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ENTERED AT THE POST OFFICE AT NEw YORK, N. Y . AT SECOND CLASS MAIL RATES.

Published Every QBeadZe (fr fldams, @Izbh'shers, "T3,, Cent“ Copy, r
VOL ’ Week 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y., September 13, 1882. 35-00 3 Yea-h NO° 

THE DOUBLE DETECTIVE; or, THE MIDNIGHT MYSTERYI V

A Romance of the Southland, of the Mysteries of New Orleans, and of the many men and many
women of many lands who dwell in the Crecent City.

 

 

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,

AUTHOR OF “OVERLAND KIT,” “ THE FRESH 01“ FRISCO,” “GOLD DAN,” “CAPTAIN DICK TALBOT,” “VELVET HAND,” ETC., ETC.

 

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“YES, I AM GOING TO PUT THEM OUT WITH THIS HOT IRON.

7"

“MY EYES?” SCREAMED THE OLD TRAMP, IN DEADLY TERROR.

 

4

. surpassed in New Orleans, even by the

 

 

2

The Double Detective.

 

WThe Double Detective;

THE MIDNIGHT MYSTERY.

A Romance of the Southland, of the
Mystcrleu of New Orleans, and
of the many men and many
women of many hands
who dwell in the
Crescent City.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,

AUTHOR or “LA MARMOSET," “JOE PHENIX,
run POLICE er." “ THE WOLVES or NEW
YORK.” “CAPTAIN DICK TALBOT,”
“OVERLAND KIT,” ETC.

CHAPTER I.
MURDERED AT MIDNIGHT.

‘00"! on the still air of the night rung the
shrill scream that told of mortal agony—out on
the spicy breeze, perfumed with t e fragrance
of the orange blossoms, and the thousand and

 

 

 

one scents given forth by the rich plants which

,in a trvical clime find a congenial home.

It is of “Orleans” that we write, the New ‘
Orleans of the English—speakin people but the ‘
Orleans of the native French reoles, and the
half-native Spaniards.

The scene, a superb plantation, some five
miles south of the city, on the river’s bank.

The mansion was an old-time one, built after
the usual style common to the region, low and I
flat, covering a vast extent of ground, all veran- j
das and glass, with a profusion of creeping vines,
now in luxuriant blossom, for it was the balmy ;
October time, when in the South all nature I

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seems to smile.

The mansion was light and airy enough in its
appearance to be a fair palace. and the grounds
which surrounded it, fi ed to profusion with all
the glorious plants which flourish in the fertile 3
soil of Louisiana, seemed like a bit taken bodily ‘
from the summer-land of the frisky elves. I

In the distance gleamed the yellow waters of 3
the great Mississippi, not yellow now though
to the gaze, but rolling onward to their destina-
tion, the great Mexican Gulf, a perfect sheet of
molten silver, thanks to the rays of a. full, round i
moon hanging like a shield in the clear blue sky 
—a sky Spangled with a myriad of twinkling
stars.

All without was peace and rest, for it was the
Witching hour of night, but within the South-
ern palace was a scene of fearful agony.

A chamber upon the second story, with full- ;
length windows, open to the floor and affording '
an easy passage to the promenade without upon i
the roo of the veranda, looking toward the
West, commanding a view of the mighty river,
but the view was broken here and there by
loft trees, live' oaks, tulips and magnolias,
wh ch flourished so gra 1d1y in he fruitful soil.

It was rules in;.: apartment—the apartment
of a woman, On, for it was lifitrally crowded
with costly, dainty pieces of furniture, ar‘istic
odds and ends, little b’ts cf flnery and the rare
trinkets so dear to the heart of -‘ne well-bred,
culture woman.

And in the center of the apartment, strug~
gling in the grasp of the grim destroyer, was a
creature who seemed well fitted to reign as
queen owr this earthly para’ise.

She was tall, superb] formed, with a face of
rare beauty, and her owing locks of golden
hair, and wonderful blue eyes, one would travel
far to see equaled.

Her dress, which was of satin and lace—an
India satin, of uncertain hue, ashes of roses the
nearest tint perha , one of these fabrics a
Russian princess in ht wear, and but few other
women hope to obta —was a masterpiece from
Paris, an evening dress which had never been
glay Cre-
ole dames, with the proceeds of a t ousand
acres in so r-oane to spend u n their persons.

The neck ace of diamonds, emped around her

rfect throat, was such a one as an Indian Ra-

ah might have loried in possessing in the brave
old days when t e far East hold all the riches ‘
of the world.

But now, of what avail ware all the char
ished baubles of this life to the stricken woman,
fighting with unnatural strength against the
near approach of death?

a tin

wen u st 1] in the wound—a- toy such as a
chil would play with, but the death-stroke
had been given with consummate skill—the

slayer had known so exactly where to strike
that the tiny wound had sapped the precious
human life as sure] as though a huge double-
;dged sword had been plunged through the

cart.

Wildly beatin the air with the superb arms,
also adorned w th bracelets of littering dia-
monds, she staggered backward, t c victim of a
most foul deed.

Her larlng|e es, now fast becoming fixed,
staredt roug t e ncasemont.

7 more like a be

13133

knife-blade was in her neck, the -

 

Was it fancy, or d d the d in woman see a
stealthy form—so indistinct ha it was almost

 

impossible to sa whether it was man, woman
or a shifting s adow of one of the ancient
trees, as the limbs stirred gently in the ni ht
breeze—stealing along toward the river’s ban ?

A single scream only had 6508. from her
lips when the death-dealing stee had pierced
her peerless neck, and then she had staggered
back until her progress was stayed by the
dressing-case—one 0 those marvelous carved
beauties which the cunning French artisans
alone seem to be capable of producing. Upon
the marble slab she sunk and her head fell back
against the glass wherein she had so often sur-
veyed her proud beauty.

And in this p sition she was found by the
startled ests who came rowding up the
broad sta rs from the parlors )elow, which had
been ringing with the “ merry sound of music
and of dance ” even at the Very moment when
the blow had cen struck which had called forth
the direful scream sounding loud and clear
above all else.

The lady of the mansion had “ received ” her
friends that night, and her ample parlors were
filled with as goodly a company of “fair wo-
men and brave men” as the city of Orleans
could boast.

At midnight she had eXcuserl herself that she
might play the humble hostess and see that the
viands for the refreshment of her guests were
properly pre ared, but instead of so doing, she

ad ascende to her apartment on the second
story and there met her fate.

Strange was the scene presented when the

1 gay couples. fresh from the joyous dance, came

crowding into the apartment to be transfixed
with horror at the fearful sight which met their

‘ eyes.
I They huddled by the doorway, shrinking close

together for mutual protection, as if some hor-
ri spell was upon them. ’

Death in its most awful shape looked them in
the face; they had eyes only for the terrible
si ht, which, ike the fabled glare of tho basi—
lis , seemed powerful enough to kill, but if any
of them had chanced to gaze through the win-
dow into the garden, perchance a dark form
might have been detected skulking there amid
the luxuriant shrubbery.

For a few seconds only the suspense lasted,
and then the spell was broken.

Foremost in the group was one of the best
sons of the South. Colonel Lancelot Terrebonne,
the “ Beau-saber ” of the famous Texan Tigers,
as good and brave a soldier, and as fine a gen-
tleman, as the land boasted.

The Colonel was a man of eight-and-thirty,
but so lightly did he wear his years he seemed
of twent . Tall and straight,
with regular eatures, olive com lexion, black
hair and eyes he was a perfec type of the
Creole race of Louisiana.

He was the first to find his tongue.

“For Heaven’s sake, ladies, retire!” he ex-
claimed. “This is no sight for your eyes to
witness.”

And then, as if the stricken woman had
caught the sense of the words, with a low moan
she slid from the support of the dressing-case
to the floor, doubling all up in a shapeless
mass.

With screams of horror the ladies fled, some
of them so overcome by the dreadful sight
which they had witnessed that they could
hardl find strength to descend the stairs.

“ do for a doctor immediately some one of

on!” the colonel cried. “Gerard’s plantation
is the third one above; the chances are that on
will find him at home, for he rarely keeps to
hours: I know he nerally leaves the city
about ten o’clock. s will probably be in bed
but you must get him I: : he will come when he
understands how u is the need.”

“ I will go,” responded one of the young men,
“for my horse is all ready: I was only waiting
to take my leave of Mrs. Esperance when this
dreadful tragedy took place,’ and then he hur-
ried awa .

“ Gent omen, ma I call upon some of you to
assist in placing t s unfortunate lady upon the
bed i” the colonel asked “ and if some one will
have the kindness tornll the maids.” ‘

Ready hands were there for the task, for
of the gentlemen had become used to
and slaughter, havin seen womb of it
upon a dozen well-fought fie ds during the great
Civil War, for in the grou were men who had
faced each other as d y enemies, wearing
either gray or blue.

Some one suggested that the little knife still
sticking in the wound, might be removed, but
the colonel objected.

“No, no, gentlemen, we had better leave
everything as it is until the doctor comes. We
cannot do anything to relieve her, for I have
stood b too man death—beds not to know that
this un ortunate ady is far be ond all mortal
help. You can see for yourse ves gentlemen;
death already has set its seal upon er. ”

“ But who could have done this fearful deed i"
asked another one of the “ Do you not
think it is a case of suicide?”

“I think not; a murder most undoubtedly
for no woman would have had the strength and
the determination to drive the knife so d ly
into the neck,” replied the colonel; “ and t t

 

reminds me we are losing valuable time. Let

us at once examine the grounds and see if we

cannst discover some traces of the assassin.”
The idea was a good one and immediately was

-—

carried into execution. *

 

CHAPTER II.
A MYSTERIOUS cmoonsmsca.

SomY the gentlemen withdrew from the
apartment, their spirits sobered by the sight
they had seen, and in a body they proceeded to
the lower floor.

At the foot of the stairs were clustered the
two pretty quadroon maids of Mrs. Esperance
and the darker-hued negre, Cleo, the house-
keeper of the mansion.

The girls were trembling with apprehension
and chattering at a great rate after the fashion
of their class, while the matronly CleOpatra was
endeavoring to repress their “foolishness,” as
she termed it.

“Hus’ yer noise, yer coffee-colored idiotsl”
she cried, reprovingly. “You done t’ink de
house is on fire, dat you chatter like a lot of jay
birds in de woods?”

Then as the gentlemen descended the stairs,
she scanned their faces eagerly, and at once
comprehended from the grave expressions upon
them that some untoward eVent had happened.

She dropped a low “ curtsey ” and asked:

“ Lord sakes! masses, w’at am (le matter i”

“ Your mistress, Cleo, needs your assistance,”
replied Terrebonne, who was Well acquainted
with the negress.

“W’at’s de matter—has she fainted?" but
even as she put the uestion, with the quick in-
stinct of her race 5 e guessed that something
far more serious had happened.

“Your mistress is dying—she has been mur-
dered.”

Loud wails instantly arose from the two
maids. and Ole» for a moment was dazed by
the shock; but she was an old servant and a.
good one and her training soon showed itself.

“Will you done quit Yer noise?” she cried to
the sobbing girls. “We had better go to her,
hadn’t we, massaf” she asked.

“Yes and irstantlv; but come, gentlemen,
we are losing~time and while we dull ' here the
wretch who has done this horrid dee will have
am is opportunity to escape.”

he gentlemen secured their hats and went
forth into the garden. Although all of them
had come that evening on pleasure intent, so
usual is the custom of carrying arms in the
South-west that there was hardly a person in
the party who did not possess a weapon; so
there was no doubt of their ability to subdue
the assassin if they succseded in coming upon

him.

After the departure of the men, Cleo had a
stormy time thh the two girls, for at first they
declared that on no account would the dare to
go upstairs and enter the chamber of ( eath, but
at last by means of threats—she declared she
would tell massa kurnel and the I would both
be locked up in the calsboose if t ey didn’t go
-the negress succeeded in getting the two to
accompany her.

But, when she stood by the bedside and looked
u n the stricken woman the,practiced eyes of

co saw that her mistress was far past all hu-
man aid; the beautiful limbs were already grow-
ing cold. Death indeed had come.

Awe-stricken the girls looked upon the shock-
ing sight; all had seen death before but never
in such fearful shape.

“It’s no use: we can’t do noffing hyer; she’s
done gone, honies, de ood Lor’ rest her soul!”
Cleo observed. “ All at we kin do is to jes’ sit
hyer and watch till de doctor and de gemmens
COme. It won’t do fur to go and leave her
alone for she‘sa heap of jewelry and some of
dem pore black trash from de kitchen might
steal inter de house and help demselves. De
good Lor’ hab mercy on us!” the negress cried,
suddenly; “ w’at has become ch (19 diamonds?”

Tan nuxonns!

They were gone!

The precious string of ems, as fine as the
beaux and belles of New Or cans had ever seen,
necklace and bracelets, were not now on the
person of the dead woman!

That Mrs. Esperance had worn them when she
had 80119 “ll-Stairs Cleo was certain, for she had
exchanged Words with her mistress upon the
landmg belowy and had—with all the love of her
Pan-savage race for finery—looked with admir-
mg eves upon the sparkling jewe

Mebbe, some ob de gemmens one took dem
off—dc kurnel, p’haps?” Virgie, the eldest of the
maids, suggested. ,

“Mebbe, mebbe;” but Cleo shook her head as
though she did not have much behef in this
theory.

The doctor soon came.

Maximilian Gerard was a character in his
way; an old youn manz'he had run through a
splendid fortune mmediataly upon attaining
his ma ority and being ut in on of it.
All been squande excep his landed el-
tatcs, which a prudent father had so tied?
that the could not be of. A; a you
he had udied medicin more as an amusement
and because it afforded an ample opportunities

 

 

a‘

The Double Detective. V

 

 

to go on unlimited sprees than fer any other
purpose, but when his health became ruined by

is violent excesses, and the last of his ready
cash disappeared, he awoke to the consciousness
that in the future he must get his living by his
own exertions; and so, in spite of his own ideas
about the matter, he had to take to the only
profession of which he had any knowledge. He
reformed entirely, and in a very short time
built up an excellent practice, for he really os-
sessed rare abilities as a professor of the be ing

art.

By the time the doctor arrived the guests had
finished their search in the garden, which had
been fruitless, and had returned to the house.

All gathered by the bedside when the doctor
ap roached.

t the first glance the medical man shook his
head; it did not require the skill of a Galen to
tell that all mortal aid was useless in this case.

“She is dead, gentlemen," he announced,
“and all the doctors in the world couldn’t bring
her back to life again.”

He was already in Mession of all the facts,
as the messenger who had been dispatched had
told him all that was known in regard to the
affair as they rode toward the plantation.

“ What do you think about it? Is it possible
that it is a suicide?” Terrebonne asked.

“I think not,” and the doctor surveyed the
body with a critical eye- “it does not seem so
to me; if it is, the lady has made the most de-
termined and successful attempt that I ever
heard of, The coroner should be sent for with-
out delay, and until he comes the body must
not be disturbed.”

“A strange weapon, doctor,” the colonel re-
marked, directing the other’s attention to the
tiny instrument which had so speedil sap
the life of the beautiful woman; “it s on y a
penknife. ”

“ it is a lancet, I think, from the looks of it,”
the doctor replied. “ And whoever used it
knew exactly where to strike to inflict a mortal
wound. That is why I do not think this is a case
of self destruction. A woman would not be. apt
to have. a lancet, and if she did possess one, she
must have considerable knowledge of the hu-
man form divine to inflict with a single stab
such a deadly wound.”

Then Terrebonne happened to notice the ab-
sence of the diamonds from the neck and
wrists.

“ Hallo!” he cried, “what has become of the
necklace and bracelets? why did you remove
them i" he demanded, addressing the servants.

“ ’Deed, massa kurnel, we neber touched a
t’ing!” the negress protested.

“ No, sah; we neber touched dem at all!” the
girls cried in chorus.

' “ What does this mean?”Terrebonne asked,
turning to the rest. He believed the servants
spoke the truth, as also did all the others.

“ What is it?” asked the doctor.

“Why, when we came to Mrs. Esperance’s
assistance, alarmed by her scream, we found
her struggling in the agonies of death,~ and
decked with or costly jewels, exactly as she
had been when she quitted the parlors below-—
diamonds, doctor, worth a good many thousand
dollars.”

“ I have heard of them.” The doctor had
been rather partial to diamonds himself at one
time in his career, and was reputed to be an ex—
cellent judge.

“ She wore the jewels when we placed her on
the bed just before we hurried into the garden
in search of the assassin. Is that not so, gentle-
men I”

The rest confirmed the assertion, for one and
all had noticed the costly gems.

“ And now they are gone. ”

“ The murder was evidently committed for
the purpose of robbing her of the jewels; your
prompt arrival, alarmed by her outcry, forced

he assassin to seek conCealment in t e room
here somewhere, and when on went to seek
for him without, he improve the opportunity
to plunder his victim and then escape, ’the doc
tor observed.

That this theory was correct there hardly
seemed a doubt, and it was immediately ro-
posed to search the mansion from grmm t0
gaff“, although._ as the dector remarked, it
was a great deal like locking the stable doer af-
ter the horse was stolen, for the assassin had
been afforded ample time to escape.

The pro ramme was carried out, but not the
sli htest c ow to the assassin was found.

n due time the coroner (game; a jury was
summoned and the examination began.

No evidence, however, in. re rd to the death
beyond what we have detail was-produced.

. The fatal weafiou was a physician’s lancet, a
new one, never aving apparent! been used.

Small clew this to the door of t e deed.

The murder created great excnement in the
city; the newspapers were full of it, particular-

ly as the assassin secmin ly, had planned his
:IOITId vgprk so we 1 that etection was almost
in a.

great was the interest created by the
crime hat even the supine officials of the City
were timed to action, and a reward of five
hundred dollar! was offered for information
leading to the capture of the assassin.

Murder will out, they say; and et there are
some murders so mysterious that t e Judgment
Day alone will bring the truth to light.

CHAPTER III.
FATHER. AND SON.

FROM the riVerside plantation to a stately
mansion situated in the most fashionable quar-
ter of New Orleans, let us transport the reader.

The mansion was the home of one of the most
eminent men of the city. Few citizens of the
Crescent City could hold up their heads with
Judge Erasmus Clairborue.

The scion of one of the oldest and most dis-
tinguished of Southern families the judge, in
his career from youth to ripe old age, had done
nothing but reflect credit upon the ancient name.

equally distinguished himself, and now, retired
from the active duties of his profession, he em-
ployed himself in the care of his large estates,
distributed through all arts of the country,
for the judge was not on y interested in sugar-
cane and cotton farms in Louisiana, Alabama,
and up the “ Red,” but also in mining matters
in the Far West, to say nothing of an occasional
speculation in stocks in the New York market.

In person, the judge was tall, massive in
build, with a lion-like head, fringed with iron-
gray hair, and lit up by a pair of most thought-
ful gray eyes.

The judge was a very young old man, for
though he was nearly sixty years of age, yet
the fIgray hair was the only visible sign of
the ight of time, and that was not really due
to time, either, for he had. been just about as
gray ever since his thirtieth year, when he
was prostrated, when on a trip up the Red river,
by the terrible malarial fever common to that
r on.

e was as straight as a pine tree, as agile as
the ordinary man of thirty, and for strength,
few men in the city, young or old, could at all
compare with him.

Two living relatives only had the judge—his
son, Raymond Clairborne, a young man of
twenty-two, and his cousin, three times re-
moved; a beautiful girl, by name Philippa Lau-
derdale. She was from the Mississippi branch
of the family, but all her kindred dying in her
childhood, she had come into the care of the
judge until she should attain her majority, be-
ing the heiress of great wealth.

The judge sat in his lihraryin the great arm-
chair, his hands clasped, and his head bent for-
ward in profound thought.

The clock upon the mantle struck one, and
the sound roused the thinker frOm his reverie
and caused him to turn his eyes toward the
window, through which the moonbeams shone.

“ He is late. Will he never come? Must my
vigil last until the light of dawn streaks the
eastern skies .4” he murmured.

But, even as he spoke, faintly to his ears came
the clang of the great front door of the house,
clOsing.

“ It is he, at last,” the judge mused.

He moved his chair nearer to the table,
turned up the drop-light upon it, which had
been burning but dimly, hardly a rival for the
moonbeams streaming in through the window
so freely, and then settled himself in his chair.

Barely had he done so when the door opened
and into the apartment came a handsome young
fellow, tall in stature, well-proportioned, with
golden-brown hair, and iercing brown-black
eyes—enough like the ju go, both in form and
feature, to have convinced any one, at first
sight, of the relationship between them.

This was Raymond Clairborne, the judge’s
0123 child, two-and-twenty years of age, a
in ion] student and reputed to be the bright-
est man in the c ass.

“Julius was waiting in the hall, father, and
he told me that you wished to see me before I
went to bed,” he said.

“You kee late hours, to son,” the father
remarked, With a glance at t e clock.

“ Yes, sir, it is late,” the son re lied, follow-
ing with his eyes the glance of h father and
noting the time; then, with a petulant air, he
flung himself into the chair which the jud e
had pushed toward him. “I suppose] mig t
say I have been detained at the college, or have
been burning midnight oil in deep researches as
to what the old masters of the craft tho ht of
medicine, but it is not the truth, and so will
not say it.”

“And what is the truth? Where have you
been? Don’t answer,” added the judge. hastily,
“if you think I am pushing you too far.”

“on, no, father; there is no reason why I
should make a mystery of the matter. I have
been down the river road to spend a social eve-
n' with a lady.”

“ rs. Esperancei”

“The same: you are a shrewd guesser, fa-
ther.” the youth replied, with hightened color.

“I did not can at it; I was told at the
club to-night t at she gave a rty and that
younhad signified your intention of attend-

!) .
5 There are busybodies, go where you will, who
find nothing better to do than to discuss their

 

neighbor-3’ affairs!” Raymond exclaimed, evi-
dently annoyed.

 

As student, lawyer, soldier. and judge, he had .

 

“M dear boy, the acts of such women as
Mrs. sperance are always noted and comment-
ed upon, and it is not strange that those who as-
sociate with her should also be subject to re—
marks.”

“ You speak as if Mrs. E rance did not
bear the best of reputations,” t e son observed,
a sli . ht frown upon his handsome face.

“ speak as the world speaks. Do you re.
member the story of Circe?’

“ No, I do not exactly; she was a dangerous
woman, I believe.”

“ Yes, a woman as beautiful as an angel and
as dangerous as a fiend. She entrapped and
ruined all foolish mortals who were fascinated
by her smiles." '

“And is Mrs. E rance a Circe, than!”

“ If she is not, w at is she 1”

“Father, you are playing the game of the
French courts and throwin the burden of proof
upon my shoulders. You s ould prove that she
is a siren, not I that she is not.”

“The question I put to you is a simple one
and no unfair advantage is meant to be taken.
Who and what is Mrs. Esperance?” -

“ A very beautiful woman!” The answer was
given in a spirit of banter and yet the keen—
eyed judge could easily detect an undercurrent
of melancholy.

“ So 1 have heard,” the father responded,
dryly, “but on that point I am in no need of
in ormation, for the woman who can turn the
brain of such a boy as you must be both beauti-
ful and fascinating.” -

Again the shade came over Raymond’s face
and a troubled look appeared in his eyes.

“She is a very wealthy widow, a native of
Georgia, but married when quite a girl to a
Frenchman, old enough to be her father. wh ; -.
Wealth was the sole attraction; the match wa
arranged by her parents and she consented,
knowmg no better.”

“Yes yes: the old story: I have heard it a
hundred times at least. She married a man
for his money when she was so young that she
really did not know what love was; he dies; she
is left a rich widow and now she, thinks, pos-
sibly, she will meet some congenial son] who
will be able to show her what true love is. That
is the tale, is it not, stripped of all the cm-
ments of speech with which the e jades deck
their utterances?”

The son was astonished; he had seldom seen
his father so moved.

“ I believe, sir, that is something after the
fashion of her talk.”

“And, if my suspicion is not incorrect, this
woman of forty—”

“ Oh, my dear father, you wrong her; she is
not an hour over twenty-five or six.”

“Bah! forty if she is a day! I know the
tribe well; if she owns to twenty-five it means
that she is from thirtv-eight to forty. These
female furies, disguised as angels, never own to
within ten or fifteen 5 ears of their age. Well,
as I said, this woman has selected you for a
prey. She is cunnin ; she has pushed her in-
quiries cautiously an she has learned enou h
to convince her that one of theseda 3 you Will
a wealthy man, and as you are t e wealthiest
and best favored of all the butterflies whom her
garish light has attracted she has graciously
pleased to smile upon you.”

“Wealth can have very little influence upon
a woman so well situated in regard to this
world‘s goods as Mrs. E rance.”

“ You believe the tale she tells of her riches

“ I believe the evidence of my own eyes; a-
diamonds she wears alone are worth a fortune.

“ And are you a judge of diamonds? Get the
lady to lend you a single stone some time; than
go to some of the Jews in the city and see what

on can get for it. Our Hebrew citizens have

een eyes for diamonds, and the stone that you
or I will accept as a jewel of the first water—an
old mine stone, five hundred years old—théy
Evilll lapgh at as a bit of rubbish, fit only to ca

00 s.

“I can hardly believe it can be the truth;
they are diamonds beyond doubt.”

“Try it and you will be convinced. But you
will not try it, for—she will not permit you.
She will not dare to let the assumed jewelg
out of her pessession, no matter if you offer
deposit With her thrice the value. She is an ad-
venturess—a fraud—an impostor; she has noth-
ing but her beautiful face and form—a. fine cap-
ita . though, when used to advantage."

“ I think you wrong her, but it does not mat-
ter now,” Raymond observed, with rather a
sullen air.

“ Oh, but I do not wrong her as you will find
in time.”

“Perhaps not,” and the mind of the oath
seemed to be far away as be my the
words. .

“ I have hesitated for uite a time approach
this matter, for the ject is a elicateono
even between father and son, but I cannot no.
you become the ray of a scheming adventure-

without doing I can to avert the evil. 'Your
honor, too, is at stake—your cousin a
Here a deep sigh came from the lips the

youifilmufi f if go on
“ we may you , or
you will out girl

ruinthelife of malt

   
  
 
   
  
 
  

    
 
  
 
   
  

 

4

Detective.

 

 

 

 

The Double

 

that breathes the air of earth. It has been un-
derstood for years that you and she were to be
married upon her attaining her majority. I
know that she has looked upon the matter as
settled; on know yourself she has never per-
mitted t e visits of any other suitor.”

“ Lance Terrebonne comes here quite fre-
quently, though.” '

“The colonel is an old friend of the famil ;
he is almost old enough, too, to be the gir ’s
father; besides, he is penniless and with his
reckless, sea 09 ways he would never dare
to think of lifting his eyes to such an heiress as
Phili pa.”

“ e is the boldest rider, the best shot, the
finest dancer, and the most finished gentleman
in the State, and if he were to enter the lists
against me I could not have a more dangerous
rival.”

“ There is no chance of that,” the judge said,
impatiently, as thou h be disliked the interru -
tion. “ But think of hilippa; 3W she shou (1
learn she has a rival in your ections in the
person of this Mrs. Esperance! She comes of a

ot-beaded family; her mother was once obliged
to leave boardingtschool for having boxed the
ears of a teacher who presumed to doubt her
word, and the woman, who was big enough to
eat her, was so awed by the little Southern spit—
fire, that she did not dare to resent the afl’ront.
It is in the ' l’s nature to take upon herself the
rightin of er wrongs if the facts come to her
know] ge. Think what a terrible scene would
ensue and the scandal that would arise if she
should seek this Mrs. Esperance.”

“Say no more, father; I have paid my last
visit to Mrs. Esperance’s mansion; of my own
free will I shall never look upon her face again.”

“ When did you arrive at this decision ’9’

“ To-night. The party was still going on
when I came away; I left the house a quarter
to triage};

‘ n di you part from Mrs. Es rance on
friendly terms?” pe

“ No; she was not pleased. but she told me I
would surely come a sin; I said Iwould not,
and then broke off an came away.”

“ It is far better the acquaintance should
end now than be continued. Now, my boy, let
me counsel you to lose no time in arranging
matters with Philippa; bind ourself to her as
firmly as you can, and it wil give you strength
to fight inst the fascinations of this en-
chantress f she is not satisfied to let you go.
Good-night; I shall sleep better knowing you
are free from this Siren’s power.”

Both father and son rose; they clasped hands,

and as they did so, the judge caught sight of a
tiny s k which looked like blood upon one of
the shirt-cuffs of his son.
“av hat is that, blood 1'” he asked, visibly agi—
. “ I am troubled at times with blood dro ping
from my nosekand a drop, I presume, has allen
upon the cuff.

Raymond answered readily enough, but
there was a strange, abstracted look in his

eyes.

“ You should be more careful; blood-stains
are ugly things sometimes.”

And so the two parted.

CHAPTER IV.
THE SOUTHERN GIRL.

TH! scene which we have just described was
rather a strange one, but one stranger still took
place in the Clairborne mansion, about half an

our previous.

The house, as we have said, was in one of the
most fashionable uarters of the city—an old-
style mansion, but i; originally by a rich Creole
planter for his winter residence, and surrounded

y an elaborately planned garden.

In the rear of the house Were the stables and
the servants’ quarters.

The judge although rather partial to late
hours himself, was extremely strict in regard to
his servants being in bed at a proper time, and
so by ten o’clook at night, all lights were gener-
allyfxtinguished, except in the judge’s apart-
men s.

Philippa the heiress, was also a model girl in
respect to her hours, and usually retired about
ten. On this evening of which we write, she
had hidden the {Edge good-night at the usual
hour and gone her own apartmen which
were in the rear of the mansion, look u out
upon the back garden. The_stables an ser-
vants’ quarters were to the right of the house
and shaded from observation by a hedge of pal-
metto trees.

Philippa had her own maid and man; also her
own h and generall did about as she
pleased, for it was a very i ht rein indeed the
{Judge held overhisbeautifu ward. He trusted

er moat implicitly, and with good reason, for
since She been under his care never had
there been a more docile or lovable ward.

Great then would have been tr e judge’s aston-
ishment, if while watching for the return of his
son he had kept his eye upon the carrin way
and had seen ahorseman enter the gar n at
about half an hour after midni ht.

We say a horseman, for sue the rider ap-

 

geared to be at a first sure, but a close scru-
'ny would have reveale'd that the rider was the
heiress, Philippa, masquerading in male attire.

But the judge’s library was on the other side
of the house, and did not command a View of
the carriageway.

At the entrance Philippa dismounted and
carefull opened the iron gate wide enoughto
admit t e horse, and then closed it again With
the same caution, after the animal passed.

The steed was a pretty, light-stepping beast—
across between an Indian ny and a Texan
mustan , jet-black in hue, With a white blaze in
the fore ead, and two white hind feet; an odd-
colored animal, and one which once seen was
not apt to be forgotten.

As gentle as a kitten, and obedient to the
slightest touch of its mistress’s hand-Wonder-
fully sagacious, too, the animal followed the dis-
guised girl 11 the graveled way as though he
understood t e need of caution, and trod so
lightly that the sound of his steps had not even
reached the ears of the negro, the judge’s own
man, Julius, who watched for “ young niassa’s
return,” within the main entry. '

At the stables all was dark; not a li ht was
visible; every door was securely lock to all
outward appearance, but upon the girl’s cau-
tious summons: .

“Pomp In

A likely—looking “vellow boy ” made his ap-

ce froma she tered nook where he had

n dozing in the shade of the palmetto hedge.

“ Hyer I is, missie!”

“ You have the key to the stable?”

“Yes, missie; I done tol’ old Pete dat I would
’tend to abetting up to-ni ht.”

“ Did any one miss the orsel”

“ No, missie: no, indeedv, you don’t cotch any
of dem lazy ’coons settin’ foot in de stable unless
dey have to.”

‘Very good; put Pepper away, then, give
hima little water, and a good rubbing down,
for I have ridden him rather hard.”

That this was the truth the spots of foam still
upon the animal’s bit clearly roved.

” ’Deed, missie, ye have, an do hose is sweat-
in’, too, sure as or born!”

“He’s not b ; he doesn’t
enou h; rub him down well, t at is all.”

“ es m’um,” and the negro took the horse
by the ridle and led him toward the stable,
but when a few steps away a cry of alarm es-
ca from his lips.

‘Oh, missiel”

“What is the matter—what ails you? Do
you wish to wake all the servants by crying
out in that fashion Tithe 'rl deilnandgd, an-

ily, et barely spea ing a row; a rea .
gr“ Bust, missie, dar’s blood on de rein I”

“ The horse has scratched himself some-
where, that is all,” the lady answered, appa-
rentl irritated by the remark. .

“ es, missie,’ but the 00m shook his
head, doubtfully, as he look at the sable skin
of the steed, unscarred by mark or hurt of any
kind.

“Hold your tongue about it! Mind not a
word 1” Philippa exclaimed, then turned away
and walked toward the house. while the yellow
how led the horse into the stable, where he took

articular care to remove the stain which dis-
figured the rein. _

“Say nuflin’,” he muttered: “no, indeedy!
dar is nebber no good comes a-talkin’ ’bout etch
t’in s.”

T e lady entered the house by the side door,
a key to which she possessed, and then, by
means of the rear staircase, ascended to her own
apartments.

Dinah, her maid, a pretty octoroon almost
aswhite as her mistress, was in waiting and
as she expressed no astonishment upon behold-
ing her mistress in the strange arb in which
she masqueraded, it was clear s e was in the
secret. . _

The girl’s eyes were heavy With ales), and it
was apparent she had had great d culty in
keeping awake. . . ‘ ' .

“ Bress do lam’l Miss Philippa, if_ I ain’t right
glad to see you home!” she exclaimed, as she
closed the door behind her mistress, then care-
fully locked and bolted it. “Yes, indeedy, 1’s
jes’ been on pins and needles all de time dat

on have been gone for fear ole massa take it
inter his head fur to want to see you fur some-

t’in .”

“R’ery little danger of such an event; but
come, help no to remove this miserable dress;
it has served its pur§ise now, and I hone I will
never see it again. on must take it away and
burn it or bury it, or throw it into the river;
hide it from the sight of every one!”

The girl was greatly excited, her face was
deadly pale, the full lips. exquisitely shaped
and which were usual] so ruby red, were almos
devoid of color, while the black eyes were
flashing and the superb bosom heaving with
a itation.

inah had never seen her mistress in such a
state before and much she wondered.

The girl threw OR the broad-brimmed hat,

andthen roceeded to remove the coat. The
miaéig, has ing to assist her, stopped abruptly
W a I

“What is mmatteri Why do you cry out

et half exercise ,

 

 

like that, you idiot! Do you want to alarm the
hq‘isdiimliir’ Phih lood ha "'

iss " dar’sb on er n!
the Wt wailed. Ppa’ y

“ hat a fool you arel Did you never see a
drop of blood before—did you never scratch
yourself with a pin?” Philippa demanded, an-
grily, and tearing of! the gloves which had in-
cased her white and delicate hands, she threw
that: at the maid, in a fit of assion.

e
peued er eyes fell upon the left-hand glove
which was stained with blood, and, in that part
of the glove which, when worn, covers the upper
Tight-hand Side of the palm, were seven little
lcuts, four on the upper side and three on the
ower.

“ Why, 365’ 1001‘ byel‘. missiel” cried the girl,
“ doosn t e glove look fur all de World jes’ as
if some one had bin a-bitin’ yer?”

“Nonsense! In the darkness I rode too near
a palmetto tree and the thorns scratched my
hand; that is all there is to it: and, bark yel
keep your Own counsel about the matter; no
idle gossip about my scratched band, or the
torn glove, or of my mad freak tonight if you
value in esteem.”

“’ , missie, ass I wouldn’t say a, word
’bout any ob dem ur de world l ’ replied the oc—
toroon, with an offended air, hurt by the sus—
picion that there was any doubt about her 3-
delity to the mistress whom she had served
since she wasa child and with whom she had

own up.

“ Swear it!” cried Philippa, with sudden and
angry vehemence. “You are a church mem—
ber—{ou believe that there is a hereafter, and
that reaking a solemn oath will peril your-
soul and doom you to everlasting fires!”

“Ye—yes, missie!” mumbled the maid, terri-
fied by the fierceness of her mistress, usually so
even-tempered and so gentle.

“Down on your knees then and swear I”

And the little l' and u on the shoulder of the
girl, forcing her to the oor, felt like a hand of
iron.

“Swear, by ill your hopes of a blissful here-
after—as you trust to he saved from the eter-
nal torments of the lost souls exposed forever
to the flames, that you will never reveal to any
one, no matter how near or dear to on, your
knowledge of what has taken place t is night,
and if you break the oath may your lost soul
forever burn—”

“Don’t, missie, don‘t I” cried the

irl, in ter-
ror; “don’t say any more. fur r?
0)

ness’ sake!
You make me all oosefieshl indeedy, l’ll
neber In! a we go from me—not a single
word I”

“Be sure you keep the promise. What has
occurred to-night must be securely locked in
our own breasts,” and the girl paced the floor,
trembling with agitation.

The octoroon rose slow] to her feet,

“’Deed, inissie, I t’ink at you are jea’right.
’bout dat. Why, w’at would old massa fly it
he should .find out dat you were out at dis hyer
time of night and wid dat sort of clothes on?
and mm massa, too, w’at wouldn’t he say?”
andt e girl threw her hands u in horror at
the idea. “Why, he would jes go crazy, fur
gur'e’, ’oos he loves de very ground dat you walks

n.

“Does he?” and a strange exprOSSion Passed
over Philippa’s face.

“ Yes, indeedyl Dar isn’t any doubt ’bout
dot!"
“ Do you believe that?”

“Why, oh course, missie _
. “ It may be true; at all events} am his now,
if he wants me; there is no barrier betWeen us
now. Forgetting all maidenly reserve, at one
bold stroke I have dared as few women dare in
this world even for the man the lOWL It is
over now, and in the future- A .i What Will
come in the future?——I dare 110‘ think Of that,
for what horrid images rise before mel Come
get me to bed and give me some wine that f
miliqy dru myself into f01‘3‘3tmlnessl _

ever before had the girl 599“ her mistress in
such a state. .

Shglgot her undrissed and “1 bed as Soon as
poem 0. . . . .

What dark mystery d‘d. the disputed utv
teraneee cover?

I”

’—

CHAPTER V.
'r a E A v n N G E a .

Up the broad yellow stream of the Mississippi
came a small, ugly-looking 8100p one morning;
the wind was light, the craft a bad sailor at the
best of times, and on the Present occasion she
was barelv making four knots an hour, having
to encounter the full strength of the current.

At last she came to anchor in the. middle of
the stream; a boat PM 03, Containing a lady
and a single oarsmen, and 500“ made a landing

at the levee.

The lady gained the shore and then addressed
the boatman: _

“I thank you, 811‘. for “9 courtesy with
which I have been treated. but for your om.
ployers I have only WON! 0f bitterest cen-
tempt," she said, in tones s‘i‘ngéilarly sweet and

at remarkably decided. hen you return
{0 them tell them from me that they have m

irl caught them de tly, and as it hap-

It"

M

 

 

The Double Detective.

5 .

 

 

one great mistake—a mistake which will cost  ing to justice the base villain whose merciless

them dearly in the future. When th had me
in their power, they should have kil ed me—
theg never should have allowed me toesmpe
wt life, for with the revolvin of the endless
wheel of time I shall return an exact full sat-
isfaction for all the wrongs which I have suf-
fered at their hands.”

“I hept‘. madam, that you will hold me
blameless,” the man replied, touching his hat,
respectfully.

you to New Orleans, an trust that if you
have been wronged you will be able to revenge
yourself.”

Then again the man bowed and pulled out
into the stream.

At the point where the lady had landed the ,

levee was covered with freight, cotton-bales and

boxes of all shapes and sizes, a regular barricade ‘r

ten feet high, completely sheltering any one on
the water side from the aze of the passers by
on the upper part of the evee.

The lady sat down upon aconveuient box and
 wistfull-y out upon the surface of the shin
ing river.

She was a woman with a remarkable face,
her features irregular and very strongly mark-
ed, yet, on the whole, the face was beautiful,

for there were life, soul and wonderful expres- ,

sion in it. She was plainly and neatly dressed.

Despite the air of resolution there was a
mournful look in the dark eyes as she looked
upon the boat making its way to the craft, saw
the man asvend to the deck and then watched
the sloop trip its anchor, get under way and de-
scend the river.

“ There goes the last link that binds me to the
land of Florida,” she murmured, as the sloop
glided down the stream, making far better pro
grass now than when she had fought her way
up against the current. “Shall I ever be able
to return there and wreak my vengeance upon
these wretches who have despoiled me? I'have
sworn that I will, but brave words in this world
are not always followed b brave deeds. The
means may be wanting, an at present, instead
of \ being able to command money to execute
deeds of vengeance, I am in need of coin where-
with long to purchase food to sustain life and
the shelter of a roof to house me from the
weather. Alone in New Oi leans, without a
friend or even an acquaintance in the city and
only a single five dollar gold piece in my pocket.
Hard lines indeed! But I always h ive wrung
a living from the world and it will be strange
indeed if I fail to find a way to gain my bread
now.

