflin, and that the coffin was closed. '

“Billy,” he mused, “you’ve done it jest once
too often now, an’ see what ye’ve come to. Here
ye be, planted in a coffin, an’ not likely ter git
out till th’ great trump blows. It’s sad, most
awful sad for us, Billy; but so it is, an’ we’ll
have ter grin an’ bear it. If we only could git
out, though, wouldn’t we make a rattlin’ ’mongst
th’ dry bones!“

It was fortunate for the boy that Vina Har-
rington, in her great dread of being buried
alive, had ordered holes put in the coflin, and
the coffin placed in a vault.

Had it been otherwise, Billy would never have
awakened in this world.

All these things came to his mind, as he lay
there in his dark and narrow bed.

“ W ondcr what sort 0’ funeral I had,” he
thought. “ Did Murray Hill how its proud head
an‘ shed tears over me any? Lord! but I’m
ahead 0’ most folks in that way, anyhow. Too
bad I couldn’t ha’ been awake. so’s ter heard in
funeral preached. It must ha’ been rich. It
had been, though, I s’pose I’d wiggled an’
bobbed my head till I’d made ’cm understand
that I was alive, 2111’ so s i’iled all th’ fun.”

He tried to brace up his courage, but it was
almost a hopeless task. He was sick, cold, stiff,
and sore, and these conditions did not tend to
lessen the horrors of his position in any degree.
Death stared him in the face.

He tried to draw up his legs, and thus force
the lid of the coffin from its place, but could not
do so. It was too firmly fastened.

“ Of' all th’ diflikilties I cVer got inter,” he re—
flected, “ this one jest scoops th’ turnips. No
old mummy was ever laid away fer keeps any
more keerful an’ secure. Lord! but it’s awful
ter think of: How long hev I been here? Give
it up. Mebby I’ve got tcr stay right here till I
starve, if 1 don’t (lie 0’ hunger first, Ughl but
it is some cold, too. \Vell, since I can’t help
myself any I reckon I’ll have ter grin an’ bear
it. Mebby some one will come round afore
many hours, and then I’ll do my best ter make
’em hear me.”

It was a little after midnight, and the effects
of the drug that had been given to him had
passed.

“ For a boy 0’ my age an’ size,” his thoughts
ran on, “ I seem ter git inter more trouble than
any other feller I ever heard of. Once let me
git out 0’ this box, though, an’ we’ll see if I
can’t unload some 0’ my troubles where they be-
long. It’s most ernufl’ ter make angels weep,
ter see th’ way I’m ’posed on jest ’cause I’m
small. Lord! if I could only have fer jest five
minutes th’ left ear of Inspecter Br— Hello!
what’s that?”

He had heard a noise.

Listening sharply, he heard it again.

It sounded like two pieces of metal being
struck together lightly, and added to that sound
there presently came another like the creaking
of a heavy door.

Then steps were heard, and the door creaked
shut again.

Soon after there came light through the holes
in the coffin.

Then voices were heard.

Billy remained perfectly still for the present,
wanting to learn what was going on before he
made his presence known.

The two men who had entered were Detective
Speare and Harvey Baldwin.

“ So far so good,” remarked Speare, as he

flashed his light around the dismal place, and
now for the ccffin.” '
. .“ Sweet pertaters!” Billy tried to shout out
instantly recognizing the detective‘s voice, “i
that ain’t Spears then I’m a howlin’ monkey.
What in wonders is he doin’ here?”

“Yes,” repeated Harvey. “ so far so good,
and now for the coffin. We shall soon know their
secret now, if there is any to learn.”

“ Which is the coffin?" asked Speare.

“ This is the one,” answered Harvey, laying

 

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Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

13

 

 

his hand upon the end of the box of the newly
introduced casket as it lay in its niche.

Billy’s heart jumped for joy. He was to be
rescued!

“ All right,” Speare rejoined, placing the
lantern upon the floor. “ Now help me draw
the box from this hole  that we can get at it.”

The two men carefully drew the boxed casket
forth from the burial alcove and placed it upon
the floor. “Now hold the light,” ordered
Speare,” and I’ll soon have the box cover off."

Then, the imprisoned boy heard the screw-
driver at work, and no pen can adequately ex-
press the joy he felt.

“ Lordy—oh l” he exclaimed in thought, “ won’t
there be a surprise-party here, in a few minutes!
VVon’t their eyes hang out like goose eggs!"

In a few moments the light top board of the
box was removed, and the coffin revealed.

“ “'e had better lift the coffin out, so as to get
at it more convienently,” suggested the detec-
tive. This was done and the coflin With its head
restin on the box was in proper position for
operat ons.

It took some little time to remove the screws,
but at last the task was done.

“ Now,” said Speare, “hold the bulls—eye'close
and be prepared for whatever is to be seen.”

“ I am ready,” answered Harvey, his voice a
little shaky, “ take it off.”

Speare did so, and Billy, half dead as he
was, could not resist the temptation to wink at
them in the drollest way imaginable.

Both men uttered exclamations of surprise,
and stared at the boy in amazement.

“ It is my little friend, Broadway Billy l” ex-
claimed Speare, after a moment. “ This is the
boy I mentioned to you. You see there is crook-
ed work going on, and my life upon it this boy
knows the whole secret.”

" There is villainy afloat indeed!” agreed
Ilarve , “ and dearly shall the evil ones pay for
what t ey have done.”

In a short time the lower half of the lid was
removed, and Billy was lifted out and freed of
his bonds.

But he could not stand. The effect of the
powerful drug, together with his long confine-
ment, had rendered him helpless.

Speare happened to have some brandy with
him, and he hastened to pour a little of it into
the boy’s mouth. And then he and Harv set
to work to exercise his limbs to bring the blood
back to its proper warmth and activity.

For fully ha f an hour the worked with him
untiringly, and at the end 0 that time he was
able 'to stand. But he was very weak, and, for
once in his life, Could hardly speak.

“We must get him home as soon as we can,”

declared Speare, “ and call a doctor to him.
We can do nothing now until We learn what he
knows.”
“ I :(gree with you perfectly,” Harvey ac-
quiesc . “What about the coffin, though? If
it is found empty before we have time to act,
will our birds not take flight?”

“ You are right. We must put something into
it, and replace the lid as we found it.”

“What shall it be?”

“ Perhaps we can find some stones. Ahl here
is just what we want.” .

n one corner of the vault was a heap of
briiks, and to that the detective pointed as he

e.

“ They will answer nicely,” Harvey .

Telling Billy to sit down, which the y was
glad enough to do, the two set to work to place
enough bricks in the coffin to equal his weight,
as nearly as they could guess.

It was not a very great task, and when they
were done, havin placed the bricks in carefully
so that they Wou d not be likely to move when

, the coffin came to be lifted, the detective put on

the lid and screwed it- down.