And while the woman was enga ed in these
gloomy meditations, a well-dressc gentleman,
of middle age, and with that peculiar air about
him that to the practiced eye indicates the son
of Albion’s isle, seated upon a cotton-bale just
around the corner of the miscellaneous pile, was
busy musing aloud after the fashion of his fair
neighbor, of whom proximity, however he was
not aware, for from the position which e occu-

pied, the point at which the boat had landed ,

was concealed from his view by the pile of
freight that intervened.

In person the gentleman was a stalwart
specimen of humanity, rather portl in build,
with florid complexiOn, blue eyes, ii’axen hair
and the extravagant mutton-chop side-whiskers,
so dear to the heart of the traveling Briton.

In his hand he held a newspaper, and he
had just finished rusinga long and circum-
stantial account 0 the murder of Adeline Es-
perance. . .

“By Jove! this is too bad!” he muttered, as
he raised his eyes from the paper and gazed
thoughtfully out upon the surface of the sunlit
river. “To think that I have traveled nearl
.all over the civilized world in search of th
Woman, and now at last, when I have run her
to earth in this corner of the New World, I ar-
rive just in time to read of her death! Well,
W911, and after what I had looked forward to
With so many joyous anticipations, too. ” And
a deep 91811 escaped him. “ And she, poor soul,
to be snatched from the world just as I was
hastenlnn on the Wings of love after these years
of separation. {0113' provided with everything
to make life en 0 able. Well, she is dead and
now. What 51ml do? She has been mur ered
——murdercd for her Jewels, evidently, and these
blind bats of policemen plainly have not the least
clew to the criminal; there was robably
only one, for. 93 a "11°. in these esperate
crimes, the slayer has no confederates. Why
not devote the rest of my life, if it should take
so long, and the money which I brought to
shower like water upon her, to hunting down
the murderer? The idea 18ml excellent one i”
And the En lishman rubbed his hands together
briskly. “ t will give me occupation, and I
shall take a mournful pleasure in thinking that
if the assassin with his murderous steel has de-
' rived me of the bliss of once again lolding my

arlin in my arms, Ishali be even with him
when tighten the ban man’s 1:00: :3 around his
neck. Poor Adeline! designed to place you
upon a pinnacle from which you could look
down upon the average lady even of London
society with scorn: but sinceI cannot do that,
I will devote myself to hunting down and giv-

“I know nothing of the merits ,
of the quarrel, but was engaged simply to bring i

l
l
l

l

 

steel snatched Iyou so rudely from this world.
But. where sha I find assistants?” he muttered,
as he rose to his feet, and, des ite the strong
excitement under which he was boring, folded
the news aper in the most methodical way.
“These fe lows here in the city who call them-
selves policemen and detectives are evidently of
no account. Oh, what wouldn’t I give for a
couple of good men from Scotland Yard, or a
brace of those keen-scented French detectives—-
those police spies who never tire until they
have bagged their game!”

And With the closing word the Englishman
walked around the corner of the pile of freight
and came face to face with the woman, who
rose at his a proach.

sp 0;) astonishment came from the En—
glishman. “Great Cmsar! is it possible? La
Marmoset!” he cried, and immediately be ad-
justed his eyeglasses upon his nose as though be
doubted that he had seen aright.

“lVell, well! Of all the coincidences in the
world! Why, you were just in my thoughts.”

“Ah, you remember me,” and she smiled——
that peculiar, bewitching smile which had
proved fatal to so many. It was evident the
other was no stranger to her.

“Ah, mademoiselle, one who has ever en-
joyed the pleasure of your acquaintance would
never be a t to for et the circumstance,” he
replied,wit a gallan bow.

“ Possibly the conditions under which we met
may have had something to do with keeping
the circumstance free" in your memory.”

“Very true; I see you remember all about it,
and that is remarkable, for I suppose in the
course of our wonderful career a hundred
similar incidents have occurred; but it was a
marvelous experience to me. Inveigled into
that den of cut-throats, I was completely at
their mercy. I am a tolerably strong man,
and, like the majority of my countrymen, pos-
sess a good know edge of the manly art of self-
defense, yet I confess I shrunk rom an en-
counter with the rascals; but you burst in upon
them like a thunderbolt; never did I see a mor-
tal in this world use fists so vigorously and so
effectual] withal. Mademoiselle, you cannot
be Frenc by birth; no Gaul over yet knew
enough to stand up and hit out from the shoul—
der in the superb fashion in which you did.”

“ No, I am an American.”

“ That accounts for it; in the last few years
the sons of the New World have proved to the
mother country that the race has in no ways de-
generated. But, mademoiselle, excuse the ques-
tion, what brings you to this country—public
business?”

“ No, I am no Ion r in the service.”

“But. mademoise 1e, are you free to act?”
asked the Englishman, trembling with excite-
ment.

“ As a detective i”

H Yes.”

“ I am, and glad would I be for a chance.”

“You have it, on the instant, and at your
own figures. Read!” And. takingethe journal
from his pocket, he directed her at ntion to the
account of the mysterious murder.

“ Will you undertake the task—will you hunt
down and bring to justice the murderer of this
unfortunate woman? Name your own price
for the service; draw freely on me for any sum
you may require for expenses. Fortune smiled
on me a year ago. No longer apoor captain
with barely enough pa to live on, I am now,
by the death of my t ree elder brothers, the
head of my house: Sir John Packinghame, now,
with one of the richest estates in England.”

“But, I do not understand; I do not like to
work in the dark. What interest have you in
this woman, evidentl French, b her name?”

“She was of mix nationali y—her mother
Spanish, and her father a Russian noble of
high degree: her birth and life alike a romance.
But you shall know all. She was my wife. I
fell madly in love and married her in Paris,
where I met her while on a visit. The marriage
was a secret one, for I feared my father’s anger.
()ne blissful year, and then I was obli ed to re-
turn to England; in letters to her m scurried;
false friends came be ween us; she believed I had
betrayed and then deserted her, and in despair
she fled. I tried to trace her and the moment I
came into my property I devoted in self to the
task. I find her at last; she is dea , but I will
be the avenger. Will you aid me?”

“ I will, and if I do not succeed it will be be-
cause my wits are gone l” she answered.

CHAPTER VI.
ON run so ENT.

Jones: Cmaaonsn sat in his emce, which
was situated in the lower part of Canal street
busy with his legal pers, when the colors
servant bore in a on with the announcement
that the gentleman who waited without desired
a private interview with Judge Clairborne on
important business. This was two days after
Mrs. Esperance’s murder.

“ qux Benin,
“Attorneyat Law.”

Such the inscription the card bore, and the
judge repeated the name, reflectively.

 

\

 

“Houma—Houma?” he mused; “the name
certainly seems familiar to me, and yet I can-
not remember where l have ever met any one
by that name. Show him in, though.”

The judge’s interests were so large and so
varied that it was almost impossible for him to
keep the run of all with whom he had dealin

The visitor entered, and the judge surveying
him with the calm, clear eyes, so piercing that
they seemed to read a man’s very thoughts,
saw that Felix Houma was a young gentleman,
a little under the medium size, with dark com-
plexion, dark eyes and hair, and a emoothl -
shaven face, rather efl‘eminate in its cast; e
was carefully dressed in com lete black, patent-
leather boots, kid gloves, a silk hat; in fact,
so careful] was he attired that he looked ex-
actly as i he had stepped out of a bandbox,
and as he entered the room tLe air was heav
with the perfume with which he had so plenti-
fully scented himself.

“A Creole dandy,” thought the judge, as be
scrutinized his visitor.

“ Have I your permission, sub, to be seated?”
asked the entleman, assuming a graceful atti-
tude and on ing. The voice was a peculiar
one, a trifle harsh, and with an odd sort of in-
tonation, which affected Clairborne unpleas-
antly.

“ Certainly, sir, if your business requires time
for its dis atch.”

“1 thin it does, but I am not sure, sah; in
this world it is never wise to be sure of an -
thing,” and then the speaker dropped gracefully
into a convenient chair.

A slight shade came over Clairborne’s face;
already be had taken a dislike to his visitor.

“ If you will have the kindness to state your
business, sir,” he said. “I am rather pressed
for time today.”

“Certainly, I will proceed at once. I pres
sume there isn’t any danger of our converw
tion being overheard?” and the visitor looked
around him as if he expected to catch an eaves-
dropper hidden away somewhere.

“ ot the slightest danger, sir.” The jud
was sitting at his desk, and he leaned back :1
his chair in an impatient sort of way.

“ I have come to see you about this Adeline
Esperance case,” remarked the other, mys-
teriously.

Clairborne’s face plainly showed his amaze-
ment at this abrupt and unexpected announce-
meiit.

First he straightened up in his chair, and
then he leaned forward and resting an arm on
the desk, looked earnestly into the face of the
other.

“You have come to see me about this Ade-
line Esperance case!" be repeated, as though
unable to believe that he had heard correctly.

“ Yes, sah.”

“But I do not understand—”

“ What interest you can have in it, eh?”

“ Yes.”

“Well. in order to eXplain that I must first
explain what my interest is in the matter.”

“ if you will be so kind.”

“As you have probably noticed by my card,
I am a lawyer.” ‘

it Yes- 1, r

“ But I have never had the pleasure of meet-
ing you rsonall .

“ No, think not,” and Clairborne’s keen eyes
were searching the face of the other as thou h
be was still a judge upon the bench and t e
visitor was a criminal being tried for his life.

But not in the least did the scrutin annoy
Monsieur Houma. On the contrary e was
smiling placidly and seemed to be quite at his \
ease.

“Of course by reputation you are well known
to me, for during the past twenty years you V
have occupied the public mind so much that for
a resident of New Orleans not to know some-
thing of Judge Clairborne would be impossible.”

The judge merely bowed at the compliment.

“ I assume that you read the newspapers and
therefore are acquainted with the particulars
of the mysterious death of Mrs. Esperance, set~
ting aside the fact that you had a personal in-
terest in that unfortunate lady.”

“Excuse me, but is not that assumption on
vour part unwarranted by the facts in the use?
Why do you think I had any personal interest
in Mrs. sperance?—a woman whom I never
even saw.”

“Why, I understood you were a visitor at
her house,” re Mod the young man, evidently
perglzexed by t is assertion. .

“ o, sir; you have been wrongl informed!”
exclaimed Clairborne, his tone sl ghtly harsh,
as though he was annoyed at the supposition.

“ButI cannot understand how such a mis-
take could have been made, for I was assured
by a gentleman who ought to have known that
a Mr. Clairborne, whom I assumed to be you,
of course, was a constant visitor at Mrs. Fa-
perance’s mansion.” .

“There is where your mistake lies. M son
lligyigond was, I believe, acquainted wi the

a I ~ . I

“yAh yes, I See!” Houma exclaimed, his
countenance brightening up. “ I was not aware
that you had a son.”

‘“ I presume it is with him your business lies,”

 

 

_6

and the judge’s manner plainly indicated his
desire to bring the interview to an end.

“Oh no, it is with you, sah, all the same.”

“Come at once to the point then, sir; my
time is valuable i”

“I represent the husband of Adeline Espe-
rance.”

And this communication was made in a mys-
terious manner as though the speaker expected
it would produce an impression, but the judge
merely nodded.

“ The husband of Adeline Esperance, you un-
derstand,” the other repeated.

“I uneerstand, sir; g) en, although I really
think on are wasting both your own time and
mine, or I cannot conceive of any interest I
can have in this matter.”

“ Mrs. Esperance was a woman. of property?”

' The Double Detective.

 

I CHAPTER VII. f
OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
It was the day set for the funeral of the mur-
l dared woman. Two in the afternoon was the
hour fixed for the services, but as early as ten
in the morning groups of curious folks began to
assemble in the vicinity of the house, staring at
the white walls of the mansion half-hid by their
drapery of clinging vines as though the uncon-
‘ soious wood had had some part in the dreadful
. deed which had taken place within and could
| “a tale unfold” if the humor seized upon it to
eak.

The house wherein some direful deed has taken
 place always possesses a great attraction for
the morbidly-inclined mind, and so the gaping
wonder-seekers came in crowds.

They were in the mansion, peerin

curiously

and the speaker looked at the judge in a hug ‘ from room to room. The place had een taken

gestive way.

“I don’t know anything whatever about it, ."

sir.”

“ A lady of large wealth, or she was generally
supposed to be from the style in which she
lived, the costly jewels she were and the gene-
ral extravagance of her dress.”

“I don’t know anything about it, sir, nor do
I caret” the judge exclaimed, in evident annoy-
ance.

“Her husband, whom I have the honor to
represent, as I had the pleasure of informing

ou—

The judge lost patience at this repetition.

“ Come come sir, to business! to your point
at once! What has all this to do wit me? Ex-
plain immediately or I shall summon the ser-
vant to show you out.”

“Yes sah es, sah; ou must excuse my
way: I know am slow, ut I will strive not to
weary you. Mrs. Esperance’s husband, in

brief, although a man of roperty himself and
therefore not pushed by immediate needs, de-
sires to know exactly how his wife—from
whom he had been separated-for sane years,
but not legal] , you understand—was situated
at the time 0 her sudden taking 03, and so I
came to you for information—”

“What on earth do you suppose I know
about it, sir?” snapped out Clairborne, much
irritated.

“Well, you have got a mortgage on all her

property?
T e judge settled back in his chair and a cold,
ha‘rii lflok came over his face. h

‘ ave ot a mort age on er property?”
he repeatedg, slowly; F and pray, sir, from
ghopg did you procure that valuable informa-

on

“30,31, there isn’t any doubt about the truth
“iron are very confident; perhaps when
years bring increase of wisdom you will not be
so

“ But it is the truth,” the other persisted.

“If you will take the trouble to go and ex-
amine the records you will change your opinion
in regard to that, possibly.”

possession of by the police, and these gentlemen
of the “locust ’had their patience sorely tried
in answering the thousand and one questions
put to them by the curious people who came to
stare at the scene of the tragedy and to specu-
late as to who had done the terrible deed:

The newspa rs of the city had not failed to
give most ela rate accounts of the affair, so
strange in many particulars and so different
from the tragedies common to the section.

The strange we in which the death wound
had been given—t e remarkable, toy-like wea-

n used by the slayer, and the unaccountable
isap anian of the valuable diamonds (which,
it Wllfebe recalled, had been upon the person of
the victim when she had been discovered by
the gentlemen who had hastened to her assist—
ance when alarmed by her scream and which
had been removed b some one in the brief in-
terval, when the y had been left unwatched,
that occurred between the departure of the

nests and the arrival of the servants) all these
End been detailed at length and freely comment-
ed upon, and the most extraordinary specula-
tions indulged in, regarding the perpetrator of
the crime.

The disappearance of the jewels made almost
everybody of one mind in regard to the motive
of the b y deed—robbery.

Some perate wretch had concealed himself
within the apartment, assaulted and slain the
lady; then, alarmed by the approach of the

ests had concealed himself somewhere within

be room, until an opportunity offered for him
to secure the diamon s and decamp.

But the boldness of the deed rendered it cer-
tain that the robber was a desperado of the first
water, and, acting upon this idea, the police
had hunted in the city high and low for well-
known and desperate criminals, men whose
previous deeds rendered probable the supposi-
ticim that they might have had a hand in this
or me.

New Orleans is a big city, ’with a large float-

 

“ Oh yes; I understand the mortgages are not 1

in your name, and that your advancing the

moneE was to be kept a profound secret from i
Mrs.

s rance, everything being done in the
nameo Loperleese and Son, brokers; but you
are the principal all the same. It was our
money, and the sum was far in excess 0 the

value of thetplroperty, and the transaction was ,

so arranged at it was not a regular mortgage
but more like a ‘call’ loan, payable on demand,
and you could at any time, if you so willed,
have stri ped the lad of everything she had in
the word—house, urniture, jewels, dresses,
everything, at a day’s notice.”

The judge was terribly annoyed; his secret
was known, and he saw that it would be folly
to attem t to deny the truth lon er; some clerk
in the 0 cc of the brokers, w 0 had in the

course of business got a knowledge of the mat- ,

“it
cold,ha.rd, mechanical way-the way of thejudge
pronouncing sentence; “and since on know so
much, learn from me more: I did lend this
mone —1 did arrange the loan so that at a few
hours notice I could drive this woman forth
into the world a beggar. Why did I trouble
myself with this impostor? Because she had

had betrayed it.

Sir, your statement is correct,” he said, in a ‘

entrapped my onl son—she had my boy in her ‘

toils, and if I coul not release him in any other

way, rather than that he should disgrace the .

honored name he bears, and drag it into the
mire by a union with this woman, I had re-
solved to buy the woman off—to say to her,
‘Mar my son, I will not only disinherit him,
but ca on you for the yment of this money,
—which I knew full we 1 she had squandered—
‘and so take from you everything that you
have. even to the dress upon your back; but if
you will depart, on are free to go and carry
’ all with you.’ ow, sir, you know all, and
why I doiled mv hands with this wretched crea-
ture. If 1 had known she had a husband, of
courseI should not have troubled myself. As
. the matter stands the law must take its course.
If gur client can ,pay the bill, Well. and

drew, apparently crcst fallen.

 

l

l

ing population, and probably with as many, if
not more, evil-doors as any other city in the
country in proportion to its population.

A half-a-dozen villains the argus-eyed police
detectives picked out as having ‘ sand” enough
to commit such a deed, and immediately pro-
ceeded to “shadow” these fellows—much to
their amusement, for no sooner was this watch
set than the suspected men were aware of the
fact; for, as a rule, the rofessional criminals
know the detectives muc better than the de-
tectives know them.

The house, articularly the room where the
murder had een committed, was the chief
point of attraction to the crowd, but uite a
number strolled around the gardens, gaping up
at the verandas and speculating how the mur-
derer managed to gain entrance tothe room
above without attracting any attention; and
then—greater wonder—how he had contrived
to esca 9 with the diamonds after the deed was
done,t ehouse alarmed, and all on the look-
out for the bloody slayer.

Prominent among the curiosity-seekers was a
gentleman who exci'ed quite a deal of attention
on account of his peculiar appearance.

He was a stranger to all. apparent] knew no
one of the numerous visitors, avoi( ed all at-
tempts to draw him into conversation, but
whenever he noticed a grou busily engaged in
discussin the tragedy, an speculating in re-
gard to t e perpetrator, and how the deed had
been done, would invariably approach so as to
overhear all that was said. ,

In erson this man was tall, thin and raw-

n ; olive complexion; shar , black eyes,
deeply sunken in the head, an shaded with
heavy, bushy eyebrows: a hawk nose; large
mouth. with thin lips, shaded by a curling, jet-
black mustache. prodigious in its length, with
the ends carefully waxed: the hair as black as
the mustache, and curled in little ringlets tight
to his head. He was not a youn -looking per-
son, and yet could not be called 0 d, but a care-
ful observer would have decided that he was
much older than be ap red

1 He was well-dresse —too'well-dressed, and

311% amount of jewelry be displayed was aston-
n
Bu§ for all his overdressing, and the rather

. .  commanding, theatrical way in which he car-
“ I wfll see, sah,” and then the visitor with-

ried himself, most eople, at first sight, would
have [renounced im a pleasant, affable ap-

/

 

 

peering gentleman, rather eccentric in his dress
and ways, perhaps, but a careful student of hu-
man nature would have looked upon him as a
man to be avoided, for there was something
about him that suggested pictured representa-
tions of the Evil One, in human garb, prowling
about the earth seckin r whom he might destroy,
there was something batanic about the man in
his crafty, hollow smile, and the peculiar we y
which he had of showing his white, fang-like
teeth.

After loitering near one of the groups for a
while and hearing the oracle of the party de-
clare his belief that the murderer had USHI the
river and a boat both for gaining the plantation
and for escaping from it, he sauntered toward
the stream, as though desirous of seeing if he
could find anything there to confirm or dispute
the notion.

As he came to the edge of the garden, an ab—
rupt turn of the path brought him face to face
with a man sprawled upon a garden-bench, en-
joying the heat of the sun.

A very unsavory fellow, indeed—old, short,
bloated, ray hair, which shOWed the prison
crop, uns aven chin, watery, sunken e es, 9.
wretched suit of clothes, so stained an worn
that the original color could only be guessed at,
not told; a ner specimen of the genuine tramp
could not be found.

The two men came face to face and instantly
each recognized the other.

The cld tramp sat upright and grinned until it
seemed as if his huge mouth extended from ear
to ear, while, des ite the wonderful command
which the other ad over himself, a result due
to long years of practice, he started and mut-
tered somethin in French which sounded very
much like a ma ediction.

At any rate that was what the fat fellow im-
agined, for be instantly exclaimed:

fl glgon’t swear, cully, or you won’t catch any
5 .

It was the first impulse of the other to turn
upon his heel and ignore the presence of the
tramp, but when at a flash he saw that in so do~
ingapoint might be lost, he gave a sort of a
theatrical start and cried:

“ Upon my life! Can I believe my eyes?
Wh , I thou ht you were hung lon ago!”

“ es’ so, es’ so; some to you, 0 d man. I
reckoned when they got hold of you, in France,
it would be a lifter for you, sure, but I see Tou-
lon and the galleys couldn’t keep you. Oh,
you’re a rum cove, you are; ’tain’t no easy mat-
ter to put salt on your tail.”

“You do me proud,” and the tall man placed
his hand upon his heart and bcwed. “And in
return I might say that I didn’t expect to have
the pleasure of seeing on in this land of the
free and the home of t e brave. I thought af-
ter that little affair of the forged paper in Lon—-
don, you would emigrate, at government ex-
pense, and probably would feel inclined to
remain abroad for quite a term of years.”

“Oh, well, my bad companions got me into
that hole, and, when I found out what the leetle
game was, I jes’ up and showed ’em that Jack
was as good as his master.”

“ How so?”

“I turned queen’s evidence. and through my
testimony the hull gang was convicted.”

“ Why, you infernal scoumlrcl!” cried the
other fairly turning white in indignation.

“Oh, you needn’t come the virtuous dodge!
Who was it. that split on his pals in France and
put ’em all Into the hands of Jack Ketch, while

e got off with a few years at the gallcys? and
you lanned the hul job, too, you know you
did, row A to izzard.”

“It’s a lie!”

“No. it tain’t; and I reckon there’s a chap or
two in France wot would go a hundred miles on
their hands and knees. a’most, for to git a
chance to make anice little hole in your stomach
with alpopiard, and all because you peached on

er a s.

“ Vell, it isn’t any use for us to handy
words—”

“ Pot callin’ the kettle black, eh?”

“That is about it: but what are you doing-
here, and in such a wreiChed condition? Going
to hire yourself out as a scarecrow?”

“I am rather down at the heel—run to seed
like-but mebbe I’ll pick up soon. I ain’t in
fine feather, like you. ‘

“No, I should say not; down on your luck,
eh? How do you call yourself now?”

“ Same as allers, Johnny Roach; and you—-
are 'oh French Louis now, or Larry, the Bloke?"

“ either; Adolph De Bellville is my name.”

“Putting on st e, hey? and I s’pose, my lord
dock, on did t e trick up yonder,” and he
pomtei to the mansion.

“ Oh. no; that unfortunate lady, Mrs. Esper-
once, was my wife. ”

CHAPTER VIII.
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING.

A Low whistle escaped from the lips of the
tramp at this su rising declaration, and he
surveyed the Frenc man with an expression of
the most intense astonishment'as that worthy
took out his scented handkerchief and applied
it with a melancholy air to his eyes.

“Your wife 1”

 

 

 

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The Double Deteetiv.

 

“ Exactl '; my wife, and that is the reason
why I am ere.

“ Your wife l” and the bummer re ated the
exclamation, as though unable to or it it.

“Yes; why do you echo my words like a par-

rot? I am a gentleman born, and come cf a , . _
l we Could make a magnificent livmg out of the

very good family, although through a .chain of
circumstances, which I could not avoni, I got

into trouble and was compelled to associate ,
with men who really Were not worth to blackcn .
: mind to a thing it takes considerable to turn

my shoes. This poor lady, who die so terrible

a death, became my wife a long, long time agoi »
e

for in confidence, in dear Johnny, t me tel
you that, although t ey speak of her as being a
woman of twenty-five or thirty, she was no
more a chicken than I am.”

“ Oh, yes, I know that.”

The Frenchman appeared amazed at this.

“ You know something about her, then!”

“Well, I think I do; w‘ot would I be doing
here if I didn’t?”

“I can’t really see what connection there
could have been between you and in wife.”

“ Mebbe you ain’t so Well posted ’ ut her as
you think you are,” replied the tramp, with a

malicious rin.

“ That is very true in one're t; for the
last eight or ten years I have not own much
about her.”

“ And before that time? Go fifteen or twenty
years back.”

“ What the deuce are you driving at! Do you
want to make the woman out old enough to be
a grandmother?”

‘I reckon, for all that you claim she was
your wife, you don’t know as much about her
ageas you might, and as I know.”

“ And What do you know about it?"

“A heap si ht more than you do, an’ you
kin bet a jug 111 on it, tool” returned the old
wretch.

“I met the lady about ten years ago in
Paris.”

“ Yes, I reckon she has been there; I reckon
she has been ’bout all over the world; she was
a tearer—go anywheres for a chance to make a
“I?” i be d li ht

‘ he was a rin un er some I g pecu-
niar difilculties justgthen.”

“ never heered tell on her when she wasn’t.”

“Just at that time by a series of lucky

“ Gaming or forging or housebreakingi”

“The first, my amiable friend, if on must
know. I had broken the bank at amburg
and was fioatin on the very topmost wave—
champagne flowing like water, diamonds, my
own carriage, and all that sort of thing. ”

“What were you then, a French count, a
Russian prince, or—”

“ No, no, you wouldn’t guess in a week; those
disguises are old, obsolete in this age of pro-
gress: they may do for your common adven~
turer, but for a first-class artist like myself, a
man of positive genius, to use the expresswe

hrase 0 this reat country, it is ‘played out.’

was at that ime a diamond merchant from
Brazil, of French extraction but Portuguese by
birth, the younger son of a noble house who,
disdaining the usual genteel but beggarly voca-
tions open to the cadets of a family of princely
pretensions but of limited means, had emi rated
to the New World, and amid the diamon fields
had worked out a colossal fortune.”

“ Beau’full a reg’lar fairy tale.”

“ Oh, es; a first class ghost story, and every
one swa lowed it without a murmur particu-
larly after I broke the bank one night with a
marvelous run on the red. Ten times in succes-
sion red cama up and I doubled my stake every
time, and in the ten rounds the bank caved in
and I was the hero of the hour. If any envious
soul doubted my story and my diamonds be-
fore, none were held enough to do so openly
after that night’s triumph. Adeline, that was
Mrs. Esperance’s first name, you know—”

“ Yes, I know it; mighty few things ’bout her
that I don’t know. It was her real name, too,
110 put on ’bout that.”

_ ‘ Well, as she was at that time in a rather
tight Place, bein pressed by some rascally
tradesmen. and t e continental laws are the
very deuce, you know—”

“ Yes. “Y “P. 01' go to jail. I’ve bin there.”

She loo ed upon me as a lawful pre . lVith
all her shrewdness she had not the sli htest sus~
picion that [was anything but what assumed
to be. 1, WIFh more mo 01‘ penetration, sus-
pected “13?, Instead 0‘ “:25 arich American
widow, which she represen herself to be, she
was an adventure-$8, depending upon her wits
for a living. But, It Salted my ame just then
to have such a Woman. I fanc ed that such a
couple working together would be invincibl
and so I allowed myself to be captivated an
we were married.”

“All right and reg’larl—no gum-game ’bout
it!” asked the old tramp, ever suspicious.

‘ 0h, es; no doubt about that; everything
was as I ht as a string. I wished it so, for
I wanted to ind the woman to me, but there I
made a s ' ht miscaloulation.”

J ohnn h laughed outr ht.

“Ha, in, ho, ho, hol” e roared; “she
wasn’t the ind of l to be bound to anybody,
if it didn't suit her k.”

 

“Your knowledge of her character argues a
close acquaintanceship. You are quite right: I
could no more hold her after she discovered who
and what I was than a man could hold a wild
horse with a silken thread. My beautiful and in-
genious idea that together—working in concert,

gullable world, she rejected in utter scorn.
You know the kind of man I am—not one given
to much nonsense, and when I make up my

I remonstrated with her
gently, pointed out that she was in wife—that
she had promised to love, honor an obey—obey
in particular, and if she persisted in acting
contrary to my wishes I should be obliged to
adopt measures which might prove to be parti-
cularly unpleasant to her. ’

“To cut your long rigmarole short, you
swore that you would beat her if she didn’t
knuckle; she refused, for she had a fiend’s tem-
per; you tried it on and she either plugged you
with a istol-bullet or elso made a hole into you
witha nife.”

“Corbleu!” cried the other surveying the
tramp with unbounded astonishmen ‘ were
you on the Spot, then, to know all t at hap-
pened! or are you a medium, gifted with sec-
ond sight?”

"Neither, but I know the gal and knew her
lon before you did.”

“ ell, sir, {our account is singularly exact;
the moment struck her—just a little gentle
slap with the palm of my hand on the face, as a
warning that I was not to be ti'ified with—a
knife fia bed before my eyes and, almost before
I comprehended what she was up to, I lay on
m back on the floor, with an u ly gash in my
si e, bleeding and helpless. en she appro-
priated all the valuables she could lay her hands
upon and levanted.”

“Oh, I could have told you at the furst that
she wasn’t the kind of bird to stand having her
wings clipped.”

“ I didn t take the trouble to follow her; I had
had quite enough; a tiger-cat in the household
is not to my liking. I let her go and I never ex-
pected to see her again; that was eight or ten

ears a o, and I have never seen or heard of

er until about six or Seven weeks a 0, when
happening to come to New Orleans, w o shoul
I see in a superb turn-out but my beaut l I was
not in the best of circumstances and mm her
appearance it was evident she was, and so I
have been debating in regard to the best method
of making her share a )rtion of her apparent
wealth With me, for I d an idea that, iather
than have me come out and proclaim the tender
tie which existed between us, she would come
down with quite a goodly sum of hush-money,
and this very night I was going to commence
operations. This infernal murder of course has
upset myplan; but I shall come in all the same
for wha i want, for, just as soon as the funeral
is over I shall proclaim that I am the husband
of Ade 'ne Esperance and demand my rights.”

“Mebbe you will not find it so easy to prove
that,” Roach sug ested.

“Oh, yes, I Will; and that is what I have
been waiting for. I sent to Europe for the
necessary is al d0cuments and they arrived
yesterday. had a suspicion that my darling
would dis ute my claim, so I resolved not to
move unt' I had everything in condition.”

“Well, seeing how things are, it seems to me
there wasn’t much reason for you to jab the
knife into her. You had more to make by her
livin than dea .”

“ o doubt about that; but I say, now, what
brings you here?”

“1Tb? same errand that you come on, ex—
act .’

“ don’t comprehend how that can be.”

“ This dead gal was your wife?”

H Yes.”

“So she was mine! You are only a kind
of a brevet husband; I am the original
Jacobs.”

“Oh, come, come; that’s too thin l”

“You kin bet your boots it’s the truth!” the
tramp protested. “You married her eight or
ten years ago in Europe; I married her twent
odd years ago in this country and right in this
city of Orleans, too. I wasn’t sich a beaten,
batteredaup old hulk as I am now, but she was
the ruin of my life and made me the low
mean, miserable wretch that I now am. I ain’
got many years of life left and I ain’t fit to
rou h it now, as I used to. can’t sleep under
the so of a rail fence or on the soft side of a
station-house plank with the same comfort.” of
old, and I crept back to this Southern City to
get away from the Northern winter for I knew
that another tussle with the snow and the icy
cold would finish me; and here in Orleans, in
the city where twenty odd ears ago I held my
head ii with the best of em, I saw the wo-
man w 0 had been the ruin of my life, and she
was all dressed in silks and laces, with dis-
monds glittering on her person, lopklng jest
about as young as she did on our bridal morn,
years an years a 0, while I hobbled through
the streets, a brogen-down, miserable beggar,
tottering as fast as my le can carry me to in
grave in Potter’s Field. he had evorything,

ad nothing, and I made up my mind to ask

me from my way.

 

her to give a trifle to the poor wretch whom she '
had ruined.”

“I see; I guess the sequel, old fellow; you
haven’t been cautious, and have let the cat out
of the bag: but you can depend upon in dis-
cretion, for I wouldn’t go back on an 01 pal.
You came to see her; she, like the tiger-oat that
she was, laughed at your demand, and defied
you; then, exasperated and desperate, you
struck her, determined to have the diamonds at
any rate. It was you, my bold Johnny Roach
—Johnny, the ledger, as you used to be called _
in the slums of London—who killed Adeline Es~
peranee.”

“ You would make a fine detective bloke!"
the tramp cried, in contempt; “ you could beat
them donkeys in making foolish guesses.”

“ Come, old fellow, make acleaii breast of it,”
persisted the other, coaxingly. “You haven’t
anything to fear from me. Why, what could I
make by peaching on on? Ain’t it clear] for
my interest to stand in with you? You ave
the diamonds, and, from what I have seen of
them, I should think they ought to be worth
twelve or fifteen thousand dollars. Now, I’m
'ust the man to plant those jew els for you, forI

now as much about diamonds as any Jew
broker in the world, and I know the very man,
too, right here in New Orleans, who will buy
them and give a fair price-a quiet, safe man,
who never goes back on a customer. Let me
have the handling of the matter, and I can get
you more for the stones, after my share is taken
out, ‘than you can possibly'realize yourself.”

“ Oh, you are ’way off 2 the old bummer ex-
claimed, impatiently. “ Did on ever heer tell
on me doing any sich thing A little bit of
sneak-thieving, when there ain’t much chance
to be cotched, I might try my hand at, but for
a murder—oh, no; thats out of my line en-
tirely.”

The Frenchman favored the tramp with a
penetrating gaze; it was lain be doubted.

“ Well, 0 nny, if you on’t wanttotrustme,
all right; but how about this husband business
—are you coming in to dispute my claim?”

1“§Iot much,lif I kpzow myself!” the other m

ie , prom t y. “ ou ave got the papers
Pbout your agairs all right, but I reckon it would
puzzle me to prove that I ever married her; so
go ahead wit your do -cart, and if you make
a big stake, jest remem r your humble servant
to command.”

“ 0h, certainly; and just you think over what
I have said, and perhaps you can see a way to
come to some agreement; ta, ta,” and the tall
fellow sauntered away.

The old tramplooked after him with a strange
expression upon his face.

‘Ay, that is the way the world goes,” he
muttered. “That fellow is like a cork; there \
isn’t any kee ing him under water; ress him
down under he waves of adversit al you like,
he is sure to bob up again, while , once down,
never rise, but stick fast on the bottom, a.
wretched old ruined hulk; but I can’t let liquor
alone, and he can, and that is where he has the
advantage over me. It is stran that the one
woman should connect two suc men as this
bold, cunning rascal and mysolf. Upon how
many other men did she fasten her fan ihow
many did she fly from? how many did 3 e ruin
as she ruined me? No wonder some desperate
hand struck her down.”

“ But who did it—tbat's the rub: who did it, .
cully, eh?” quoth a shrill voice, and the bummer, 2
looking around him in astonishment, saw the
head of a tawny-skinned youth (protruding
from a clump of bushes a few paces istant.

“Don’t be afraid, cull; I'm on the ‘ cross,’ I
am, and I’m Limber Joe from Genoa.”

CHAPTER IX.
rim anassr.

“W’or do you want. anyway?” demanded
the old tramp, suspicmusly, as the boy crawled
out from his covert and. stood upright, a good
specimen of the wandering Italian lad.

He was a good-Sized lad, rather small-limbed,
as are the ma ority of his race, and poorly clad;
his hair, blac _as jet, hung in tangled masses -
from under his slouch ca ; there were faint
indications of a bear on his chin and upper
lip which seemed to indicate that he was not so
young as he looked. In his hand he carried a.
V1011!) and bow, and over his shoulders a greasy
wallet was su nded.

.“Don’t be’ raid; I’m as rum a cull as you
Will find from here to En land,” replied the
boy, who spoke very plain nglish with only a
slight foreign accent. “I travel with m vio-
lin and I lay for the gentlefolks, and w n I
have a c ance I pick up any loose valuables
that may happen to be laying around; oh, I’m
fly to the time 0’ day. I was sneezing down in
the bushes when you and this other bloke woke I
me with your patter. don’t know you—that “
is, I never met you store, although I have heard
of you in ‘cross kens’ over the ocean, but, as
for that beauty of De Bellville. I know him as
well as a monk does his mess. I have ‘done
time’ right alongside of him at the galleys—
Toulon. you know. ‘French Louis.’ you call
him; ‘ Louis, the Snake,’ washis name at Tou-

as
i

‘ all lies, you know, from head to heel!”

do it, too, if he could succeed in throwing sus-

8

The Double Detective.

 

 

Ion, and there wasn’t one of his pals who would 
trust him as far as they could see him. Don’t
you see what he is up to? When he announces i
that he is the husband of this dead woman, this

. Esperance isn’t it likely there will be some .
suspicion that e knows something about her .
death? Won‘t the people ask how it was that ,'
he has been in this part of the country so e
time and yet never said who he was or called
upon his wife? Is there any other man who
will profit more by her death than he? Of
course not, and he wanted you to confide in
him, so that he could, by some trick, throw the
burden of the murder on our shoulders! In
my country we have a saying of give a dog a :
bad name and then hang him; you ave the bad !
name already eh, master? There is a reward of 1;
five hundred dollars offered for the murderer: ‘,
wouldn’t that be a nice little sum for Monsieur
De Bellville to clutch? and how easily he could

picion upon you i”

The old man was amazed; this was the shar
lest and skrewdest youth he had encountered n
all his wanderin .

“He is a sun e, and he will bite you on the
hes] in an inst'rnt if he only has the chance,”
the boy continued. “I, Genoa Joe, was not
born without ears or eyes. With my fiddle and
my petty thieving I make a very poor living.
Five hundred dollars! it is a fortune! I can set
up a fruit stand on a corner and soon make
money enough out of these fool Americans to
go back to Italy and live like a. prince all the
rest 'of my days! Since I heard of the five
hundred dollars reward offered for the capture
of the murderer I cannot sleep for thinking of
it; I lay awake at night and the big silver dol-
lars dance before my eyes—they are so real; I
But out my hand to clutch them. So Icome

are today; I want the money; I hide in the
bushes that I may see without being seen. The
Snake comes; oh, I know him well, and he is my
game! Eh, what do you say i”

The tramp shook his head.

“ You do not believe he struck the blow?” de-
manded the boy.

“No, it is a grade above his work. If it was
forgery, now, or a skillful little bit of safe-
cracking.”

“Ah, yes; he is a master-hand at either. I
remember his reputation well at Toulon, but do
you believe what he 39. 3 about bein married
to the dead woman? s not that a lie? He is

“ It is not impossible; he seemed to know all
about her.”

“A lie—a lie, all lies about him i” the boy ex-
claimed, with great rapidity. “ His papers are
forged: he murdered the woman, and now, by
means of his forged papers he intends to seize
7upon all that she has left; but we will stop it
e , you and I, for we know him. and we will
be on the watch, and when be least expetts it we
will have him by the heels, and then good-b to
the Snake, and we will clutch the five hun red
dollars reward!”

“Oh, I ain’t got time to waste; I have got to
look out for my living.”

“ I will ‘ stake ’ you, American fashion i” cried
the boy.

But before the old tramp could reply three
police officers came quietly around the turn in
the path and with leveled weapons menaced the

wo.
“ Surrinder the pair of yees or we be afther
letting daylight t rough yees, do ye mind?”
commanded the sergeant who led the little

ad.
flqv'li'he boKI—f‘ast a furious glance around and in-
stantly t st his hand into his bosom as if to
grasp a weapon, but the quick eyes of the
police sergeant saw the motion, and immedi-
ately‘ exclaimed:

“ ake yer hand out of that, ye young divil-
skin, or be the piper that played before Moses
I’ll ggt yees as full of holes as the top of a pep-
per- 1:! ’

Thus warned the boy withdrew his hand and
glared sullenly upon his captors.

The old tramp, on the contra , had taken
he matter in the most hilosop‘nical way, and
ad manifested neither a arm or anger.

“Well, boys, w’ot is it? W’ot are ou driving
at, anyway, cavorting ’round here ' e a lot of
hob-tailed mules in fiy time?”

“You are arrested, sur!”

9‘ In course! I kin see that with half an e e;
but, what for, that is the question before be
meeting?” .

“ For the murder of Mrs. Esperance."

An incredulous look came over the bloated
face of the tramp.

“ Oh, et out! You are joking!”
“ Fait , then, it’s meself that’s thinkin you’ll
find that it is a sorry joke afore you thr’u’

wid it.”

“Where’s your warrant—lemme see or
warrant!” demanded old Johnny. “ You a n’t
{not an right to deprive a lawful citizen of

ass nited States of his liberty without due

to“! of Law. You can’t fool me on these
are p’ints; I reckon I know what the law is as
we]; as any two-legged man you kin skeer

 

n 0
3‘1! you open yer mouth so wide ye’ll be

afther takin’ cold ” responded the officer, sar-
castically. “Divi a bit of a warrant will we
be afther showing yees, but ye’ll come wid us,
me hold lark, or We’ll know the r’ason why.
Take out yer clubs, byes, and if the resist tap
’em gently on the top of the head. aix! if ye
don’t come quietly we’ll fix ye so that your own
mother won’t know 0!”

“Blast my hide i I won’t make you sweat
for this here i” the old tramp exclaimed.

“Certainl , of course, to be shure on will!
It’s broke I’ be for this arrest, I‘m t inking;"
and then the sergeant winked at his com-

anions, who showed their appreciation of their
eader’s humor by grinning.

“\Vhat for you take me, eh?” demanded the
boy, glaring at the officials. “What have I
done, you fool American?”

“Aisy now, you beast of an I-talian!-” cried
the officer, raising his club, threatenineg “or
I’ll crack that poodle-do head of yours! bon’t
ve be afther insulting the may??? of the law!
You are wanted for murder, t on yees, do
ye mind, and it’s my duty to warn you to be
careful phat you say, for it will be used as
evidence ag’in ye. Both of ye have been prowl-
ing arolind here for some time, and we have had
our eyes upon ye, and if both of yer necks don’t
git stretched for this nate little job then my
name is not Phelim O’Dowd.”

To attem t to resist would have been useless
against suc odds, and so,‘unwillin rly enough,
the two allowed themkelves to be andcufi’ed;
and with a great show of ceremony the were
conducted to the mansion where the chic of the
city police put them through a brief examina-
tion.

The pair had been arrested solely on sus-
picion, the attention of the chief having been di-
rected to the old tramp by the acute French-
man who, after having meditated over his in-
terView with “Johnny Roach,” had Come to
the conclusion that it would be to his interest to
have that individual locked up for a while. So
he had gone to the chief and informed him that
there was a suspicious-looking tramp skulking
about the gardens, just such a man as would be
apt to have a hand in any villainy. ‘

The chief, an ignorant, conceited fellow who
did not possess the first qualification for his po-
sition, jumped at the chance of arresting some-
body, on account of the murder, for as yet he
had not succeeded in obtaining the sli htest
clew to the deer of the deed. So the o cers
were dispatched, in search of the tramp, and
when the Irish sergeant in command saw the
Italian be in company with the tramp the
brilliant if ea occurred to him that it would be
a ood plan to take them both “in.”

he examination was a farce, of course.
There was not the slightest evidence to warrant
the chief in holding either one of the prisoners,
but, as one was a battered-u old bummer, and
the other a suspicious-loo n fcrei er, the
blunderin official got it into hfi! head t at, even
if the ha not committed the deed they prob-
ably new something about it, and that by
holding them in prison he might be able to
worry a confession out of theui; so, despite
their angry rotestations, the two Were dis-
paitiched in c arge of the officers to the city

Ja .
“ Aha! ou see we are going to be pals, after
all!” the o exclaimed, as they entered the
prison toget er.
“ Confound your tawny hide!” Johnny Roach
muttered, in a rage. “You have brought me
had luck.”

 

CHAPTER X.
TBAILING ran cam.

As usual, the police blundered; the arrest of
Johnny Roach and the Italian boy, Genoa Joe,
was a stupid piece of work, for there was not
the slightest evidence against either connecting
them with the crime, and after examination the
magistrate was compelled to discharge them,
although, anxious to oblige the chief of lice
who was a rsonal and political friend, ie di
his best to nd some excuse tohold them in cus-
tody; but there was no excuse, and so, des ite
his firm belief that the tramp and the fid ler
had had a hand in the crime, the chief had the
mortification of seeing the two march triumph-
ant] out of the court-room.

“ knowed you couldn’t hold me! I told the
cop he had no business to nail me without a
warrant! ‘ Teach your grandmother to suck
eggs! W’ot I don’t know ’bout law ain’t worth
knowin’! Ta, ta!” e aculated Johnny Roach,
for a parting shot, as e swaggered forth, a free
man once more.

The funeral was over, the last sad rites were
done, and the remains of the murdered woman
had been committed to a receiving-tomb in that
peculiar old grave- ard, New Orleans’s “ city
of the dead,”where he tombs are above ground
instead of below. ‘

Night had come, and the lice chief sat in
his private office puzzling h s brains over the
m sterious murder.

fore him on the table was the weapon with
which the deed had been done. As had been de-
cided at the inquest, it was a regular physician’s

 

lancet, with a tortoise-shell handle—a new one
apparently, for it showed no signs of ever hav-
ing been used.

And the chief sat and stared at the ncet,
turning it over in his fingers every now an then
as if he expected that by so doing some new de-
velopments would resu y.

In s ite of all their search this lancet was the
onlyt ing the police could find that had any
connection with the deed.

The chief was uneasy in his mind. The news-
papers, having nothing better to do, had de-
voted a great deal of space to the murder and
had abused the lice force of the city roundly
for their inability to discover any clew to the
assassin,and the police chief like most men in
public life, was terribly senSitive to these “ pen-
oil-stabs.”

And while the chief was cursing the ill-luck
which had attended his efforts, and wishin
that the iiewspa ,r men were at the bottom 0
the river, an o cer conducted two gentlemen
into the room with the information that they
called upon important busine.

The two, were the Englishman, Sir John Pack—
inghame, and a rather slenderly-built, foreign-
looking gentleman with a short, black beard,
piercing eyes and hair of the same hue, whom
the other introduced as Monsieur Paul Rivo«
seur.

The appearance of the (portly, well-dressed
Englishman at once inspire the officer with re-
spect, which was increased when the stranger
made known his name. There are many sons
of this free land who “ dearly love a lord,” and
the police captain happened to be one of them;
and, greater at became the feelin when it
was explaine to him that the quiet looking
Monsieur Rivoseur was one of the most cele-
brated of French detectives.

The chief insisted upon his visitors taking
chairs, and then Sir John, after requiting the
hospitality with some cigars of a quality that
the officer rarely get between his teeth, and the
party were enveloped in a cloud of fragrant
smoke, proceeded to explain what had brought
him there.

He had been acquainted with the victim of
the late fearful tra edy, Mrs. Esperance, in Eu-
rope, and as he he no particular occupation to
take up his time just then, he had resolved to
devote himself to solvin the mystery of the
murder, particular] as 6 had happened just
then torun across onsieur Rivoseur who, on a
leave of absence, was making a tour of Amer-
me.

Here was a reinforcement with a vengeance,
and the spirits of the depressed official at once
rose. He expressed himself delighted at the
offer and frank] admitted that the affair had
completely ba ed both himself and his as-
sistants.

“You see, monsieur,” he explained to the
Frenchman, turning his attention more particu-
lar] to that gentleman, as being better posted
in etective matters than his companion, “we
have really nothing at all to work 11 on, ex-
cepting this laything with which the eed was
done,” and t e chief paSSPd the lancet over that
his visitors might examine it.

“I have read ze case ovair very carefully,”
the Frenchman remarked, speaking with a
strong accent, “and l have made up my mind
zat ze probabilities are zat ze blow was struck
by some one who knew exact] where to strike
—ze spot where one leetle sta. would produce
death without giving ze woman time to cry out
very mooch.”

“ That is the general opinion.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Sir John assented.
“If it had been a common ruffia’n or train , he
would have used a knife. Then another t 'ng
puzzles myself and monsieur here—you see, we

ave discussed the matter in all its bearings—
how was it ossible for the assassin to a proach
near enou to his victim to strike t e tiny
blade of t e lancet into her throat without her
giving an alarm? According to all accounts
Eheéilpw could not have been inflicted from be-

in .

“So the doctors decided, and they scouted
the idea of its bein a suicide.”

“Yes, we read t e reports, and the medical
men all agreed that the person who inflicted
the blow must have been standing right in
front of the woman, and that only a stead
and practiced band would be likely at a sin e
blow to produce such a fatal result,” said t e
Englishman.

“Zat ze lady did not cry out when she see
her murderer was very mooch strange,” the
Frenchman remarked.

“Yes, that ’int is a mighty ten 1: one to get
round,” the c ief admitted. “ en the old
tramp and the Italian boy were arrested on
suspicion upon being found prowling around
the grounds of the house where the murder had
occurred, I thought I had got hold of the right
parties, but we couldn’t prove anything against
them, and when you come to think it over. if
Mrs. Esperance had found either one of the
two in her private apartment u u going up-
stairs, she most certainly would ave given an
alarm for, as far as I can find out, she was
anything but a chicken-hearted Woman.”

“She was a lady of lion-like courage and

.s «was

r‘ . ... . w- ..._..‘___.1_. .7

 

 

very free indeed from the limidity natural to
her sex,” Sir John declared. ' _ .
“From zis circumstance, zen, zc, deduction is

plain zut Zo person who struck ze blow upon ,
being found ze apartment in, by madame, did ‘

not cause her mooch alarm—lie was no strain-
ger: if he had ’a’ bccn she would make a cry-
out."

Tnis subtilo method of “putting two and tw0 l ‘
together “astounded the Chief, for his dull brain ,

had never thought of such a thing.
Now it wus us i lain as a pike-stuff that who-

ever did the den-l Mrs H it o. «.triinger to the vic- ‘
tim, and his presence within the room was not ,

unexpected nor resented by her!

" The cziptuin pulled his long beard for 8. mo—
ment in dccp thought; an entirely new train of
ideas had come to him in which neither tramps,

wandering Italian boys nor other common vaga- ‘

bond-x figural.

“ May I be lunged if I don’t think you are on
the right track, monsieur!” he exclaimed at
lust. “ It n'us some one whom she knew all
about ill.(l of whom she was not afraid. Oh, no
dou‘cr uiuout that at all; v e have been barkingr

up the wrong tree, looking for the man outside ,

of the house lll'~i.t'zld of within. But, I my,
what do you think about the diamond business!

Wli ,evcr'did the job went for the sparklcrs, ,
iiiid that is where I got throwniflf the truck. ,

I took it for granted that the trick had been
worked by some scalawng who had been liang‘
ing round unxicus for a chance to nip the div.-
monds."

“Oh, monsicur, I do not say lit 20 robbery
was not 20 main thing—mt wns 2.) grand coup;
zc murder but 20 means by which 20 end was
reached. And, m0ii=ieur, if you vill be pleased
to remember some of m greatest crimes have
been committed by gentlcmnns and ladies, not
by ze common people, 20 j-’-wels were vi orth a
fortune: a man of birth in what you call it tight
place, vill sometimes grab at a fortune as quickly
as 7.3 beggar.”

“More quickly, sometimes, by J we!” cried
Sir John, who had “been there” and “knew
how it was himself.” “A man well-brought
up, and used to money, when suddenly stinted,
will feel it a hundred times more than the poor
devil who has never had any and has always
lived from hand to month.”

“What course would you recommend, mon-
sieur’i"

“In the first place,” Sir John hastened to
say, “ our interest and intervention in the mat-
ter are to be kept a. profound secret, not to be
confided to any one under any consideration.”

The chief p edged himself to this, and then
the Frenchman unfolded his plan.

“ Let me try my hand first if you will be so
kind,” he said. ‘You give mine a list of 29
names of all ze gentlemans and ladies who were
at 29 house on ze night of ze murder and I v11]
pay my respects to them, one by one.”

“You want the ladies’ names, too?”

“Why not? Have you no female fiends in
zis country? We have plenty in France. I
have seen a woman use a. knife as well as any
mans in my time.”

“That’s true.”

“Zen put a watch on all wnbrokers’
shops or places where 29 diamon 3 may be of-
fered; zen I must see to ze sho )S where hmcefs
are sold. I must find out who ought not tool.
Do you know of any doctor, a friend of ze
madame!” .

“No. By George, though, young Clairborne
is stud 'ing for one, and he was very intimate
there, Iiindcrstand.” '

“Perhaps mt gentlemans is—vat you call

. him? my mutton, eh?” observed the detective,

with a grin.

 

CHAPTER XI.

A LITTLE OF THE PAST.

.‘Junon CLAIRDORNE was a man noted for
quickness of action and now that ho had
sounded his son, and ascertained his views in
regard to a uniOn with Miss Lauderdule, finding
that he Was in no ways averse to the match be
determined to hurry matters.

He had anticipated that there would be trOu:

“0 in gaining the young gentleman’s consent
to the union, for he was a close observer and
was satisfied that the mysterious Mrs. Espe-
riince had succeeded in bewitchln Raymond,
. and he feared it would be a difl‘icu t matte;- to
break the silken chains which sometimes, when
woven by a beautiful woman’s cunning hand,
are as strong as links of steel. .

He was both surprised and grutmed when he
found that. Raymond had, of his own accord,
broken oil’ with the siren, and be resolved to
brin mutter! ton climax before Mrs. Ea rance
could forgo anew the chain which ha bound
“'9 young man to her. .

In regard to the girl the judge. with on his
“agI‘c‘tYi Was nzrlml. She was it riddle not
“my read. lietlur she wiruld accept his son

for " .hu'bm’d, or refuse him. Clairborne knew “
“Mi and 30: hIVlng broiirglitJluyinond to a do. i

(ii-“i0||._ the judge mac-ceded to ascertain how
the heiress was infected in regard to the mat-

er. .
"I must know the urn-:1: and iancdiately,” i

.-.-,. 4 ._. _ ._..

Themes new;

 

I .
‘ he murmured, one day as he dressed himself.

“ I am late this morning. and I shall probably
’ meet her at breakfast; I could not have u better
op rtunity.”

hands trembled visibly us be adjusted his neck-

l

. ho judge was strangely out of sorts and his ?

, tic: Clairboriie never troubled his valet upon ‘ _ _ I
‘ You are a lovely girl, as )erlect, too, in your

, these occasions.

contemplated himself in the glass, “and the

then he shook his head, sadl .

1 although seldom retiiing to bed before mid-

“I am getting old,” he murmured, as he ‘

weight of cure is beginning to tell upon me,” ,

 

obedience since I ‘have dwelt beneath your
roof: you have but to speak and I will obey.”
“But that is not what I want,” protested
Clan-borne, a little impatiently. “I do not
want youtoaccept my son for your husband
solely ainse it is my wish; I had hoped that a
mutual affect-ion would grow up between you. ‘

mind and disposition as in ace and form, while
Raymond, I am sure you will admit, is a noble
fellow, fit match for any woman in the

i world.”

The judge usually brcn'fasted before the :
rest of the household as he was an early riser, ‘

night, for Cluirbornc, as his colored valet, old _

‘Julius, had often remarked, with a doleful
shake of the head, was burning his candle
at both ends, but on this morning. which
was the one following the night when Mrs. Es—
‘ perzince had met licrdeutli, he slept late, and,
as he had anticipated, came down to the table
at the same timous Miss L uderd ale.

After the meal was served and the servants
discreet] retired, for such was the rule of the
judge‘s ousehold, SO that convn‘sation might
be free and unrestrained, Clnirborne came at
once to the subject so much upon his mind.

Raymond, who usually brcukfiisted with his
cousin, liiid not yet risen.

The jud' e noticed that the girl did not look ,

well, and e carefully led up to the mint he
wished to reach by commenting upon er per—
sonal appearance.

“ What is the matter Philippa?” he asked,
“ you are not looking well this morning.”

“I have a slight headache,” she replied. “ I
did not sleep well last night.” ‘

“Reading
allow fictions, however interesting, to interfere
with your night‘s rest. Early-to bed and early
to rise, and on will have more color in your
cheeks than is visible there now.”

“ I have not been very well for some time.”

“You should take more exerciSe. Why is it
that you and Raymond do not ride together
more frequently? You are both very fond of
the exercise.”

“I cannot very well ask Raymond to go if he
doesn’t invite me.” .

“ Possibly you are to blame for that; you girls
have odd ways sometimes, and a oung, spirit-
ed fellow like Raymond does not ike to be re-
fused. I am sure if you indicated by your man-
ner that the invitation would be agreeable to
you it would speedin be extended.”

” Ah, my dear guardian, you are like all the
gentlemen—you wish the lady to play the
wooer.” .

“ Oh, no, but you are naturally so cold, that
any one not understanding you as I do, would
be apt to imagine your peculiar behavior arose
from aversion.” ‘

“I am sure Raymond knows me too well to
believe that.” ,

“ Perhaps so, but he is also odd in his wa'ya
and apt to jump quickly to conclusions; now, I

resume, Philippa, it is no secret to you that I

ave set my heart upon a. match between you
two; in fact, your mother and I agreed to the
arrangement years ago, when both you and
Ra mond were scarcely more than babes.”

lie irl looked down and toyed idly with her
spoon, t not the least flush appeared on her
face—not the slightest sign of the sweet con-
fusion that comes from the revelation of love’s
youn dream.

“ our mother and myself grew up together,
and had it not been for stern parent] interfer-
ence we would have married, but in our case
true love did not run smooth, and, although I
would have defied the whole world for her
sake, yet she, more easily guided, yielded to the
entreuties of a. mother whom she idolized, and

Me her hand where she could not bestow her

cart. She was a. saint-like girl, though, and
made both a. ood wife and a good mother. 1n
' a fit of piqueI married also, and secured a wo-
man who was a treasure, and whose kind] min-
’ istrations in time blotted out my boyis pas-
sion. But your mother and I, althou h fate
had directed our footsteps into wide y sep-
arated tbs, always kept up our ancient
friendship, and so arose the idea of a union be-
tWeen our two children.”

Philippa had listened with interest to the

judge’s story, for the romance of her mother’s
early life was new to her, althou h she was
well aware that from eurlygirlhood or mother
had always spoken of her as Raymond’s little
wife.
“And now, my dear Philippa, what have
you to so to this idea! Is it very distasteful
to on? hope not, for I re ard the solemn-
zation of the marriage no a Ity I owe to the
memory of your dear mother, who was once all
the wdrld to me.”

He watched the face of the girl narrowly as
j be put the question, but it was ike one of mar-
ble, utterly devoid of all expression.

There was quite a long pause, and then she
‘; slowly raised her eyes, which had sought the
i triple at the commencement of the speech, and
i so i): -

“Dear guardian, I have never refused you
i ‘.

 

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The Opportunity Was a favorable one, for ,

too late, I suppose: you must not ‘

 

l

‘

“ He is indeed, sir!"
“And can you not find it in your heart to
love hima littlef—for I am sure the slightest

encouragement from you would bring him to

your feet in an instant; but you are so cold, so
distant—“ -

“It is my nature, perhaps, and if it is so I
cannot help it," the girl interposed, again drop-
ping her eyes before the judge's earnest gaze.

“ It is meiideiily modesty and not want of in-
terest in Raymond, then. that has caused her
to treat him so coldly,” musul the judge.

“ My dear girl, I am pleased beyondexpression
to find I have niismiderstood you. I can hardly
explain to you how much I feared lest my son
was distasteful to you, and that your consent
to this union could not be won,” he said aloud.

“Raymond has never sought it,” she mur-

1 mured.

“That neglect will be speedily stoned for,
now that he understands, but your hitherto un-
accountable coldness has kept him at a dis-
tance; yet you are right—a maiden worth the
winning should not be too easily won. But in
the future you may rest assured you will have
no cause of complaint on that score.”

Then the judge ar0se, and, bending over the
girl, kissed the pure, white brow.

“ You have taken quite a wei lit from my
mind. my child, and I thank you or it.”

Philippa. put her handkerchief to her eyes
and retreated precipitater from the room,
while the judge returned to his breakfast,
which he attacked with a far better appetite
than he had enjoyed at the beginning of the
meal.

“Thank Heaven, that is all arranged, and
with much less trouble than I anticipated,” he
mused. “I begin to believe she does care for
Raymond, after all. Having secured his con-
sent, I fancied I would have trouble in obtain-
ing hers: but now, if the worst comes to the
worst, I am safe in that quarter.”

These were mysterious words, and. it is doubt-
ful if there was any one besides the judge who
could have explained their meaning.

By the time Clairborne had finished his coffee
Raymond entered the room. , ,

As the judge believed in strikin when the
iron was hot, he at once related to Iain son the
conversation which had passed between the
heiress and himself.

Raymond seemed decidedly out of humor

which be accounted for by Saying that he had ‘

passed a miserable night, but he did not offer

any opposition to the arrangement which his ,

sire roposed.
“ ery well
with your wishes.”
“And immediately; I have no sure hold on,
life, you know, and I am anxious to see on

married before I receive my summons for the

other work .”

“I will wait on her this morning and press
my suit, if it is your wish,” Raymond assured
him, a. little surprised at the judge’s eager-
ness. ‘

“ Do so by all means!” exclaimed Clair-borne, '
his face lighting up.

CHAPTER XII.
A STRANGE BITBO‘I'HAL.

AonnnABLv to his promise, after he had fin-
ished his breakfast, which on this occasion was
a mere apology for a meal, the young man

sought for the heiress.
“She’s done gone into do arden, sch,” aid
Raymond’l in-

the colored maid in response
quiry.

Into the garden then went the son, and in one
of the summer~housea at the further extremity
of the grounds he found Philippa. ‘

She was seated in a rustic rocking-chair, curl»
ous wrought out of red cedar, a book n in
her up, upon which her eyes were fixed, but
she was not reading. for she held the book up-
side down, and there were traces of tearsupon
her long, dark eyelashes.

steps she raised her head and and lround her
with a startled look like a (rig toned fnwn, sur.
prised in its forest lair. ,
But when she saw who it was, she forced a
smile upon her lips and nodded in salutdtion.
“You are not a very early riser this mom-
in ,” she said, endeavor-inn to assume: cheer-

'(
At the sound of Raymond‘s adviincing foot- I  

, fa ness which she was far from feeli

“I must lead guilty to the accusation, I
fear. But, was out late last night. and he who
keeps lute hours cannot be e ted to emulnto
the lurk in the morning,” he replied, sesti
himself upon the rustic bench which ran arena
the sides of the suinmcr-house. »

“ A frank Confession is good for the soul, they

.3
'7 _— i

sir," he said. “I will comply V

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ha ,but, are you not a naughty boy to keep
3

da hours?” e asked, shaking her finger, re-
provingly.

“In the future I will do better, and, Philippa,
I want you to aid me.” -

“I will do so glad] ,” and she looked him
strai ht in the face as s 8 spoke, her eyes clear,
her ace composed, not a si of emotion vis-
bio, and yet she knew fu I well what was
coming: a strange way- for an affectionate
maiden to receive a love avowal from the man
she fancied.

And his manner, too, was strange; not in the
least did he resemble an anxious lover.

“ My father has told me of the conversation
which he had with you this morning, at the
breakfast-table, and now I come to you to plead
my suit.”

At last the lustrous eyes drooped, but not a
sign of color appeared on the pale face.

“Philippa have been strangely situated,”
he continued; “ for nearly a ear now we have
been constantly together, an that I have not
learned to love you is because a dangerous
woman—a siren, had wound her toils around
me. Last night the spell was lifted, and for
the first time I saw that I had allowed myself
to become the plaything of a woman without a
heart. Then the disgust I experienced taught
me what I had thought was love was not love but
fascination. The spell is broken now and I am
free once more. 1 come to 'ou with this confes-
sion, for it is not right to as your hand in mar-
riage without letting you know all."

“You are honest with me, and I thank you
for it ” the girl remarked, her eyes still bent
upon he ground.

“ I do not come to you, Philippa, in the guise
of a despairing lover and beg you to wed me,
and by so doing to save my life; but, on the
contrary, as a plain, sensible, onest man, I beg
you to consent to become my wife and I promise
you to do all in my power to make you happy.

do not ask you to give me your love imme-
diately, but only to allow me a chance to win
it, which I feel sure in time I can do if I have
the opportunity. Dear Philippa, will you be
my wife?“ and rising from his seat, be advanced
to the girl, knelt by her side, and passing his
arm around her slender waist looked up into
the beautiful face, half averted from him.

Was it imagination or did a slight shiver

/ quivefithe girl‘s form as she felt the manly pres-

Raymond’s arm.
young man thought he felt the motion,

sure 0
The

and was puzzled to account for it.

The girl’s face was pale as death, and she

looked like anything but a maiden whose soul.

was filled with joy at the confirmation of love’s
young dream.

Slow] she yielded her hand to the warm
grasé) o beg lover, 'et she hesitated to reply.

“ peak, ear Phi ippa, and make me blessed
forever!” he exclaimed. “ Will
wife?” ’

“Yes,” she answered, slowlv, but with firm
accent, and her beautiful dark eyes filled with
tea

you be my

rs. -

Then Raymond arose, drew the girl to, his
breast and kissed the full, red lips, which sub—
mitted to the salute but returned it not.

“ Oh, leave me now, Raymond,” she pleaded,

. trembling With agitation. “I am not fit to re-

'1

V

ceive your cares<es; give me time to accustom
myself to this new relation. Yen have my
promise, I will keep it, and will be to you a de-
voted, obedient wife, but, leave me, for I am

I not fit to talk.”

~“ As you please; your words hereafter will be
as law to me, my own dear one,” Raymond re-
sponded, wondering at her agitation and unable
to account for it, for her behavior did not seem
to be natural under the circumstances; but
though young in years he had had experience
enough to know that the moods of a woman
sometimes pass all comprehension, and so, in
, obedience to her wish first pressing a kiss upon
her cold forehead, he left her.

The moment he was gone the girl gave way
tea storm of grief; bowing her head 11 n her
hands she sobe as if her heart woul break.
“What have I done—what have I done?” she

moaned.

Then theetorm passed away as quickly as it
had arisen. She sprung to her feet and dashed
the tear-drops from her eyes with an impatient

motion.

“ Oh, what a baby fool am I to weep when I
should be burning with anger!” she cried, and

.with impulsive steps she hastened to the house,
‘where, ina state 0 great excitement she bade
her maid dress her for riding.

Half an hour later, on the back of her favor-
ite. horse, she was riding) ug Canal street.
Straight out into’the subur s s e went, but, in-
stead of following the usual drive over the shell
road to the lake, she turned abruptly to the left
and gallOped ,into the interior, along a little
ran through a country rich with orange-trees
and ra at with orange-blessoms.

By this time her agitation had, in a measure,
‘euhsided, and when s 0 saw a well-known figure
in road a short distance on, mounted on a

y one, which, though old in cars, carried

master with all the easeof a co t, sheovinoed
no emotion, yet the time had been, and not far

' worl

‘that

 

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distant either, when the sight of Colonel Terre-
bonne, mounted upon the bay charger which
had carried its master all through the war
brou ht the warm blood into her cheeks an

temp es.

Lance Terrebonne was riding slowly, and
ever and anon he turned his head and looked
behind him as though he expected to be over-
taken by some one. __

CHAPTER XIII.
MORE MYSTERY.

A FEW words will reveal all. The colonel and
the heiresshad been acquainted ever since
l’hilipga was a little girl. He often had
dance the little beauty upon his knee. When
ten years old she had been sent to a boarding-
school from which she had returned, six years
later, in the full flush of maidenhood. Althou h
the colonel was seventeen years older than t e
heiress—almost old enough to be her father, as
the judge had remarked, yet he fell in love
with the glorious beauty, despite the difference
in their ages, despite the fact that the war had
ruined Terrebonne, and all he had to depend
u on was a sc,nty law practice for a living.

ith all the honor of a true entleman he had
striventoresistthe passion est it should be
said he was a fortune—hunter, and that it was
the wealth of the heiress which had attracted
him rather than her charms of person and
mind.

But what moth ever yet had resolution
enough to keep away from the light which at-
tracted him.

The heiress was passionate] fond of riding;
every morning, rezularly, w on the weather
permitted, she was in the saddle, and rode until
noon, and the colonel had encountered her,
quite often, for he too was fond of horseback
exercise; and as their tastes were much alike,
despite the difference in their years, they be-
came constant companions.

They met by chance, too; there was never
any appointment, but, each understood that al-
most any pleasant morning the other might be
encountered somewhere in the delightful little
country road. I

Terrebonne was an excellent companion—a
scholar, a man who had seen a great deal of
life, and was the better for it.

And when the two were together there did

not seem to be so very much difference in their
ages. The colonel at thirty-five looked not a
day over twenty-four, and the heiress far pre-
ferred him to the rather vapid, callow youths
of her own age.
' And so the two had gone on in this dan erous
intimacy, meeting almost daily until hot had
learned to look forward with impatience to the
time when they should ride together on the
lonely road.

N ot a soul suspected the intimacy that existed
betWeen the two, for none of the city pleasure
drivers ever troubled the country road with
their presence' the proper “caper” was to
drive, or ride, mm the city down the shell road
tothe lake and then back again. On the shell
road the two were never seen together. When
they reached it, returning homeward, she
would ride down, and be up, not by any spoken
agreement between them, but simply because
both knew that if the were seen together it
would create talk, and mm giving rise to gos-
si the shrunk. .

et etween the two no word of love had
ever assed—not a single sentence that all the
mi ht not have heard.

The co one] was over head and ears in love
with the beautiful girl; he.knew that she liked
him—liked his society and much enjoyed his con-
versation but he never presumed to think that
the mad passion—as he termed it when com-
muning With himself upon the subject—was re-
turned, and he was far too much of a gentle-
man to endeavor to entrap the affections of the
heiress.

On the present mornin
than usual and the colonel
with impatience.

Bright was the smile that illuminated his fea—
tures, then, when the girl rode up. Neither in
her face or manner was there any indication of
the emotion that had so lately c'onvulsed her, so
that the colonel had no suspicions that anything
out of the we had occurred.

He saluted er as usual and she bowed in re-
turn.

“ It is a beautiful morning.” he remarked, as
they rode on together, the horses at a walk.

“ Yes, and I am glad of it, for I wish my last
ride to be a pleasant one.” .

“ Your last ride?” exclaimed Lance, taken en-
tirel by surprise.

“ es, for after this morning I shall ride no
more.”

The disma which the colonel felt was plainly
visible upon in face.

“ Why, what has occurred to make you
change your mind? It was only yesterda you
said these dail excursions kept you a ive—
ou woul not know what to do without
your orse.” " » ,

“I am a woman, you know, and it is the

the girl was later
ad become feverish

 

 

vil of in sex to be 9 our minds with
831331.: reazon; but n‘tliig case I an; not so

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fickle as woman is generall supposed to be,
for I have two good reasons or my action. In
the first place I am going to be married—7’

“ Marriedl" exclaimed Terrebonne, with
white lips. although for a long time he had been
nerving himself to meet this blow which he felt
sure would come at last.

“Yes, and mv aflianced husband, possibly,
would not like these excursions; and then. too,
colonel, is there not some one who might object
to your playing the cavalier with inc—some
lady!” and there was a savage, merciless look
in the dark eyes as she fixed them intently upon
Terrebonne’s face. " '

He was amazed at the speechI—the accusation,
for so it was meant, and he understood it that

way. , ,

“I confess I am utterly in the dark as to
what you mean; there isn‘t a woman in the
world who takes any interest in me, as far as I
know.”

“How can you defame your lips by such a
vile falsehood, Colonel Terrebonne?” Philippa
flamed out fiercely, bringing her steed to a
sudden bait and confronting her companion
with a face pale with anger.

The gentleman checked his horse also, and
looked upon the passionate face of the girl in
wondering amazement.

“Philip 3., it is a terrible accusation you
have ma 8, and I trust you fully believe you

have good grounds for it, although I know,

you have not,” he replied, quietly, though
wounded to the heart by the cruel words.

“When a woman yields h r lips to a man
does not that give the woman a claim upon him?
I am not speaking at random; with my own
eyes I saw a certain scene enacted in the garden
of a mansion on the river road last night, and I
was not the only one who witnessed the scene,
for another gentleman who imagined that he
was the lady’s favorite also was a witness and
on our account he quarreled with the lady and
bro e off his ac uaintance.”

Terrebonne‘s ace grew as red as fire, and for
a moment, man of the world though he was, he
hung his head like a school-boy detected in
some grievous misdemeanor.

“i understand now,” he said, slowly, “and
although, for one who understands the world,
I have a good excuse for my indiscretion, pos-
sibly you will not appreciate it.”

f‘ Let me hear it.’

“ The lady of whom you speak—Heaven rest
her soul now—was one of those women who
chullmge men to admire her. Believe me I do not
boast when 1 say that she h :s openly paid court
to me and sought to win my admiration ever
since I became acquainted with her. Why, I
do not really know, for I am quite sure she
cared nothing for me and I am not a rich man
worth the winning, but I have a shrewd sus-
picion—which your words just now strengthen—
that she used me as a bait to lure another. By
seeming to give out that we were lovers she
hoped to induce the man, whom she really
wanted, to declare himself. Last night by
mere chance I encountered her in the garden;
she bantered me as usual; I had been drinking
freely' of champagne—more I own than was
good for me, for I seldpm indulge now in spirits
of any kind. She had arranged her plot, I am
now convinced, and, like the tool that I was, I
tumbled headlong into the snare. She began
by doubting my courage, and declared that,
though it was said during the war I had often
led my regiment up to the ca non’s mouth, I
would ,not dare to kissa )retty 'oman even" if
I ot the chance‘and t e lady was willing.
Philippa I do not pretend to be a saint. I am
nothing but a man whose fortunes in this life
are wrecked beyond all redemption, and who
has very few hopes or aspirations in the future;
afree man, too, whom no one has the right to
call to an account. . I accepted the challenge
and kissed her, but with no more thought of
real love for the woman than if she had been a
stranger whom I had never seen before.”

“Yes, yes; you are right; you were a free
man and your folly was not wickedness. Oh, I
understand it all now,” and she wrung her
hands in a piteous way, while tears started into
her e es. “And what have I done. wretched
girlt t I am? I was so happy! i thou ht all
was understood: it was like a dream, an I did
not ask for words or promises nor think of 'v-
ing them myself, and now—oh! what is be ore
1me l,” And this woman—you are not pligbted to

or

“Plighted to her?
possible that you do not know—have vou not
seen the newspapers this morning!” asked the
colonel.

‘(No'ii

“Mrs. Esperance is dead.”

“ Dead?” cried Philippa in horror.

i“h1t'e:s; she was brutally assassinated last
n .

g‘Assiissitiatedll’ cried the girl, her eyes di-
latin and the strangest kind of an expression
upon er face.

h“ Yes, the full partitiultars of the affair are in
t enewspapers; oueo t e reporters h pened
to, be present at the party, detailed 3’ Write
up the affair for ublication, but, instead of re-
hearsing the par iculars of a merry-making his

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pen was required to detail the circumstances of
a traged '."

“Dea —dead?” the girl muttered, her brain
seemingly in a maze, like one stunned by a heavy

0“’.

“Yes, assassinated in the most brutal man-
ner. She left the gay gathering in the parlors
for the purpose of attending to the refresh—

. ments, but, instead of so doing, she went up-
! stairs, and there, just on the stroke of twelve,

she met her fate.”

“It was his voice then, and in anger, too,
that I heard,” the girl muttered, but so lowly
that Terreboune did not understand.

“ I beg your pardon—what did you say?” he
asked.

“Nothing—nothing; I was only communing
with my own sad thoughts,” Philippa replied,
and her manner was so strange that the colonel
was greatly puzzled.

_“At twelve precisely the fatal stroke was
given, and the weapon chosen by the assassin
was one of the oddest that could have been
picked out—a. lancet such as a physician uses.”

“Yes, yes I understand i” cried the maiden,
with feverish ea erness, “and the blow was
given her right n,the throat, and the tiny
blade first piercing the jugular vein passed
through into the carotid,’ and with her finger
she indicated the exact spot on the neck
where Mrs. Esperance’s fatal wound had been

given.

, Just at that time the knowledge possessed b
the girl did not surprise Terrebonne, for ful
accounts of the affair were in the morning
newspapers, and the means by which the unfor-
tunate woman met her death were particularly
described; but afterward, when be reflected
upon the particulars of the interview, he re-
called her assertion that she had not seen a
iieWSpaper that morning, and certainly spoke
and acted as if she knew nothing whatever
about the matter.

" Yes, and the stroke being a fatal one, death
came speedily."

“l’l'hoever did the deed was mad!” cried
Philippa, abruptly. “No one in possession of
his or her senses could possibly have committed
such a fearful crime!"

“It seems to have been a very deliberate
murder, judging from all the circumstances,"
responded Terrebonne, who could not at all
comprehend why/the girl should be so excited
over the matter.

“Oh no, not deliberate, but a deed done in
the heat of passion—the blow given without a
thought as to the fatal consequences! Oh, you
cannot understand, perhaps, how one is blinded
by passmn when the heat of anger floods the
brain! There were angry words—a defiance
given and received, an i in rage the first Wea-
pon at hand was used; but. how can any one tell
that. the intent was to kill!"

The girl was terribly excited; her face was
ale. her eyes shone with an unnatural light and
er 1i )5 trembled.

“ ell, it is time that the deadly stroke might
have been accidentally given, but the probabili-
ties all seem against it.“

“ How can any one tell but the actors in the
scene? ' But, if the guilty one should be de—
tectcd—”

“ The gallows moat certainly awaits him.”

“Why do you speak as if the guilty one was
a man? A woman may have struck the
NOW!” ‘

‘ “Oh no; that is not at all likely; it was a
man on robbery intent, and when detected he
did not hesitate to commit murder in order to
esca )e." u '

“ Come tramp! ’

“Yes, I believe the authorities have got their
eyes upon a party new whom they suspect.”

The face of the irl brightened up. '

“Ah yes, no remit!” And then, suddenly
extending her hand she cried, as she clasped his
Palm: “Good-by, Lance! May you be as hap iy
as I shall bewretchedl” And then away s e
rode at full speed.

' CHAPTER XIV.
Joann, Roacu‘s LUCK.

v “YOU 583' 1 bring you-a bad luck, eh?” the
Italian boy exclaimed. in a triumphant manner
to the.tramp after the ot out of the courtr
room into the street. ‘ but you think now,

“Oh, I knowed we wpuld get nut‘of it, in
course,” the tramp replied. ‘I k1;on 13w
enuff to know that they couldn’t hold us.
"I‘ain’t the first time I have figured in a court.
room afore a ‘beak,’ by a Jugfnl; but for all
that it ain’t pleasant fur to be lu god tbrou h
the streets by a couple 9‘ blg We 8’3, 16815 H e
on had really bin npd gone and done
aomet in . Besides, it spmlt my fun at the
funeral. 8I reckoned I might be able to‘ ick up
atrifle to help me along. lam ’bout u’sted
30". ’way down to bed-rock, as the minin
Chaps say, and if I don‘t make a raise out o
stebOdY’ or something, before ion , I guess
like a er in the winter time I wil have to
“Ck my Haws for nourishment.”

“That is vara bad,” and the boy shook his
head. “ Have you no lace .your head-ato lay?”

“Not a bit of, a p ace, and that ain’t'the

\

' The

 

worstnon it—I ain’t got any money to buy grub
with. /

“ Bah! that is nossingl” the other exclaimed.
“You are old enough to be my fadder, yet a
t’ing or two I see I can-a teach you. You want
to eat, eh? Go to 29 first house you see, you
knock ze door at; when so Ipeoples come you
pulls ze long face-a; you say have had nossing
to eat for t’rce clays—you no give me food I die
here on ze doorstep-a. You see? You try zat
dodge, den you live like a fighting-cock!”

Johnny Roach looked at his companion for a
moment in unmixed admiration.

“ Well, I guess you are bound to pull through
this world, anyhow!”

“And why not? ze world owes ‘me a living;
it no gives it to me, I take it. Are ycu-a hun-
gry? Ze first house we come to I show you. ”

“No. I ain’t hungry, but I am dying for a
drink.”

“ Ah, yes, a,leetle whisk?7 eh, you bet! Zat
is both food and drink. like ze whisky my-
self; it is vara good—it 'ves a. man life-it
makesa man strong. W en I have big work
to do—bad work, you understand? With no
knife.” and the boy half-drew an ugly~looking
weapon with a long glittering blade from his
breast, “I fill up with whisky, then I no care a
fig! I strike ze mans if he is as big as ze side of
a house.”

The old tramp edged oil‘ a little from the boy
and looked earnestly into his face; he was some.
what in doubt as to whether this was the truth
or not. It might be only idle vaporing; he had
heard these “ornaments of society ” boast of
their eXploits before, and then, when the hour
of trial had come, had seen them show the
white feather in the most cowardly manner.
But the boy was not a parentiy talking for the
sake of hearin himsel talk, forhis mannerwas
quiet and an ued, not the least appearance of
bravado.

“ Why, you don’t mean to say you ever put
a knife into any one?”

“ Oh yes, and rat is 2‘9 reason rat I am here,
for from my native land—far from Genoa—
bcautiful Genoa!” and the dark face of the boy
lighted up as he thought of the old Italian city
which he claimed as his birthplace. “‘ I had a
pal; he robbed and struck me because I was a
boy—a child he call-a me; but ze child put a
knife right in his heart.”