“There,” he declared. “ unless they open it
again they will never know the difference.”

Making sure that they were leaving things
about as they had foun< them in the vault, the
two men assisted Billy to rise and helped him
toward the door.

When the door was reached. Speare turned
the slide in his lantern and they went out in
darkness.

The fresher air made Billy feel better almost
at once.

Speare secured the door as he had found it,
and than, helping Billy along, they started to
leave the cemete .

They were near 3 to the int where they had
entered, when, su denly, t ey were accosted by
a watchman.

“ Look ’0 here, now,” he exclaimed. “ where
he on fellers goin’ an’ what e been up to!”

tective Speare flashed h s lantern upon“ the I

 

man instantly, and saw that he had a revolver
in hand.

“ I’m an officer,” he explained, “ and had to
chase this young hound in here to catch him.
See my badge?”

“ Oh! that’s all right!” declared the watch-
itgg’ii, at sight of the badge; “ what‘s he been up

“ Snatched this gentleman’s ticker.”

“ Well I’m glad ye got him. There’s too
many 0’ his kind ’round here 0’ nights.”

“ You are right.”

The watchman thus disposed of the were
soon out of the grounds. and then they lost no
time in making their way to the place where
they had left their carriage.

It was still there, and getting in, they were
soon speeding away toward the city.

Detective Speare thought that Billy’s own
home would be the best place to take the boy to,
and knowing where it was, directed the driver
accordingly.

0n the way they did not ress the boy for any
information, but allowed im to sleep, as he
seemed reatly inclined to do.

Mrs. eston was overjoyed, as may be im-
agined, and 10st no time in caring for her boy.

It was not now considered necessary to call a
doctor, and leaving Billy safe in bed and sound
asleep, Speare and Mr. Baldwin went away‘,
promising to call at an early hour next morn-
100'.

Ber once Broadway Billy had met with an ad-
venture that proved too much for him. The
final round of the death racket was yet to be

fought, however.

At quite an early hour next day, Joel Bury-
all, the undertaker, and one of his assistants,
drove out to the cemetery.

The health officers, Buryall said, had ordered
him to bury the body of Vina Harrington at
once.

The coffin was taken from the vault, and a
grave \i as prepared.

While the grave wasbeing dug, Buryall tried
to get an o portunity to look into the coffin, but
could not 0 so without the others present see-
ing him, so he gave it up.

When the grave was ready the coffin was
lowered into it, and. as the ev11 rascal thought
all was over with Broadway Billy. Little did
he imagine that the boy was at that moment
alive, well, and free, and that his own doom
was near at hand.

CHAPTER XV.
BAGGING THE GAME.

Tan hour was early, too, when Detective
Speare and Harvey Baldwin returned to see
Broadway Billy.

Billy was not yet awake.

His mother would call him, if they wanted
her to, but she was of the opinion that he needed
the rest badly.

“ No, do not call him yet,” demurred Speare:
“let him have another hour, anyhow. We want
his mind to be perfectly clear. It is early and
we can wait.”

Harvey was all impatience to learn where
‘l7inal was, but saw the necessity of making haste
s ow y.

The two men settled down in the widow’s
comfortable room to pass the hour.

“We can afford to wait,” explained Speare,
as he noticed Harvey’s uneasiness, “ for we have
almost a sure thing before us. This brave boy
has been into the whole. racket and has no
doubt done good work. It was the knowledge
he had gained that led to his being put out of the
way more than likely.”

The minutes dragged slowly, though, and the
first half of the hour seemed like an age.

Before the second half was near gone, they
heard the boy bound out of bed in an adjoining
room with the exclamation:

“ Sweet pertaters!”

Richard was himself again!

_“ Great stars!" the boy exclaimed, as he hur-
ried into his clothes, “have I been a-dreamin’,
mom, or have I been inter th’ worst consarned
racket that I eVer was in? Seems ‘ter me—”

“ Billy, Billyl” his mother called out, “ do not
go on so. Here are gentlemen to see you.”

“ Gentlemen ter see me 5’ Good enough. I’ll
be there in jist two shakes. Is it Inspector
Br— Hello, t is you, Speare, is it?”

“ How do you feel!” S

“Good,” was the, rep ; "an’ I’ve got one of
th’ greatest tales 0’ ha times and had blood
ter pour inter yer ears that ye ever listened to.
I’ve been on th war-path, I have, an’ I’ve got a
bar’l 0’ seal 1—” '

“ Billy, my!” his mother reproved.

are asked.

 

“ Oh! but it’s a fact, mom, sure’s ye’re born:
I came urty close ter losin’ my own hair,
though, fgiiess, from th’ en’l ’pearances 0’
things. Say, who is this gent eman?” indicating
Harvey.

“This is Mr. Harvey Baldwin,” the detective
answered.

“I reckon I’ve heard his name before,” re-
marked Billy. “You’re th’ lover of th’ gal
they’ve shut up in th’ mad-house, an’—”

“What!” cried Harvey, “Vina Harrington
incarcerated in a mad~house?”

“ If that word means shut up an’ locked up,
she is,” was the prompt response.

“Now, Billy,” interrupted Speare, “ we want
you to give us the whole story, and tell us all
you know. You have had a serious battle this
time, and all the honors of the case are yours.”

“ All right, rdner; here goes!”

Billy went 8. end, then. and in his oWn homely
way, and in his own terse language, explained
all that had taken place, so far as he knew it.

He was listened to attentively.

When he had done, Speare gave him an ac
count of the funeral, and of his own part in the

ame.
g “ Give me yer hand!” said Billy, in a
choked voice. “You’ve saved my life. Only
fer you I reckon I’d never seen New Yer
again.”

Speare gave his hand and the boy squeezed
it Silently.

“ Now,” Billy cried, “ let’s get right down ter
biz an’ scoop in our game. I’ll turn it all over
ter you, Speare, bein’ as you’re a trifle older’n I
be, but I mean ter be on hand at th’ b’ilin’, we
bet!”

“That is just what we will do, my boy,”
Speare agreed; “ and then,” he added, ‘ I have
other work for you.”

“ I’m yer turnip, every time,” Bill declared.
“I ain’t afraid o’ nothin’, now. A ter a feller
has had his funeral preached, an’ has been
buried, he’d orter be used ter hard knocks.

“I do wish you would ive up such work,”

urged his mother. “ You eep me in a constant
WOI‘R.”
“ 0 need ter worry ’bout me an
mom,” Billy averted, c eerfully, “fer wasn’t
born ter be cut ofl’ in my youth an’ beauty by
consarned difflkilties; sweet pertaters. no!”

Catching his mother around the neck, then,
and 'ving her a hearty kiss, the boy announced
that e was ready.