Despite himself Johnny Roach shuddered at
the fierce tone in which the boy spoke.

“ll'ell, if ydu out such capers as that it
strikes me you wouldn’t be a very healthy indi-
vidual to have for a partner.”

“ Oh, put zat idea out of your mind, my good
friend; I am as true as steel to ze pnl who

la 3 honest wiz-a me; ifbe try a game let him
F00 out, for 1 will cut him to 7.3 heart.”

Now, Roach was not a strong man, by’ any
means, either in person or character: in fact,
as he had often said himself, when reviewing
his pas 2 career, he had been a. weak foil all his
life, and so, like all such men, he had an admi-
ration for stronger fellows than himself, and
this Italian, though only a mere boy, was far
stronger than he; and the more be reflected
upon the matter the more he became convinced
that it would be a good thing to accept the
boy’s proposal rnd join forces. His cunning
and the b9 ’3 audacity would surely produce
golden resu ts.

“ You were a-sayin’ that you thought it would
be a good idea for us to go cahoots—become
pals you know,” he remarked.

“ Yes, it is a grand idea, you see, eh? There
is a reward of five hundred dollars ofl‘ered for
ze capture of ze murderer of no lady, you
know, and French Louis is no man zat did ze
'0b. We lay him by re heels and we—vnt you
call itt—collar—yes, collar ze five hundred dol-
lars.”

‘ Oh, I‘m in with you, but I reckon you are
on the wrong track; the Frenchman never had

luck enou h to do the job; he‘s as chicken-
hearted in is way as I am in mine. Why, I
would as soon think of this hand putting the
knife into her throat as of French Louis having
a finger in the pie,” and the tramp held up his
dirty right paw as he spoke.

“ But, he had a motive—do you not see? She
was his wiLe: he come to her for mone and
she no give it—shc laugh at him, and tell 1m to
go hang himself, maybe; and then, in one grand
rage he stick her in ze neck, eh?”

“You talk jest like a picture-book, my
covey,” Roach exclaimed, admiringly. “I tell
you, you have got a nose like a. sportin’ dog; for
p‘ints. But, everything that on hayo said fits
me jest as well as it does the (landifled bloke.
I was her husband, once on a time, and  won’t
deny that. jest by accident happening to
stumble upon her here, I_ reckoned it Would be
a migh gobd bit of business to call upon her
and ask er for a trifle jest for old time’s sake.”

“She refused and you struck her, eh?”

“Yes. that is natural, ain’t it?” ‘

The Italian looked at the speaker intentl for
a moment, and as the old tramp returne the
gaze, he thought that never before had be seen
such a pair of eyes, so penetrating, so full of
life and fire.

“ Blegtif you ain‘t a corker, anyway!” he ex-
claime .

Double Ilét‘ective.

 

f g 1];

“You did not do it: it is not in nu to do
such a job; it was ze Frenchman,”t 0 Italian
persisted.

“ You’re out there, I’m thinking; still, it may'
be that he did it, but if he di and got the
sparklers, why was he so anxious to have me
for a pal?” ~

“A trick to cover up his crime, do you not
see? You know him—know that he is a man
who would not at any crime hesitate for
money. He was ’fraid you would suspect him,
so he make-z belief he think you do it, then you
no think zat it is him, eh?”

“There's reason in that; but, I say, if we go
in as pals, you’ll haveto find the blunt or put up
some 'ob so that I kin make it, for not a red
have I got now.”

“I have a
Italian, gesticu
countrymen.
on St. Charles street: plays ze feedle, you be
my r blind fadder le your hat in your
han . You cry out, ‘Helps ze blind, kind gea-
tlemans, helps ze blind,’ and I will draw ze peo-
ple around wiz my music.” I

The old fellow made a wry face; begging he
despised, but, as anything was better than
work, he assented to the proposition.

“Come with me to my house: you are-a
hungry; I will makeasou for you,’ the boy
suggested, after the tramp ad agreed to go in
with him as a pal.

This exactlycoincided with Roach’s wish, and
so the boy conducted him to a low quarter near
the French market, inhabited almost entirely
by foreigners, and introducing him into a dingy
little attic in one of the red-tiled-roofed houses
which looked as if they had been fransportc '
bodily from some mean street in Paris, proudly
proclaimed that it was his home.

“One dollair a week I pay,” added the lad.
as he waved his hand around, indicating that he
('Onsidcrcd himself monarch of all he surveyed. ‘
“ You think him cheap, ch!”

“()li, very tidy; it will do.” Roach’s eyes,
had fallen upon a good big bundle of straw cov-
ered by an oil piece of carpet, the bed evi-
dently, and to the tramp’s idea a much more
comfortable couch than the one he had occu-
pied on the preceding night, which had merely
been the lee side of a hedge.

There Wis 11 fire-place in the room, and from
the assortment of odds and endsin the vegetable ,
and meat line which thelad had on hand, refuse
gleaned from the neighboring market, he con-
cocted uite a. savory stew. to which the old
tramp ( id full justice. Then from nmid the
straw the boy produced a small bottle. about
half full of whisky. which the pld fellow at-
tacked with nrdor; after which the two

ad idea, listen!” cried the
ting, after the fashion of his

' stretched themsdves upon the bed and whiled

away the time by recounting stories of the
noted rascals whom they had met.

In his direct way the boy had questioned his
companion in regard to his acquaintance with
the beautiful woman who had come to her
death so strangely, but, while open-mouthed
enough upon other subjects, the tram was
strangely reserved about this, and be a ways
adroitly changed the conversation to some other
to )ic.

hen darkness set in the two prepared for
their enterprise. A shade was arranged for
the “ blind-man’s” eves, and the boy hunted up
a cane to complete t e rig.

“ St. Charles streetJight below the Academy
of Music, is a good place; it is always crowded
wiz peoples from seVen to nine. “'e vill make
a dollair sure, mebbe more, eh?” the boy said,
as the two descended the stairs.

“ Oh, I don’t know anything about it; I can’t
give you any p’ints in this leetle game. I’ve
had to beg for my grub a couple of dozen of
times, perhaps. but I never played no blindsman
game, I s’pose I had better fix myself all right
before I get in the street.” I

“There is no need of mt: sortie time it will
take us to walk to St. Charles street, and when
we gets there we can go in some alley, dark as
pockot, and put on ze bandage.”

“That’s so; no one will be apt to notice us,
and it will be a heap sight more comfortable
than to be playing blind—man all the wav.”

So the two strolled on together until they came,
to Canal street.

“ You know mooch New Orleans. eh?" the 1

Italian asked, as they turned into the broad.
thoroughfare. \

“No, I ain’t very well acquainted in these
diggings; I’ve only bin here a week.”

“It is a vara fine citee -fine place: make-a
mooch money here you get good start.”

The two were on ower Canal street, proceed‘
ing upward on it, the old tramp next to the
curb-stone, and, as wascustomary with him.
his ey es were bent on the ground as he val
Suddenly he grasped the boy by the arm.

“ Stopa bit. Joel” he exclaimed. “I thought
I saw smething shine in the gutter back
there. Who knows? it might be a trifle of
money.”

The boy grinned as he replied: \

“Oh, no; you no ick money out of no gut-
ter, even in New Or cans.” , ‘ -

‘ Hang me if I don’taeewl‘nt it is, though;
I’m a terribly lucky fellow at picking up things.

“To-night we will go and stand .

\

 

 
  
 

’r-

 

 

 

~ I

12x

I found a five-dollar gold-piece once, lying r
on the sidewalk where any one could see it.
“I wish you luck; 8. bit of glass, mebbe.”
The old fellow, notwithstanding the incredu-
lity of his companion, went back five or six

 

 

, steps and began to poor in the gutter, then he
' uttered a. sharp cry, then bent down and picked

up some small article.

“I told you I see’d something!” he exclaimed,
triumphantly, as he rejoinedx his companion
with his prize tightly clutched in his hand.

“ Afive—dollar gold-piece, eh?” asked the boy,
still incredulous. '

“Better nor that; you kin keep a still tongue
in your head?” and the tramp looked around to
be certain that no one was watching.

“Be-nol’i'ruid; no one is near.”

“ Oh, it’s a big ‘ boodle !’ See how it sparkles.
A diamond worth a thousand 'dollars, if it’s
worth a cent!"

And Johnny Roach opened his hand, and
there, upon his dirty palm, shone a bright stone
which sparkled in the dim light.

The eyes of the Italian dilated, as he gazed
upon'the prize. like the orbs of a out when pre-
paring to spring upon a prey, and a peculiar ex-
pression passed rapidly across his face. If the
tram had noticed it, his suspicions Would most

/- certainly have been excited.

. ‘ who has been ‘ broke Ip’ so badl y.

, x

' ham, as he' is always called, wi

\

‘i

 

CHAPTER XV.
A PECULIAR CHARACTER.

“ Ain’t it a beauty .4” exclaimed the tramp, as
he ogled the shining bauble. " A reg’lnr tenrcr
and no mistake. It would be worth a couple of
thousand if it wasn’t for that loetle imperfec-
tion in the side,” and he examined the stone
with the air of a connoisseur.

“ Is there something ze matter with ze stone?”
asked the boy, who still lookcd doulitt'nlly upon
the thing, just as if he hardly credited that a
diamond worth a thousand dollars was likely to
be found in the gutter.

“Yes, a. slight imperfection. but enough to
knock ’bout a half off its value. It has been
badly cut, and the workman, who was evident-
lya botch, chipped the stone. You see, there
wuss. time in my life when I was pretty Well
posted on diamonds. I had enough of ’em,
though you wouldn’t think it to look at me
now, but it was so, and I ain’t forgot what I
once knew.” '

“ It mebbe zat it is a diamond; but a t’ousand
dollairsl oh, zat is bi money!”

“I’ll soon find out iow much it is Worth. I
ain’t very well acquainted in the cit , but there
are a few p’ints ’bout Orleans that am posted
onto, ’cos when I am in the company of profes-
sional gentlemen, cracksmen and sich like, I al-
lera makes it a rule for to keep my ears open.
Now, there’s a. Jew who keeps a kind of a curi-
osit shop in One of the narrow streets that
lea s from Canal to the French quarter; I don’t
exactly remember his name nor the street, but
Is’pose I kin find it, and this chap will buy

’mOst anythin if there ain’t too big a. risk in
the bargain. aybe you know or have heered
tell on him i”

The boy shook his head, as the tramp eyed
him suspiciously, for Roach was sounding his
companion in order to find out the extent of his
knowledge.’

“Come to think on it, as near as I kin ro
member. the Jew’s name was—was Abraham—
Ahrgham something or other—ever heered on.
him . -

“ N0° when I have anything to sell zat is
crook I go to an Italian who keeps what you
call a ‘ fence ’ on no levee.”

“Oh, this Abraham ain’t any common ‘ fence.’
He’s no receiver of stolen goods, but if 9. cracks-
man—one of the men ’way u at the top of the
tree, you know—ha pens to i ve any precious
stone, not set, you now, but loose, so that it
cannot be easi y identified, wh , Father Abra-
buy them at a

cod. price. Mebbe I could find the street from
Ehe description; there's a peculiar-looking house
on the corner. As near as I kin get to it, I
think the last name 1: Cohen.” -

“Plenty men by that name in the citce.”

“ Yes, but only one will do for me, and that
is Father’Abrnham. 'Come along. and I will
trytoflnd the place. If we kin raise a thou-
sand on the s rkler, it will be a great deal bot-
tor than playing blind-man's bufl’ on St. Charles

‘ ‘ .vstreet.”

There was no disputing the some of this re-
mark, and so the two pli'pceeded directly up the
otteet, the tramp keep g a sharp eye upon the
various cross streets.

A few blocks above the Grand Opera House,
the old-time Varieties theater, Roach halted

upon a corner.

“Thialooks like it,” he observed, “and it is
about three streets down.”

On they went and soon halted in front of a
mall shop in whose window all sorts of odd ar-
ticles were displayed. (her the door a small
sign here the name of Abraham Cohen.

‘ This is the place; I reckoned I could find it,
for I have a mighty good memory for a man

The two entered the store; it was a narrow,
dingylittlo place, dimly illuminated ‘by a con-
ple of’ooal-Oi lamps.

‘ .

TheDoubleADetective. .

’ight

 

 

An old man. with a Jewish cast of features,
completely bald, and with a long gray beard,-
sat reading a newspaper behind the counter.
He laid aside his newspaper and ram to receive

his visitors; his dress was as cculiar as his ,

face, for he was arrayed in a. ong black coat
which covered him from head to heel, n. modi—
fied gabardine such as his forefathers in the
olden time. had worn.

A very patriarch was this modern Father
Abraham )1) his personal appearance, and al-
though the two who had entered his premises
were not at all prepossesdng in their attire,
and looked like anything but customers Wlmsc.
trade would be of Value, yet the store-kec )er
con'd Hot have received them with more polite—

ness it' they had been the richest traders in the .

city.

“ Vat can I do for you this evenings, gentle,-
mansl” he inquired, his voice soft, mclodious and
insinuating, strongly reminding one of the pur—
rin of a Well~fed, contented cat;

“ want to know the value of a little bit of a
stone 1 have here,” Roach rcplied, opening his
hand and displaying the prize which he had
found.

The dark eyes of the Jew sparkled as he
looked upon the stone. An excellent judge of
diamonds, he was at once impressed with the
appearance of the gem.

‘ Oh, I see: this is vat I calls bis’ness, gentle—
mans; and therefore vill you blease\ hafe do
kindness to walk into de inner room, where we
vill not be disturbed! This is a bad place to ex-
amine such costly articles for them is no telling
who may be peeking in do store windows.”

So the sliopkeo-Ix'r conducted his visitors into ,

a little room at the back of the store. The

apartment was plainly furnished, a table in its ,

center on which was a lamp.

The Jew hastened to place chairs for his
guests convenient to the table, waiting upon
them in the most polite manner, drew one up
for himself and sat down, but not until the oth~
ers were seated.

“I was advised to come and see you when-
ever I happened to have anything to sell,"
Roach remarked, “by one of the boys who has
had’ponsiderable dealings with you. The party
is—

Th store-keeper held up his hand.

“ ine goot fr’end,do not mention names,
nor is it necessary for me to know who is the
party. All do poys know old Fadder Abraham,
and when they want to get (is Worth of their
money they come to me. I ish an honest man;
I do pisness right up to de handle. I never ask
questions without. goot reason, nor my gustom-
ers’ names; vat ish dot to me? If do goats
suit me and I can see monish in dem, I buy; if
not, I dells dem so right away, and do pisaess is
ended.”

“Oh, this is all right and a':ove-boardl” the
tramp exclaimed. “There isn’t anything
crooked ’bout this: I came honestly b the
sparkler as my pal here can tell you. 6 was
by when I got it.”

For the first time the Jew tamed his atten-
tion to the Italian boy,who had lithcrto kept
himself in the background, and as his lar e,
mild eyes surveyed the face of the Italian, 6
puckered up the corners of his mouth in a pe-
culiur way. Though the eyes of the Jew were
jet-black yet there was nothing fierce about
them: on the contrary they beamed with the
softest and tenderest light. No one evor saw
“ Father ” Abraham exoited or angry although
he had had since his settlement in the city a
couple of stormy passages with the chief of po-
lice in re ard to certain matters. The chief bud
bluster. and stormed after his fashion, think-
ing to frighten the Jew ‘fence ’ as he coarsely
termed him to his face, but Abraham, on the
principle that “a soft answer turneth away
wrath,” so conducted himself that the burly po-
lice chief departed, no wiser than when he
came, but in reality a little ashamed of him-
self, and about half-convinced that the Jew had
been wronged and was a pretty honest kind of
a man, after all.

“ Dis ish your fr’endi” he said, with a nod to-
ward the boy.

“ Yes, my pal.”

“Dat ish goot- pals are goot when they are
goot,” coocd the ow, softly.

Johnny Roach was old and not quite so quick
of comprehension as he had once been, but, for
all that, he was acute. enough to understand
that the Jew for some reason mistrneted the

b0 .

’YNo wonder,” be mentally cogitated to him-
self, “I don’t think much of Italians myself.
but he’ll answer my purpose well enough now.”

The bo , though, never seemed to notice the
covert nainuation conveyed in the. Jew’s
speech, but stared at him with the semi-blank
expression common to his countenance.

‘ Well, w’at do you think of this stone!”
Roach continued. ‘ I used to be a pretty good
judge of di’monds, and I reckoned t at it ought
:0 hp, worth pretty close toytwo thousand dol-

an.

The Jew shook his head and lifted up his
hands with a. prolonged “Oh P’
had laid five undrod he would have done just
the same. This was his great point in trade;

t \

If his customer ~~

 

1

‘he was always astounded at the price that any
one wanted.

“ Nottwo t'ousand, mine goot fr’end,” he an-
swered; “one t’ousand would be large monish.
My dear fr‘end, dcr stone ish blemished.” The
sharp eyes of the Jew had detected this fact
upon the instant.

“ I know that as well as you do, and it would

. be worth two thousand easy if it wasn‘t for
the scratch. But how much will you give—one.
thousand!”

“ Five hundred, mine fr’end, und den I makes

' you a brcscnt of feefty dollars.”
“ Nnry time; eight hundred is the lowest
, cent I will take,” and Roach rose as if to de-
part.

“1101’ on! I will gifes you seven, seeing dat
' it ish you und you needs der monish.”
“ I won’t stand on a trade for a hundred dol—
. lars, so it’s a bargain, but you will double your
' money on it, easy enough,” and he put the jewal
into the Jew’s hand.

“If I make fecfty dollars I am lucky.”

Then Cohen examined the stone carefully,
and as he did so a puzzled look came over his

ace.
“ lV’at’s the matter 2?" Reach demanded. ‘
“ I do not know, but dere is something wrong
mit dis stone.”
“Isn‘t it a di’mondi" gasped the tramp, be~
coming teal-fully excited on the instant.
“ So help me Moms! I can‘t tell. liuchel I"
1 he cried.
,1 A
‘ Jewess gir ado her appearance.
“ Dis stone, quick—what ish it!"
The girl examined the jewel carefully, then
' replacing it in her father‘s hand, said:
“ It is not a diamond but an imitation, :1 won—
1 derfully good one, but not a genuine stone.”
With a gasp the tr mp sunk down in a faint.

i ' CHAPTER XVI.
l

H

 

‘

A CHARMING \VOMAN.
TEN days had elapsed since the one upon the.

night of which the unfortunate Adeline ESpP--
, rance met her death and not the slightest clew
hadrllieep gained in regard to the perpetrator of
tho- “m .

Some new developments had taken place in
the case, tho h. -

The firm of operleese and Son, bankers and
brokers had' attended to all of Mrs. Esper-
ance‘s business since her arrival in New Or-
leans, she having come straight from Paris
with letters of introduction to them, and the
father and son who composed the firm were
much astonished when, some three days after
the mysterious taking 03 of their fair client, a
somewhat owrdressed forei er made his ap-

arance in their office and c aiming to be the-
awful husband of the dead woman, demanded
to be informed in regard to the state of her af~~
fairs and be put in possession of her assets.

Now the truth was that although Mrs. Espe-
rnnce had been possessed of a goodly sum of
money when she had come to the citv, and
had banked thirty thousand dollars with Loper-
lcese’s house in the beginning, yet she had lived
so extravagantly, that, not only had she got rid
of the cash she had brought with her, but had
run into debt tothe amount of some twenty
thousand dollars. The money had been secretly
advanCed by Judge Clairborne throu h the
brokers, as detailed in a recedin c apter.
And, as security], she had given a bil of sale of
everything she ad, not even excepting her dia—
monds or her costly dresses.

When the existence of the French husband
was made known to the judge, he scouted the

idea.

“An adventurer!” he cried, “who thinks to
fatten on what she has left. Wait long enough
for the news of her death to reach Europe, cou-

led with the re ort that she has left a fortune
behind her, an I will we er that the next
steamer will bring over a. he. f dozen husbands,
each fellow with as good a claim as his neigh-
bor, for such a woman as she was probably had
a husband in every city in which she lived for
on length of time.”
he jud c, it was clear, was very much preju-
diced against the lady. and the brokers who
were acquainted with the gossip of the wn
which coupled the names of the Judge’s son and
Mrs. Es ranoe, did not wonder at this bitter—
ness of he father.

80 Monsieur Ado] h De Belleville, as he
loftin termed himse t, was told in plain, curt
terms that there was nothing for him, as the
estate of the murdered lady was not sufficient
to ,lpay her debts.

he Frenchman blustered and threatened law,
shile the broken laughed at him, and he left in

is not.

udgo Clairborne, in his office, was musing
over the affair, the particulars of which he
been related to him by Loperlme, the older
who had just left, when the servant. entered
with the intelligence that a lad y desired amin-
terview with him. \ '

She was admitted; a lady dressed entirely in
.black, but very richly, and closely veiled. She
was tall, apparently of magnificent form. and

sewed that imposing air peculiar to women
of refinement and fortune.

 

\

younghpale-faced but really beautiful‘

 

E

flam, ~.-..-. -

M *W-. H

.. a .a..._..._._h_._.__. a;

 

 

" “ I beg your pardon for intruding upon our  “ A large sum. The contest will undoubtedly
ions ' boa desperate one; you me have to risk the
ever reached Clairborne's ears, “but I i greater part of your forty t ousand dollars be-
am a stranger in the cit and desire counsel, 1 fore the end is reached,” be observed.

privacy ” she said, in tones the most mel
that had
and I have been refcrr

to you as one most
likely to advise me.” '

" Thev‘Double,’ Detective.

l
|

, As she finished she raised her vail and re- ‘
vealed the face of a woman of twenty-five or ;

thereabouts—a really
lovely in feature but fui of soul.

Claii'borne, a keen observer and good judge of
human nature, was most favorably impressed.

“Pray be seated, madam,” he said, hastenin
to bring her a chair. “ I assure you, madam, [I
will cheerfully aid you in any way in my

wer; -

“ I am from Florida.”

“ From Florida, madam? I have a great
manyfi'icnds in Florida, and am pretty well
acquainted all over the State.”

“ I am from Punta. Rosa.” '

“ I am Well acquainted in that section; I for-
nicrlv owned property there.”

“ Perha )8 you were acquainted with my late
husband, eneral Calhoun.”

“ Why, certain] , madam,” and the judge
arose and shook nds with the widow. “ I
was intimately acquainted with him about
twenty years ago, but he was not married then,
and—excuse me, but you must have been much
youn er than yourlate husband.”

“ es, young enough to be his child, and he
was always to me more like a father thana. hus-
band.”

“ I heard of the general's death about a year
ago, but I was not aware he had a family.

“ There was no family, sir, except myself,
and on that account the general’s relatives,
aided by rascal] y lawyers and a corrupt jud ,
have succeeded in wresting from me all t a
vast dpgoperty of which my husband died pos-
sesse

,“ Why, madam, you really astonish me.”

“Truth is stranger than fiction, you know,
and the tale of wrong that I have to tell pales
the invention of the meat expert novelist.”

“Your husband, I believe, was very wealthy.

Some years ago if I remember aright, he was
interested inn l‘lorida railroad which made a
fortune for all the original projectors.”
_ “Yes sir, he was verywealthy, but he had
my nearl all the money he possessed in
land, and so terhis’death I fell an easy prey
to his grasping relatives. I was all alone, no
one to advise me, and I trusted implicitly to
my lawyer, who betrayed me and became the
Willing tool of my enemies. The judge who do-
cided the case was also in league against me,
and so all my husband’s reat estate was wrest-
ed from me and I came ore, to New Orleans
almost penniless; in diamonds are about all I
havo saved from t e wreck.” And, taking a
jewel-case from the li‘tle traveling-bag which
she carried, she opened it and exhib ted a. really
magnificent set of jewels.

“Really, madam, you did not come so badly

01!,” the jud remarked, examining the dia-
monds with he eyes of an expert. ,“ These
gems are wortlra geodly sum.”
' “My husband paid five thousand dollars for
them, and it was always considered that he got
a great bargain; be procured them from a
party in need, obliged to have money, and not
from a dealer.”

“ You are not absoluzely penniless, madam,
then, with those jewels at your command,” the
judge remarked.

“Oh, no; all 1 lack is ready money, for in
addition to these trinkets, I have a claim of my
husband for some fifty thousand dollars against

.an English hrusewhich failed some time ago.
As a joke, one day, he assigan the claim to

. me, believing it to be worthless, but only a

week ago I received a letter from an agent of

autiful face, not only 1 amount of money is involved the contest is

 

 

the house, now in New Orleans, who is in this 1

country for the purpose of settling up the af-
fairs o the firm, informing me that the house
had succeeded in settlin 5 their affairs so ‘as to

be “bio to resume business shortly, and that. if ;

I would accept it. they would pay eighty per

cent. of the face of the claim—one half in cash .

and the balance in secured notes at three, six
and nine months, which I could very easily
turn into ready money at a slight discount if
was in need of funds.” ,

“ A most wonderful windfall.”

“Yes, sir, for when I receive the money I
shall be able to renew. the fight for my rights
under different amplceS- can return to

Florida and compel'these knaves to disgorge ‘

the money which they have stolen,"

“ Undoubtedly l '
very powerful argument, sometimes.”

.“ And the reason 1 bays called upon you to-
da , Judge Clairborne, is to see if I could not
Ketgyou to undertake the management or m
an rs, for, with your knowledge—your expo"-
900°. Ifeel sure you would be able to snatch
tmm the“ rascals the property they have
seized.” ‘

The 10589 pondered over the matter for a
few moments.

“Wth inky: estimated value of the Prof" ‘

e ‘- 1;” he as h .
.l'om 3 undred and sevent -flve to two i a
hundred thousand dollars." y
it. x

l.

i
i

Forty thousand dollars is a I

i it’s the worst piece of luck 1 ever struck. I

' money as soon as it reaches me, and you can

a

 

“I will risk it all—lose all—every dollar in
the struggle l” she replied.

“ Oh, no doubt in the end you will win, but I
wished you to understand that where such an

generally long and the cost heavy.”

“I confideimplicitly in you, judge: you are
an honorable man, and I feel perfectly safe in
your hands. I will transfer to you this English

use it at your own discretion. All I will re-
quire is merely money enough for my personal
expenses—my hotel bill and such things.”

“ Where are you located l”

“Nowhere as yet. I came straight to on
upon arriving in the city. I thought that I ad
better, trespass upon your kindness to advise me
in regard to where lshould go. When my bus-
band was alive we always stopped at the St.
Charles when we visited the city, but as I am
situated now I thought it would be better for
me to go to a less expensive hotel.”

“Some private house would be far better.
Have you no friends in the city i”

“ Hard] an acquaintance.”

The ju go had had an idea in his mind for
some time, and was dually leading up to it.

“ Mrs. Calhoun, der the circumstances
might I make hold to offer you the hospitalities
of my own mansion, until such a time as your
legal affairs are settled? My ward, Miss Lau-
derdale, will, I am sure, do a lin her power. to
make you comfortable.”

There were tears in the o as of the unpro-
tected woman as she gra ully accepted the
offer, and Clairborne, as he looked upon her
striking features, wondered why she had re-
mained a widow so long, for surely she was
worth the winning it ever a woman was.

CHAPTER XVII.
no DIAMOND!

“MINE tnessl vat ish do matter mit de
mans!” cried the old Jew, when the tram so
unceremoniously flopped down on the con
“ Rachel, a glass of water, ick'l”

But, before the girl cou d return with the
water, the Jew and the be got the fainting
man into a chair; his senses a come back.

He still had the diamond clutched fast in his
hand, just as it was when the Hebrew had is,
turned it to him with the information that the
stone was of no value. . ‘

And the first thing he did when he recovered
from the faintness was to open his hand and

glare at the stone. . ,
“ N o di’mund-no di’mnndl” he muttered, as
rightly.

 

if reluctant to believe he had heard
“ Do you say that this here is no di’mund

“It ish not, mine friend; it is a. very cot
imitation, but it ish not the genuine ar cle.
My eyes are old; I cannot see so vell as vonce
on a time, and the imitation is so goot at the
first examination I did not detect the truth,
but Rachel, mine child there, no expert in the
world know a precious stone better than she;
you no fool her for a cent’s worth.”

“ No di’mund—no di’mund l" groaned Johnny
Roach, rising slowly to his feet and still glaring
upon the bauble, which really sparkled in the
light cast by the lamp like a pure brilliant.

“ No, mine friend, I am sorry for you; I
would like to hate made a trade; it makes
mine heart bleed to turn a gustomer away, but
zat ish no diamond and you can bet ten t’ousand
dollars on it.”

“So-long!” said Mr. Roach, mournfully, as
he quitted the inner room and walked through
the shop to the street. The Italian follovmd,
but as he ste ped over the threshold of the
door, the old few, who was right behind him,
laid his hand on his shoulder and whispered in
his ear: .

“ Vat game you blay on mine fr’end With the
false stone. eh? or, maybe. it ish some leetlc
game you try to blay on me, hey?”

“ What you talk about? I know nothing ’bout
you,” the boy retorted. _

“You fool him, maybe, but you no fool me.
Don’t you come here again, ’ cautioned the
Jew.

“If I a-want to come I will come; you a-l'un
your own business and a-leave me to attend to
mine,” and the boy shook oil‘ the Jew’s grips;
dis laying a strength that astonished the ag
He irew, and followed his companion.

The old tramp swore away at a great rate to
himsclf as he plodde down the street, and
when the boy caught up with him, he turned
abruetl y and said: .

“\ ’ot do you think of itl, Don’t you think
that it was a job put up by that cursed Jew
to rob me out of the stone by pretending that
it wasn’t any good?” ,

“ Who knows?” responded the Italian, shrug-
ging his shoulders.

“ Don’t it look to you like a di’mund?”

“Oh, yes: but I am no judge; what do I
a-know about diamonds?” ,

“And if it is so—if it isn’t a di’mund, there’s

 

fortune gone right out of my grasp! Why.

thought I was made forever—no more misery
no more wandering through the world, kicked
and cuffed at every turn, and now the cursed
thing has gone up like a balan 1”

Not a single word of this muttered speech es-
caped the quick ears of the Italian.

“ How you a-speak of a fortune?" he inquired. ’
“ Fix'tgseven hundred dollairs, mooch money
but no fortune; we catch ze Frenchman and
prove be murdered ze madam we get live hun-
dred dollairs; no fortune, but good bit of
money.”

“ Yes, but this was only the beginning—’_’
and then the tramp stopped abruptly and cast
a sideway lance at his companion, just asjf he
had sudden y discovered that he was talking too
much and wished to see what impression his un-
guarded words had made upon the lad.

But the Italian‘s stolid face showed no sign
that he attached any importance to the talk of
the tramp, and Johnny Roach felt relieved.

“You see,” he explained, “ what I meantby
the beginning was that with this money I could
start into something and mebbe make a strike
and so make a. big thing out of it; but that is
all gone up now,” he added with a groan—

“ that is, if the Jew knew what he was talking
about and this here stone really is bogus.”

“Try some odder place,” suggested the boy. 4
The two had turned into’Canal street new and
Were approaching a large jewelry store, which
caught the ltalian’s eye. “ Dere, try zis place.”

“But the risk?” muttered Roach, pausing ir-
resolutely before the brilliant show windows. *

“ What risk—what you ’fraid of, hey?”

“Oh, nothin’; but they might think I had
stolen it if ’tis a di’mund.” , _

“ Did I not see you find it with my own two
eyes! Can 1 not swear to that, hey i” . _
“Yes. yes, I don’tsee as they could do any-
thing, any way; 1 found it and that is all there ‘ ‘
isnbout it.” - *’ ‘ ‘ ’

And so plucking up courage Beach in I
mfg“): “if: the h I ' 1

t pened proprietor imself, a ‘
Frenchman and one of the best judges of guns '
in the world, was in attendance. '

Des lie the appearance of his visitors Isa-ro-
ceiv them with all due civility, for it was not
in his shopkeeping nature to be rude to any

one.

Roach told his story; a r man he had
found the stone, and wan to know what it
was worth.

The jeweler examined it, carelessly at first,
for he had no idea that it was of any value, but
when.~ instead of being a common pebble he aw
that it bore every appearance of being a real ' - ,
diamond, he grew interested, for gems worth a.
hundreds of dollars were not usually to he pick- . '
ed out of the gutter. Then, like the Jew he be-
came puzzled. . , . ,
“Sir, this seems to be a diamond, and if so it i
is worth a goodly sum, but there is something -  3
about it that doesn’t seem right,” he said to the ~42
tram , who was trembling with agitation. : , ,1

" it’s a di'mund!” cried Roach, “for tho »- ‘-

.. 9

love 0 Heaven say that it is all right, a genuine ,,
stone, and you’ll make a poor devil’s fortune.” » ‘

The polite Frenchman looked astonished at ' . - 
the emotion of the other, and shrugged his ~, 
shoulders after the manner of his race. « '

“My dear man, I will not deceive you; i _ _ ’ 
makes no difference to me whether it is a I» ' ,
inc stone or not. Iwill tell you the trut : at 5"
the first glance I should unhesitatingly say that - 
it was a diamond, but when I come to examine ;' 3
closely I am a little in doubt. . It it isnot a '
genuine stone it is the most marVelons imitation '
I have ever seemend it was not gotten up on .
this side of the water.” . ~ ‘-

“Test it—test it for Heaven’s sake, and let .'  
me know the truth!" cried the tramp, hoarsely ;
while the Italian boylooked on in his stolid _ , 
way, seemingly taking very little interest in I _
the affair. '  

The Frenchman in the most obliging way cm a 
plied with the request of the old fellow, and .. 
the result was he placed the stone upon the i ' 
show-case With the information that it was not 1
a diamond. ‘ -

The tramp groaned in a hollow sort of way,
took up the gem and departed. ; , i

“ The Jew was square, arter all,”he mutter- '
ed, after he had got into the street.

Roach was in a terrible state;—-he could hardly '
walk straight but stag cred like a drunken man,
so that he was fore to lean upon his com-
panioii’s arm. ‘ »

“ Never mind! betth luck next time, oh?” re- . ;
marked the boy, consolingly. 1

“Oh, to think of bein dished in this here ‘
way!” Roach groaned. ‘ And I reckoned, t
that 1 was uits with the world for goods. ‘ x ’3
all. It’s mig ty rough, I tell you, to get h’istod V
in this way.” “ ,

“ Say we vill go and have a drink. I have a
dollair and we vill take a glass or two of no
whisky. We vill go down to Girod‘strett. W9 ,
vill get more whisky for our money there sun It " ~ ,
any oddcr place in we town, cl)!” 3 I. x

“ All right; I‘m with you anywheres, but 3 ‘  -
dollar ain‘t much for two thirsty men. Ireckon _ -’
it would take ten to get me drunk enough to ,1” ,
make me faggot this here disappointment,” 3.: ; ‘,

ch moan . ‘ , _ 'v 

'

 

' a ,some time, at the same time examinin

The Double Detective.

 

 

“.Aha, you do not know the Girod street
whisky! Two drinks make a man wish to
strangle his grandmother.”

“That is the kind I want; but here, let me
stow this infernal, blarsted hum bug away some-
wheres. I ought to go and fling it into the
river but I am going to keep it just out of
spite.”

“So would I!” responded the b0 , and link- -

ing arms with the tramp, who was n a state of
almost utter collapse, he conducted him to a
low drinking—saloon situated near the corner of
Girod and Levee streets.

Roach had fished an old wallet from a secret
pock tin the breast of his coat and deposited
the iamond in it, then had replaced the book.

The boy who saw everything without appear-
ing to do so noted the action, and also that the
pocket—book contained a little wad rolled up in

per which looked like money, although the

ramp had protested he was penniless.

When they entered the saloon the Italian
nodded to the proprietor like an old acquaint-
ance; then the two sat down at one of the little
tables with which the placo was provided and
called for their liquid refreshment. The tramp
took whisky while the boy indulged in native
me.

The raise which the Italian had bestowed
upon t e Girod street whisky was not unde-
served for the first lass the tram tossed of! at
a gulp fairly broug t the tears to is e es. '

. ‘Durn me if that ain’t good!” he c ed. His
taste had become so depraved that the stronger
the drink the better it appeared to him.

‘Three glasses in rapid succession finished Mr.
Roach, and the boy half-carried him to his attic
home where be deposited him u n the heap of
straw, and then. in the most deliboerate manner
he proceeded to “ go through him "in the most
thorough fashion, not even neglecting to ex-
nmine the lining of his well-worn coat, al-
t gh nothing but papers could be concealed

ere.

Had the tramp then walked into the spider’s

'  when he accepted the hospitality of the
talian It looked like it, but the vagrant,
overcome by the drink, slumbered on in peace.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE REAL STONE.

OLD Abraham Cohen and his daughter had
quite. a confaty together after the two rather sus-
picious customers de rted.

“ Mine gracious, chel what you t’inks

\V’bout dis t’ing, ah!” the old man demanded.
“Where you s’pose dat tramp pick up dat
stone dat was goot enou h to fool my eyes?"

“Oh, I think he told t e truth when he said

, that he found it, father,” she replied.

‘ “ You t‘ink so? Mine gootness! dat vas a
wonderful stone! I hate seen a great many
false diamonds in my time, but I never see a
stone dat vas as goot as dat.”

\ “ It is of Parisxan make, father: don’t you re-
member that when old uncle Shadrack came in
about two months ago, just after he returned

, from Paris, he told us about the fine imitation

. diamondsthe were getting up in Paris and
how difficulti was to tell them from the real
article?”

' “ Yeah, my‘ dear: yesh, I remember now, but,
my dear child, I have been hearing that self-
eame story ever since I vas so high,” and he
placed his hand so near the floor that it was

’evident he must have been very Iyoung in years,
indeed, at the time to who he referred.
“Mine gootness! vat on take me for, he ,
Rachel? Do you t’ink believes all dat I hear?
Oh, Moses, no! It would male my head ache
to carr it all; besides, old uncle Shadrack is
such a 1 ar you cannot believe more as one-half
he says.”

The bell over the store door, which rung when

.' the door opened, sounded at that moment and

i the old man hastened to the front, where he
found a tall man with a weather beaten face,
the lower part 0 which was hidden by bush
whiskers, dressed roughly with a well-worn fe t
hat pulled down over his eyes.

By his appearance he was a member of that
class common to New Orleans and other cities
alon the Mississippi and its tributaries known
as ver men, am this particular river man
see ed to be in hard luck. '

,' Cghcn had had considerable dealing with
these men, as he kept a large assortment of
second-hand Wea as to which that class was
particularly partial.

This caller was a stranger to the old Jew, but
Cohen had no doubt that some former patron
had sent the man to his shop.

“ (loot-evening! I hope you ish well,” Cohen

' I

 

l -

‘ ' ' ' saluted, rubbing his hands noiselessly together

bud smi'ling upon the other as though he was
some'dear friend whom he had not seenhfor
. 1m
; : witha close scrutiny that the other evi ently

' .‘ did not fancy.

With evory detective in the city Cohen was
as well acquainted as though they were all his
brothers, and be soon deemed that he was no
. officer in disguise and that he lad never seen
g "him before.

‘i‘Lcmme see.” sail the man. in a hoarse,
,grui’i’ voice, l lg; on ) S'erllillg wiuh cithcr a see

i vere cold or else from long indulgenco in strong
‘ 1i uors, “ I s'pose you buy things hyerl”

‘On, yesh, my dear fr’end, I buy t’ings, if

they are wort’ anyt’ing.”

“ Well, I’m strap jest now an’ I‘Ve got to
.' make a raise some ow. The bo ees down in
' this hyer town hev been too muc for me, and
l I reckon the quicker I light out and git up the
, Rod ag’in the better.”
! “ You are from Red river, then? A fine
* gountr up do Red, mine fr’end. I hafe a goat
, many riends up de Red; mine cousin lives up
‘ in dat gountry. \Vhat town are you from,
mine gout sir?”

“ Shreveport.”

“ Ah, yesh, dat ish a bully blace: mine cousin
Moses, he keeps mit a store in Shreveport. You
knows him, eh, maybe—Solomon Cohen i”

“ No, never heard of him, and that is funny,
too, for I know ’bout all the store-keepers
thar.”

But it was not “funny,” for the cousin ex-
isted only in the speech of the Jew. In some
mysterious way he had ot the idea into his
head that the man was eceiving him, in re.
gard to where he had come from, and he in-
vented the cousin flction, thinking that if the
man did not hail from Shreveport, he would at
once fall into the trap by proclaiming an ac-
quaintanceshlp with Solomon Cohen.

The trick was a failure, though, and the fel-
low’s prompt denial of all knowledge of the
cousin rather inclined the Jew to think he had
told the truth when he had claimed Shreveport
for his home.

“ Well, to come right down to the p’int, I am
strapped and I hev ot to make a raise.”

“ Ah, yeah; we al Iset dat way sometimes.”

“I’ve got a spar er hyer that ought to
be worth something. It cost me ducats, on
bet!” and the man took from his neck e a
small breast-pin and laid it upon the counter.
“Thar, what do you think of thatl’"

The old Jew, whose face generally was as
impassible as marble, when on ged in busi-
ness affairs, really looked am as he glanced
at the n, for, although the stone in it was
quitea urge one, and sparkled equal to a dia-
mond in the dim light, yet at the first glance
Cohen detected that the in was but
heck of the commonest d—brass, t kly
washed with gold, and worth at wholesale about

a dollar a dosen.

“Oh. mine gootness, mine fr’end, dis ish de
worst I ever saw !” Father Abraham declared,
with uplifted hands. “It would be robbery to
gife ou feefty cents for dis!”

“ ell, I reckon that it would be robbery!”
the man answered, savagely. “ Why, I paid a
000! thousand chucks for that pin 1”

“ A t’ousand tollars for dat pin!”

“ Right you are—good solid ducats every one
on them!" a -

“ Oh, mine fr’end! you h‘afe been robbed !”

“ Nary time!”

“ It is brass, netting but brass; you can buy
a dozen for a tollarl”

“Not much you can’t!” replied the other, in
a very determined manner. “As for the pin,
I pass on that; it may be brass, for all I know;
probabl it is; but look at the stone! That’s a
diamon and no mistake, and I reckon it’s
worth what I paid for it.”

" But, mine goot fr’end, will you listen to
reason?" asked the Jew, amused at the idea.
“It is not de custom of de tradetoset diamonds
Worth a t’ousand tollars in brass pins worth ten
cents.”

“I don’t care for that! I don’t know any-
thing ’bout the customs of the trade, and I
don‘t care; but I know that are stone is a dia-
mond, and if you say it ain’t, you’re no judge,
that’s all I”

“ No jud e!” screamed Father Abraham, in-
dignant; “ hafe bought and sold more dia-
mond dan I hafe hairs in mine head!”

“ That ain’t saying much ; you’ve
mighty short crop of hair, anyway.”

“ A diamond worth a t’ousand tollars set in a
brass pin worth two cents!” gated the old
Hebrew, in a rage, and snatch up the article,
but as he brought it into the glare of the light,
{fin expression of amazement came over, his

ace.

“So help me Moses! I' believe it iin a. dia-
mond i” he muttered.

got a

that it is!”-

“Oh, fadder Abraham! a diamond like dis
set in a brass pin l”

“ NeVer mind the pin; I’ll throw that in and
won’t charge you ‘nary cent for it' but how
much will you give me for the stone! ’ ,

“Mine fr’eud, I vil! tell you in one minute.
Rachel, my dear, come here!”

The. girl entered from the inner room and
:joined her father behind the counter, and, al—
though apfiarently casting merely a casual
glance at t a customer, at not a single par-
ticular about him escape! her ar us eyes.

h" Vat is dis, my dearl”and Cohen handed her
t 9. pin. "

The girl examined it carefully,3stoopin down
behind the counter so new survey the s ne in
the darkness. When she rose again there was
a strange expression upon her face.

 

inch-=

“ I’ll go you ten dollars to a slap on the back

 

“ What do you say, eh?” he asked in Hebrew,
so that the stranger would not understand the
conversation.

“ It is a diamond worth seven hundred dol-
lars at the least,” she replied in the same
tongue.

A joyous light danced in the old man’s
eyes. '

“Oh, Moses! what a speculation! This man
is strapped, and he will sell for a hundred dol-
lars maybe.”

“ ou must not buy it at any price!"

“Why not?" he demanded, wonderingly.

“ There is some trick in this. This stone is an
exact counterpart of the one which the old
tramp oflered, and which, I am sure, was made
to imitate this. It was never set in this pin by
a jeweler, but by some bun gler who forced the
pebble out and then forced this in.”

“ But what of thati—why not buy i”

“Beware! It is a trap! Can you not see
that this man is disguised? His hair and whis—
kers are both false. You remember the mur-
der of this woman on the river road; diamonds
were stolen then; you do not want to be mixed
up in it.”

This decided the old man, so he handed the

in back and regretted that he did not care to
grade.

The man received it without a word; the
conversation in the strange tongue had evident?
l alarmed him; he ,turned upon his heel and

aparted.
‘A ‘ lant,’ father, and you are well out of
it!” Rae el cried.

CHAPTER XIX.
an ODD BABGAIN.

Or all the cities in the United States, big or
little, none contains a more cosmopolitan popu-
lation than New Orleans, in proportion to its
size. Men of almost all nations can be found
there, and with that thirsting after compan
so natural to the gr 'ons human bl e ,
Frenchmen con ate one quarter—in act
one side of Cana street is almost as Frenchified
as Paris itself, and a stranger set down in one
of the narrow streets of the Gallic quarter and
asked to look around him and tell where he was,
after a glance at the quaint old red-tiled houses
and the few ple sauntering along, most sure-
lrv would he eve he was in the ancient Orleans.

11 another section the Spaniards dwell; still
another, and the numerous beer-shops devot d
to the worship of King Gambrinus indicate that
the Teuton reigns there supreme.

The Italians too, muster strong in the Cres-
cent City, and in some of the narr0w streets
leadin to the levee, in the poorer part of the
city t ere is quite a colony of the darkskinued
ch ldren of Italia, and tho gh the great ma—
jority of the Italians are ble and honest,
pursuéifi their daily avoca 'ons with commend-
able , et there are a number of these ex-
iles, who, aving “left their country for their
country’s good,” in the New World ursue the
life of rapine and crime that banished them
from their native p aces. '

Italy, above all other lands, has been for ages
noted for its briganda; there briganda e has been
reduced to a trade or profession, escenting
from father to son, but of late years the busi—
ness has not flourished as in tie days of the
Bourbons. Travelers have objected to being
seized, lugged OR to some wild mountain retreat
and there kept close prisoner until a heavy ran-
som was pai , the zeal of the friends of the cap-
tives being often stimulated by the reception of
one of the captive’s ears as a sort of a reminder
of the peril in which the prisoner lingered.

A well-organized pursuit by the Government
of late years has forced many of these gentry
to emigrate, and New Orleans above all cities
has been favored by their presence. Here in
this country the opportunity for their peculiar
trade being lacking, some of them lead honest
lives, while a few Join the dangerous class upon
whom the authorities always keep a wary
\e 8.

It is night, and a. stout] -built man, roughly

clad, has turned from the evee into one of the .

narrow streets of the Italian quarter.

Nine o’clock had just struck, and all the low
saloons which abound in that region were in
full bla-t.

The street seemed to fairly swarm with Ital-
ians; men, women and children clustered like
bees u n the doorsteps and in the doorways.

In 't a doorway of one’ little house a single
woman sat. She was young, fair and far bet-
ter dressed than the average; a gold chain was
around her neck, gold ear-pendants were in her
ears, and her really pretty fingers were laden
with rings. ,

As the stranger came up the street, he glanced
first at the number of the house and then at the
w0man, who looked up at the man boldly, like
one who was not afraid of any human being.

“This is the place I seek, I think,” he said,
halting and addressing the woman.

“ As to that, my master, I can tell you better
when I know what and whom you seek." ,

“The grandson of Fra Diavolo,” replied the
other. I ,

“0h ho! and what do you want with him?”
and the woman cast a searching glance at the

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man as she put the question. Evidently she felt
distrustful.  -

“ ‘.\Iy businese can only be explained to him.”

“Then, my dear master, the chances are that
you won’t see him. I am his wife; won’t I do
as well: He has no secrets from me.”

“ So you believe “ retorted the man.

“ So I know, and who ma. you be that dares
to talk to me after such a ashion?" The girl
for she was nothing more, was augr ', an
glared at the speaker as though she won d like
to acaommodate him with a knife-stab between
the ribs, after the Neapolitan fashion.

“ l ho am I?” remarked the stranger, in a
jesting sort ofvway: “ well. I am a man; you
can see that with half an eye—a man that has
business too, with the grandson of Fra Diavolo:
important business, too, as you might under—
stand when I address him by that title, for in
this country, as you know Well enough, few
know him by that name.”

And before we proceed further we must say
a few words about the Italian who bore so odd
an appellation. He was a rather undersized man
of thirty'eight or fort . As a boy in Italy he
had been known as eppo Vespers, but at an
early 3. e be had run away, joined the brigands,
rose who a captain of a band, and then had set
forth his claim to be the grandson of Fra Di-
avolo, the famous Italian robber, so renowned
in history, and under that ap llation had
achieved notoriety as beinglone o the bloodiest
and most cunning rascals t 0 Italian mountain
lands had ever known. For quite a long time
he had gone on in triumph, but at last, betrayed
b a comrade, the government troops surprised

-him, out his hand all to pieces, and the chief
on] saved himself by a hasty flight from Italy.
He ad come' straigh to New Orleans, and un-
der an assumed name (Paulo Lucca, he called
himself now) had entered upon a new career.
He became a gambler, and passed his time in
fleecing his more honest countrymen of their
hard-earned ins. He was an object of sus-
picion, thong , to the police, for it was suspect-
ed that he did not hesitate at either robbe?’ or
murder if the game was worth the while. ery
few of the Italians in New Orleans knew his se-
cret or en ted it.

The woman reflected for a few minutes; what
the man said seemed to be reasonable enough;
Paulo, as he was now termed, was in the house
taking a nap; he had not been mixed up with
any affairs lately, apt to bring the officers
about his heels, and as far as she could jud e
the man was not a defective in disguise. It
couldn’t possibly do any harm to submit the
matter to Paulo. .

“ I don’t know but I will see what he
has to say about it,” she said, at last. “ Does
he know you 3”

“ No; but you can say it is Colonel Black,
and that I have somethin in view that will pay
him well if he cares to u dertake it." .

The woman retreated into the house and in a

’ ver short time returned with the information

the. he could come in.

She ushered him into the presence of the
brigand. ina dimly-lighted apartment. Paulo
sat on the edge of the bed upon which he had
been sleeping, and took a good look at his vis-
itor. The woman discreetly retired.

“ I’ve a job foryou,” began the stranger ab-
ruptly.

“The in will have to be good!” ejaculated
the hrigand?‘

“ it will be good.”

“That is all right; I work not for nothing,”
announced the Italian, who spoke English quite
fluently.

“ Does it matter to you what the job is so that
you are well paid for it?”

“It does not, providing the risk is not too
great and the pay is in proportion.”

“ Mould you use a knife 3‘

“ You are playing the father coufessor on me.
$111“??? pay be good enough to warrant such a

n
_ ‘f _ou can name your own price—that is, if
it is in reason.”

“ To use a knife—it is ugly! In this country
the)’ h £3,118 men who use knives—if they are
caught,‘ find .then the Italian laughed and
showed his White teeth in a manner that plainly
indicated that he had used the 1mm, and yet
had escaped the gallows.

“We must be careful, and if we are careful
there isn’t any danger.”

“ Very true; man ' times have I seen the rope
dangling over my end. but the noose never
tightened around my neck yet,” observed the
cut-throat, boastfullly.

“ I have a. man w iom‘ I want you to watch,
to find out all you can about him—what brin is
him here to New Orleans, who his friends
are—"

“ I understand, I understand!” exclaimed the
Italian, interrupting, “ Oh, I know the game;
Iuwilljilay the spy so well that 1 Will dog him
11 ‘6 his own shadow.”

A That is it exactly."

“ And in the 8111 is the knife to be used?”

That I cannot tell now it depends “lion

Wh‘agyou find out about the man.”

99. 3’08. I see; if he is dangerous to you or
to the Parties you represent—"

/“

I

 

The Double Detective.

“ The knife must he need.”

“ Good! Well, I’m your man i” r

“ Here’s fifty dollars in advance," and 'tli'e
stranger put the money into. the Italians hand,
making his eyes glisten. “And on this card is
the name of the man; he is at the St. Charles
Hotel." '

The brigand surveved the name.

“ I’ll stick to him like the sun to the earth!”

“ In three nights I will come again.”

“ I will wait for you, my master 1”

And so the bargain was made.

CHAPTER XX.
Moxsmun BELLVILLE Pnoms'rs.

T'iE firm of Loperleese and Son was one of
the oldest in the city; their lace of business on
lower Canal street had been nown to the sugar,
rice and cotton planters, trading with New Or-
leans, for fifty years; and the firm name had
always been the same, son succeeding father in
regular rotation. Bankers, brokers and com-
mission agents, uniting all three in one, the
business done b the house was enormous.

When Mrs. perance had arriVed in New

 

'Orleans she brought letters of introduction

from Paris to the firm, and they gladly under-
took the charge of her busmess, but it did not
take long for the crafty old head of the house
to discover that Mrs. Esperance was not exact-
ly the kind of woman he had been led to be-
lieve. She had some. means no doubt, but
nothing like the fortune of which she boasted,
and then there was a giyster about her that
old Simon Loperleese id no _
being of a suspicious turn of mind, and ex-
treme] cautious, it did not take much to ex-
cite h s apprehensions. Outside of the read
money which she brought with her and deposi
ed with the firm she did not seem to have any-
thing else, and yet she lived in the most ex-
trav ant style and squandered money as
thong gold were to be had for the asking. As
her agents, Loperleese and Son were natural]
supposed to have a full knowledge of her -
fairs, and yet they knew absolutely nothing.
She claimed to own vast estates in France, the
revenues of which amounted to a rinoely sum,
but whether these estates were in rance, or in
the Isle of Skye, Patagonia, or some other place
of fictitious repute, wasa mystery. No moneys
from France or from anywhere else, for that
matter, ever came to their fair client through
the house of Laperleeseand Son, and yet the we
man got money in large sums from somewhere
after she had exhausted the sum which she had
brought with her. The purchase of the planta-
tion, a thousand broad acres, took all the funds
which she had dc ited upon her arrival; then
there was the bil for horses and carriages,
three thousand dollars, and three thousand
more for furniture and ts.

Mrs. Espera'ice selected he articles, and or-
dered the bills to besent to Loperleese and Son,
“my agents,” and the transaction becomin
known to old Simon Loperleese, he tremble ,
or he had not five hundred dollars of the
ady’s mono remainin , and upon his repre-
senting this act to the air charmer, she only
laughed andsaid:

“ The bills will not come in until the first of
the month; rest easy; byfthat time in money
from France will come, n or fifteen housan
dollars, which will beenough to pay the amounts
due twice over.” -

The last day of the month old Loperleese,
who worried as much over this trifling affair
as though his own credit was concerned, took
the trouble to ride out to Mrs. Esperance’s lan-
tation in orderto warn her about the ills
thinking it possible, being a. woman and unused
to business affairs, that she had forgotten all
about the circumstance.

“To-morrow is the first, not today,” she re-
plied, indiflerently; “do not be alarmed; the
money will be ready.”

As this was about five in the afternoon, after
banking hours and the lady had admitted that
the money hm not come, the old broker could
only infer that, with a woman’s lack of know-
ledge of business matters, she relied upon the
morning mail to bring the expected draft.

But at ten o’clock precisely, on the next
morning, Mrs. Esperance made her appearance
and paid over exactly ten thousand dollars in
currency, and nearlyhll of it in small bills,
fives, tons and twenties.

The firm was astounded. It was clear the
funds had not arrived in the shape of a draft,
for if it had, most certain] she would have
brought it there to be cashed: , .

In another sixty days she ran up bills to the
amount of a couple of thousand dollars, Mid
again, promptly, on the very day they were
due, in carre rs. Esperance with cash  the
amount of five thousand dollars, and again all
in small bills. ' .

The mystery was a deep one, and old Simon
shook his h gravely every time he spoke of

it. '

And one day, when the lad came into the
old banker’s private ofiice an told him in the
most business-like manner t at she wanted
twent thousand dollars and asked him to get
it for er, saying she would give as security all
she had—plantation, jewelry, everything, he

like at all, and .

 

was amazed, and had prompt] replied that it
was not ible to arrange t e affair, for no
one mullet: willing to loan so large a on
such sec rity. All of which she did not seem
to take amiss; only said she was “ sorry,” and
withdrew.

That very day Judge Clairborne stepped in;
the firm attended to a great deal of the judge’s
business. and the conversation happenin to
turn to Mrs.  rauce and her affairs, asa Joke
Loperleese rela ed what the lady had been seei-
ing‘ that morning.

0 old Simon s astonishment the jud Ill-

stantly said he would loan the money. an then
to the old Criole he made known his reason for
so doing.
To'him be related the same story which he
had told to the young man who had called upon
him, after the mysterious murder; he feared
Mrs. Esperance was an adventuress, that his son
was in her clutches, and he desired to secure a
hold upon her in some way.

And now for the explanation as to how this

secret became known to the judge’s visitor who

called himself Felix Houma;

A couple of days after the night of the mur-
der, the chief of police had called 11 n the
firman rleese and Son.to sayhe ad rea-
son to beheve that an attempt would be made
to pass some forged checks upon them, and re-
quested the priulege of pie eing a detective in
plain clothes in the office in the guise of a clerk,
so that the rascals might be “ nabbed.” ~

Natural] the firm were only too glad to con-
sent, and elix H0131]... dressed p ainly then,
and not appearing at all like the dashing Creole
lawyer w 0 so annoyed the judge, came as the
chief’s man. ~

He looked like an humble, fourth-rate 'clerk,
and when seated at a desk, no one would have
suspected he was anything else.

Old Loperleese, w o entertained no very high
opinion of detectives, had taken an earl oppor-
tunity to ascertain if the man an '

French, and receiving a convincing proof that,

he did not, told his son that when speaking
about business matters, they had better cons
verse in French. , _

But the new-comer understood what the old
man was driving at, and so professed ignorance;
and thus it happened that the secret of the
mortgage came into his possession.

Home was at his desk whenMonsieur De
Bellville with a great flourish entered the of-
(ice, and proclaimin himself to be the husband
of the unfortunate nude, announced
that he had “come to see how matters stood,”
as he had been informed that the firm had at.
tended to all his wife’s affairs. ’

The head of the firm expressed some doubts
in regard to the truth of the statement, but the
Frenchman, having anticipated this, reduced
his legal evidence all pro rly authen cited.

Loperleese examined t 8 papers with all care,
as if some heav fortune was at stake; then be
scrutinized the rcnchman with a look that ex-
pressed satisfaction. ,

‘,‘ Well, vat you say, eh? do I lie to on, mon-
sieur? am I not the husband at I c] to he?”
demanded De Bellville.
te“’There seems to be no doubt about the mat:

r.

“And the money—the estate, vat you call it
——- lantation, eh? are all mine, aha!”

he cup of fortune was at the iips and‘for a
moment the adventurer reveled in the prospect
of the booty seemingly within his grasp, but the
old banker with a few words, destroyed the
Frenchman’s hogs.

“ I regret to obliged to inform you,that
Mrs. Esperance did not leave any fortune be-
hind her, nota hundred dollars in cash; while
her plantation, furniture, jewels, horses, in fact,
everything, were so heavily mortgaged, that it

is absolutely certain when they are brought un- . I

der the hammer, as they will have to be,to set—
tle matters, money enough will not be realized
to pay her debts.”

De Bellville’s under jaw dropped.

“ Nothing left—all gone?” he muttered!

“Nothing and there will probably be a con-‘
siderable balance against you, as the heir of the
unfortunate lady, which, of course, as her hus-
band, you will have to pay.” '
“ Pay 1” hissed out the Frenchman, “ y!
Sang—dieu! 1 will pay nothing I” and in a flea -
ful ra e be rushed from the office.

“I t ought that last information would settle
him,” chuckled the old man, turning to his son.

Houma seized the o portunit to take his hat

and quietly follow t e enrage husband.

CHAPTER XXI.
grin. on rm: scam.
DE BELLVILLE was so enraged that when he

 

got into the street he hardly knew whether he ,
on his heels or his head. Never. "
in all his lite of wild and desperate adventure ' ‘

was standing

had he been so fearfully disappointed. ’
Chance had brought him to New Orleans; he
had visited the new world because the old one
had got too hot for comfort, for there was
hardly a civ1lized countr where “Front-h
Louis” was not known and, ‘ wanted," form
crime; b, acmdent he had happened to see
Adeline sperance riding in her carriage, ap-

 

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16'

 

The DoubleDeteetiYe-

 

 

parently baskin gin the smiles of fortune, floatin
upon the very topmost wave of proyx-rit , an
as his own prospects were retty bzi , us then,
he had mat 0 up his mind t at his tiger—cot of a.
wife must share some of her wealth with him.

And now, after all his careful planning—his
enforced patience while waiting a good month
for the necessary l-gnl doeuments to arrive
from Europe, his palace of fortune had turned
into a house of cards, and a single blow had lev-
eled it into a. shapcless mass of ruins.

“ ()h, I must have some drink—some brandy
~0r i shall go mad I” he exclaimed, as he strode
up Canal street, and entcrln a. saloon he
dropped down at one of the taIfles and called
for a bottle of brandy, for nothing short of a
bottle would content him under the circum-
stances.

As it happened, the resort was a little French
cabaret, Where customers ordered by the bottle,
so the liquor was brought.

The Frenchman tossed off a wine-glassful of
the fiery liquor us though it had been so much
water.

“Aha! Now I feel better! That goes to the
ri ht spot,” he ejaculated, as he proceeded to re-
fl the glass.

At this point Houma entered the room, nnrl,
coming straight to the table occupied by De
Bellville, sat down opposite and nodded to him
with all the familiarit of an old acquaintance.

De Bellville lookedy askance at the new—
comer; a. man of his character is all sus icion:
like the thief, “ doth fear each bush an 0 car.”
' “ W ell, well, who would have thought of meet-

ing on here?” exclaimed Houma, smiling
blunt ly, without ying any attention to the
soowling looks of 9 other. “ Waiter, another
glass here i”

The glass was promptly brought—the man
supposiu , naturally enough, the second est
to be a rlend of his first customer. De ell—
ville, though lick-wilted enough, was so sur-

rised by this mpudence that he laid back in
Bis chair and surveyed the other with a stare:
but when the uninvited guest, with a pleasant
smile, and a polite, “Pardon me, monsieurl”
reached forward for the brandy bdttle, his
amazed wrath found vent in words.

“ Sang-dim! What are you about, you seoun-
drell" be hissed, reaching forward, grabbing
the brandy bottle and drawing it away.

“ Huu‘i, hush, my dear fellow! You must not
act in this manner. Is it the way to treat an
old friend?” asked Houma, assuming an injured

“An old friend? I never saw you before in

my life.

‘Oh, yes you have; don’t you remember
Toulon, old boy!” '

Despite the iron-like nerves of the French-
man, the Shot was so sudden and unexpected
that it made him wince.

“Aha! You remember Toulon then, if you
have forgotten me!” Houma declared.

“Tculon—Toulonl” muttered De Bellville,

mentally cursing himself for the blunder which

he had made, and striving to retrieve his error
by retending ignorance.

“ oulon, yes; a very charming‘ city; fine
wine, beautiful women. excellent water, . len-
did‘bulldings, superb society, particular y at
the pulleys 1"

“Ah, yes; now that you recall it I believe
there is such a place." -

“Believe! Why, my dear fellow, you know
there is! How can ‘you forget it "after having

. spent so many pleasant days there?"

“Spent so many days there!” blurted out
the other, in Very well assumed astonishment.
‘f Why, 1 never was in the place in my life!”

“ Upon my word you lie with an ease and an
alacrity that is perfectly charm‘ng!” Houmn
replied, with a. sang/fruit], that rousel the wrath
of the Frenchman. His hand was on the brandy
bottle and De Bellvllle’s first im also was to
throw it at the head of the mo and smiling
stranger; but he refrained, for there was the
peculiar look in the eyes of the other which in-
dicated him to be a dangerous customer if
roused to action.

“What you mean—Ldo yen intend to insult
me, you miserable?” cried De Bellville, a prey
to both wrath and fear.

“ You deny Toulonf"

° N] do!”

“ Bare the shoulder on which is the brand of
the galleysund the red scar will give the lie to
your denial l”

“ I am no galley slave I” muttered the French—
man, palowith fear, and glancing around him
as though he was afraid the accusation would
be overheard.

' “Oh, tell that tale to the marines! I know

‘ you too Well, French Louis, to be deceived.”

' He was known; there wasn’t any mistake
about it! The first impulse of the angry man
was todraw the knife which he always carried
concealed in his bosom and strike it to the heart
of this in *olcnt stranger who had so completely
unmask him.

But a moment’s reflection showed him the
folly of ielding to the dictates of passion.
What if iis secret was known? What did it
matter? It was not likely that French justice
was going to reach her arms clear across the

 

ocean and clutch him for the trumpery crimes
which he had committed after serving his time
at the alleys.

“ Bn 1!" he’ exclaimed, aesuming an air of in-
difference, “ have 'our own way; you will live
the longer for it. Vhat does it matter to me?
I care not what on think, but you are an im-
pudent ecoundre to intrude yourself upon me:
you could not do worse even if you were a police
5 >

A

“ That is exactly what I am.”

Tho Frenchman started and stared earnestly
at his companion for a moment.

“911, well, what do I care? You don’t want
me.

“But I do, and on a serious charge. You
were the husband of this murdered woman
Mrs. Esperance; don‘t attempt to deny it! I
overheard all that passed in the office of L0 )er-
lease and Son. You believed you were the eir
of the dead woman; you thought that all she
left would come to you a magnificent fortune,
for she seemed to be rolling in wealth. I have
been employed to hunt down the murderer;
You know the way we work in Frhnce; they
do things differently in this country, I believe;
but I went to work on the case after our French
fashion. For eVery crime there is a motive——
no motive, no crime, unless the criminal is a
lunatic, and lunatics of course we do not reckon
upon,” remarked Houma, speaking in the most
matter-of—f‘act way and checking off the points
he made upon his fingers, one by one. “First
the woman is murdered—by whom and for
what? Revenge? It does not appear that she
has ever wronged any one or that she has an
enemy in the world. Robbery? It is more
than probable, for the diamonds she Wore were
stolen when the blow was struck. That is mo-
tive enough for the crime certainly, but it is
clear that Mrs. E. rance was either taken by
surprise and assau ted before she could give the
alarm, or else she knew the murderer and did
not expect violence at his hands. The first sup—
position is worthless, to my thinking, for she
could not have been surprised bya stranger,
and from what I have learned I t ink she was
a woman who, though timid and entle, would
have made a desperate fight for er life. No,
she was murdered by you, her husband who
came for that express purpose. You talked
fairly to her, first; then, watchin our oppor-
tunity, you drove the lamest be 9 into her
throat: y u' knew where to strike— u were a
doctor‘s cerk once; then you stoe the dia-
monds and now iyou come forward to claim the
property for wh ch you committed the crime 1”

T e cold perspiration" came out On the French-
man’s forehead. __

CHAPTER XXII.
. GERARD’S OPINION.

Doc'roa GERARD had been one of the princi-
pal witnesses nt the coroner‘s inquest, and in
common with the other medical gentlemen who
had been summoned had 'ven it as his moat
decided opinion that there ad been no suicide
in the affair, but, on the contrary, it was clear-
ly a most brutal and deliberate murder.

Against this opinion few voices had been
raised, although of course in this case as in ev-
ery other one of a public nature, t era was
quite a number stubborn enough to go contrary
to the ruling opinion.

But against the self-destruction theory stood
the theft of the diamonds: and this was a knotty
point, hardly to be argued away. ' ‘

On a certain evening, about two weeks after
the night on which the tragedy had occurred,
Gerard sat sm‘okin on the front veranda of his
house in an cos -c air, with a. bottle of claret
and a pitcher o pounded ice on a table in close
proximity.

And his thoughts that evening, as he sat en-
joying the pleasant night breeze, sipping his
claret and pulling his ci or, turned upon the
mysterious death of Mrs. *sperance.

Gerard was a deep thinker, and for some lit-
tle time now he had busied himself over the
tragedy, just as if he was a detective employed
to ferret out the truth. '

“ Decidedly, the more I think about the mat-
ter, the gren or becomes the to ,” he mused, as
he throw away the stump of is smoked-out
cigar and lighted a fresh one.

Just then a hack, evidently from the city,
drew up before the door, and a lady descended.
She was tall, elegantly dressed, and, as far as
the d.)ctor could see, very beautiful. The house
was some lit-tie distance from the road, and the
rising moon had not yet attained strengtth
enough to show all nature as clearly as y
day, which Would be the case two hours later.

The lad came straight forward toward the
house an the doctor descended the steps to re-
ceive er.

“Doctor Gerard l” she inquired, as she en-
countered the gentleman.

“The same, madam, at your service,” he re-
.lied, with a polite bow, for he was greatly
1m )rcsscd by his visitor at first, sight. As he
ha surmised, she was a. beautiful Woman, and
with that peculiar air about her which the world
believes can only come from good birth and. re-
fined breedi

 

D .
“Doctor, lg have come on a rather strange

mission,”sho remarked, “and if you will kindly
favor me with an interview,” and then she ten.
dered him a. card.

It was a modest little icce of pastcboard,
perfectly plain, and bone the inscription:

“LADY J ANE PACKLVGHAME.”

“ Aha! a member of the English aristocracy,”
the doctor muttered, to himself, as his eyes
rested upon the inscription. “I would have
guessed it from her appearance. There isn’t
any mistaking the stamp that blood and breed-
ing give." And with another bow he said,
aloud: “I am pleased to receive Ivour lady-
ship, and shall feel honored at being able to
comply with )(iur request. lVilI you permit
me to escort you to the house 24”

“Why not sit here, on the veranda, and as we
converse enjoy the sight of this glorious moon-
light view?’ she asked.

“Certainly, if your ladvship prefers it; pos-
sibly, it is more pleasant t an being shut up in
a room, this balmy night.”

The doctor conducted his visitor to the ve—
randa, enthroned her in the great easy-chair,
apologizing for the presence of his claret and
ice by saying he kept bachelor’s hall and was
not much troubled by visitors; then he removed
the table, brought a chair for himself and stated
that he was now at her service.

“Doctor Gerard, as I informed you, I come
upon a strange mission. I Come to speak in re-
gard to the death of Mrs. Esperance.” ,

The doctor was somewhat astonished at this,
it was so unexpected.

“ You were, I believe, the first physician who
was called in.”

“Yes, your ladyship; Mrs. Esperance‘s plan-
tation is only a short distance below, on this
same road.”

“You perhaps wonder why I am interested
in this matter, but a few words will explain.
Mrs. Esperance was the wife of In only bro-
ther, Sir John Packin hame. Possxbly you are
not aware that Mrs. sperance was not near so
young as she looked?”

‘ “ I should have judged her to be a woman of
thirgy or thirty-five perhaps. ”

” carer forty-five, sir; and from what I have
heard it is real y marvelous how she managed
to retain her Outhi'ul appearance so well. To
be brief my rother, when quite a young man,
met an married the lady in Paris; it was one
of 1hose_foolish, headless marriages so often in-
dulged 1n by young people who should know
better. My brother was then a. ounger son
with four strong healthy older rothers be-
tween himself and the family estates; therefore
the marriage was a secret one, for his father
was an iron-willed, hot-tempered man, and my
brother knew he would be cut off with a shilling
if the fact of his marriage with this pretty
low-born girl became known. After a brief
hone moon,chanceseparated the oungcouple.
My rother was compelled to oin his re -
ment, and then was ordered off to India; t 6
girl believing she was betra ed and deserted,
so hid herscl away as to eva e all pursuit. No
direct tidings of her ever came to my brother
until, arriving in New Orleans, just after the
tragedy, still searching for her, for he had re-
ceived information that she was in this country,
and in the journals of the'da he read the fatal
tidings: he had found her at ast, but had come
too late.”

“A sto full of romance,”remarkod Gerard,
who had istened with much interest to the
tale.

“ My brother, naturally is greatly prcstrated
by this terrible shock, and now he takes a mel‘
anchol pleasure in learning all that he can of
the Sill affair; but he is somewhat inclined to
believe that the unfortunate woman erishcd
by her own hand, while I must con ess that
from what, I have read and heard of the tra-
gedy, 1 am of a different opinion, and think her
the victim of some miserable assassin. Now,
doctor, you, of all men in the world, are prob-
ably in a position to know the truth about the
matter, and I have come to you to get your
hoiil‘stppiuion, if you have no objection to giv-
ing it.

“ Not the slightest in the world, to you, now
that I know the interest you have in the mat-
ter, although I should not care to make the
affair a sub'ect for common conversation. You
have read t e published accounts of tho mys—
tery. I presume?”

“Yes, sir.” '

“ And you remember that I, as well as all the
rest of the medical gentlemen who were sum-
moned, gave an opinion that it was impossible
for the ill-fatbd creature to have perished by
her own hand? We were unanimous against
the idea, of suicide.”

“I remember, sir.”

“ Well, I have given a great deal of thought
to the matter, lately, and have about come to
the conclusion that we'were all rather hasty in
givinglan opinion so decidedly.”

“ , you think then there is a possibility
that it was suicide?”

“ My lady, I don’t really know what to think;
I am in aquandnry. Listen to the facts and on
will understand: Mrs. Flsimrance came to or
death by a stab from a common physician’s lan-

\

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4

‘ The

\.,. I

 

 

Double Detectiye.

. ,Y. __ -H‘, _

,1 51‘7

 

 

cat; the wound wasinfiicted upono eof themost
vulnerable parts of the human b , ri t here
in the neck,” and with his finger Gerar indica-
ted the precise Spot. " The blade of the lancet
pierced the jugular vein and passed through it
severing the carotid Vein beneath. These are
the two great arteries, but even With both
severed, death would not come instantly; the
victim would have time to strug le—to make a
noise; indeed, cases have been 'n0wn to walk
considerable distances wounded in this manner.
Now Mrs. Esperance, according to the best light
we have upon the matter, remind the wound
while standing in the con tor of the apartmen '
the stains ‘upon the carpet where the bl
spouted out were plainly visible; then she re-
treated backward to the dressing-case upon
which she sunk and where she was found; the
blood-stains on the carpet plainly show this. A
sin le scream only escaped her. Now if she
ha been assassinated, she most certainly would
have attempted to reach the door and would
also have tried to give more alarm, and, she
could have done both, unless she was under the
influence of some dru that lettered her actions.
If she was murdered she was drugged first.
But if, on the contrary it was a made, the
scream was wrung from her by the unex cted
in of the wound, and then with dogge reso-
ution she stifled the cries that her sufferings
should have producod and died a Spartan-like
death.” '

“ But the diamonds? who stole the diamonds!”

“ Now, my lady, you puzzle me indeed.”

And with this theory the visitor was obliged
to be content. She thanked the doctor and de-
parted.

Deeper and deeper grew the mystery the fur-
ther one penetrated. into it.

CHAPTER XXIII.
SUSPICION.

Fon two weeks Mrs. General Calhoun had
dwelt beneath the hospitable roof of Judge
Clairborne and during that short space of time
much had ranspired- '

In his new capacity of business manager for
Mrs. Calhoun the jud 9 had called upon the
English gentleman, S r John Packinghame,
who was domiciled at the St. Charles Hotel,
and had had quite an interesting interview with

in.

Sir John confirmed what Mrs. Calhoun had
told the judge about the English investment,
which had apparently been a total loss, but now
promised to turn out so Well.

As the Briton said in his blufl, heartyway:

“ By George, sir, I thought I was pretty hard
hit myself and I hadn't an idea that the con-
cern woul ever be able to pay more than a
shillin to the pound, but these deuced com-
mercia fellows, you know, they are wonderful
geniuses, sometimes.”

Then the judge remarked that the money ar-
rived at an opportune time for Mrs. Calhoun,
for now she would be able to prosecute her
fight for the vast estates in Florida of which she
had been so unjustly deprived.

“ Oh es, she’s a danced plucky woman, too,
I shoul say from what I have seen of her. No
doubt, now that she is fumishod with the
sinews of war, she will make it particularly

warm for the rascals who counted upon her .

defenseless condition. By the by, I don’t know
exactly how Mrs. Calhoun is situated, but I

resume she Would like to commence proceed-
ings—carry the war into Africa as soon as pos-
sible, so if she needs funds I should be happy to
accommodate her, as thesa commercial matters
take time: and though I know she is just as
sure of the money‘as though it was already
paid into the bank, subject to her order, yet it
will probably be a month or two before the af-
fairs will be settled; so you will confer'a favor

. if you will kindly indicate to her that if she

wants to draw on me for five thousand I shall

‘be most happy topblige her.” .
The Judge. as in duty bound, expressed his 1
» thanks on behalf of

the lady whom he repre-
sented, and withdrew.

SO far a" was satisfactory i f the Eu lishman
was what he was represente to be. e 'udge
was of a rather suspicious nature, and1 had
lived long enough to understand that he must
not receive as gospel truth all that he board.

There might be some trick in the matter.
That Mrs. Calhoun’s husband, the genera], had
possessed large estates in Florida he 'knew and
that the lady was Mrs. Calhoun he had ittle

-, doubt, but in regard to the English money and

her claim to the Florida property he was not so
sure. '

If ir John Packinghame was all right it
woul remove all doubt, so to the bankers of
whom the Englishman had spoken as acting as
his financial agents thejudge went after quitting
tbeSt. Charles.

fii‘m k8 freely when questioned in regard to
S‘f‘JO ,D’S financial responsibility.

Hes solid, judge,” said the old gentleman,
the head of the firm. “ He opened a small ac-
count with us and referred to Coutts of Lon-
don. 7ier took the trouble to wire them, as we
are rather suspicious of these little accounts
with strangers, and the answer came that his

\

Clairborne was an old acquaintance, and the'

*M ..,,- “a... _. -

signature was good for a hundred thousand
unds, and any favor that we could do Sir
Jghn would be appreciated by them.”

“ But is the man Sir Johni’ _

The banker laughed.

“ Han
and I think myself a out the most suspicious
man in the world! The same idea occurred to
me, and so I went to the British consul and
found that he was an old friend of the English-
man, had been at college with him, and there-
fore there wasn’t the slightest doubt of his iden-

tit .”

Clairborne thanked the gentleman for the in-
formation and defined, his mind perfectly at
case in re d to
and Mrs. eneral Calhoun.

“She had better draw on Sir John for the
five thousand,” he murmured, as he took his
way to his Own office; “the money will prob-
ablljy; be usefuL”

iug perfectly satisfied in regard to Mrs.
Calhoun, the judge paid her the greatest atten-
‘ tion. In fact the lady had made a strong im-
pression u u him at the first interview, and
the more 9 became acquainted with her the
better he liked her. She was so different from
the usual run of women, so entirely original
and so well informed ; evidently she had traveled
much abroad and had enjoyed the advantages
of the best society.

And the judge’s son. too, was equally as fa-
vorably im ressed as the father.

To tell t a truth, Ra mond was somewhat
fickle b nature, and alt ough not the kind of
man to imp by the average young wo-
man of the day, yet w on brought in company
with asu 'rior member of the sex he speedily
grew to l e her. 1

80 Mrs. Esperance had bound him to her
chariot wt until she herself had severed
the bonds by or frivolous conduct and love

ad given place to anger. ‘

The servants in the house, too, followed the
example set them by their master and his son
and one and all voted Mrs. Calhoun to ban most
perfect lady.

Onl upon one person within the mansion the
witchs fascination failed, and that was Miss
Lauderdale. From the very first she regarded
Mrs. Calhoun with aversion. It was one of
those cases of instinctive dislike at fir t sight
and the stranger was too shrewd a woman not
to rceive it.

hilippa had changed wonderfully during the
past two weeks; ever since the morning when
she had met Terrebonne on the country road
and learned of the tragedy which had occurred
at the river-side plantation she had seemed like
another woman.

All within the mansion had noticed the
change in hermanner and all wondered at it, for
to them it was unaccountable. -

Generally she had been free-spoken and
cheerful at all times, but now she had become
strangely reservad ‘and even moody in hcr man-
ner, rarel spoke except when addressed di-
rectly, an then contented herself with reply-
in as laconically as possible.

nother odd thing about the girl: she had

i never seemed to take much interest in the world
at large and seldom did more than merely
lance at the daily newspapers, but. now she
airly devoured them, and if by any chance the
carrier who served them was at all late, she was
feVerish with impatience, and Mrs. Calhoun
who was a very close observer, noticed that al

 

she Seemed to care about were the columns de- '

voted tocriminal matters. The ionrnals' were
still surmising and speculating n regard to
‘ Mrs. Esperance‘s mysterious murder and these
articles the girl perused with breathless in-
terest—Mrs. Calhoun watching her so carefully
that not a single movement on the part of the
girl escaped her, although not apparentl_ pay-
ing any attention to er so shrewdly id she
manage.
prey to apprehension When she read the jour-

nals, and invariably a weight seemed to be ‘

lifted from her mind after she had, ieriised
them“ Upon such a woman as the jud e s uest
a fact so strongly si iflcant of certain t ings
was not lost, and n a careleSs way she suc-
cceded in drawing from the servants, without
exciting their suspicions, that Miss Philip 8.
was now acting very differently from what 5 a
used to do. .

At last, in some mysterious way, the girl
came to the conclusion that Mrs. Calhounwas
pla 'ing the spy upon her, but how she arrived
ntf is knowledge no one could have told, for
neither by word or deed did the lady 133' her“
self open to the charge.