He was even forgetting his breakfast, so aux»

ions was he to see the end of his detective
battle.

Both Spears and his mother, though, insisted
upon his eating, so he did so.

In half an hour the three left he house, and
Speare went at once to a police justice and.

obtained warrants of arrest for every one of the-

guilty ones.

Then, accompanied by four licemen, they
turned their ste toward the oo-ter street
mad-house Broa way Billy leading the way.

Madam Winchester happened to come to the

door, instead of a servant, and at sight of the-

policeman she nearly fainted.

“Madam,” said the detective, “you are our
prisoner!”

“ What does this mean ?” the woman de-
manded, trying to ut on a bold front. “ 1 fear
there is some mista e.”

“ I ess not,” suggested Speare: and he mo-
tion one of the policemen to take her in
char e.

“ et yer life there hain’t no mistake!” cried
Broadway Billy. “ We’ve got ye dead to rights;
yer jig is up, ye old rip!” .

“ And now show me where the young lady is,”
demanded Harvey Baldwin, all impatience and
anxiety. '

“ Foller me, then,” exhorted Billy, and he
started up the stairs two steps at a time.

S re told his men to all0w no one to leave
the ouse, and he and Harvey followed the boy-

When they came to the top floor, the detec-
tive stopped in wonder. .

“ To think,” he mused, “ that such a horrible
den as this could exist in New York l” .

Billy pointed out the room Vina was in, and,
after knocking, Harvey threw off the hooks,
opened the door and entered.

With a scream of joy Vina sprung into his
arms.

“ I knew you would come 1” she cried. .

“I am glad I have found you, my darling."
Harvey murmured; “and we owe it all to this
wonderful boy i”

“ Draw it mild l",warned Billy.

Harvey had beu‘ghta cab, and he led Vina
from the hence at once'and brought herh'omo—
to his home.

more-

 

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14

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Resume; “‘3‘er , ‘ V .. ,‘,,$.E'.w.,.. . "i 3.51.5“...ufl,’ 1%,, “In,”

Broadway Billy’s Death Racket.

l

 

 

The other cells were opened, and seven other
most unhappy and wretched prisoners were
found. A sickening sight they presented. They
were taken care of by the police, and were
transferred to charitable institutions. Four
were soon released as same; one died; and the
other two were sent to an asylum as really in-
sane—made so by their frightful incarceration
in that iniquitous den.

Having disposed of the prisoners, and left a
policeman in charge of the house, Detective
Speare proceeded next to the hotel where he
knew Hoodley was stopping.

Broadway Billy went, too, of course.

They found Hoodley in his room.

At sight of Billy the man turned deathly
pale, and he tried to rush from the room and
8803 C.

The villain well knew what it meant!

Speare was too quick for him, however, and
snapped a pair of handcuffs upon his wrists be
fore he had time to offer much resistance.

“ Your little game is stopped, my nobby ras~
cal,” he said. “ You are my prisoner.”

Hoodley stormed and raved, as3ert1ng that it
was all a mistake, but to no purpose, and he was
led away.

“ You kin safely bet it ain’t no mistake,”
observed Billy. "It ain’t half as much a mis-
take as th’ one you made in puttin’ me inter
that coffin. It’s about your turn ter be boxed
up now, but it won’t be in a coffin; it’ll be in a
stone jug.”

After disposing of Hoodley, they next called
at the undertaker’s place.

He was not in, having, as stated, gone out to
the cemetery.

He was found later in the day, and at sight of
Billy he was completely paralyzed.

It was of no use for him to deny his part in
"the affair. - -

“ It ain’t no use, Buryall,” observed Billy,
“ fer we hev got ye right on th’ hip. Yc made
a big slip-up when ye set out ter bury me, Mr.
Buryall. an’ I guess ye’ve buried all ye will fer
some time to come, for we’ll bury you in Sing
Sing, 2”

He, too, was locked up.

This was just the fun Billy liked, and the ras—
cals knew that they were in a bad place.

The next one called on, after Hoodley, was the
doctor.

“ Hello! Doctor, how d’ye do?” called out
Billy, when they entered his office. “I’ve come
back to tell ye that yer medicine didn’t do me no

00d.” ‘
g The doctor’s face was a study.

“ You are my I risoner, sir,”announced the
detective, quietly, snapping the bracelets upon
him.

“ What means this outrage?” cried the doctor
fiercely.

“ You will learn all in good time,” the detec—
tive responded.

“ Sweet pertaters, yes 1” echoed Billy. “ You
will learn that it takes more’n one dose ,0’ yer vile
medicine ter kill a lad o’ my size an’ color, an’
more’n one coffin ter hold him. Some more
things ye’ll learn, too, more’n likely. Oh, ye’r’
bad medicine—you be!”

The next person arrested was Carter.

Like the others, he made much ado, but it was
useless.

And when he saw Billy— Well, he could have
been knocked down D 1th a straw.

“ Surprisin’, ain’t it?” remarked Billy. “ I
tell ye, Carter, this is a great world 0’ surprises,
ups an’ downs, for sich like thieves as you! ’

“ How did you escape?” Carter demanded.

“ That’ll be somethin’ fer ye to puzzle yer
brain over when ya get up ter yer new home at
Sing Twice,” Billy answered: “ you’ll have plen-
ty of time there, to wish you hadn’t made my
acquamtancc.” »

It now remained to arrest Irene Harrington.

When the detective went to the Harrington
house, though, he found everything in a state of

excitement.

Irene had only a few moments before shot and
killed herself !

In some way Hoodley had managed to get
word to her that all was lost. after his arrest,
and she had taken her own life.

“ She couldn’t ha’ done a better thing, I
reckon,” decided Broadway Bill , “ for she was
a bad egg. That sister 0’ born 15 well rid o’ sich
a fiend

“ So crime is always rewarded, sooner or
later,” obssrved Speare. “ There is nothin like

. living an’ honest, upri ht life, my boy. 8 n is

fair to look upon, an very enticing; but the
moment you raise the van you see the grim,
glint specter, Death, grinning at you from be-

CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION.

JOSEPH HOODLEY, Bob Carter, Joel Buryall,
Phelps Ketcham, and Madam Winchester, all re-
ceived the pumshment they so richly deserved.

Irene Harrington was decently buried. and
Vina at once gave her share of her father’s for-
tune to charitable institutions.

It was a terrible blow to Vina, for she always
loved Irene.

Harvey Baldwin and Vina Harrington were
married, in due time, and Broadway Billy at«
tended the wedding.

Billy has many friends in New York, and
among them Harvey and Vina do not hold second
place to an y.

As soon as the arrests in. this case were made,
Billy performed the work required of him by
Delaftective Speare, and with great credit to him-
se .

He and Speare are the best of friends, and
Billy quite frequently assists him in the working
up of a blind case.

But, Billy is the same as ever, to his street
partner, and he and Skinny get along nicely
together in their business.

Skinny, though, declares that Billy was not
cut out for a merchant, a fact which Billy begins
. to realize.

“ You’ll never amount to anything,” Skinny
tells him, “ until you kin shake off that awful
detective fever an’ settle down to biz. You’Ie
bound ter keep on until you git killed, an’ then
I’ll have ter m inter mournin’.”

“ I tell ye ain’t ter be killed by no pesky ras—
cals,” Billy answered. “ I’m bound ter live my
full number o’ years, we bet! An’I’m goin’ ter
keep right on bein’ p‘izen ter all sorts o’cvil doin’s
an’ rascality. I’m a terror when I get wound up.
we betl I’m bound ter be chief o’ p’lice aforc [
die, or somethin’ in that line. Didn’t I handle
that last case like a daisy? Didn’t I make a
good showin’ in th’ big racket? even if I did get
put in a coffin an’ planted? I tell ye, Skinny,
I’m a game bird, I am; i ain’t got no wings or
tail, but I get there jest th’ same.”

THE END.

 

Beadle’s pique Library.

1 A HARD CROWD. Ely Philip S. Warne....   10c
2 THE DARE-DEVIL. y Col. P. Ingraham . . . . . . 100
3 KIT CARSON, JR. By Buckskin Sam . . . . . , . . . .. 10c
4 THE KIDNAPPER. By Philip S. Warne . . . . .. . 10c
5 THE FIRE FIENDS. By A. 1’. Morris. .. . . . . .  100
6 WILDCAT BOB. By Edward L. Wheeler . , . . . .. 100
7 DEATH—NOTCII, TIIE I)EsTROYER. Oll Coomes.. We
8 THE HEADLEss HousEMAN. By Mayne Reid... 10c

9 HANDY ANDY. By Samuel Lover .. 10c
10 VIDOCQ, TIIE FRENCH POLICE SPY. By himself. 10c
11 lllIDsRIPNAN EASY. By Capt. Maryatt  10c
12 THE DEATH-SHOT. By Capt. Mayne Reid .. . 10c
13 PATHAWAY. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 10(-

li THAYENDANEGEA. TEE SCOURGE. Ned Buntline. 100
15 THE TIGER SLAYER. By Gustave Aimard. . . . . 10c
16 THE WHITE WIZARD. By Ned Buntline  . . .. 100
17 NIGIITsIIADE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson  . 10c
18 THE SEA BANDIT. By Ned Buutline. . . . . .. . . 100
19 RED CEDAR. By Gustave Aimardi. .  . . . We
90 THE BANDIT AT BAY. By Gustave Aimard... 10c
21 THE TRAPPER’S DAUGHTER. GustaveAimard . 10c

22 WHITELAW. By Dr. J. H. Robinson .. .. . 100
23 THE RED WARRIOR. By Ned Buntline  . 10c
24 THE PRAIRIE FLOWER. By Gustave Aimar .. 10c

25 THE GOLD GUIDE. By Francis Johnson. . . . . 100
26 THE DEATH TRACK. By Francis Johnson . 100

28 THREE-FINGERED JACK. Joseph E. Badger. Jr. 100
29 TIGER DICK. THE FARO KING. P. S. Warne . 10¢
30 GOSPEL GEORGE. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr . 100
81 THE NEW YORK SHARP. By Albert .Aiken.. 10c
32 Know or YALE. By John D. Vose .,  . 10c
33 OVERLAND KIT. By Albert W. Aiken .. . 100
34 ROCKY MOUNTAIN Ron. By Albert W. Aiken. 10c
85 KENTUCK. THE SPORT. By Albert W. Aiken. 10c
U INJUN DICK. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . . . . .. .
87 HIRL, TEE HUNCEDACK. By J. H. Robinson...
38 VELVF-T‘ HAND. Bv Alrert W. Aiken. . 100
‘ 39 THE RUSSIAN SPY. By Frederick Whittaker. 100
40 THE LONG HAIRED ‘ PARDH.‘ J. E. Badger, Jr.. 10c
41 (101.1) DAN. By Albert W. Aiken. .
42 THE CALIFORNIA DETECTIVE. A. W. Aiken. . .. 100

43 DAKOTA DAN. By Oll Coomes .  . 10c
44 OLD DAN RACREACK. By 011 (‘oomes.  . 100
45 OLD BULL’S EYE. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.... . 10c
46 BOWIE-KNIEE BEN. By 01] Coomes  ..  10¢

47 PACIFIC PETE. Bv Joe E. Badger, .Jr. . . .  . 10c

48 IDAHO TOE. By 011 Coomes. .. . . .. 10c
49 THE WOLF DEMON. By Albert W. Aiken. . .. . 100
60 JACK RABBIT. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr  .. . 10c
61 RED Ron THE BOY ROAD-AGENT. Oll Coomes.. 10¢
52 DEATH TRAILER. B Wm. F. Cody . . . . . . . . .  10c
58 SILVER SAI. By 00. Bella Sara. . . . . . . . . . .  10c

By Philip S. Warne.. . . .. 10c
55 THE SCALP HUNTERS. BK Ca t. Ma 8 Reid... 100
56 TEE iNDIAN MAzEPPA. v A rt . Aiken. . .. 10c
57 TEE SILENT HUNTER. B. Percy B. St. John... 100
158 SILVER KNII'E. Bv Dr. . H. Robin
50 Tu MAN '30! TEXAS. By Albert

64 ALWAYS 0N HAND.

l
. Aiken. 10¢

 

27 THE SPOTTER DETECTIVE. By Albert W.A1ken.. 100 .

 

 

 

60 WIDE AWAKE. Bx Frank Dumont . . . . . . . . .  100
61 CAPTAIN SEAwAIF. B Ned Buntline . . . . . . .  100
6:2 LOYAL HEART. By ustave .-\imard,........ 10c
63 THE WINGED WHALE. By Albert W. Aiken.... 100
64 DOUBLE SIGHT. By .los. E. Badger, Jr. . . . . .. 10c

65 THE RED RAJAII. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 100
66 THE SPECTER BARQI'E. By (.‘a t. Mayne Reid... 100
67 THE BOY JOCREY. By Josep I E. Badger, Jr... 10c
68 TIIE FICHTING TRAPPER. By J. F. C. Adams. 100
69 Tm: IRIsE CAPTAIN. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 100
llVDRAnAD. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. .. .. 100
CAPTAIN (‘OOL BLADE. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.. 10c
3. THE PHANTOM HAND. By Albert W. Aiken . 10c
73 THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CRoss. By Dr. J.