In great anger, then, Philippa sought the
judge, and withoutstating what she suspected,
demanded to kn0w how much longer the house
would be burdened with the presence of “ that
woman?”

Clairborne was amazed; never before had he
seen his ward give way to such a fit of passion:
her face was white, her eyes blazing and her
whole form quivering with excitement. ,

“ What is the matter?” he asked; “have you
and Mrs. Calhoun quari elcdi”

“Quarreled? Quarrel with that woman?”
and the proud lip of the girl curled in contempt.

 

.___.. .________._._.____...~__.__- “fl- hi-“

\ r

i

it, judge, if vou ar’n’t as bad as I was, ,

th Sir John Packinghame ,

She noticed hat the girl seemed a '

“I would not quarrel with such a creature!
Why, I have not spoken to her since she came
except to treat her with common civility as I
would a servant.” . .
“ What complaint have you to make against
her!" asked the judge, his face growing grave,
for he began to have a suspicion that this idea
3 was merely a whim, something that could not
; be defended and could not be gratified. . ‘
I The girl bit her lip, and her breath came thick
5, and hard. She perceived the dilemma into
which her rashness had hurried her. She could
not complain that the woman she detested was
’aning the spy u a her without betraying
l

 

 

erself, and she fel back upon girlish logic.

“I hate her—and I can’t bear to bein the
I same house with her.” -

“ Why do 'ou hate her—what reason ?”

i “ Why? cause I do; but it doesn’t matter;
I suppose I shall have to bear it,” and then as
abruptly as she had entered the apartment she
withdrew. '

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
PHILIPPA SPEAKS.

THE young heiress was worked up to such a
pitch of excitement that she felt it was impos-
sible for her to keep quiet. -

At this untoward moment she encountered
Ra mond: she had just descended the stairs
an met him passing through the lower ball.

“Ra moud, I must speak to you,” she ex-
claime ,excitedly laying her hand upon lie
arm thus staying his progress.‘ v

“ Vhat is the matter, Philippa?” he asked,
understanding from the expression upon her
face that it was no common cause which had
impelled her to s ak to him.

‘ Come into t e parlor where we can talk
without fear of interruption, or of being over-
heard.”

He followed her; she closed the door care-
fully after he had entered thb room, and then
came and sat dewn by his side on the sofa.

the day of their engagement there had hardly
been a caress exchanged between them. But
now they were alone and the moment I-
tious, so passin his arms around the young gir ’s
weoaislt he drew er up to him and kissed her full
r ips. , ‘

She did not resist-she did not retina the
cares; she merely became passive. and a t
tremor shook her frame as though a and on
wintry blast bad chilled her. .

Her lips too, which she submitted so passiv. l
to the young man’s kiss, were cold; it was
a kiss as a c oistered nun migit have given to
her mother superior; all the e and passion of
youth and love were lac kg.

“Why do on trembl ” he asked, unable to
account for t e young girl’s strange behavior.

“Do I tremble? I 0 not know;” and then

Philippa looked arou er as though she feared
some one was lurkin the apartment. -
ilippa!” ' ‘

“ ow stran el A an act, P
“Do I?” g y y

“ Indeed you do.” ,

“l was ‘not aware of it,” and she looked at
the young man in such an odd manner that he
began to fear her mind was affected.

‘1 am troubled,” and the girl sighed as she
made the admission.

“That isplainly to be seen; father was speak-
ing about it yesterday, and wondering what it
was that made you look so strange y for the
past week or so.” i
d 2,130, I look differently from what I usually
o.’ - -

“ You have changed completely. and you not
only look but you act strangely. You go about

dreadful secret weig ing upon the mind.”

glance around her.

“Why do you start in that peculiar way?
Are you afraid that some one is watching us?"

“ es, yes, that is it!”

“But, why should an one? and who is there
in the home to trouble t eir heads about us?”

“This woman!” hissed Phili pa between her
shut teeth, while her eyes fairfy blazed with the
anger which swelled in her veins whenever she
thou ht of the stranger.

“ his woman,” repeated Raymond,in ain'r ze-V
ment. “Who do you mean—not Mrs. Cal-
houn 10”

“Yes, Mrs. Calhoun.”

And then with the blindness of youth the
young man fell into the delusion of believing
that Philippa had detected the impression
which he was conscious the c arming widow
had made upon him, and that e was jealous,
although, as the girl had never manifested any
particular si ns of love for. him,
zled, for he ad taken Philippa to be one of
those well-bred, ice-like beauties, incapable of
feeling the madness of the ad ion.

“Oh, but this idea is a urd! ’he decl,
not at all sorry though, that his amanced
' warmed into 'fe from her statue-like cold-

ness. . . ‘
“No, no, itis not! She is a dangerous wh-
man! Believe what I say, for I know it is the
guts, and we must be on ourr guard
er.

 

They were a strange pair of lovers, for since '

looking like a cons irator, or one with some '

The girl started, and again she cast an anxious '

he was pun— ,

.. .
tr..-...._.n-.. '

--

4

4+- c..._...._w 4.1.4.... an.

v D

~-.-..‘.

 

 if“; z

. shebe on the watc l—on the watch for what,
. and on whom does she play the spy?”

» ‘ “ And do you know all?” he asked. evidently

' have forgotten her,” the girl urged.

. a. -.

18

Here was more mystery, for this was a
strange way for a jealous girl to talk.

“Be on our guard against her! I do not un-
derstand what you mean.”

“ My meaning is plain enough; she’ is in this
house as a y f ’

“A spy?’ The girl’s words were becoming l
more and more incompreher-sible.

“ Yes; can you not see it?"

“ No, indeed! nor can I understand what on
earth you mean.”

“ Yes, yes, I understand,” the girl murmured,
more to herself than to her companion, but he
could understand all she said. “She is cun-
ning, very cunning; and it is marvelous, too,
how she managed to gain admittance unsus-

cted here; but I suspected her from the first.
Ewes my woman’s instinct WCICll tau ht me
that she was a spy—a foe, and that all s 0 had
come here for was mischief. And from the first
moment she entered this house she has been con-
stantly on the watch.”

“On the watch for what?"

“You understand,” and the girl looked at
him with an ex ression upon her face which
plainly said she lieved he understood, for all

is words.

“Upon my life I assure on, Phili pa, I do
not guess your meaning a all. W yshould
she come here to (play he spyl—what object
can she gain by so oing?”

“ ymond, why do you pretend i orance
to me? And there was a reproachf look in
her e es as she put the question.

“ ilippa, you wrong me, and I do not com-
prehend how it is you have got this idea so

rmly fixed in our mind that I understand
what you are ta king about, for I do not; I am
utterly in the dark, and, so far, you have not
given me the least clew to the mystery. You
speak of this lady, Mrs. Calhoun, as being on
t 0 watch and p a ing.t_he spy. Why should

“I forgot—I forgot; but m ead has been
as dazed ever since hat fearfu eventas though
I hadreceived a heavy blow. Of course it is,
not possible that you could kn0w the extent of
my nowledge, but it is a. painful subject, and
it f’nakes me sick at heart whenever I think of

“In Heaven’s name, Phili pa, will you s ak
a‘othat I can understand w at you are tal ing
about!” Raymond exclaimed, impatiently.

“ But on do understand.”

“ No, do not! Explain; what fearful event
is it t) which you refer!”

“ The murder of Mrs Esperance,” replied the
girl, ina low and h llow voice, and with an-
other glance of fear a nd her.

Ra mond turned e, so sudden was the
shoe , and for a. moment his very breath
seemed stopped, the h t stood still as it
were, his head sunk b against the wall,
while his eyes glared strangely upon the 'rl.

“ Forgive me, Raymond!” she moan , sink-
ing down at his feet, clasping his knees with
her hands, and faint with horror, as she wit-
nessed the terrible effects of her words.

With a gasp he recovered himself.

“It was such a. terrible affair—your words
came so sudden—so unexpected,” he said,
slolwly, evidently speaking with ,great diffi-
cu t .

“ es, yes, I see; I was so dull—so blind; of
course Iylrou could not know that I was acquaint
ed wit all the articulars, until you were
told, ,and I was t 9 only one who could tell

on.’ ‘

mortified that such should be the fact.

“ All; I was in the grounds of the mansion on
the night of the murder. I saw and overheard
what took place in the conservatory.”

“Say no more about it!” he exclaimed, ab-

ruptly. “ I am sick at heart when I look back
and think what a fool I have been; but, thank
fortune, all is over now.”
. “But this woman—this Mrs. Calhoun—you
“ She has
come intothis house as a spy, and she is a
dangerous womani You have some enemy,
perhaps, who has set this woman on your true ,
who wishes to blazon the past forth to all the
.world, and so disgrace you.”

“Tut, tut; your imagination, Philippa, has
led you astray; you are not used to the world,
and in every stranger on see a foe.”

"‘No, I am right am, you are wrong; my in-
stinct is. greater than your judgment, and I
guess the truth which escapes you,” Philippa
replied, persistently. “But, will you remain
here and risk discovery—risk that this woman
is a s y paid to ruin you 5”

“ 0st Certainly I will remain! Do you think
I will fly like a coward? Oh no: there never
wasn. coward yet in the Clnirborno race, and
the world shall‘not say that I am the first.”

The girl rose slowly to her feet.

“ 'The will of fate be done then! I have tried
my best to warn you, but if you will stay and
tem )t f 'll'illne—”

“ on‘t be alarmed; I shall come out all r'ght,
but upon my life i think you are wrong,r about

 

Mrs. Calhoun. I can freely forgive it, for I
know it is your lye for me that makes you

\

\

 

The  Detective.

anxious.” Then he drew the irl to him and
imprinted a warm kiss upon er pallid lips.
“ beer up and drive these morbid fancies from
your mind. There are many bright days in
store for us.” A

And then they left the parlor, he confident
and she full of sad fears.

 

CHAPTER XXV.
'rnE PROOF.

THE Frenchman, as he listened to the words
of his self-invited guest and realized how cun-
ning was the snare in which he was entangled,
first became enraged and determined to brave
the matter out and bid defiance to his tormen-
tor; then succeeded indecision as be rapidly
speculated on the chances and gradually com-
prehended how unfavorable everything looked;
and at last appeared abject fear, and the cold
perspiration came out on his forehead. Was
this man a demon to be able to weave such a
net around him?

He broke forth in expostulations.

“In the fiend’s name!” he cried, “why do
you trouble me with this affair? You are craz
to believe that I had anything to do with i .
You have made a mistake; I am not that kind
of man. Bah! I am no fool!, Why should I
risk my life and gain nothing? Men of Sense do
not do that. I am a man of sense. No one ever
accused me of being a fool; wh then try to
stick this crime upon my back? at you can-
not do it' on are trying to frighten me; but I
am not r ghtened no! I hava the heart of a
lion 1” and with a hand that trembled, despite
his attempt to appear calm and unconcerned
he filleda glass to the brim with brandy and
drained it at a single swallow.

“ You have a fine throat,” the other remarked,
smilingly. “ What a pity it would be for such
a fine hroat as that to be inched by a rope ”
and placing his hand under is left ear be e
a si nificant jerk upward, accompany the
mot on with a loud gurgle in the throat—a capi-
tal imitation of a strangling man.

b DedBellville shuddered and again attacked the
ran y.

“ you a devil?” he cried, hoarsely “ that

you take pleasure in tormenting a'man

“ Oh, no; a human like ourself. There’s 111
card,” and be tossed the ttle bit of paste
across the table.

The other picked it up and read the name
aloud:

“ Felix Houma!”

The Frenchman shook his head.

“ You don’t remember me .7”

De Belleville again shook his head.

“ Not by that name?”

“ No, I never saw or heard of it before.”

“Very likely: that is my American name,”
and the disguised s i laughed as though he
considered it a good it) e'.

“ Oh, you have more than one name, then?”

“Yes, like yourself I have a dozen—a dif-
ferent one for ever country and for every
city, sometimes. ll bet you a thousand
francs though, that if I was to utter the name
b wh eh I am known in Paris you would recog-
n ze it quick] enough.”

“Aha!” cr ed the Frenchman, eagerly, “ and
that 18—”

“ My secret,” responded the unknown, with a
tantalizing smile.

_ “ What does it matter—what do I care?”
growled De Belleville, amazed at being thus
pllag'ed upon. “It doesn‘t matter if you were

i ocq and all the police spies that have ex-
isted since him rolled into one, you would be
only wasting your time in trying to make out
that I had a hand in this crime.”

“That is what you say.”

“It is the truth.”

“ To whom does that truth have to be proved,
sup osing you are accused?” ‘

‘ ‘o the judge, of course.”

“And jury; remember we are in America,
now, where twelve men sitting in a jury-box
decide the question of life or death.”

“ Yes, yes, that is truth.”

“Now see how strong is the web which I
have woven around you. You call yourself
De Belleville.”

“ It is my name.”

“ Can I not prove that you havo had a dozen
and all of them different?

“ Perhaps on can,” was the sullen reply.

“I know t at I can: I have been two weeks
on your track and I have not wasted any time.”

De Belleville looked as if he could find it in
his heart to strangle the cool and smiling
Houma upon the spot.

“You see I' came ovar to this country on a

,little Ipleasure excursion, but with my usual

luck tumbled into business,” the police spy
continued. “I got upon your trnck’almost im-
mediately. You had more to gain by the wo-
man’s death than any one else.”

“It is a lie!” the Frenchman declared, in a
rage. '

‘Is it?" the secret agent queried, with a
mm-king smile. “ Let me unfold at length,
then, the proof which I have against you; then
for the home transform {ourselt into a jury-
man and judge and see w ether you wouldn’t

 

go willing to hang the wretch upon that evi~
ence.‘

“Oh, you police spies are devils!” De Bell-
ville cried. “I wonder sometimes a. man of
you is alive. Why do not the victims whom
you hunt down turn and kill you?”

“Because they haven’t got the luck, any
more than the wolf when run down y a blood‘
bound; but now, listen to the evidence: Mrs.
Esperance was murdered by a little stab in the
neck; a very neat little job and one only to be
performed by a man who knew exactly where
to strike. Then after being murdered, she was
robfid of her diamonds, and the assassin es—
cap .

“ Now for the proof that you were the was
sin—that you and you only had a motive for
the deed. You were the husband of Mrs. Es~

erance, and who and what are you?— French
uis, a man who, has served a term at the gal:
leys, and who is known as a. swindling adven—
turer—if nothing worse—in nearly every capital
in Euro Forced by hot pursuit to flee to
climes w ich knew on not, you came to this
country. Here in ew Orleans you found the
woman, who was once your wife, living in
great luxury. She apparently was rich, you
were poor. You song t her out and demanded
mone , as the price of your silence. She refused
and efied you; provoked by the failure, you
take advantage 0 a moment when she was not
u n her guard and struck her, secured the
diamonds and fled. See how strong the evi-
dence is?”

“No, no, no evidence l” the Frenchman cried,
impatiently. “You must not call it evidence
when there is nothing but suspicion.”

“Suspicion than; we will not uarrel about
a. word, but you ourself shall the judge,
and I think you w' lown.that less susz has
often hung a man.

“ You were the husband of the dead woman,
ggu have admitted that- nay more, claimed to

; you demanded that her property be turned
over to you, thus making it plain that you be-
lieved she had left wealth behind her. You
killed the woman that you might inherit her
money; you are a man of a notoriously bad
character and have done time in prison—just
such a man as would be likely to commit a mur-
der rovided the inducements were sufllcient.
So ar, an a pear to be the on?r one in the
wOrld w oh any motive for ki ing the wo-
man?” Come, hav'n’t I made out a pretty strong
case’ '

De Bellville was obliged to admit that he had
but protested his innocence strongly.

“ nd the diamonds old‘ bo , {went on the
fly, leaning over the table and whispering con~

entiall . “ You have them, eh? The are
worth a ortune. What is the five hundr dol-
lars reward compared to the diamonds! Do
you take, mi pippini Square me with the dia-
monds and t on let the Americans catch you if
they can."

De Bellville shook his head.

“ The offer is a fair one, you fool! or do you
prefer the gallows?” ‘

. “ I can’t,” exclaimed De Bellville, in despera~
tion. “I can’t give you what I hav’n’t got.”

“I’ll have to cage you. then,” remarked the
other, in a tone of indifference. “Since ,ou
won’t accept a fair offer, wiry hang if youl at"
And he made a moVement as if to rise.

.“Hold, monsieur!” pleaded the Frenchman,
pale as death, reaching across the table and
clutching the spy by the arm. “I swear to you
by all the oaths that were ever framed I did not
kill the woman, neither did I steal the dia-
monds. It was my game to make her come
down handsomely, and on the night of the
tragedy I was near the mansion intending to
get an interview, but I did not see her. I swear
to you I have not Spoken to her, face to face,
since I have been in this country. It is no use
to give me up, for by so domg you may lose the
guilty man. I appreciate your ofl’er, and I
would gladly accept it if I had the jeWels, but
I can give you important information about the
woman and who were at the mansion on the
night of the murder if you will take me for a
pa . '
Houma looked him straight in the eyes, and
De Bellville did not wince.

“Good! I Won’t crack the whip just yet,
then,” he answered, apparently satisfied that
the other was honest in the matter. “And
now tell me all you know about Adeline Es—
perance and all you SUSpect about her murder.”

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
WEAVING THE WEB. ’

ON one of the small streets leading fro
Canal on the “ French" side of that great thor—
ou hfare, so termed because nearly all the in-
habitants living in the streets beyond are as
French as French can be, was a small cutlery
establishment.

A little swing sign over the door bore the in-
scriptiou:

“Hana: Jacorn,
Parisian Cutler. ”

It was a modest little shop, but for all that,
better wares in its line could be found within
than at any other .stablishment in the city.

\

 

1. ‘

. ._...... __ _ “v

 

 

 

 

 

g; L ...¢-.,"<

 

 

 

 

 

 

A

Its great specialty was its surgical instru-
ments; it kept a fine assortment and was much
patronized by the medical men of the City and ad-
jacent country. It was a great resort, too, for
the medical students studying in New Orleans,
for the proprietor was a famous inaster-at-arms
and taught fencing, and like their brethren all
through the wor d, the callow doctors were
rather wild fellows and much given to exer-

. cises wit the foils.

Jacote was a character. He was an affected,
little dried-up old man, who tried to disguise
h.s a e in every pOssihle way, and flattered
himse f that he succeeded in passing for quite a
young man, rather inclined to be wild and par-
tial to the fair sex.

In flne, Monsieur J arote was just the kind of
man to be easily played upon by a cunning and
designing woman.

The Frenchman's business, though, was not
of a nature to bring him much in contact with
the fair sex, although he kept quite an assort-
ment of scissors and articles in that line.

The stri et was not much frequented, and
therefore when the cutler, who sat in the 'open
doorway of the store one evening, enjoying'a
cigarette, perceived a really beautiful woman,
elegantly attired, advancing to his shop, e_v1-
dently attracted by the display of glittering
steel articles in the window, it was no wonder
that he prepared to receive with all the honors
the to him, welcome customer.

he lady entered the store, and the French—
man who had hurried behind the counter
thought he had never beheld a more expressive

face.

“Is this léonslieilir Jizcotel’ls?" she inquilil'jedl;
spea’ in ngis ,ye wit an accentw 0
led tmrenchman to believe she, like himself,
was of Gallic birth.

“Yes, mademoiselle, and I am Monsieur
J acote, mud and happy at having the pleasure
of wai ng upon you,’ he responded, with a
gallant bow. I

“Ah, monsieur, I detect from your accent
that you are a countryman!” she exclaimed,
her eyes sparkling, the discovery apparently
givin her great pleasure.

“ emoiselle, it is the very observation I
would have made, had not mademoiselle taken
the words out of my mouth,” and again he
bowed in a really extravagant manner. .

“It is so loasant to meet countrymen in this
forei lan . Ah,monsieur,Idosomiss Paris!"
and s e heaved a deep sigh.

“Yes, ye mademoiselle; a true Frenchman
will always eave his heart behind him in Paris,
go where he will,” and he sighed, too, in re-
spouse.

“ I wish a pair of scissors, monsieur, and in-

quiring of a gentleman at the hotel he directed ‘

me here.”

“Ah, yes: I am proud to say my shop is
well known in this cit ,” and the little old man
Swelled out like a b lfrog in conscious_pride.
“What hotel does mademoiselle honor with her
presence, the St. Charles?’ The proprietor of
that reat establishment knows me well; I have
supp led, him for years. He isa colossal gen~

‘ J

tleman.

“ No, the St. James.”

“Ah, yes: the St. James bu 3 here, too.”

And thus the acquaintance gun. The lady
purchased a pair of scissors, chatting the while
with such fascinating grace that the captivated
Frenchman had great difficulty in persuading
himself to take t e trifling sum which the ar-
ticle was worth. Had not the acquaintance-
ship been of such a brief duration he would
most surely have- insisted upon the lady ac-
cepting the scissors as a present, and when she
departed, be accompanied her to the door with
as much politeness as though she had been a
princess and his last words as be bent himself
nearly double with an elaborate bow, was a
hope that “mademoiselle” might find it con-
Venient to come again even if she did not want
to buy anything, for to meet with a country-
“'0m911 new from Paris, that city of all cities,
W9§ 8 Peat boon to an exiled son of the Seine.

lhe ad smiled, cast a glance out of her dark
eyes Whlc 1 complete] won the heart of the 01d
gentleman, and replied that she Would most
certainly 00"“, as 9110 had .few acquaintances in
the city and the opportunity to converse with a
gentleman who had once dwelt in dear, de-
lightth Paris was a pleasure not to homily de-
nied. , .

And come again she did, three or four times,
at each visit buying some little article, so as to
have some excuse tori the call, so the flattered
store-kee ‘r imaginei .

On ongvisit she expressed 3 wish to buy a

’ Kenknife but after examining the stock on

and declared there was not one that'sui'ted

her much to Jacote‘s despair, for by this time

he had fallen very much in love With his

charming customer, and would have presented

her with anything in the store if she had ex-
a wish for it. _

The next evening she came again and re-
called her search for a penknii'e to the mind of
the shopkeeper. .

“ Oh, yes, inademoiselle, and I am wretched

that in my poor stcwk you (ill not llnd the ,

article to suit your fancy, but you, mademoi'

 

The Double Detective.

selle, have exquisite taste; these common
thin sdo not suit.” '

“ es, but imagine how strange that, after
my search here, on my way to the hotel, in
Canal street, monsieur, I found the oddest lit-
tle knife any one ever laid their eyes upon;

H "

And she took from her cket and laid upon
the counter a small, one-b aded knife, with a tor-
toise-shell handle.

Jacote laughed the moment his eyes fell
upon it.

“ Ah, no wonder, mademoiselle, you thought
it was odd-looking; it is hardly the sort of en-
knife suited to a lady; it is a phySician’s an-
cet,” and as he spoke he opened theblade.

“ Yes, yes, I see now, and how stupid it was
of me not to guess what it was before.

“Oh, no, mademoiselle; you are not used to
such things, while I,0n the contrary,deal largely
in them. In fact it would be no great risk to
bet a bottle of wine that this very lancet was
bought in this store, I sell so many.”

“ A lancetl” exclaimed the lady, reflectively;
“let me see that Seems very familiar to me.
Whom have i heard talkin of a lancet lately i"

J acote shrugged his sho ders after the true
French fashion. _

“ Ah, yes, now I have it i” she cried, ab-
ruptly. “ I knew that I had been hearing some
one talk of a lancet lately; it was that terrible
murder case; she was killed by a stab from a
lancet; it was dreadful, was it not? and to
think that this little toy should be able to give
a wound severe enough to cause death!”

“ Oh, yes, mademoiselle; if the blow be
given in the right place; life is a fragile thing,
sometimes.”

“ What was the name of the lady who was
murdered!”

The Frenchman shook his head.

“ It was in all the newspa horrid case.

Just outside the city, on a river plantation, I,

believe.”

A ain J acote shook his head.

“ ally, mademoiselle, I readthe newspapers
so little 1 am quite ignorant, and I never read
about murders.”

“ And you say you think this little knife was
bought here?”

“ t is possible,” and then he examined it
carequ , while the lady watched, an eager,
wolfish 00k in her eyes despite all her efforts to
re ress her tiger-like feelings.

‘ Yes, mademoisella, it was bought here, and,
what is more, I can tell you who be ht it,” Ja-
cote exclaimed, in a tone of trium , r to
show his fair charmer what a cunning fe ow he
was. “You see, madcmoiselle, I have such a
wonderful memory for triflesrLSm-ticularly for
trifles connected with my t e. If there is
even a scratch i-ifion any tool I sell, I never for-

et it and can ways pick out the one I sold
rem a dozen others exactly like it.”

“And were there any scratches—any marks
upon this lancetl”

The uestion was put as coollyas though a
human ife hung not on the balance.

“ Yes, yes, and you will be able to see them
when I int them out. Notice the plate on the
side of t e handle; there is a little scratch there
at the end of the late, as if the tortoise shell
had been cracked y the insertion of the plate;
then here on the blade, see how blurred the S
is in the Word Slieifleld.”

“ Why, is it not wonderful? You would be
able to identify and swear to this, knife before
a court of justice.” -

“ Before a dozen courts, my dear mademoi-
sellel" Jacote replied, delighted at the interest
which he had excited.

“ But, the gentleman to whom you sold it—I
must return it; have you his address 9”

“I think I have his card,” and he went to his
desk, fumbled over his papers, and presently re-
turned with the piisteboa rd. “ Here it is.”

She glanced at the name inscribed upon the
card and her brows contracted for a moment:
then .he smiled sweetly upon Jacote as she pos-
sessed herself of the lancet, and said:

“ I will see that it is returned,” then departed.

CHAPTER XXVII.
. THE srr SPEAKS.

ONE month from the day of the murder of
Adeline Esperance, and in all that time the au—
thorities of the city were not a bit the wiser in
regard to the slayer of the woman; not a single
clew had the gained; and even the noted
French detective,.\\'h0 had been introduced to
the chief of police by the Englishman, had been
obliged to confess that the myster was a deep
one, and that, so far, he was not ab 6 to see into
it; but he a red full of confidence and said
that lie woul) devote at the least a couple of more
months to the case, for he had become deeply
interested in it, and in these strange affairs it
was his experience that light sometimes ap-
peared when everything looked darkest.

_The chief had winked significantl to one of
his associates, after the Frenchman ad retired,
and had observed:

“ Brag is a good dog, but holdfast is better,
ggdt I I‘leqkon that brag is Johnny frog-eater’s

s in t .

Nary time will we at the bracelets .

l
l
l

 

\ U.
o
i

i 19

that he skipped out, either up North or OVer
into Texas the moment he i: hold of the swag.”

Even the Englishman, 9. though possessed of
all the bull-dogism for which the Briton has
been credited, at last began to lose, hope.

In obedience to the request of the lady, whose
services he had engaged, he had taken a small
oflice in St. Charles street, right in the busy
part of the city, and in a building filled with
offices, so that any one passing up or down, man
or woman, would not be apt to attract any par-
ticular attention.

“It is necessary,” she explained, “ for us to
have some place where we can meet without
danger of being observed. The more I see of
this matter—the deeper I penetrate into it, the
more I become convinced that we have a most
difficult and dangerous task before us, and if
the deer of the deed once becomes suspicious
discovers that there is a spy after him, who is
likely to hit upon the right track, most surely be
will not stop at any means to remove the
tracker.” ‘

Although by this speech Sir John got the idea.
that his spy had obtained a clew, yet in response
to his eager, uestioning, she declared that as yet
she had not ound out anything worth talking
about, and resolutely declined to say anything
further.

“Let me alone until I really get some infor-
mation 1" she said. “ I have made some guesses, .
it is true, but guesses are not worth any thing:
there isn t any substance to them , wait until I
get hold of the tail of my rat before I describe
the animal. When I have anything to 3:] I
will send on a postal-card on which will ni-
ply inscri the day and time when I wish to
meet ou here.”

An this was all the satisfaction the English- ‘

man was able to obtain. There was nothing to
do but wait' and so, with all the doggedness of
his race, he ided his time, fully determined,»
spend ten years in the search, and half his for-
tune if need be, to secure the vengeance he

craved.

Four weeks passed awe and no word from
La Marmoset, for it was t e famous police 8 y,
whom he had enlisted in his service, but at e
and of that time, just as he had be an to be-
lieve that the myster was too gres even for
La Marmoset to ban lo, and that even her keen

wits had been baffled by the meantime taken
by the murderer to conceal traces by means
0 which the foul deed could be traced to its

author, he found a postal-card in his box at ‘the‘
hotel, which simply said: '

" Tomorrow—twelve. nofi." \ A
At ten minutes before the appointed time

the Englishman was in the office, waiting for -

hisspy. I

At twelve preciaily a lady made her appear:
ance. She was dressed plainl in complete
black, were her hair arranged own over her
forehead, after the fashion common some thirty
years ago, and by this means had entirely
changed the expression of her mobile face, in a
measure concealing its beauty, adding the ap-

arance of at least ten ears-to her a 0. She
ooked like a woman of ort or forty- ve, and
one who had seen much tron le; very meek and
humble-looking indeed; the last rson from
whom any one would have expec danger.

“ I beg your pardon," she said, locking about
her in atimid sort of way, as if she saw she
had made a mistake and got into the wrong
room.

“Who did you wish to see, madam?” he
asked.

The woman did not answer the question, but
turning around went to the door, which in the
coolest manner she locked, the key happening
to be on the inside. ,

Sir John jumped to his feet in alarm, for the
movement astounded him.

"Hallo, madam, what are you about? Un-
lqck that door!” he cried. .

“Oh, no, Sir John; we mustn’t be interru t-
ed!” she‘said, speaking now in tones which is
instantly recognized, and turning she pushed
the hair up from her temples, and behold! it
was La Marmosetl

“By Jovel” was all that the Englishman
could ejaculate.

"A pretty good disguise since it deceived
you, and yet you expected me!" she observed; a
touch of triumph in her manner.

“ You are a trump, madam, upon my word 17’
the'Briton declared, hastening to bring hen a.
c iair. -,

She seated herself and laughed quietly for a
moment.

“ I am rather out cf practice; I have not pur-
sued my trade since coming to .Ihls country,
and I had a fanc to try you With a disguise
amtlgee whether had lost all my cunning or
no . '

“Most decidedly you have not. Although
when you opened the d00r I expected it was
you, yet our disguise Was so perfect that I
took on or a stranger; but now that I come
to 100 at you, I fail to perceive that you have
altered yourself materially.” ~

“ [t is knowing how to do it, my brave,” she
explained. “But new to businesh.”

on the chap that did this job, or it’s ten to one a “ Yes, yes, what have you discovered i”

l

.. war-va‘é . .-

4
. -.. k..- _.... v. ._ _. . "afiwcd .

«em-

:.~..-..L.—-a.. ....a,

‘. ms If... .

mum“..- .. ,_. _

’ , her his victim. Tbew I resolved to devote the

a

' story can be true,” remarked Sir John, sadly,

 
   

_—

. in Pa 8, secretly, you being then a youn er

. w on you found you were booked for India and

‘ 1mm had been intercepted by a rival who sue.

,young, pure and virtuous girl of eighteen that

opportunity to free herself from the tie which

“No. l and 2 are both present, herein New Or-

20

‘.‘ Not much.”

H  !” _ l

“ But I suspect a great deal.”

“ Ah, but you said that suspicion didn’t
amount to an thing.”

“ No more oes it, but it puts us on the right
scent sometimes; but see there is one thing I
want to uudcrstand, for I think that, in a mea—
sure, I haw been working in the dark.”

“ “'hat lei-'1"

“What kind of a woman was this Adeline
Esperauce, anyway !”

“ An angel!” exclaimed Sir John, fervently.

“Oh, that In what you; think, ch?" and a. pc~
culiar expression appeared upon her face.

“ \Vhy, I know she was; but your tone and
the impression upon your face would seem to
impl that you doubted it.”

“ ersonallyI know nothing of the woman,
of course: I did not know that she even had lX‘
isted until you put me upon the track. But
When you employed me in this matter the first
thing I did was to try and find out all I could
about her.”

“ And you succeeded?”

“ Adrnirablyl but the weight of the. evidence
is decidedly against her below an angel.”

“ Is it possible?” And the Englishman looked
amazed.

“It is, and that is one thing I wanted to talk !
to‘you about. I have got the story you told l
me all written down here,” and she tapped her i

J

broad forehead. ‘l I never trust my memoran-
dums to books which are apt‘to be lost. Ade- .
line Es rance was your wife: you married her

son entirely dependent upon your father. X on
were called to join your re'iment—were ob-
li ed to leave in haste—wro e from England

never received any replies.”
“Yes, but after my return I found that my

coeded in persuading my beloved one that I
had betrayed and deserted her.”
“'Fh'om whom did you receive this informa-
“on,” .
“The w0man who kept the lodging-house
where we had resided after we Were married
so informed me.”

“ And how did she know?" ’ ‘
“My wife told her: she was in distress and
confided her secrets to her. She had not heard
from me and believing that she had been be-
trtyed' she was about to leave Paris and seek
to better fortune elsewhere, in company with
a French gentleman, who was an old friend and
had promised to assist her. Then when Itold
the woman that I had written at least a. dozen
letters, none of which were answered, she at
once declared that she had no doubt Adeline
had been the victim of a diabolical plot. She
had confided all her affairs to this Frenchman,
and the inference was lain, he had intercepted
the letters and persua ed Adeline that she had
been deceived and abandoned in order to make

rest of my life to finding her.”
I“ ng many years ago did this marriage take
pace?
“ Exactly twenty years have elapsed.”
::Slnc,e’ you married this angel?”

“Who had two living husbands then."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

, LA MAiiMosm‘s coscnusonS.

SIR J OHN stared and put on his eyeglasses in
'order that he might the better examine the
woman who had made this astounding declaraL
tion..

“ Oh, it is the truth: you need not stare as if
you doubted my words. .I repeat, on were
her third husband, and instead of wing the

you believed she was awomau of tWenty-seven,‘
an udventuress of the first water; ever on the
look-out for irey. I understand all about it; I ,

 

have seen a t ousand in my time in Paris, and 3

have snapped. the bracelets on not a few of '
them either, and you Englishmen throw away
so much money in Puris' that all these crea. :
tures believe every John Bull is n milord and as ;
rich as a Russian prince. She snapped you up ‘
for-a victim, or perhaps there may have been a .
trifle lof love about thc matter. Anyway, when i
you Went back to England she seimd upon the l

bound her so that she mi ht be able to snare fresh
prey. _ 0f courseif she lad had any idea that
on Would inherit the family estates, she would
ave stuck to you like u leech.”
“I can hardly bring myself to believe this

for the revelation had been a. heavy blow to

him; all these years he had cherished the mem-

ory of his irl-wife and looked forward with

{3y to the ay when he should again clasp her
his heart.

“There is not the least doubt about its
1inuth,” La Marmoset persisted. “Husbands
leans. No. 1 is rather underithe weather just
now and is notiu fine feather, and so is kee -
in in the background. but No. 2 has open y
0' forward and put in a claim for the prop-

 

The Double Detective.

i . ' a

 

 

erty left by the dead woman, and he has got all
the legal papers which prove that he was man
ricd to Adeline Esperance just twenty—two
years ago; that was two years before your
marriage. and No. 1 claims to have been wed-
ded to her twenty seven years ago, and I see
no reason’ to doubt the truth of the state—
incut."

The Englishman muttered something that
so imled very much like an oath. It was mor-
ti big to think the idol which he had wor-
‘ shipcd for so many lung years was nothing but
,’ very Common clay, after all. The fact gullcd
him to the heart.

“But is not there In possibility of some mis-
take!l The Adeline Esperance of these fellows
and my Adeline ESperauce may be two entirely
dill‘erent persons. Such mistakes have been
made."

“ You saw the woman before
buried?"

“ Yes.” I

“And it was your Adeline?”

“It was; no doubt about it, and very little
changed indeed; twenty years had scarcely
l aged her a particle.”

“ Exactly; she was probably twentydive or
thcrcabouts when she married you, and she
claimed to be eighteen, and here in Now Or«
leans she only owned t0 twent -four. Well,
you saw her dead, and recognized her as your
wife; the other two saw her living and they
also recognized her.”

“And these two husbands— were they in com-
munication with her?”

“No: yet I feel sure both of them intended
to make the woman pay wall for their si-
lance.”

“ lVere they acting in concert?” ,

“No; although they were acquainted, yet
neither one knew the other was in this country,
or had the slightest suspicion he was in an
way connected with Mis. Esperance until a -
ter the tragedy, when they happened to meet
and compare matters, and then discovered, to
their mutual surprise, that both had the same
claim on her.”

“And one of these follows I suppose, was
her assassin, for I gather rom what you

she was

. have said that both are of bad reputations.”

La Marmoeet shook her head.

“In is a strange case—as difilcult a one as I
ever handled,” she replied after a pause. “I
confess I don’t know exactly what to think. I
have discovered circumstantial evidence toler-
ably strong against both, yet I know that both
could not have been concerned in the tragedy,
for they did not meet until the deed was done—
in fact not until two or three days after. Be-
sides, I have proof which seems to fix the
bloody deed upon an entirely different per-

“ Well, that is strange.” ’ '

“The apple is not ripe yet, and I shall not
shake the tree until it is. The affair bothers
me! I have Clcws, but too many; they can’t
all be right, and yet- one seems to romisa as
much as another. The trouble is he motive.
So far I cannot discover why the woman was
killed. Murders are not committed, you know.
without good reasons, except by lunatics, but I
have not been able to discover any connected
with this case. The mystery surrounding
ers. ljlspeTauce even I have not been able to
80 V9. A

“ What mystery? I do not exactly under-
stand.”

“ \Vhat was the woman doing here, living
like a princess, spending a thousand dollars for
this and a thousand dollars for that, with no
more apparent care for the cash than if she had
a. king at her back to provide her with pocket-
money 2” '

“It is strange.” ,

“There must have been an ‘angel’ some-
where?”

“ An angel 2” inquired Sir John:

“I see; you do not understand the thieves’
argot. Au angel is a. rich man—a flat, who
provides the. money.” -

“Yes, yes: I presume I \vAs her ‘angel’
once, althoughiu a limited way,” the English-
man remarked.

, “Some one was in the background, her on—
gel, who supplied her with money and the rut,
whoever he is, has covered u is tracks so
well that! cannot get the slig itest clcw. No
checks, no telltale large bills, but always small
ones, impossible to trace. That is the way the
money came to her, and she spent it as freely
as water; all women who have angels do that;
what do they care for money since it can be
had for the asking?”

“What you have said gives me much food
for tbOught," Sir John observed.

“No doubt: it must be something of a shock
to a man to suddenly discover that thewoman
whose memory for yours he has cherished in
his breast, believing her to be all that was good
and holy, was nothing buta wily adventuress
ready to sell herself to the first comer provided
the price was high enough.” I

“And you are sure that it was sol” asked the
Englishman, as if a doubt still lingered in his

br 15.
’m is certain; there is not the least doubt

\

\

 

about it. How hard it is for a man to be
lieve that to be true which he wishes to
false.”

Sir John winced at the remark, for he felt its
truth.

 

P,—
_._—--»

 

\

Packing

nected w:
delibly en;

“ I have

("A know al

. “ But, now that you know all; what is to be 'andarour

done?" she continued.
the chase or give it up!”
“Keep on!” cried he. decidedly. “I have;
grown doubly interested, and, no matter 1
whether she was saint or devil, I will do all ‘
that man can do to bring her murderer to jus-‘l‘

“Am I to keep on in

tice.”

“Good! I am glad of it, for I am interested,
too; I don’t like to be baflled, and so far I must
confess I have not made much progress. Now
{will tell you how the matter stands: There ,
are three men who may have Commiilcd the-r
deed, and I have as :crtuincd facts \\ hich seem
to implicate all three, yet I feel tolcrablc cer-
tain that only one had a hand in it. First comer)
husband No. 1.; he is a regular tramp, oldJ
weather beaten and miserable, who in a m0"I
ment of anger at being refused the money he
sought might have struck the blow, although ll
can’t bring myself to believe he could ever)
have mustered courage enough to do such a)
thing. He is the sort of fellow who would ml}
8. hen-roost or steal the washing from a clolbesl)
line, but would require a deal of urging to com-4
mit more desperate work. He knew the wo-l
man; he was her husband—the first one so furl
as I have discovered, although it is possible he
may have been No. 6 instead of No. 1. He was-
in the neighborhood of the mansion on the night
of the murder and had in his possession after-
the traged an imitation diamond, which he
believed to a genuine stone, and which I feel;
satisfied was one of the jewels stolen on the
night of the murder from the dead woman.”

‘ Ah, that is proof conclusive 1”

“Oh, no, my dear Sir John, it is not. I have
been studying the matter over, and am not
sure that the man who struck the _blow was the.
one who committed the robbery. According
to the accounts given the jewe s were on the

rson of the woman when she was discovered

y the guests in the house struggling in the
agonies of death; then she was left alone for a
few minutes while the rounds without were
searched for traces of t e assassin, and when
the guests returned the gems were gone. You
see two ma have participated’in the crime.”