H. Robinson. . _ . 100

‘19
VHC

‘ 74 CAPTAIN or THE RIFIIBS.‘ Capt; MayneR'eidA 10c

"75 GENTLEMAN GEORGE.
76 THE
’77 THE

By Albert W. Aiken... 100
III-:EN‘s MstETEERs. 11y Geo. Albany. 100
‘REsu or FRISCO. By Albert W. Aiken. 100

3 78 THE MVsTERIOUs SPY. By A. M. Grainger.... 100
. 79 JOE PHENIx.
, 80 A MAN 01? NERVE.

By Albert W. Aiken .  me
By Philip S. VVarnc. .. .. 100
81 THE HUMAN TIGER. By Albert W. Aiken..... 10c
82 IRON WRIsT. By Col. Thomas H. Monstery.. 100
83 GOLD BULLET SPORT. By Buffalo Bill  1
84 HUNTED DOWN. By Albert W. Aiken  .. 100
85 THE CRETAN ROVER. By ('ol. 1’. Inaraham .. 100
843 THE BIG HUNTER. Author of “Silent Hunter.” 10c

87 THE SCARLET CAPTAIN. By Col. llclle Sara  lCc
88 BIG GEORGE. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr . . . . . .. 10c
89 Tim PIRATE PRINCE. By (‘01. l’.Ingraham. . .. 10c
ill) WILD WILL. By Buckskin Sam... . . . . . .. 1110
91 THE WINNING OAR. By Albert W. Aiken. . 100

92 BUFFALO BILL. 5y Major Dangerfield Burr .. 10c
93 CAPTAIN DICK TALIIOT. By Albert W. Aiken . 100
91 FREELANCE, TIIE BUCCANEER. By Inmahanr. 10c
95 AEIIORT, THE AXMAN. By Anthony 1‘. Morris. 100
96 DOUBLE DEATH. By (apt. FrchVhiltaker. 100

97 BRONZE JACK. By Albert W. Aiken .. 10c
9H TIIE RM'K RIDER. By Capt. I“. Whittaker.. . 100
9!) THE GIANT RIFLEIIAN. By 01] Coomes .. . 100
1111) THE FRENCH SPY. By A, 1’. Morris. .. 100

ill THE MAN FROM NEW YORK. By A. W. Aiken. 100
102 THE MASKED BAND. By George L. Aiken .. 100
10:} MERLE, TIIE Ml'TlNEElt. CO]. P. Ingraham.. 10c
10! TilONTEZUMA. TIIE IERCILFSS. By Ingraham. 100
105 D.\N BROWN ()F DENVER. By Jos. E Badger.. 100
106 SHIMI‘s O‘BRIEN. By Col. Dollc Sara . . . 100
107 RICHARD TALIIOT or CINNABAR. By Aiken. Inc
108 THE DUKE ()F DIAMONDs. By Fred.“'hittaker. 10¢
10!) CAPTAIN KYD. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam . 10c
110 THE SILENT RIFLEMAN By H. W. Herbert 100
111 Tim SMUGGLICR CAPTAIN. ByNed Buntline, 10c
112 Jon PIIENIX, PRIVATE DETFC‘l‘lVE. By Aiken. 10c
113 THE SEA SLIPPER. By Prof. J. II. lngraham. 100
111 THE GENTLEMAN FROM PIKE. By P. S. Warne 10c
115 THE SEVERED HEAD. By Capt. F.Whitiaker. 100
116 BLACK PLUME. TIIE DEVIL OF'IHESEA. By Col.
I). lngraham ... . .. .. ..
117 DAshING DANDY. By Major Dangerfield Burr. 10c
118 Tim BURGLAR CAPTAIN. By J. H.1ngraham. 100
119 ALADAMA JOE. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.... 100
120 THE TEXAN SPY. By Newton M. (.nrtis. . 100
121 TEE SEA CADET. {v Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 10c
122 SAUL SARDERDAY. By Ned Buntliue .. .. . 10c
1% ALAPAIIA, THE SQUAw. By Francis Johnson. 10c
124 AssOWAUM. THE AVENGER. Francis Johnson. 100
125 THE BLACRsMITR OUTLAW. By H. Ainsworth. 10c
126 THE DEMON DUELIST. By Col. T. H. Monstcry. 100
127 SOL SCOTT. THE lllAstD MINER. By Badger. 100
128 Tim CIIEVALIER CORSAIR. By the authorof
“Merle. the Mutmeer,” . .  .. 100
129 llIIssIss1PPI MOSE. By Edward Willett..... 10c
130 CAPTAIN VOLCANO. By Albert W. Aiken. . . . 100
BircstIN SAM. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.. 10c
13;) NEMO. KING OF THE TRAMPs. By Capt. Fred.
Whittaker, , .. .. . , . . .. 100
1331 RODV, THE ROVER By William Carleton... 100
131 DARKIE DAN. By (‘01. Prentiss Inm'aham. 10c
13.3 'l‘IIE Brsu RANGER. By Francis Johnson... 100
136 Tim OIYTLAW-HI'NTER. By Francis Johnson. 100
137 LONG BEARD, TIIE GIANT SPY. By 01! (‘oomes. 10c
139 TIIE BORDER BANDITs. By Francis Johnson. me
139 FIRE-EYE, THE SEA HVENA. By Ingraham 10c
140 THE THREE SPANIARns. By George Walker.. 10c
141 EQUINOX TOM. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.... 100
142 CAPTAIN CRIMSON. By Major Dangerfield Burr 10c
143 THE CZAR‘S SPY. By Thos. Ii. Monstery. . .. 100
144 HUNCIIBACK 0F NOTRE-DAME. Victor Hugo. 100
145 PISTOL PARDs. By Wm. B. Eyster .  , 100
146 TEE DOCTOR DETECTIVE. By George Lemuel 100
147 GOLD SPUR. By Col. Prentiss lngraham. .. 100
148 ONE-ARMED AI F. By 011 Coomes 10c
149 TIIE BORDER RIFLES. By Gustave Aimard.. 100
150 EL RUBl‘O BRAVO, THE KING OF THE SWORD-
MEN. By Col. Thomas HoyerMonstery. .. . 100
151 TIIE FREEBOOTERS. ‘ B ' Gustave Aimard.. .. 100
152 CAPTAIN IRONNERVE. v Marmaduke Dey . 100
153 THE WHITE SCALPER. y Gustave Aimard. 100
154 JOAQUIN. TIIE SADDLE KING. By J. E. Badger. 10¢
155 Tm: CORSAIR QUEEN. By 001. P. Ingraham. 10c
156 VELVET FACE. By Major Dangerfield Burr. 100
157 MOURAD, TEE MAMELURE. By Col. Thomas
Hoyer Monstery . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. ,
158 THE DOOMED DOZEN. By Dr. Frank Powell... 1
159 BED RI'DIGER. By Ca t. Fred'k Whittaker" 100
160 SORT HAND. SHARP. y William R. Eyster.. 10c
161 THE WOLVES ON NEW YORK. B AW. Aiken. 10c
162 TEE MAD MARINER. By 001. . Ingraham. 100
163 BEN BRION, THE TEA pPER CAPTAIN; or,RED-
PATH. Tm: AVENGER. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 10c
164 THE KING’S FOOL. By C. D. Clark .. .. 100
166 JOAQUIN, THE TERRIBLE. By Joe. E. Badger. 100
166 OWLET. TEE Rosana PRINCE. By Septimus
RUrban .........  ..... .. . ......... ..10cl
A new “we awry Wednesday.
Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all
Newsdealers. ten cent per copv. or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each. BEAl‘LE & ADAMS.
Pub 311618, 98 William Street New York.

H

'3 ’
v;
...A

 

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
  

 

63:2 The Dead Detective‘s Double. By Gerald Carlton.
633 l‘iucky Paul. the Boy Prospector; or, The Dead-
wood Desperado's L ist Innings. llyJ. W. Oshon.

631 (‘ache Carl. the Chico Giant: 01‘. The True Hearts
of Red Eye Roost. By Buckskin Sam.

635 Oklahoma Hi, the Blue-Coat Scout; or, The
Boouier's Last Battle. By P. S. Warne.

636 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Afre" the Queer; or. Saw-
dust Sam's Last Green Game. By Edward L.
Wheeler.

637 Dick Doan. the Dock Boy Detective,
[larbaugln

638 Tom Cat’s Triumph; or. Black Ivan‘s Great
Combine. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

639 Sunrise Saul, the Express-Train Ferret.
Pierce.

640 Bareback Beth. the. Centaur of the Circle. By
J. C. Cowdrick.

641Dismal Dave‘s Dandy Pard; or. The Clew to
Captain Claw. ily \\ illiaiu G. Patten.

642 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Buffalo; or, 4-1144. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

643 Hapgy Hdrry‘s Big Find; or The Beautiful
Jeze el’s inst Stake. By P. S. Warne.

644 The Hercules Higiiwayman: or, The Mounted
Miners ot the Overland. By Col 1’. ingraham.

645 Kit. the Pavement Sharp. By T. C. Harbaugh.

646 Cowboy Girl, the Cattle—Range Detective; or,
'1‘ho_Grand Corral at Cross-Notch. By Lieut. A.
.K. 

647 Typewriter Tilly, the Merchant’s Ward; 01‘.
Amateur Detective against Professional. By J.

By T. C.

By Jo

" C. Cowdrick

648 Deadwood Dick Jr‘s. Chase Across the Conti-
nent. By Edward L. Wheeler.

649 Gamin Bob, the Bowery Badger; or, Scooping a

Slippery Set. By J 0 Pierce.

650 Butterfly Billy. the Pony Rider Detective; or.
Buffalo Bill‘s Boy Pard. By Col. P. ingraham.

651 Bound-Boy Frankthe Young Amateur Detective.
By William G. Patten.

652 Don Barr. the Plain’s Freelance. By Oli Coomes.

653 Billy Bantam, the Boy Beagle. By T. C. Har-
baugh.

654 Deadwood Dick, Jr.. Amon the Smu lers. B
Edward L. Wheeler. g gg y

655 Plucky Paul. the Boy Speculator. By C. Morris.

656 Butterfly Billy‘s Man Hunt. By Colonel Prentiss
Ingraliam.

657 Warbling William. the Mountain Mountebank.
By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

658 Sky-R »cket Rob, the Life-Saver; or, The Storm-
Wait of Giant’s Boot. By Jo Pierce.

659 Moonlight Morgan. the “ Pizenest ” Man of Ante
Bar: or, Cibuta John's Champion Chase. By
J. C. Cowdrick.

660 Deadwood Dick. Jr’s, Insurance Case; or,
COPI'almg a Cunning 'l‘rio. By Ed. L. Wheeler.

.661 Old Kit Randy’s Deliverance; or. Banner Ben,
the Wildfire o! the Prairies. By 011 Coomes.

662 Butterfly Billy‘s Bonanza; or. The Specter Soldier
of the Overland. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

663 Violet Vane’s Victo ; or. Th ) Jas ar Cit Clean
Out. By William Gr.yPatten.L p y

661 Cheeky Charley. the Special' or, The Life Racket
at Rattlesnake Rid:e. By  S. Warne.

665 Jolly Jeremiah, the Plains Detective' or,
Warbling William‘s Home Run, By Lieut.
A. K. Sims.

666 Deadwood Dick. Jr., Back in the Mines; or, The
Mountain Amazon’s Double Game. By Edward
L. Wheeler.

66? Bob and Sam. the Daisy Detectives° or, The
Gamin Spies’ Biz Stake. By Charles orris.

668 The Buccaneer Midshipman; or, The Sea Rover‘s
Ruse. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

669 Broadway iiliy Abroad; or, The Bootblack
Bravo in San FranCisco. By J . C. Cowdrick.

670 Norwa Nels, the Big Boy Mountaineer; or, The
Rival nchmen. By 011 Coomes.

671 Jersey Jed, the Boy Hustler; or, Shadowing the
Shadower. By T. C. Harbaugb- '

672 Deadwood Dick, J r., in Durango; or, “ Gathered
In ” By Edward L. Wheeler.

673 Ralph Renwoo'l. the Lightning Express Detec-
tive. By A. F. Holt.

674 The Wizard Sailor; or, Red Ralph, the Rover.
BY Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

675 Broadwa Billy’s Best: or, Beating San Fran-
cifico's F est. By J. C. Cowdrick.

676 Signal Sam, the Lookout Scout: or. The Tussle
at the Big Bonanza. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

677 Chincafiin Dan's Second Trail; or. The Baffled
Black awk’s Fate. By Joseph E. Badger. J r.

678 Deadwood Dick Jr‘s. Discovery; or, Found a

. Fortune. By Edward Wheeler.

«9 The Sea Shadower; or, The Freebooter’s Legaci-
By Colonel Prentiss Ingrshsm.

 

680 Dauntless Dan, the Freelance: or, Old Kit Bandy ‘

in Arcadia. By Oll Coomes.

681 The Pitcher Detective's Toughest Tussle: or,
Double Curve Dan’s Dead Ball. By George
C. Jenks.

682 Wild Vulcan,the Long Range Rider. By William
G. Patten.

683 Saltpeter Sol. the New York Navigator; or, The I

Unseen Enemy. By Jo Pierce.