“ Yes, it» ssible.”

“Against usband No. 2 there is little evi-
dence. He is of noted bad character, desperate
enough to do such adeed if pushed to it, and,
apparently, would profit more by the woman’s\
death than any one else.”

CHAPTER XXIX.
A POSSIBLE CLEW.

Pacxmoaams shook his head. '

“ Thcevidenceagainst N 0.2 does not strike cu
as being very strong?” La Marmoset du'eri .

“ it does not, indeed~-mere surmise. ’

“You are right: it doesn’t amount to an -
thing, but he is a sly and skillful fellow, an o d
rogue to covering up his tracks, who, if he
did the job, would take precious good care to
arran a it so that suspicion would not fall upon
him. y chance he dISCOVel‘ed the woman here,
and, to all outward seeming, possessed of plenty
of money. She was fair game: she must share
her gold with him or he would reveal to the
world the relationship which existed between
them: so he sent to Euro )0 for the necessary
legal documents to prove t at he was her hus-
band, and they arrived a few days before the
date of the murder. She would not yield to
the demand and defied him; then hquietcrmined
to kill her, thinking that he was her heir and
that on her death he would inherit the plantao
tion which was supposed to be hers but which
was, in reality, mortgaged for all it was worth.
You see, ap )arently, he had a great deal to

ain by her (lentil—more than an one else that
Ihavo been able to connect wit the case, so
far, except the ‘angel’ perhaps.”

“ Do you think—supposing there was some
man in the background furnishing, the money
she squandered so freely— that he had anything
to do with it?” /

“ Waita moment; I will come to the angel
presently. There is a N o. 3 that I haven’t dis-
posed of yet.” . ~

“Anot er husband?” ,

“Oh, no; you are No. 3 in the husband line
as far as I am able to find out. I speak of the
third one against whom I have some proof—-
terribly strong circumstantial evidence, and yet
Icaunot bring myself to believe that he had
anything to do with it.”

“Go on, I pray; this is like a three-volume
noveL” '
“ What fiction can compare with truth? But

No. 319 a. young man whom this siren fascin-
ated, just as she seems to have fascinated every-
body she encountered. And he was as good an
engaged to be married, too, to a beautiful
young girl—a creature worth a dozen such wo-
men as this siren, if 1 am any judge: but as to
that, I suppose women are poor judges of each .
other. He was a visitor at the house on the
night of the murder. ‘ A party was given there.
if you remember, that night."

1

 

as though
perauce h
tion with
the thing
whether
' roung i6
not is upl
that evil
sometim
other 0!
handset!
a women
ticular <
3nd bar
«33 pom
unsFu, th
.aavo sci
though.
Thimself
"Nitl’llll‘:
' sf tho
’ahance
"he tw
- :he liv
past E
stroke
home
hour a
easily
at the
was it
sion a
destin
pcten
him l
and r
did u
;\ hal
3 “ V
web
at th
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Wai
do tl
role
at it
agai
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wor
vicl

 

 

 

TN.
In to bg,
hes to In

he felt its ‘

is who“.

6P on in

‘I have
matter
ll do all ,
r to ins-'5":

i

crested, ’
' 1 must
- Now
: There ;
ted the! :
h seem: :
Die Car.
90011186)
p, old!
a man
may be
mg!) 11
I ever?
inch 59
d role
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a far?
le he
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nzht
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h be
feel;
the L
”

 

 

 

.,.....

m.

 

. on
y \

= not is not yet known.

. tel‘mines at any risk to free himself.”

.“~

\\.’.'
‘I

’ I

' i 21

 

 

 ' “The-Double-Detective.‘

 

Packinghame nodded; not a single detail eon-
neclted with the tragedy which was not in-
delibly engraved upon his memory.

“ I have been singularly lucky in one respect;
N know about as much of what transpired in
and around the mansion on that eventful ni ht
as though I had been an eye-witness. Mrs. s-
peraiice had been carrying on a desperate flirta-
tion with this young man, but exactly how far
the thing had gone 1 am not able to discover;
[whether she had sncoeeded in trapping the
loung fellow into a marriage engagement or
‘ But on that night, with
that evil spirit which seems to rule such women
sometimes, she paid particular attention to an-
other one of her vi.~itors, a colonel, a dashy,
handsome gentleman, but far too poor for such
a woman to waste time upon; yet, on this par—
ticular evening, she encouraged his attentions
and bantered him into kissing her, and as it
happened the salute was witnessed by the oung
"man, the very man of all men who shou d not
have seen the act. It seemed to open his eyes.
'though, and the result was a quarrel between
himself and Mrs. Esperance, followed by his
"withdrawal from the house. The particulars
'9f that interview I cannot get at, and the
ihances are great that what tonk place between
"be two is known only by the dead woman and
the living man. He left the house about half-
past eleven; the woman was killed on the
stroke ofstwelvo; the man (lid not arrive at his
home in this city until about one, taking an
hour and a half for a journey which he could
easily accomplish in three quarters of an hour
at the most, and could do in half an hour if he
was in haste. The time of his leaving the man-
sion and the hour at which he arrived at his
destination in this city can be verified by com-

_tent WitnesSos. There was ample iime for

1m to return to the house, commit the deed
and reach the city at the hour he did; but if he
did not do this, how did he use up the hour and
as half?” '
l “ With what infernal cunning cu draw the
Web around the man!” cried Sir ohn, amazed
at the woman’s skill.

“I have hardly commenced with him yet.
Wait! I have shown there was time for him to
do the deed. Now for the motive: he had quar-
reled With the woman, and as near as I can get
at it, he had said that he would never see her
again. Suppose, however, she had some hold
on him? That is the first thin these dangerous
women try for; they do their st to bind their
Victims so that the chain cannot be broken.
So, when he told her that that meeting must be
their last, an pose the woman threw off the
mask, reveal the power she possessed and de-
fied him to break With her?”

“I see, I see; then death alone could break
the bond.”

“Exactly; he rides away brooding over the
matter, becomes desperate when he sees how
completely he is in the woman’s power, and de-

“ Yes, yes; t e motive is a. strong one. I can
understand how a young man of good family,
lIlfui'iated at finding himself in the power of such

‘a creature might be tempted even to murder.”

“The opportunity—the motive—I have
shown,”

“Yes, reasonably.”

“ And the weapon—”

“The lancct, yes!” exclaimed the English-
man, growing excited at the develo merit.

“The young man is a medical stu ent!”

“ Aha! You have him, then, beyond a
doubt! Of course he would know exactl where
to strike to inflict a fatal blow, and suc an in-
strument——”

“He would be apt to have handy .in his
pocket, eh?" '

“ Yes and without preparation either.”

“Wei 1 have traced the lancet with which
13118 d was done to the'ver sho where
It was bought. That is what e ice owls
ouagclgtnto have tried to accomplish in the first

“ certain!” and now if you can prove that
{£1129ng mu wasthe one who purchased the

“That is accom lished fir n La mm.th n}
PliQd With 9' snug tile, 1:30]: of amazement
who came over the Englishman’s face. .i The
chapter of accidents decreed that there should
be certain marks 11 n the limo“ by mam.“
which it could be identified, and the nun who
sold it kitilew it”at once and gave me the card of
th aser. ,

a Illilecchain is complete: nothing remains but
to denounce the murderer to the pro up
thorities- and yet, from what you sad in tho

mug, I was led to infer that very lime
1‘ been accomplished, while, on the contrary
if: “12°”an “ narcissistic“:
c .

“ yygze  vbnl this evidece the man
Colin!” convicted?” asked La Marmoset, 9. pg.
“.igfcfipmsion upon her face. '
hmgmlw,°°"ainlyl Can there be a doubt of
H Yes in m " . 9 sur_
fin yapiwfiry: mind, was the womans
/ e a u “no ' nedhiseves.
"You an undefitand; wait a bit.

\

There

 

is, a No. 4 in this afl'air of whom I haVe not yet
spoken, and who is a very mysterious personage
indeed.”

“ By Jove! the in stories of this murder beat
the ‘ Three Spaniar s,’ and that book used fairly
to make my hair stand on end as a boy when I
read it.”

“ No. 4 is a slight young man, dressed entirely
in black, with a hat pulled down over his eyes,
as it' he was afraid of being recognized. He
rode a black horse 'with a white blaze in the
forehead and white hind feet; locks altogether,
as near as I can make out, like a Creole planter.

On the night of the tragedy he was seen in the.

neighborhood of the plantation; first mounted
on the black horse and then on foot skulking
through the grounds of the house as though he
feared recognition.”

“I am really getting bewildered,” Sir John
remarked. “ hom do you suppose this party
to be!”

“ The angel—the man in the background who
supplied the money, and who or! this night not
only witnessing the flirtation of Mrs. Espera nce
with the colonel, but also her loveriike quarrel

with the young medical student, satisfied that "

the woman was betraying him, and perhaps
tiring of her reckless extravagance, determined
at a single blow to rid himself of the siren, who
must have been ruining him.”

“ But the lancet belonging to the other?"

“They may be friends for all any one knows
-——the lancet lent or stolen.”

“ Yes, yes, I see.”

“And until I discover who No. 4 is I make
no accusation. You see I was right when I
said not much had been accomplished,” and she

rose.
“Is that all?” ,
“All at present, but I may light upon my
gentleman at any time.”
' “You will succeed, I am sure of it.”
“ I am determined to succeed.” ' '

And so the interview ended.

CHAPTER XXX.
PLANNING A MURDER.

AT nine o’clock on a certain evening the
Italian, who roudly boasted that he was a

andson of the once renowned brigand—Fra

iavolo, stood at the lower end of the old
French market, waiting for ‘the coming of the
mysterious personage who had en aged his
services. This was to be the th rd inter-
view between the two. On the second the
customer had made known the name of the
man about whom he was so anxious, and the
brigand, who was cunnin as a fox, had set
about his task with great a acrity.

Of his Own accor the stranger had selected
the market as a meeting-place, remarking that
his visits to the Italian quarter mi ht provoke
remark, and the brigand, from is circum-
stance. coupled with the general we in which
the visitor conducted himself got t e impres-
sion that his customer was an oid and wary bird,
not likely to be easily caught. '

Promptiy—almost to the minute—the prin-
cipal in this odd affair made his appearance.

As on the two previous occasions upon which
the Italian had met him, he was muflled up,
without appearing to be, so that recognition was
impossible.

“Goodevening; sir,” accosted the Italian, in
his polite way, for this fellow was a. courtly
bravo, no common stabber. “You are prompt
to time, and that is what I like; it is a leasure
to do business with a gentleman who oes not
keep a man waiting.” ,

The stranger cast a rapid glance around as
it fearing a spy might be urking somewhere.

“Tranquilize yourself; no one is near,” the
Italian assured.

“ One cannot be too careful in such a business
as this; let us walk up and down as we converse.”

“ Yes, that is a ood idea!”

And as they ted the two walked slowly
through the center of the deserted market, and
as the were careful to converse in low tones it
was c early impossible for any eavesdropper,
lurking on the outside of the market—there
were no sidewalls, the root being supported by
large pillars placed at regular intervals—to
overhear an of the conversation without dodg-
ing from.p liar to pillar and thus exposing
themselves to the certainty of being detected.

“Now then, what have you discovered?” the
stranger asked, beginning the con versation.

“Not much. my good sir, although I have
wOrked like a horse, but what can a man do!
You cannot make something out of nothing.”

“ True, but a very little information may do

or me; on.” \

“He calls himself Felix Bonnie, and for the
present he is in the ofllce of Loperleose and Son. ”
The stronger started slightly, which the keen-

 

ey'ed b noticed.
” Aha does that alarm on. HIV “135m?”
“Oh no: but what does e do there?”

That is a nycter . After I had run my gen-
tleman down I set aIl my spies at work to find
out all about him, besides taking a band in
myself. I am a sort, of king among the
Italians here in New Orleans, as you Proubly
know, my master, Id in such a case 83 “115‘”
when the .job‘ is ‘rth “,1 call upon all my,

, i '

subjects, and where information of this kind is
wanted, the children render the most valuable
services—the bootrblacks, fruit—sellers
flower-girls; no one suspects them, and they can
ask questions without limit.”

The stranger nodded; the idea seemed good.

“Many men have I played the spy upon in
my time, sometimes on my own account/and
i sometimes for hire, but this man is the worst
; that I ever shadowed.” ,
i “ How so?"
I “Why, look you my master, ‘he is like an
x eel; when 'ou think you have laid your finger
‘ upon him, hold! he is not there, and yet he is
I nothing—a slim bit of acreature that I could
l take and snap across my knee like a pipe-stem.
! He is costing you a deal of money; it moves mo
,1 to the soul to say it, but the information I have
I gained is not worth half—no, notaquarter of
3 the money you havcrpaid.”
i “ It may be to me,” responded the stranger
t quietly; “let nieliearit, and then I can judge.”
I “ His nam you already know."
' “Yes, but 18 it his name, or is he sailing un-
, dcr false colors?”

“Oh, my master, I cannot tell you a thing

5 about that.
in Loperleese’s office, and he has not been there
3 Ion . ‘
“gLoperleese’s clerk “i” ,

“There's a mvstery again; he sits at a desk
and does some little work—work taken away
from one and another clerk—which he could do
as well as not. In-fine, the fellow is no more
use in the office than a fifth wheel to a coach,
find none of the clerks understand why he comes

here at all; he’s no good i”
“ H: is placed there to watch somebody, per-

a
l

‘ The rest have that suspicion, and they do
not feel very amiable to Signor Houma.”

he go i”
‘ Up into the air!” responded the Italian, With
a uizzical look. '
‘What do you mean?”
“Or down into the earth, if you think that
wa is better, or more likely for him to take.”
‘ He evades you, eh i” ‘

I put upon his track. One of my boys, 3 boot-
black, as cunning a rascal as ever grew 11
within the shadow of the gallows—a rat, a
tooutwit the keznest detective, was put upon
thisHouma’s track. He him to the St.
Charles Hotel, and then, almost before my ras—
cal knew it, he vanished—\zipp!” and the Italian
threw his arms wide Open, thus illustrating the
abru t disappearance of the Creole.

“ man might have had better luck.”

“Oh, no, my master: I tried it myself' and ,
by all the saints! I swear to you a keener 
o_n thle scpnt thgrzo I, does not exislicik Itth
rigge up n 00 s,too—-no rags ' e
but I was aqblood, a sport. Diavolol if 3
had seen me Swagger down St. Charles
you would have sworn that I owned half 0

ew Orleans, and, mind you, I had made
my mind that my gentleman should not give
me the slip. But the moment I got upon
track he seemed to have a suspicion that he Wes
watched; without letting him catch me, I
dogged him like his shadow. from St. Charles
to anal, and then down to the levee, and he
walked merely to throw me off the track; he
knew he was shadowed, and yet he never-laid
his eyes upon me. He went on board one of
the steamers lying at the levee, one of the Mem—
phis packets, and I staid .on the shore and.
watched for him. He never came oi! that boat.

on her way. Of course after that there wasn’t

again. I dropped into the Phenix saloon to get
a glass of brandy, and there stood m man.
What is this Houma, my master, a devifi” '

“ But this second time, did you not tr:
him’i” cried the stranger, eagerly.

“ M master, ,let me speak the truth to you;
one in ght as well try to track a less of water
thrown into the current of the ' ' pi as to
attempt to follow that man," replied ' ‘
and, earnestly.
of ten minutes lost him in the crowd right on
St. Charles street.”

“If he is a devil as you think, I presume
him,” the stranger remarked, a covert
glance at his so ion’s face.

Diavolo, t second. laughed; he was
quick of comprehension, this brigand.

“Oh, asto that captain. it can on] be de-
cided by a trial. e ma boa deVil in odging,
but human enough to at I. knife-stab.”

“ I am curious; suppose you make the experi-
ment?” . ‘

“ It will cost money, my master."

“~ It should not cost much; this man is;

\
ter him. “Then such a person d' re who
is there to make trouble? It is not like ' putting
a knife into a man about whom the whole city
will howl.” ! ~ " g ‘ -

“ Very true: the risk is n t great: one stran-
ger mOre or less in New Or cans won’t matter;
5 but then consider—this slippery gentleman isso

i stranger; no. friends apparently io inquire

 

All I can assure you is that he 3'

“Completely, no matter how skillful the spy -

m .

At five she backed out into the stream and went'

“ I did follow him, and {mi 0

there wouldn’t be any use of attempting to kill a

and v

“But, when he leaves the oflice, where does, a

y.

any need of my waiting, so I went tip-town ,

4-..-..

a.*‘.clt< . ..

I

22 .. V

v.

The Double DeteCtive.

 

 

cunning that it may be a difficult job to get a
chance at him, and he may prove an awkward

customer to handle, too. ”

“Did you not say you could break him over
your knee?”

“Yes, ves. rhaps.”

“And I willfirrange a trap so that you can
entice him to any lonely spot you may suggest.”

f‘Oh, if you can do that, the thing Will be

4 easy enough.”

“ How much for the service, then?”

“ Five hundred dollars is the lowest copper,
but since ou have id so promptly you needn’t
settle until the job is done.

“ It is a bar ain; here are your instructions,”
and he hand a sealed envelo to the brigand;
“ now the spot where the deedpziust be done?”

“ There’s an old cabin on the river road two
mila from the city.”

aghat will do, and three nights hence do the

Jolt was a dreadful compact.

CHAPTER XXXI.
'rmt LETTER.
Tn spy in the ofilce of Loperleese and Son,
playing t e 1-610 of a clerk, was a source of at
noyanee to everybody concerned. The clerks

 

~ fancied he had been put there to watch some

' Simon got the idea into his

‘ lease and Son, and

" terlvingn
'to him in t e office, for as Felix Houma was a

. anyway,

one of them, and each and every man had a
auspicion that himself was sus ted. Even old
and, from some-
thing he had observed in the young man’s man-
ner that the spy was watching the firm of L0-
perleese and Son, more than anything else.

He communicated this suspicion to his son,
and though both scoffed at the idea—for there
was no more solid house in the country than
their own—yet for all that it was extremely
distasteful to them.

And the old man was right: 'Houma was
more occupied in watching them than doing
anything else, for he hun ered to discover who
had supplied the money or Mrs. Esperance to
indulge in her extravagances. He belieVed
that the old man did know, despite his avowal
to the contrary, but, so far, he had not suc-
gfidid in discovering anything to confirm this

ie I

One point, though, he had gained, and that
was the recognition of De Bellville, whom he
knew in Europe; the connecting of French
Louis, or Larry the bloke—to 've him the
names b which he was enerally nown in the
slums 0 Paris and Lon on—with the mysteri-
gglsummder might be productive of definite re-

.IIouma, of course was conscious of the sus-
picion with which e‘was regarded by all in
the banker’s. omce, and also realized the
hopelessness of gettin at old Lo rleese’s
secret, supposing he ad one. rue, by
pretending to be ignorant of French, he had
succeeded in overbearing two or three conversa-
tions between the father and son in regard to
Mrs. rance’s affairs. The necessary legal
steps ha been taken to secure the money ad-
vanced by Judge Clairborne throu h Loper-
in king of t e matter
heard them ascribe the willingness of the judge
toadvance the money to the fact that his son
had become entangled with the siren, and he
therefore desired to secure some hold upon her.

his seemed t") be reasonable enough, and the
spy was baffled.

About this time the conclusion was reached
that Monsieur Felix Houma was about “ played
out}! and that some other dis ise must be
sough when a letter arrivin a the office ad-
dresse to “Felix Houma, squire,” changed
the current of ideas.

The spy was surprised when he found the let-
u the desk which had been assigned

fictitious rsonage—one who had had no exist-
ence unti conjured up b the hints of the secret
agent—he was not l ha y to be troubled with
correspondents.

The superscription was written in a small, neat
hand, as it penned ‘b a woman but when ex-
amined closely it mig t be said that it was not
a natural hand, but a disguised one.

The note read as follows: .

"Midi"  u I

“ you org ve suggest you are bat-kin u
mmng ti’ee—on a false scent altogether, mid R
you stick to your present trail from now until
doomsday you will never reach the point you seek.
Now I was mixed up)? the affair and know exactly
whatl am talking a ut. I can give you a ‘ nter ‘
if you can make it worth.my while. The act is I
have not been well treated by my pals in this mat-
ter and I am just hungry for a chance to fie! uare
on the whole gang, prev ded I am made a rigslil and
prettyweil paid for my trouble. Of course I am not
going to run myself into the State Prison or the

angmaa‘s noose if I know m self. I must be made
safe, or else I shall be as dumb ass clam. If you can
see your wa clear to fix me all right. I am open to
negotiate. erhaps the best way to commence oper-
ations will be for on to meet me, when we can have
agood square tal : I can show you exact] what I
can do, and you Wilhd reckon. see that wit out rue
oudon't stand any show ‘or vourmoney. Of course
rely upon your honor ir. mi. matter not to put up
any job upon me; t won’t do you any good to try it,
or I shal be on my rd, and if you lay

any trap for me, nary hide or air will you see.. But
ifyou feel toact square I will meet you to-
, l

\ ‘ '

 

night at ten o’clock at an old cabin two miles above
the city on the river road. You will know the house
—it is on the right hand side of the road—by two
lights put a foot apart in the window. You can t
miss it if you keep your eyes peeled. I can tell you
more about what you want to learn in two minutes
than you can pick up nosing around New Orleans in
ten cars.

“ t has just struck me. while writing this here
screed that maybe you maybe a leeile bi skeered at
this arrangement—think that it is a trap crhaps. 1
don‘t blame you if you do, because I 1mg It be taken
in that way, for it is necessary you should come
alone' but you are welcome to carry all the arms
you like, and being on your guard you on ht to be
able to take care of yourself. Iwi i be on and, but
if you are afraid to tryit, why, just keep your mouth
shut about this note, and oblige

“ Yours truly.”

It was a strange letter and gave the spy much
food for thought.

Cunning and able as was “Felix Houma,”
the riddle puzzled him. His mission, then, was
known, and ]yet he was sure he had not be-
trayed himse f in any way.

he tables were turned; in place of his play-
ing the spy, some one was playing the spy upon
iml

“ l was not deceived,” he muttered. “ I have
been watched and followed, just as I suspected,
I have been trying to think that I allowed my-
self tobe too easily influenced by my imagina-
tion; but it is ev1dent that both myself and
game are known. Now, how was the informa-
tion gained?”

Then came the remembrance that through the
aid of thachief of police he had been introduced
to the firm of Loperleese andSon.

“ Two chances for, a leak,” was the murmured
exclamation. “ First the police office and then
through this firm. The ‘ ngel ’is at the bot-
tom of it. Ah, if I can on y get on the track of
the man who rode the black horse, with the
white blaze in the forehead and the white hind
feet, on that fatalnightl But I will have him,
before I get through. .I will keep this appoint-
ment tonight, and will glg repared for danger.
After to-night Monsieur e ix Houma will van‘
ish. Before night comes, though, I will take a
good ook at the place appointed and see what
it loo 5 like.”

After lunch Houma returned not to the office,
nor did he ever darken the doors again, much
to the relief of the firm of Loperleese and Son
and their employees.

That afternoon, in perfect disguise, the spy
made a careful survey of the old cabin, and so
adroitly was the surveillance performed that if
the writer of the note had been lurking in the
ngighborhood he would never have suspected
t e spy.

There was nothing suspicious about the cabin.
It was sim ly an old, deserted rookery, win-
dows and oors alike destroyed, nothing left
but the four walls and the roof, and the were
in a decidedly bad condition. It stood a one in
a field where only tall weeds flourished, no
covert near to conceal a foe, and only a few
paces from theroad.

“Perhaps this is an, honest offer, after all,”
the spy mused, as he trudged back t ) the city.
“But whether it is so or not, I will be on my
guar . The moon will be up full and strong,
and I don’t see how the can catch me.”

But, who can gauge t e ingenuitypf maul

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
r THE DEATH-TRAP.

As the reader probably has surmised, the let-
ter was a decoy designed to lead “Felix Hou-
ma ” into a snare wherebgr his death mi ht be
accomplished without ris and without nger
of detection.

The upper river road after nightfall, was a
lonely place, very little travel over it, and after
ten hardly one person to the hour.

A better Spot for a deed of darkness could
not have been found within a dozen miles of the

cit

'the stranger had planned the scheme, and
the; grandson of Fra Diavolo was to carry it
01! '

No easy matter, thgggh to catch such a wily
customer as the suppo Oracle—on which point
both of the plotters were agreed, but when the
stranger unfolded his scheme the Italian had
assured him that it could hardly fail. I

Two chances only were there against success:
the first was, Houma might susaect a trap and
not come; second, that, suspec ng a trapLhe
would come, but on his part would endeavor to
trap the entrap rs.

At this sorto game the keenest wits would
win, and if the spy entered upon it, it would be
Wit against wit and life against life.

That Houma, if he suspected danger and had
resolved to capture the writer of the mysterious
communication, would come alone and try,
single-handed to accomplish the task, never en-
tered the he of the Italian. Such a thin he
himself would never have attem ted, an he
did not ve his antagonist credit or being any
braver t an be; in fact, in his own opinion, no
bolder man then then stood in his own shoes
ever walked the earth. \

bravo reasoned that if Houma wished to
snare the writer of the letter, his game would

r

be to place his allies in ambush near the old
cabin; so, to be sure that this was not done
without his knowledge, he came upon the

round at sunset, got up in a rough suit like a

unter and with a doublelmrrcled shot—gun
over his shoulder.

Such a disguise afforded him ample excuse
for rumbling, for a man in search of game
would not be likely to stick‘ to the road nor to
pursue any regular course.

Carefully the bravo examined every foot of
ground Within an eighth of a mile from the
cabin, but discovered no suspicious sign. No
human foot, apparently, had trodden the
ground for many a. long day.

Satisfied that no trnp had been set, as yet, the
Italian selected an ambush in a little clump of
bushes on the other side of the road from that
on which the cabin was situated, almost three
hundred yards below it and some fifty feet
from the thoroughfare.

The bushes were on a little knoll, and when
the Italian knelt behind the leafy screen, he
was completely concealed from view, although
commanding a full view of the road and cabin.

“There, here will I lie as snug as a bug in a
rug,” the bandit remarked, as he crouched be-
hind the bushes. “Not even a rabbit can pass
along the road, either to or from New Orleans,
without my seeing it.”

Then he went through some strange maneu-
vers.

As we have said, the clump of bushes grew
on a little knoll. In the rear of the knoll was a
small hollow, and when the Italian kneltin this
hollow his shoulders were nearly on a level
with the top of the knoll.

The double-barreled in he carried was a
breech-loader, and afterfie had surveyed “the
vantage of the ground,” he proceeded to change
the charges in the gun; the shells which he in-
serted Were loaded with buckshot.

Then, after the gun was so charged, he
brought it to his shoulder and poked the barrels
in among the bushes so as to completely com—
mand the road, and as the man was an expert
marksman, it was a hundred to one that the
buckshot Would riddle the object fired at when
he should pull trigger. . '

And this was the trap which the mysterious
stranger had devised, and- if the spy came to
the meeting place and escaped falling into it, it
Would be almost a miracle.

The hours passed slowly away; a half dozen
people journeyed along the road, but nothing
suspicious occurred. The moon began to rise;
when it got fairly up, so as to illuminate the
surroundings, the Italian looked at his little
silver watch to see that it was just nine o’clock.

“Time for the lights in the window,” he mur-
mured: then, with extreme caution, he made a
wide circle approached the old house from the
rear, and laced two lighted candles in the win-
dow that ooked toward New Orleans.

This task completed with thosume caution he
returned to his ambus .

The night was so still, so little breeze stirring
that the candles hardl flickered, but burnt as
steadily as the signal amps that light the ma-
riner by night to the harbor of refu 9.

From nine toten not a soul passe
road in either direction, but as the bells tolled
ten from some of the distant clocks in the city,
to the ears of the watcher came the sound of a
horse’s hoofs galloping along the road, aid the
beast came from the direct on of the city.

“Is it he—is it m
an erly, as he cocke both barrels of the gun.

he moon now was up full and strong, and
everything could be discerned almost as clearly

as da .

“ ouId he come on horseback?” mused the
Italian. “Yes, yes, of course, if he comes
alone and unsuspicious of danger. If he had
others with him and had arranged a tra , some
of them would be sure to Ease along i e road
before him. If he is this orseman, he comes
alone, and I shall havo an easy job. Diavolo!
Never before in mylife did I make five hundred
dollars so easily." '

Afar down the road the hrrscman came in
sight. That it was Houma the brignnd felt
certain, for the moment the horseman arrived
at a int where he could command a view of
the lights in the window, he sl ckened the pace
of his steed, pulling the anlma in to a halt.

“It is he—it is Surely he!" the Italian ex-
claimed making all needful pre nrations to
take a shot at him as he passed. “ f it was not
—if it was a stranger, he would not take any
no‘ice of the lights; but it is my man, and'he
approaches at a walk, so as to be able to take a
good look at the place. He is not easy in his
m'nd; he fears treachery, and he does not in-
tend to walk into a trap if he can help it. Ahal
but with all his skill and cunning here is a trap
that he will not detect, and the first suspicion
he will have of danger will come to him when
the report of the n breaks the stillness of the
Biggt” and he fee the buckshots tearing his

es .

The horseman rode onward. at a walk, evl-
dentl with his attention fixed upon the can-
dles urning in the cabin window, and as he

 

a preached the ambush the Italian, with fierce
jgy, perceived that it was indeed the man for

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l

23

 

 

 

whom he waited—Felix Houma, the self-styled
Creole.

“A dozen aces more and good-by to you,
my friendl”t e villain muttered between his
teeth. .

Houma, who was mounted on a common
gray beast of indifferent merit, was kee ing a
wary look-out as he approached the p ace of
meeting, but the clump of bushes, behind which
the bandit lurked, was only favored with a
passing lance. Ahead—in the neighborhood
of the ea in the new-comer looked for danger
and was banding all his efforts to detect if he
was walking into any trap or peril.

“Crack l’

The sharp report of the gun rung out clear on
the night air.

\ CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE ITALIAN IS ASTONISEED.

WITH the most deliberate aim the assassin
had fired. At such a distance for such a
marksman to miss was almost impossible, and
the Italian did not miss.

He had aimed directly at the heart of the
horseman, and the rider received the whole
char e in his side, right under his arm.

With a loud moan he threw up his hands and
tumbled off the horse on the further side to the
ground. . .

The horse, frightened by the discharge, gal-
] d wildly up the road.

he Italian rose from his ambush and looked
carefully around him, to discover if any one
was in thexneighborhood—any wayfarer, who
might be alarmed by the shot, and who,
naturally, would hasten to the scene.

But, so lonely was the spot, and so little
traveled the road, that not a soul besides the
victim and the assassin heard the sharp re-

 

ort.
p f‘Everything is going Well tonight,” the
bravo remarked, as soon as he had satisfied
himself that there was no danger of interrup-
tion. Then he strode boldly from the bushes
and advanced to the side of his victim, now
groaning and gasping in the duit of the road.

“Now what had I better do wth him?”
ask d the bri and, communiiig with himself as
he stood by the helpless man and looked down
upon his victim with no more compunction
than if the rider had been some animal who
ought to be hurried into eternity with scant
ceremony. “LeaVe him here? No, no; some
chance passer mi ht discover him and so raise
a hue and cry be ore I am ready for it. I had
better put him in the cabin, for there no one
will be likely todiscover him for some time.”

Placing his gun undera cluster of vines by
the roadside he then returned to the side of his
victim, bent over him, and as he did so a won-
derful transformation took place. -

The fallen man sat bolt upright as though im-
pelled by a sprin and shoved a cocked revolver
under the nose 0 the Italian. .

Taken lcompletely bysurprise, the bravo re-
coiled in orror.

The horseman had him at a terrible disad-
vantage; he had laid aside his gun, and the

\ Only weapon he possessed was a knife concealed

in his bosom, but of course it was quite clear
that before he could draw his stiletto his in-
tended victim could “drill him full of holes.”

Stepping back a yard or so, the brigand
coul'l only stare open-mouthed at the other.

“Diavolol” was all he could find breath to
utter. ..

“ How are you l” accosted Houma, for it was
the so-called Creole. “It strikes me this isn’t
the first time I have Seen you. You are the in-
quisitive genius who dogged m . footsteps the
other day until I gave y0u the 5 ip down on the
levee.”

“I never saw you before,” growled the ban-
dit.

“Of course; I haven’t the least doubt of.it,
and I am too much of a gentleman to question
your word. You and I are perfect strangers,
and that is the reason I on so, why rou laid
in wait for me to-night an introduced me to
the contents of ,your shot- a.”

“It was a mistake!” e.Italian declared,
with sullenassiiruiee. \ »

“ A mistake?” I ’

“Yes, yes. dmvolo! why should I wish to in-
'ure 011 ’ ,
J f‘ fcourse, certainly, 70g! finger slipped,
eh?” ,‘
“Wen, 1—” and the bandit halted; the lie
was too transparent even for him to father.
“Your finger slipped Just as flu happened,
for fun, to have your gun love directly at
19
ml: ngn’t sav so,” growled the Italian.
“True, ver ' true; perhaps I haven’t got the
mutter‘exac yrjght. Your fingdid nctslip;
on the contrary, you tried your 1-. to kill me,
but it was a mistake; in the darknem you took
me for somebod else. .
“That is it, but, in tho fiend’s name how did
,‘it hap n that you escaped?” exclaimed the

bq’d‘i bear/a charmed life, and a silver hul-

1 is the only kind that can have an effect
Igor: me. But now to business: I want is have

4

 

the pleasure of about ten minutes’ conversation

we are to be interru

d here by some
passing traveler, if you will

ave the kindness

to walk with me into the old cabin yonder I 
‘ the lower cud there was not a sou

shall be much obliged.”

with you u some important matters, and as ‘
at?

“Iwill not! diavolol what do you want to ‘

do with me?" Despite the quiet tone in which
the other spoke the Italian scented danger, and
like many another man of his nature was rather

inclined to show the white feather when

brought to bay. _

“ I on] want to talk to you, that’s all. If I
wanted kill on I could do that here as
well as there.

eyes Houma betook himself to the old 'French
market, which he reached just a quarter of an
hour after midnight.

The French market is a lonely place at twelve
of the night and when the police spy arrived at

in sight.

“ am first on the ground, then,” he mused,
as he carefully surveyed the surrcu dings;
“but the chances are that I will not haveto
wait long; men are generally prompt when

3 playing for high stakes.”

hat are you afraid of, you ,

fool? Come, I’ve no time to waste with you; '1

keep your hands down by your side, just as
they are now and march, or I will put a hole
through you !”

Something in the speaker's eyes showed that
no idle threat had been uttered, and so, utterly
cowed by the situation, the bravo marched
slowly into the house the other following at his
heels with the leveled revolver.

Once in the cabin the brigand faced about and
confronted the victor.

“Now, then, it was you who wrote the decoy
letter?” . '

“ I cannot write English.”

And this statement was true, fluently as he
spoke the language.

“But you know who did write it?”

“ i know nothing!” and the rufiian folded his
arms across his breast and scowled doggedly at
his uestiouer.

“ ou must answer me or I will kill you as
sure as you are a living man i” cried ouma,
with sudden, intense fierceness. “You have
been hired to assassinate me; a letter was writ-
ten as a decoy to bring me here. Quick! the
name of your emplo er!”

The Italian turn pale and the great sweat-
drops commenced to appear upon his forehead.
Never before had he been nearer to death, in
his judgment; his courage deserted him.

“ Mercy—mercy!” he gasped; “in the name
of all the saints I pray you not to fire.”

“Speak, then!”

“I cannot—upon my life I cannot.”

“ You were hired to assassinate me 1"

“ Yes, yes, but have mercy upon me."

“ Who hired you I”

“ I do not know.”

“ Not know! Explain how that can be!”

And the Italian did explain; he related in
full the particulars of his interview with the
stranger and the other listened with marked
attegtion, for he felt sure the man spoke the
trut .

“When and where Were you to meet him
and relate how this scheme rogressedi”

“Tonight, between twe ve and one, at the
old IFrench market.” '

“ Swear to me that you-will not go there, nor
hold communication with this unknown, and I
will spare you!”

“ I swear it by 'the Virgin Mother!” cried the
bandit, solemnly, with upraised band.

“ Go your way, then, in peace!”

The Italian skipped out o the cabin with the
agility of a dancm —mas , took to his heels
and ran like mad. hat did he care what he-
fell ,his employer so long as he got off scot

ree .

“ I will keep that appointment tonight!” the

spy cried.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV. .
rim min-rim.

Emma’s first movement, after the Italian
had dccamped so abruptly, was up the road in
search of his horse. ’

The beast being only a sorry hack hired from
a liverystable, be judged would not 0 far, al-
though he had been frightened by t e report
of the gun.

Surely enough—five or six hundred yards up
the road—he came upon the horse, who was
feeding upon some tempting bit of grass.

The animal allowed himself to be caught,
and once in the saddle Houma rode for the city.

He had expected to overtake the Italian but
did not, for the brigand had disappeared as by
magic. ' .
“There‘s nothing of the English bull-dog in
these Itahans,” Houma muttered, as he rode
rapidly onward. “ I’ll have no more trouble
With this Nea litan scoundrel, and the chances
are that I sha l catch his employer on the hi to-
night. And who is his emp oyer? Who w lies
me to be (put out of the way? One man only .in
this war] and he is the one who stuck the knife
into the throat of the woman—the murderer!
In some mysterious way—through some lelk
which I cannot locate and cannot account for—
he has discovered that I am on his track, that I
am pressing him closely, and to prevent discov-
ery—to cover up one crime he does not hemmte
to commit another. To-uigbt though. 1 Wm
have him unless Satan himself befriends him.

Reaching the city and returning the horse to
the stable from which it had been procured the
spy disguised himself in a suit of clothes which
were not .unlike those worn, by the Italian;
then, pulling the soft button down over his

1

' i

 

And as the quick eyes of the secret agent
roved anxiOUSJy about seeking to penetrate the
semi darkness which now veiled the surround-
ings and which was only partially dispelled by
the ickerin light of the gas-lamps, a new idea
flashed into iis mind.

“ Do I look enough like the Italian to deceive
the man for whom I wait?” he queried. “ M
bird is no common one, but a master-min
filase I,could not have been baffled as long as I

ve.

There was indeel a resemblance between the
figures of the two, and in the gloom which pre-
vailed, even one well acquainted with the ital-
ian, and who came expecting to meet him there,
mi ht have been deceived.

ut the seciet agent was one who never left
anything to chance if it could possibly beavoid-
ed and so, for fear that the unknown mi ht
take it into his head to cxamine him from a is
tance, discover something to excite his appre-
hensions, and so keep away, the spy determined
to withdraw into the deep shadow cast by One
of the pillars. When this was accomplished, it
would have been a sharp-eyed man indeed who
could have told whether the form crouching in
the shade was old or young, much lessrecognize
the person.

The minutes passed slowly away, and the
watcher, despite his bloodhound-like tenacity,
began to get impatient.

Once in awhile a footfall would sound upon
his ears, and hope would be excited; but it al-
ways turned out to be some belated citizen, gen-
erally rather unsteady on his legs, pursuing his
uncertain way toward his home.

“ Does he scent the share, or has the Italian
betrayed me and put him on his guard?” be ex-
claime I at last, after consulting his watch and
finding that it only lacked a quarter to one.

“ Fifteen minutes more, and then will it be

of any use to wait, or shall 1 give it up and try.

to Iget upon his track in some other way i"
nrdly had the muttered words esca
from his lips when some one entered the mar et
at the upper end, and came sauntei'ing along
down through it, as though enjoying a pleasant

promenade.

“ It is either a policeman, or else my game,”
the spy thought, as he leaned up against the
pillar, as though half asleep.

The man came nearer and neare , and soon
the anxious eyes of Houma discerned that it
was no vigilant guardian of the night. but a
tall stranger, so muflied up that recognition
was impossible, just. as the Italian had de-
scribed. '

A thrill of fierce jo came over the secret
agent—the prey had fa lcn into the trap!

As the man came on his uick eyes detected
the skulking figure in the s iade of the pillar,
and believing that it was the Italian, he came
straight up to him.

The. thief-catcher had decided upon a bold
course. He felt sure it would be iiselessto at-
tempt to deceive the stranger by passing him-
self ofl" as the Italian. He had drawn iis re-
volver and cocked it the moment he heard foot-

steps at the upper end of the market, and being I

thus prepared, he intended to take the unknown
at a disadvantage and stri him of his disguise.

He straightened up as he man approached,
but was careful not to ste out of the shade in
which he stood, for fear 0 discovery.

But when the unknown came within ten feet
of the pillar, he hale suddenly and thrust his
hand into his pocket. as if to graspa weapon.
He had discovered that it was not the Italian
who lurked there!