684 Deadwood Dick’s Dazzle: or. The Nemesis of
Nutmeg Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler.

685 Happv Hugh. the Boy Musician Detective; 05, ‘

Breaking the Eureka Spider’s Web.

By '1‘.
Harbaugh.

686 Orlando, the Ocean Free Flag; or. The Tamished :

Name By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

687 Broadway Billy} in Clover: or. The Ruction at
Lake Tulare. y J. C. Cowdriek.

688 Chincapin Dan's Home Stretch: or, The Con- '

spiralors of No Man’s Land. By Joseph E.
iadger, Jr. ‘

689 Billy. the ly )sy Spy; or, \mGing out The Mys-
tery of Two ives. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

690 Deadwood Dick. Jr‘s. Do'lars: or, The Humming
Bird of Honeysuckle. 1y Edward L. Wheeler.

691 Headlight Harry’s Haul;or, The Railroad Pards’
hig Day. By A F. Holt.

692 The Rival Sharps: or. Redfern. the Secret Ser-
vice Scout. By (.‘01. P. lngraliam.

693 Violet and Daisy, the Posy Pards; or, The Racket
at Red Hot. Ry Win. (in. Patten.

694 Spicy Jim. the Oiiiy One of His Kind; or, Head-
ing 011" the Crooks. By Jo Pierce.

695 Deadwood Dick,Jr., at Danger Divide; or. De— ’

veiwping the Dead Secret. By E. L. Wheeler.

696 Broadway Billy in Texas; or, Rounding Up the
Red River Bustiers. By J. C. Cowdiick.

697 The Scarlet Sombrerc ; or, The Sharp from
Texas. By Col. P. lngraham.

698 Old Crazy, the Man Without a Head; or. Light-
heart Luke’s Clean Sweep. By J 0s. E. Badger. Jr.

699 Simple Sim, the Bronclio Buster: or. Pia ing the
Fool for Big Stakes. By Lieutenant A. . Sims.

700 Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Drop; or, The Sojourn at
Satan‘s Spring. By Ed'Wnrd L. Wheeler.

701 Photogra h Fred, the Camera Sharp; or, The
Fight tot 0 Finish. By T. C. Harbaugh.

702 Blue Jacket Bill; or. The Red Hat Ranger‘s Red ,

Hot Racket. By 001. Prentiss lngraham.
703 Broadway Billy’s Brand; or. The New York

Delegates in Hard-up Camp. By J. C. Cowdrick. ‘

704 Deadwood Dick, Jr.. at Jack-Pot: or, Making
Crooked Things Straight. By Ed. L. V\ heeler.

705 Violet Vane‘s Vow: or. The Crafty Detective’s
Craft. By William G. Patten.

706 Tom Thistle, the Road-House Detective; or, The
Harlem Sport‘s Star-Faced PaCer. By Jo Pierce.

707 The Red Sombrero Rangers; or. Redfern’s Last '

Trail. By Col. Prentiss ingraham.

708 Light-Heart Lute‘s Legacy; or, The Lucky Lad’s
Winning Hand. By Joseph E Badge r, Jr.

709 The Curbstone Detective; or. Harry Hale’s Big
Beat. By Charles Morris.

710 Deadwood Dick, Jr., in San Francisco; or, Kodak l
i 755 Gold Dust Dan‘s Oath; or. Reckless Roy, the

Kate. the Snap Shot. By Edward L Wheeler.
711 Broadway Billy at Santa Fe; or. The Pard De
tectives' Clever Deal. By J. C. Cowdrick.
712 The Mesmerist Sport: or, The Mystifled Detec.
tive. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

By Col. Prentiss Ingra am.
714 Old Misery, the Man from Missouri; or, The
Mystery of the Mountain League.
Patten.
715 Wide Awake Len, the Quaker Citlyl Ferret; or,
Caging the Cormorants. By T. C. arbaugh.
716 Deadwood Dick, Jr. ’8. Still Hunt; or. The sec-
0nd Round in San Francisco. By Edward L.
Wheeler.

717 Mosquito Jack. the Hustler Gamin; or, Move-on
Mike 8 Grand Catch. By Jo Pierce.

718 Light-Heart Lute’s Last Trail: or. The Gold '

Crater’s Secret. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

719 Pawne0 Bill‘s Pledge; or, The Cowboy Kidnap-
per. By Col Prentiss ln'graham.

720 Broadway Billy's Full Hand; or. The Gamln De- .
Fe. By J. C. l
OOWdflck. i

721 Myaverlck Mose, the Arizona Detective; or, The ‘

tective’s Double Snap at Santa

lzard of Urkos Pass. By Will Lisenbee
722 Deadwood Dick, Jr.‘s, Dominoes; 01’. The Rival
Camp? of the Northern Border. By Edward L.
e . .

.Whee r
723 Silverblade, the . ,cshnne; or. The Border
Beagle’s Secret Mi on. By Joa. E. Badger. Jr.

724 Violet Vane‘s Venm 09; or. The Wipe-Out at
.White_Water. ‘By Wt m G. Patten. ~

725 Daring Dick. Pawnee Bill's Paul: or. The Red

l
I
l
l
713 Carl, the Mad Cowbo : or, The Lariat Queen. i 757 Detective Frank‘s Sweep-stakes; or. A Very
By Wm. G. 
l

BEADLE’S*HALF-DIMEarLIBRARY.

ublished Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers.

 

726 Dennis L‘ufl. the Brown Sport’s Kid; or, The
Covers and Blinds of Gotham. By Jo Pierce.

727 Headligh' Harry’s Siren; or, Mad Madge, the
Outlaw Queen. By Col. A. F. Holt.

728 Deadwood Dick. Jr.‘s. Disguise; or. Ivan, the
Man of iron. By Edward L. Wheeler.

720 Silverblade, the Half — Blood; or, the Border
Beagle at Bay. By Jos. E. Baltlgel', Jr.

730 Violet \‘iiie’s Verdict; or, The Crooked Game at
Coffin City. By Wm. G. Patten.

731 Ruth Redmond. the Girl Shadower: or. The
Rivals in Buckskin. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

73:2 Daisy Dell. the Pavement. Detective: or. Trap-
ping Big Game. By T. C. Harbaugn.

733 Toltec Tom, the Mad Prospector: or, Unearthing
the Cavern League. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

734 Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Double Dual; or. The All-

‘ Ardund Surprise. By Edward L. Wheeler.

735 Broadway Billy’s Business; or, Waking Up \Vind

5 Canyon Camp. By J. C. Cowdrick.

' 7'16 Larry, the 'l‘lioroughhred; or, Beaten on Every
Side. By George C. Jenks.

737 Buck Taylor, tie Comanche‘s Captive; or, Buck-
skin Sam to the Rescue. By Col. Prentiss Ingra-
ham.

738 Broadway Billy‘s Curious Case; or. The M s
terious Disappearance at Manitou Springs. y
J. C. Cowrlrick.

739 Silverblnde, the Hostile; or, The Border Beagle’s
Ghost Trail. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

740 Dead wood Dick, Jr ’5. Deathwatch: or. The
Moving Mystery at Mexican Mustang. By Ed-
ward L. Wheeler.

741 Violet Vane, the Ventriloquist Vidocq; or, Sport
against Sport. By Wm. G. Patten.

742 Billy Winks. the Bell-Boy Detective; or, Break-
ing the Meshes of the Golden Coil. By T. C.
Ilbrbaugh.

743 Buck Taylor’s Boys; or The Red Riders of the
Rio Grande. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

744 Dick of the Docks, the Niglitowatch; or, The
Water Waif‘s Dead Past. By Jo home.

745 Kansas Jim. the Cross-Cut Detective; or, The
Raiders of the Range. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

746 uiet Jack, the Secret Service Spv: or. ‘Too

uch for Bed Leary. By Dan Dunning, (oi the
Secret Service Corps).

747 Deadwood Dick. Jr. s. Double.; or. The Tandem
Team of Teddy‘s Tailings. By Ed. L. Wheeler.

748 Silverbiade, the Friendly; or. the Border Beagle‘s
Boy Pard. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.

749 Dashin 'Charlie, the Yonnz Scalp-Taker; or, The
Kentuc 'y 'i‘enderfoot’s First Trail. By 001.
Prentiss lngraham.

750 Violet Vane. the Vanquislied; or The. Life Strug-
gle at Shanty City. By Wm. G. Patten.

751 Gold-Dust Dan, the Trail Patrol. By John W.
Osbon.

752 Deadwood Dick, J r.’s, Deathblow; 01‘. The Little
Circus at Last Chance. By Edward L. Wheeler.

753 Broadway Billy in Denver; or, The On- the-Catch
Combination. By J. C. Cowdrick.

754 Billy Winks, the Boss Boy Shadow. By T. C.
Harbaugh.

Regulator. By J. W. Gabon.

756 Dashing Charlie’s Destiny; or, The Renegade’s
Captive. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

Remarkabfe Expose. By Charles Morris.

Di 1:, .‘s Des rate Strait' or The
758 Deadwood c Jr , ems“. By.Ed,ward

Demon Doctor of Dixon’s
L. Wheeler.
759 Headli ht Harry’s Heritage; or The Railroad
Pards i151 Fortune City. By A. F. Bolt.
Charlie’s Pawnee Pard' or. Red Hair,
760 affirifiagade. By Col. Prentiss lugraham.
Marmaduke. the Mustanger Detective; or, The
‘ 761 Great Mix-Up at Crcscent Butte. By Lieut. A.
l V K. Sims.
762 Broadway Billy’s Bargain; or, The Three Detec-
tives in Denver. By J. C. Cowdrick.

763 Violet Vane‘s Vision; or. The Fiery Hand of
Fate. By Wm. G. Patten.
Ready March 8.

764 Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Lone Band; or, Kodak
Kate’s Secret Seven. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
Ready March 15.

A new issue every Tuesday. I
The Half-Dime Library is for sale by ‘11
Newsdealers. flvo cents per copy, or sent by mail,
on receipt of six cents each. ‘
BEADLI AND ADAMS, Publishers. '
as William-street. New Yul-k.

 

Cavalry Raid. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. J

 

 

Broadway Billy“

.K

ovels in Headle’s Half-flime Library. *

 

 

 

By J. B. Cowdrick.
490 Broadway Iiilly',;i;:30(itlilack Bravo; or,

Brought to Bay by a Bold Boy.

514 Broadway Billy’s Boodle; or, Clearing up a
Strange 0558.

536 Broadway Billy’s “ Diflikilty;” or, Old Rod-
man’s Millions.

557 Broadway Billy’s Death
Street Arah’s Wake.

Racket; or, The

 

- u
«an...
"w..- Mann. w. .
u—~.~wvu...~.'i—..
n...hlhn~v.li"
in nu.

 

 

579 Broad way Billy‘s Surprise Party; or, The
Chimney Spy.

605 Broadway Billy; or, The Boy Detective’s
Big Innings.

628 Broadway Billy’s Dead Act; or, The League
of the Sworn Seven.

    

Winlhndm'ilhul

 

 

669 Broadway Billy Abroad; or, The Bootblack
Bravo in San Francisco.

675 Broodway Billy’s Best; or, Beating San
Francisco’s Finest.

687 Broadway Billy in Clover; or, The Ruction
at Lake Tulare.

696 Broadway Billy in Texas; or. Rounding Up
the Red River Bustiers.

703 Broadway Billy’s Brand: or, The New York
Delegates in Hard-up Camp.

 

 

 

711 Broadway Billy at Santa Fe; or, The Pard
Detectives" Clever Deal.

720 Broadway Billy’s Full Hand; or, The Garnin
Detective’s Double Snap at Santa Fe.

735 Broadway Billy’s Business; or, Waking Up
Wind Canyon Camp.

 

 

738 Broadway Billy’s Curious Case; or, The
Mysterious Disappearance at Manitou
Springs.

753 Broadway Billy in Denver; or, The On-the—
Catch Combination.

762 Broadway Billy’s Bargain; or, The Three
Detectives in Denver.

 

 

 

757 Detective Frank’s Sweep-flakes; or, A Very
Remarkable Expose. By Cliarlea Morris.

7538 Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Desperate Strait; or,
The Demon Doctor of Dixon‘s Deposit.
By Edward L. Wheeler.

759 Headlight Harry’s Heritage; or, The Rail—

road Pards in Fortune City. By Col. A.
F. Holtt

760 Dashing Charlie‘s Pawnee I’ard; or. Red
Hair, the Renegade.

By Col. Ingraham.

 

 

761 Marmaduke, the Mustanger Detective: or.
The Great Mix-up at Crescent Butte. By
Lieut. A. K. Sims.

762 Broadway Billy’s Bargain; or, The Three
Detectives in Denver. By J. C. Cowdrick.

763 Violet Vane’s Vision: or, The Fiery Hand
of Fate. By Wm. G. Patten.

 

 

I 764 Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Lone Hand; or, Ko-

dak Kate's Secret Seven.
Wheeler.

765 Flipper Flynn, the Street Patrol: or, The
Clean Kncck-Out. By Jo Pierce.
Ready March 22.
A New Ismte Enery Tuesday.
meLa’s HALF-Dull LIBRARY is for sale by
all newadealers at five cents per copy, or sent by
mail, poet-paid, on receipt of six cents each.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
as William street, New York.

By Edward L.