A bright idea came into 'the head of the spy
.to attempt to pass himself of! new em ,
of the bri nd : if theiplan succeeded he coul
probably, able to penetrate the disguise of
the other without revealin his own.

“ It is all a-right,” he sai , cautiously, assum— ~

ing the broken dialect peculiar to an Italian.
“ Ze boss sent me. ” s .
“The boss?” remarked the stranger, with a
furtive glance around him as if he feared that
others were lurking near. ‘
“ Yes. 20 grandson of Fra Diavolo.” ,

“Well?” The stranger was non-committal,‘

evidently suspicious.
“ He could not a-come.” . \
“ No?”

“ He is a-hurt, bad.” ,
(f 

“Who can a-telli No me!" and the spy
shru his shoulders. “He sent a-me -to
wgt 1;, you and to may zat eves-yt’ing is all

“ vervthing is all right! and did be 110to
more? Did he speak about anybody else?" .

" h, yes;lwastotellyon yourfrieudis
a-dead.” ~

7.
\

 

‘ that.

r side coat. a pad

24:

. .

‘ t

The Double Detective.

 

 

, " Dead Wand the unknown glared at the other
with suspicious e es;-

“80 he say, 1 on’t know.”

“ And where is he—at hisihousei”

“ Yes.”

“ And where is his house?”

The spy was caught; he had not the least
idea of where the italian lived, but it was no
time to hesitate, so he answered promptly:

“i forget 20 street and ze number; I can
a—take you there; it is m ze Italian quarter—
not far.”

“I'll see him to-morrow,” and the strange
turned away, evidently mistrustful. *

.The spy sprung after him.

CHAPI‘ER XXXV.
A DISCOVERY.
QUICK as thought the stranger turned, his re-
volver glistening in his hands. The spy had
also drawn his weapon, and the two confronted

 

‘ each other with menacing gesture.

Both revolvers were cocked, both leveled.

“ Surrender! you are my prisoner!” cried the
secret agent, determined at any risk to unmask
the stranger.

“Surrender? Your prisoner?” remarked the
unknown, his eyes flashing like balls of fire,

. still—despite the gravity of the situation, and

the ,suddenness of the surprise—disguising his
voice so that it could not be recognized, al-
though the spy was sure he had heard it before.
“Why should 1 surrender! and who are you
that demands it s”

" I am a detective officer.”

“ ’1} detective? and what have you to do with
me?
“I want you for murder!”

“ Murder] You are crazy!” answered the
unknown, contemptuously.

" Not a bit of it, and you know it.”

“Have you a warrant for my arrest?”

“Come; that’s good! How the deuce could I
have a warrant for you when I don’t even know
who on are i” I

“ hat, arrest a man for murder of whose
identity you are ignorant?” said the stranger,

.with a sneer.

“You are the party I want even if I don’t
know our name, an you know it, too! You
know have been on your track, and you
feared I would run you down, and that is the

‘ reason why you hired the Italian to assassinate
t

me to-nig , but I knew a trick worth two of
You are the man who wrote the decoy
l‘etter, for that rascal of.a brigand couldn’t do
it, but in this case it is the old sto of the en-
gineer hoist by his own petard. on are my
prisoner, so put up your weapon and surren-
der

“ Of what crime am I accused?”

“Murder! as I said before.” .
' “' Murder!” with a hollow, unnatural laugh.

“Yes, murder! and although you have cov-
ered your tracks in the most skillful manner,

at at last, thanks to a chapter of accidents, I

ave struck your trail, and, as it generally be -
pens in all these cases, it is your own fau t,
too. lf you had not em loyed tho Italian to
killme I should not have en able to hunt you
down.” '.

“ urder?” and again the unknown lau hed

~ -—the false, unnatural lau h that sounds so
' shrill,and discordant;~“an for whose murder,

pray, amJ wanted?” ,.

“ 0f Adeline Esperance l”

Crack—crack! ‘
, Sharply on the calm air rung out two pistol-
ahots, t a one following the other in such quick
succession that the second seemed like an echo

"of the first. .

The mysterious individual had but rolonged
the interview to throw the human b oodhound

.01! his guard, but, like a skillful swordsman,
. the detective watched the eyes of his adversary

and thus was able to give shot for shot.
Standing breast to breast, not six feet of
space between them, the pistols would seem
certain to inflict mortal wounds upon both:
but the breast of the spy was protected by a

" vest of steel chain which had saved him from

tho buckshot of the Italian apd now was fated
again to save the life of its wearer, although
the revolver used by the unknown was such in
capital weapon that its bullet pierced the breast-
ploto and inflicted quite a severe wound. The
om”: staggered back for the moment feeling
that his career on earth was ended.

And‘tho unknown escaped without a scratch!
The bullet from the spy’s revolver struck him

I V , fulliu the breast an inch above the heart, but

the missile havinglto pass through a heavy out-
ed inside one, then encoun-
tered a large wallet full of folded

porn, alto-
gether about an inch thick, whie

was in an

. inside pocket and this was an obstacle through

which thoball could not netrate.

The shock staggered h m for a moment, but
he speedily recovered, .and turnin , fled' in
haste, thinking that he had infli a mortal
wound upon his antagonist. ' I.

But, as said—tho secret at was not wound-
"ed serious! .onough to be (1 ubled, and, nerved
toronew efforts by the flight: of his, fob, he
followed in pursuit. .

‘ The sounds of their hasty footsteps rung

I l

(

r"

 

_ .

through the old market, and the unknown,  and adjectives—was, that at a little after one
finding that he was pursued, fled at the top of ; o’clock that morning, in theneighlmrboodof the

his speed. His 'd sguise had not been penetra-

French Market, attracted by the. sound of pistol-

ted; he had mortally wounded—so he supposed 4 shots, the writer hastened to the spot from

—the detective who had so persistently tracked .

him, and now if he could make good his escape
all would be well.

, At the end of the market he dashed out into '

the darkness and ran across the street toward
the river.
In order to procure assistance and possibly

rouse some sleepy policeman into heading the -

fugitive off, the spy discharged his revolver in
the direction of the fleeing man, and so en-

raged was the detective that he tried to wing :

the flying man, but luck was on the side of the
fugitive, for not a single bullet touched him.

As soon as the secret agent got out of the
market he comprehended his enemy’s plan of
escape.

in a dark corner stood a horse, toward which
the fugitive ran, and reaching the animal he
threw himself upon its back and set off at full
speed.

The escape of theunknown seemed more than
possible now. There was but one way to pre-
vent it. A single charge remained in the re-
volver. if he could succeed in disabling the
horse with that last bullet the rider might be
captured. Taking deliberate aim the secret
agent’s finger sped the last bullet on its mis-
sion. .

The aim was true, for the stricken animal
reared on its hind legs, beat the air with his
fore ones and then sunk down, quivering in the
agonics of death.

But the rider was not to be captured that
night. As the animal fell he threw himself
from the saddle and was away at his bestspeed
almost before the spy was conscious that his
bullet had struck home. So again the pursuit
be an. -
ho chase led him by the body of the horse,
and to his astonishment be discovered that the
dead steed was the very animal of which he had
so long been in Search!
with the white blaze in the forehead and the
white hind feet which had been ridden along
the river road near the mansion of Mrs. Es-
perance on the night of the murder by the
stranger, whom he had so signally faiied in
tracing! .

“1 am on the right track now; this is the
murderer!” t 1e spy muttered, between the lit-
tle white teet as every energy was heat upon
overtaking the fleeing man.

But fortune was against the sleuth-hound of
justice this night.

The wound in the breast was bleeding freely,
and the exertions of the chase soon began to
tell even on this frame of steel. The breath
came thick and hai'd; the limbs began to be-
come unsteady and a mist to obscure the eyes.

A groan came from the lips. .

“ Oh, man Dieu! I must give it up!”

The spy halted and the fugitive made good
his escape, vailed by the friendly darkness.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
‘ THE MISSING HORSE.
THE pistol-shots excited attention. Even at
such an hour some few people were in the street

'besides the “ uardians of the night."

And all wit in hearing ran toward the s t
from whence came the sound of the firing, )ut
arrived u on the scene to discover only the
body of t e slain steed—pursued and pursuer
had disappeared in the darkness.

Amon those attracted to the scene was a re.
porter or one of the morning papers, who,
after a brief inspection of the dead beast and an
interchange of o inions with the bystanders,
started for the o cc of the journal with which
he was connected- and so the morning paper,
with glaring head-lines to call the attention of
the reader to

“A DARK MYSTERY ON THE Lam,”

gave a full account of the aflair. ~

Now, b an odd chance, all the inmates of
Judge C irborne’s mansion came down to
breakfast at the same hour that morning.

Raymond Mrs. Calhoun and Philippa were
seated in the drawing-room waiting for the
summonsto the meal when the bell sounded,
and just then the judge, who was unusually late,
entered the room.

“We shall have quite a family party this
morning," he remarked, as he conducted Mrs.
Calhoun into the breakfast-room.

One of the morning journals was lying folded,
upon the judge’s plate, and as- Mrs. alhouu
passed, her quick eyes, "er on the alert, noticed
the bold head-lino.

“ ‘A Dark Mystery on tho Loveel’” she ex-
claimed. “ Why, that sounds for all the world
like the title to a Nmsnce. Read it,‘j|dge,
please, and dot us know what it is all about.”

.“Certainly, though I warn you in advance
that these newspaper men are noted for uniting
mountains out of molehills.” I

Then, after the garty were abated and tho
served, lairborne read the article
a . o .

Unsatisfactory enough it was, too, for all the
reporter could say—stripped of his romance

\

whence the sounds had come: a fine horse was
f found, stretched dead in the street. An exam.
:‘ ination showed that the beast had been shot.
The report dilated upon the fact that no trace
could he found of the person or persons who
i had shot- the animal, and wound up with a de-
' scription of the beast, jet-black in color with a
white blaze in L116 forehead and two white hind
, egs.
! “I’th, it is the exact description of m
horse, Pepper!” Miss Lauderdale exélaime .
L “ How strange!”
I The attention of all was directed to the young
f lady by this speech, and so no one noticed Mrs.
Calhoun, who was so startled by this discovery
that the cup of coffee which she was just put-
ting to her lips almost fell from her hand, and
Mrs. General Calhoun was not a woman to be
easily startled, either.

“ ' he description does fit
Phili pa,” the judge observed.

“ cs, cxactl y,” Raymond supplemented.

“ But it cannot be my Pepper, of course.”

your horse,

smile at the idea.‘
“ It might be, though!” exclaimed the girl,
abru tly, evidently worried.
“ h, nonsense, Philippa; haw could that be
possible?” the judge asked. ~
“ Certainly not; the idea is ridiculous,” Ray-
mond added. .
- “Clearly it cannot be possible that this poor
beast could be your horse, Miss Lauderdale,”
was Mrs. Calhoun’s volunteered opinion.
There was a peculiar gleam in the dark eyes
, of the girl as the voice of the lady reached her
ears, and the speaker, who, like a beast of
prfiy Was ever on the watch, murmured .to her-
se :
“ How that girl does hate me, and yet she has
no reason to; is it that instinct warns her?”

 

It was the black horse ,

“It might be possible, although of course I
presume it is improbable,” the girl replied,
coldly.

“ How possible, Philippa?” asked the judge,

kindly, perceiving that the young lady was an- ‘

noyed by the general disapproval which her re-
mark‘had called forth. ’

“Might not some one have come and stolen
my horse in the night?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I did not think of that; such a.
thing is barely possible,” the judge admitted.

“Such a thing might be done, but the rascal
would be reckless indeed to try it, for the
chances are at least ten to one that the attempt
would be detected and the rogue captured be-
fore he could get the horse out of the place."the
son declared. “ I’ll wager 1you what you like,
Phili , that Pepper is at t is moment munch-
ing is oats in the stable in perfect contents
ment, and is as far from being a dead horse as
you are of being a dead woman!”

“ And I will we er all the rest of the years of
my life,” muttere Mrs. Calhoun, between her
teeth, “that none of you will ever see that
horse alive again. Oh, what a cunning trick of
the 'ade to avert sus icion! She is playing a
bol game but she wil ,trip at last: they all do
no matter how boldly they play, for fate itself
with undeviating laws fights against them.”

The judge and his son being busy with Miss
Lauderdale never noticed the ex )ression which
in spite of herself had crept over - s. Ualhoun’s
face, but the girl saw it and a gleam of hostile
fire came into her eyes.

“Oh, I do not ltively say that my sus-
picion is correct: t is only a surmise, that is
all,” the girl replied.

“The best way to settle the question will be
to have the horse brought out. Jeff." and he
turned to the colored boy who waited u on the
table, “tell the hostler to lead Miss auder-
dale’s horse past the window.” The breakfast-
room commanded a view of the drive.

The boy, deported and the judge with his
pleasant smile said:

“Now we will be able to decide very soon
who is right and who is wrong. You, Ray-
mond, think that the horse is there, and you,
Philippa, doubt it, and, Mrs. Calhoun. by the
by, how do you stand in this matter! You side
with our sex, I presume?” ,

“O , yes; as I said it is not possible that
Miss Lauderdale’s horse was abroad last night.
But, judge, how do you stand? I have not

lad

borne, laughin . “ I have too great respect for
Raymond’s ju gment to differ from him with-
out good cause, and too great an admiration
for Miss Philippa to risk incurring her displea-

her impressions.”

There was a general laukh at this diplomatic
‘announcemont, and hardly was it over when
the allow boy roéntered, a scared look upon‘
his ace, and before he opened his mouth every
one in the room realized that he brOught bad
tidings. ‘ '

 

“ ha, something is the matter with the
horse!" Clairborne exclaimed.

I i
r.» . .
.v ,_ P. , in ~
.§_ “(.7 I '

“Not very well," replied Clairborne, with &

heard you define your position yet,” said the ' I
Y- '
“Neutral-strictly neutral,” answered Clair- «

sure by presuming to doubt the correctness of ‘

.VI

 

~—~o——-—-—-—~C—. x «m . .4. 

,. may-“ I

.0...“ :— ....».,."~.- he ..

' a
‘ aha—Ki. gm». .......... . .

 

.-

The Double Detective.

25

 

r

“’Deed, sah, dar ain’t no horse dart" blurted
out the darky.

“ No horse?” cried the judge.

“ No, sah, no Pepper, 811’ de stable-folks
thought dat young missy had him out a-ridin ,
’ca’se she done go riding sometimes early in e
mawning afore breakfast.” '

“You have not had him out this morning,
Phili pa?” the judge asked.

“ o, sir.” ' .

“It would be one of the oddest things in the
world if the horse wasstolen during the night
and came to his death in the manner described
in the newspaper!” '

“Oh. my poor little horse!” cried the girl,
burstin into a sudden flood of tears, and then
retreatfiig from the room in great confusion.

“We will go down-town after we finish
breakfast, Raymond, and see if it is the horse,”
the udge remarked.

“ ery well, sir, but if it is as I fear, would
it not be a good idea to kee the fact to our-
selves? If the newspaperefel ows get hold of it,
we shall be overrun by re rters.” . _

“Yes the idea is a goo one; nothing can on
gained by publicity.”

Mrs. Calhoun said nothing, but she thought
all the more.

CHAPTER XXXVI}.

' MORE EVIDENCE.

Tim meal was finished almost in silence; the
untoward circumstance of the missing hone
had cast a chill on all.
judge and Raymond departed, and Mrs. Cal-
houu, inquiring for Miss L'iuderdale, was in—
formed that she had retired to her own apart-

 

out.

“The coast is clear, then,” she murmured,
“and I must see if I cannot pick up a. little in-
formation of some one around the stables.”

Putting on her hat, and taking the morning l

journal in her hand, she sauntered out into the
garden as if with the intent of reading the
news in one of the summer-houses.

As she walked toward the stable she caught
the sound of angry voices. TWO of the negroes
Were enga ed in a fierce dispute. One was the
old colore man who had charge of the stable,
Uncle Pete, and the other was the negro, Pom-
pey Miss Lauderdale’s groom.

The old man was giving the boy—as he
termed him, although he was a strapping fel-
low of five-andtwenty—a piece of his mind, to
which the other referred in kind, and from
their conversation the listener gained some im-
portant information. ‘

The altercation was ended at last. Uncle
Pete having got as good as he sent, and not be-
ing ph sically able to thrash the ‘cub,” as he
terme him, within an inch of his life, was fain
to beat a retreat, and Mrs. Calhoun hastened to
improve the opportunity to have a few words
with the groom, who was in great disgrace just
at that time.

The man welcomed the lady with a bow and
a grin as she advanced, for this diplomat in pet~
ticoats had taken especial pains ever since she
had taken up her quarters in ‘the Clairbome
mansion to get on good terms with the servants.

She had contrived to have little services per-
formed by all of them, and, in recompense, had
tossed out her money as freely as t ough she
was made of gold. Where another woman
would have given dimes she gave dollars, and
so every servant in the house was lad to oblige
“ dat beau’ful lady” in any possib e way.

There was a shady bench under the palmetto
hedge, and Mrs. Calhoun, seating herself upon
it, be an to question the “boy.”

“ Vghat is the matter, Pompey! Is old Uncle
Pete abusing you i” - _

“ ’Deed he is, missy gen’ral, an’ ’tain’t no
more my fault dan nothin’ at all,” the negro
responded, with a doleful face.

" The horse was stolen, then?”

“ I s’ so, ma’am,” and the groom scratched
his head in a doubtful wa . “It’s done gone,
anyway. Dar ain’t no mistake ’bout dat. Ole
Pete 3 SJ didn’t lock de stable las’ night, but
’deed did. for sure ’kase when I come dis
Kunming an, 311’ do oor unlocked an’ de hoss
Out, why shouldn’t _I t’ink dat Missy Philippa
has done gone out riding? She’s done dat way
afore, an how was I to know dat she didn’t
had de boss? Dat ole turkey-buzzerd or 9. Pete
wouldn’t have known any better for all dat he’s
bin round hyer Bhootlng 01! his mouth so
loose.” ,

“It seems to me that it was a. natural mis-
take on your part; but was there anything 31,0
stolen besides the horse?’ _

,NJesta saddle and bridle, ma’am dat‘s all,

’ dat’s a curious t’ingi t00; it must have bin
one in de darkness, f0? d9 918* done too}: do
old saddle and bridle dat nobody would give
five dollars for, when dar was a new saddle and
bridle and Missy Philippa’s new side-saddle fiat
she id six dollars fur only a week ago,
h in de eta lel”
‘ That was strange.” ,

“And dey lay de blame ob dc t’ing oil. on me,
too, you know, jest an if I could have helped it;
but you neg, mi’ssy gen’ral, I was done qwme to
leave an ow. '

“Whyfi didn’t know that 1” And the wily

 

After breakfast, the ‘

 

woman looked grieved, al though she took a.
ual interest in the matter.
“Yes, ma’am, an’ it’s all along of dat yaller
gal, Dinah.”
f‘Yeu astonish me.”
“Yes, ma’am; she an’ 1 used to be keeping

company, you see, but she put on sich airs dat ‘

I couldn’t stand it; dar ain’t a nigger in de
world dat could stand do frills dat yaller wench
puts on. You see, ma’am, young missy makes
.1 heap ob her, an’ dat 3 ’iles de chile, an" dere’s
a gal up de street in urnel Babcock’s house
dat is a right nice gal, an’ 'est ’ca’se l tuck dis
hyer galto a party one D t Dinah she jest
got her back up, an’ she’s bin (I
set de
it’s nu

 

oing her best to ,
oung missy ag’in’ me eber since, and 3
’ but ‘ Pomp, why don’t you do dis? 3

and ‘Pomp, why don’t you do dat." all do time, ‘

and Kurnel liabcock’s Rose—dat’s de gall done
tolo you ’bout—well, she’s got a place for me
at dc kurnel’s, an’ I gil: warnin’ dat l was
Twine to leabe at de end ob de month.‘

“ll am sorry to hear that. But then, per-
haps you will be better off. Miss Lauderdalo

is apt to be unreasonable sometimes, for she is .

something of a spoiled child and very odd and
eccentric in her ways. For instance, the idea
of a young girl like her dressing herself up in
male attire and going out riding at all hours of
the night.”

The negro was completely deCeived by the
artful woman. and a though amazed at her
knowledge hadn’t any idea that she was only
guessing at the truth.

“’Deed, ma’am, I didn’t t’ink dat anybody
but Dinah and me knew dat.”

The lady smiled—that charming smile which .

 

had bewildered stronger intellects by far than ‘

the one with which she was now dealing.

“ Ah, Miss Philippa has very few secrets
that I do not know. I often would have re-
monstrated with her in regard to these wild
freaks had I not known that words were use.
less.

“Course, ma’am, I couldn’t say an thi 'g,
yOu know, though I did used for to tel Dinah
dut if massa judge found it out dat dere would
be a row on dis ’ei'e plantation, but she tole me
to hush up an’ mind my own bus‘ness; dat I
would nellher git poor if I did dat.”

“ And she looked so like a man, too, when she
was dressed up in that black suit!”

“’Deed she did!” the no ro chuckled. “De
fast time I see’d her I t’oug t dat it was a man,
for sure.”

“And then the dan er she ran, for she was
always a bold and rec less rider, and for my
part I never could understand what pleasure
she took in riding in the dar .”

“No more did I, ma’am, but I reckon dat she
was up to something,” and then, after glancing
around him mysteriously as if he wished to be
certain that no one coul overhear what he was
about to say, he came close up to Mrs. Calhoun,
and bending down said, in a low and cautious
tone: “ ’Deed, ma’am, I wouldn’t like fur any-
body to know dat I sed it, but I t’ink she was
watchin Massa Raymond, ’kase I noticed dat
ebbery time dat she dressed herself up in dem
strange clothes an’ went out on de horse, dat
very same night Massa Raymond had his horse
out, too.”

“ Well, that was strange l”

“Dat’s what I t’ink.”

“ How did she appear when she returned
from these strange excursions? Was she ner-
vous and agitated as if she had made some uii
pleasant discoveries?”

This was a “ leading question,” and almost
breathlessly La Marmoset waited for the an-
swer.

“ Well, missis en‘ral, I can’t say dat I
ebber noticed dat s e look out ob de way, ’cept
one night, ’bout a month ago, I guess; I reckon,
come to think on it dat was de last time she
went out ri ged up like a man.”

The fema e spy clinched her hands so tightly
that the nails almost tore the skin.

“ About a month ago—and was young massa
out that night, also?”

“ Yes, ma’am; he done got in ’bout one, and
missy was ’bout half an hour art-er him, an’ she
was as ale asa ghost an’ cross as a b’ar. When
I took e bridle dar war drops of blood on de
reins, an’ she sed she cut her hand ag’in’ a tree
in de darkness, an’ when I told Dinah next day,
she sed dat young 'missy acted dretYul queer
and dat she had cut her love in de hedge and
it looked for all de world as if some one had
bitten her hand right throu h de glove, for
dere were little marks on her eft hand, but dat
was where she ran inter do hedge, a-course.

“ And what became of the rein and the glove?”

"De bridle is in de stable, an’ do W’at km 1
can’t get de stain off, and I reckon Dinah’s got
dc love.”

Marmoset had heard all she wanted, and
-Cfiracefull she withdrew. ‘
ore evi ence and yet deeper and deal?“
778W tho mystery.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ACCIDENT srnisos rail: mar.
Ama the little episode of the lancet the un-
known charmer came no more to the shop of
Monsieur Jacote.

 

', . «cu-1...“... ... ..,

,der, and religious]

Anxioust do by day the aged beau watched
for the beautif demoiselle, but she came not,
and then so deeply impressed was the French-
man with the fair euslaver that he rocured a
boy to attend to the shop and w much val-
uable time in frequenting the fashionable prome-
nades of the city, hoping thus to catch sight of
her. And so it happened, one day on Canal
street, J acote met an old friend, an aged French
Creole who, being aman of Wealth and able to
indulge in hobbies, bad a mania for collecting
all sorts of strange curiosities.

The old fellow was rarlwr a bore with his
wonderful stories of the struggles and difficul-
ties he had had in securing some of histreasures,
and on this occasion being rathkr annoyed at
his ill success in finding the mysterious beauty
Jacote would have avoided the old gentleman,
but the moment the other saw him he rushed
toward the shopkeeper with outstretched hand.

“My dear Henri, I am delighted to see you!
You are the very man I want! Is your time
your own for a half an hour?”

“ Well, 1—” J acote hesitated to lie outright
and say that he was engaged, and the other im-
mediately took advantage of the indecision.

“Good! You have half an hour! From the
bottom of my heart do lrejoicel Come with
me; I have just heard of a rare article to add
tomy collection, and I want you toseeit. It
is in your line; you are a jud e: above all men
in this world do I value you w en an opinion is
wanted in such a case,” and linking his arm in
that of his victim carried him off in triumph,
talking away all the time with wonderful en-
erg .

J Zcote suffered himself to be carried alon
like a straw on the current of a stream, an
soon into the office of the chief of police the old
gentleman conducted Jacote, and then be ex-
plained to him the idea which had taken posses-
sion of his mind.

“ You remember that horrible murder case
about a month ago i”

“No, I cannot say that I do,” replied Jacote,
indifferently.

“ Surely you must have heard of it—the lad
who was murdered on her plantation a litt e
way below the city! Peste! I thought every-
body had heard of it. She was kille by a lan-
cet stab in the neck.”

Now Jacote did remember that he had heard
some such case spoken of; his unknown enslaver
had mentioned something about some such mur~
the old man had treasured
up every word which had fallen from her lips.

“I knew you must have heard of it,” re—,

sponded the other, in triumph. “ Now, then,
my idea is 'ust this: I am going to get the Ian-
cet with w ich the elime was committed and
add’itto my collection! It will really be unique,
eh?’

J acote nodded assent, not that he thought so,
for he didn’t trouble his hwd to think about
the matter at all. It was a larmless piece of
insanity, it pleased the old gentleman. and that
was all there was to it; the shopkeeper took no
interest in it.

The chief of.police, who happened to be well
acquainted with the old fellow and knew of his
mania, laughed when the request was made, and
took the trouble to explain that it was a clear
impossibility for him to even think of such a
thing; the lancet must be preserved to be used
as evidence when the murderer was caught.

The Creole was very much disappointed.

“ At an rate I presume you can favor us
with a look at the wapon, and after the mur-
derer is tried and convicted, perhaps I may be
able to ain possession of it.”

The (fine! put his tongue in his cheek and

then winked in a very significant way.
“ 0:, yes, after the murderer is tried and
convi I have no doubt that a liberal sum
will fetch the lancet, but before the murderer
can be tried we have got to discover who he is
and catch him, and, from present appearances,
it would be quite safe to bet about a thousand
dollars to one that we won’t be able to do either
the one or the other: but you can have a look
at it all the same.”

Then the chief went to the safe, which stood
in a corner of the room, and, unlocking it, took
out the lancet and laid it on the desk.

The Creole examined it with the utmost at-
tention; a devotee handling the relics of a saint
could not have exhibited more admiration; but
J acote never took the trouble to look at it until
the other forced it upon his attention; then, the
moment his eyes fell upon it, he started in genu~
ine surprise. .

“ Oh, man Dim I” he cried, snatchingup the
little knife and examining it carefully.

Both the Creole and the chief looked amazed
at the excitement betrayed by the other, but
the Creole, knowing his friend’s trade, thou ht
it arose from rofessional motiv and too it
upon himself a) enlighten the chie .

“Monsieur Jacote,_here, is a. judge of su’eh
thin ; he deals in knives.”

A i ht flashed in upon the brain of the chief.

"A a!” he cried, ‘ I reckon ou aretheman
I have been looking for. on know that
lanceti’

“ Man Dice! esl'

“ You recognize it, sure?"

,_... .,., -.......,. aw..- m.gw.ne

26

“Yes, yes; I could pick it out from amid a
thousand.”

“And you sold it?”

‘ “1 did!”

The chief could not restrain his nervous ex-
citement.

“Do you know the party to whom you sold
it, man or woman!”

“Oh, yes; it was to a gentleman—he trades
with me constantly—his name, is—”

“ Hold on!” shouted the official, in stentorian
tones; “don’t rip his name out loud! Come
here and whisper it in my ear.”

Jacote obeyed the command, while the Creole
stared, open-mouthed, astonished, at this unex-
pected turn of affairs.

The amazement of the chief, when he learned
the name, was great.

“Sure that you haven’t made any mistake
about this business?” he inquired, evidently
very much perplexed.

But Jacote protested that he was positive
both in regard to the identity of the lancet and
of the man who had purchased it from him;
and then also related to the chief how he had
recently seen the lancet in the hands of a lady.

“Oh, yes; one of my female detectives,” ob-
served the ofilcial, in an off-hand manner, just
asif he knew all about it, when, in reality, he
was totallyi orant. He had lent the lancet
to the Frenc detective, who had been intro-
duced to him by the Englishman—the French-
man explaining that he had a scheme by means
of whi he thought he could discover the owner,
but, at or keeping it a day or two, he had re-
turned it with the remark that he had not been
as successful as be anticipated.

“ And the durned alootl he was on the ri ht
track, every time!” c muttered to himsel in
disgust, after J acote’sdisclosure of the unknown
beauty episode. “What did he want to try
and fool me for?” the official continued, enraged
because the full particulars of the important
find had not been revealed to him immediately.
“Mebbe that French duck thinks he kin run
this hyer thing without me, but I will soon
show him that know a trick worth two of that
and can play it, too, for all it is worth! The
cuss was going to Skin me in this leetle affair—
,going to scoo up all the credit of the discover

or himself; ut now you kin bet your life I’ l
scoop him so bad that he won’t know what
town he lives in!”

Enjoining strict secrecy upon both visitors but
u n,Jacote in particular, the chief dismissed
t em. Unha py Jacote withdrew with a heav
heart. The eautiful unknowu—the fascina
ing charmer who had enslaved him, was noth‘
ing but apolice s y; and of all things in this
world there is not ing your true Parisian hates
worse than the secret agents of the law, who
seek confldences only to betray them.

The chief now that he had gained this
valuable information, was quick to act. He
called up his satellites, laid the matter before
the proper authorities, had the necessary legal
documents prepared, then started forth in per-
son to make the important arrest.

When the afternoon newspapers made their
appearance that evening all New Orleans rub-
bed its eyes and took a second look at the in2~
portant announcement displayed in staring
great type in their columns:

“Raymond Clairborne, son of Judge Clairborne,

has been arrested as the murderer of Adeline Es-
perancel"

 

CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE EXAMINATION.

THE city was as much astonished as though a
thunderbolt had descended on a clear sum-
mer’s day and at one fell swoop ruined half the

town.

v All of the best people, including the 'udge
himself, laughed at the accusation, whi e the
middle and the lower classes were rather in-
clined to believe that there might be some
truth in the heinous charge.

“ One of those ridiculous blunders that the
police are always making,” Clairborne de-
clared. “ There as been a great clamor in the
newspapers, and some severe strictures leveled
at the police because they have not succeeded
in apprehending the murderer, and so, urged to
do something, they have accused my boy, and
the chances are that the only proof against him
is the fact of his having been a guest at the
house on the night of the murder, but he was
only one amon twenty other gentlemen, and
why he was so ected to bear the onus of this
terrible accusation is a mystery.”

La Marmoset was beside herself with rage
when she heard the news.

“The blundering fools! They will ruin all 1”
she cried; then straightway she assumed her
masculine disguise and as the French detective
called upon the chief of police, who received his
visitor with ill-concealer exultation.

“Trying to play a fine game on me, wasn’t

out” cried the burly official. “The lancet

usiness didn’t amount to much—no clew, and
all the time you knew exactly who sold the lit-
tle blade, and who bought t, for the dashin
and lovely female who worked the trick player
her cards right up to the handle, but I was

 

The ‘ Double Detective.

a-working at the case, too, and I reckon I’ve
scored a p’int!” _

“You have been too hasty; there 15 great
doubt in my mind in regard to the guilt of this
young man, and now that you have sprung the
trap the real criminal may get away. '

“ Oh, yes, I understand all about that,” and
the chief winked, significantly. “Of course

ou don’t like to be beat so cleans—cleanest beat
ever heard of, but that is the wa
things in this country, you know; (on’t let
folks from acrOss the water get much ahead of
us, if we don't toot our horn very loud I"

It was useless to talk to such an arrogant
boastcr, not wise enough to know the extent of
his own ignorance. and so the disguised spy
shrugged her shoulders and prepared to with-
draw.

“Hold on! don’t you want to come into this
game!" asked the ofiicial, thinking it possible
the Frenchman might have picked up some in-
formation that would be va uable. “I ain‘t a

hog, you know; I’d jest as soon you would,

comp in as not if you know anything worth tell-
mg. '

“Oh. no: you are. such a skillful player you
had better play the game yourself and in your
own way.”

“Well, I kin do it and win every time!” cried
the chief, blusteringly, but wincing at the sar-
casm all the same.

“The tramp!” cried La Marmoset, as she de-
scended to the street; “he must speak! I
have played with him too long; he must speak!”

The examination of young Clairborne took
place before an audience that filled the court-
room to overflowing; in fact, a great many
more curious people came than could possibly
be crowded into t e room.

The counsel for the accused had demanded an
immediate examination. The judge had em-
ployed four of the most eminent lawyers in the
city, and they were unanimous in denouncing
the arrest as outrageous—a blundering piece of
stupidit on the art of the police; but, even
these ab 9 practitioners looked grave when the
evidence against the priSoner was developed.

One witness elicited others, as when a. stone
is cast into a still pool, the first small circle
soon gives rise to many others.

When it became known that Raymond Clair-
borne had been accused of the murder of Mrs.
Esperance, half a dozen persons were ready to
testify to trifles, whi- h, “light as air” before
now, seemed ” confirmation strong as proofs of
Holy Writ.” .

The district attorney, too, had not been idle.
Now that he had something to work upon, he
showed abilities of no mean order, and his legal
commands to appear and testify in the case of
the “ State of Louisiana against Raymond
Clairborne,” flew far and wide; an exceedingly
strong case against the young man, too, the
State made out.

This was onlv the relimipary roceedings,
of course-- the s irmish before the Eattle.

The evidence against the prisoner, briefly
stated, was as follows—the district attorney in—
troducing the witnesses in such order that
each ones testimony unfolded more and more
of the connected proofs.

The first evidence was in regard to the death
of Mrs. Esperance and the manner by which it
had been accomplished, ending with the coro-
ner’s Verdict—“ Murdered by a party or parties
unknown.”

Then came a colored stable-boy who testified
to taking “ Massa Clairborne’s ” horse when he
arrived at Mrs. Esperance’s mansion on the
night of the murder, which arrival took place
about nine o’clock, and the boy also testified
that in obedience to” Massa Clairborne’s” or-
ders, he had brought out the horse and the gen-
tleman had ridden away at exactly halfpast
eleven; the boy was positive in re ard to the
exact time, for, after the gent eman had
mounted his steed, he had given him a quarter
for his trouble, and the boy, being tired and
sleepy, and anxious for the party to break up
so that he could go to bed, asked the gentleman
to be kind enough to tell him the time, and
“ Massa Clairborne,” looking at his watch, had
said it was exactly half~past eleven.

Now, this didn’t amount to anything, and
Clairborne‘s lawyer’s would have wondered at
its introduction, for it seemed to be more in
favor of the prisoner than against him, if they
had not guessed that the district attorney was
building right from the foundation.

The next witness was an important one, being
the negro, Julius, Judge ClairbOrne’s own man;
in mousing around to discover at what time
young Clairborne had arrived at his home in
the city on the night in question, the prosecu-
tion ascertained that old J ulius kept watch at
the front door that evening.

This a ed servitor stated that he had been
directed y “Massa Judge,” on the night in
question, 0 watch for ‘ young massa,” and
when he came in to inform him that the judge
desired to see him in the library, an 1 then, in
answer to a direct question. he said t at Massa
Raymond arrived at the house just about one
o’cl0ck; the witness was not certain to the min-
ute, but he thought it was rather after one than
before, thus clearly provixw that the prisoner

we do;

had consumed an hour and a half in coming
five miles.

The next witness was the judge’s hustler, who
testified that the horse which “ young massa ”
had ridden that evening, was the be t one in
the Clairborne stable, and could easily cover
fifteen miles an hour when “loping,” and could
walk fiVe, being an exceedingly fast walker.

Colonel Terrebonne was next called upon.
He was questioned regarding young Clair-
borne’s presence at the Esperance mansion on
that night, but the especial link in the testi-
mony which he was expected to, and did, fur-
nish, w s in regard to the time required to
cover the distance from Judge Clairborne’s
house to Mrs. Esperance’s plantation.

The colonel lived in the same street as Clair-
borne, only a block away, and he stated that

‘ when riding at an easy gallop he had never

 

taken more than half an hour to make the jour-
ney, and on one occasion, when in a hurry to
get home, he had made the distance in twenty
minutes.

The prosecution’s idea v as to show that, al—
though the young man had quitted the house at
half-past eleven, there was plenty of time for
him to have returned and committed the mur-
der, which occurred at twelve, and yet have
reached his home at one.

That Clairborne should have occu ied an hour
and a half in a 'ourney which shou d not have
taken him over alf an hour was very strange,
unless he could account for the time in some
reasonable manner, which, by the way, when
examined, he did not do, saying that he took a.
roundabout way, was in no hurry to get home.
being occupied in thought, and took no heed of
time.

The prosecution having thus proved that there
was ample time for the prisoner to havo com-
mitted the deed, now proceeded to develop the
motive.

Two of the servants employed in the house,
the colored maid: of the murdered woman, tes-
tified that the had overheard quite an angry
conversation )etween Mrs. Esperance and the
prisoner on the eve of his departure, caused by
the fact that the prisoner had witnessed a love

assage between Mrs. Esperance and “Kurnel
nce” in the summcrhcu-e; he had told Mrs.
Esperance that a woman Who was so free of her
lips was unworthy the love of any honest man
and she was welcome to o to Terrebonne if she
liked, but she had mine his life, and the day
would come when she would be sorry for it;
Mrs. Esperance had answered defiantly, and the
pair had parted in anger.

During certain portions of this testimony
every eye in the court-room had been directed
at Colonel Terrebonne who grew as red as fire
and wished himself a thousand miles away, for
this revelation of his little love episode with the
dashm Mrs. Esperance was particularly dis-
tastefu to him.

Here was the motive. The prisoner had quar—
reled with the woman, parted with her in an-
ger, telling her that she would be sorry for
what she had done—a most decided threat, of
course.

It really began to look as if the prosecution
had a case, and the last witness summoned,
Judge Clairborne himself, gave stronger evi-
dence against his son than any of the rest.

The judge, in answer to the district attorney’s
questions, admitted that he had had an inter-
view with his son in the library at the time
sworn to; admitted that the young man had
told him he had just come from Mrs. Esper-
ance’s plantation' then the prosecution put a

uestion, to which the prisoner’s lawyers ob-
jected, but the objection was overruled, and the
witness was directed to answer:

“Did your son ap ear at his usual ease, or
did he display signs 0 agitation?” was the ques-
t on.

“I did not notice anything out of the way in
his manner,” was the judge’s placid answer.

Then the prosecution went on what is techni-
call y called a. “ fishing excursion "—that is, at
a question, designed primarily for effect, ut
Wthh might produce some results. ,

“Was t e risoner’s clothing at all disordered
——did, you no ice any spot of blood upon his per~
son?

The judge hesitated; a troubled look came
into his eyes; his face became white; he a
peared to breathe with difficulty, and he slowly
turned his gaze upon his son, who, calm, but
pale, seemed the least unmoved of any in the
room.

There was a breathless silence; all within the
court seemed to hang upon Clairborne’s an-

swer.

But the prisoner spoke first.

“Do not fear to speak, father! I am inno-
cent, and the truth cannot harm an innocent
man.”

The prisoner’s lawyers were on their feet in
an instant, and vehemently protested against
such a question, but again} ey were overruled
and the presiding judge directed Clairborne to
answer.

“ I did notice a small spot of blood upon the
shirt-cgff of my son, coming from a bleeding

um—
“ Stop—stop! \Ve don’t want that!” yelled

c,.“’4.

 

 

 

 

n
‘ ..«W*M. M
»

 

 

 

 

o

A <.--&.w_.x....a «.n-a—i‘

 

The Double Detective.

27

 

 

r”

the District Attorney; “ no explanation is re-
uired.”

And then the lawyers had another wrangle,
but Clairborne had got the explanation out in
spite of them.

Little use was it, though; “probable cause”
had been proved, and Raymond Clairborne was
committed to jail, charged with the murder,
and so complete seemed the evidence that there
were a hundred in the city who believed him
guilty to one who thought otherwise.

CHAPTER XL.
THE TRAMP IN a TRAP.

AFTER the old tramp’s woeful disappointment
in re rd to selling the diamond, he had re-
lapse into a sort of state of coma. Utterly dis-
pirited and downcast he really did not seem to
care whether be live; or died. In fact, had it
not been for the Italian boy, who provided him
with shelter and food, the old fellow most cer-
tainly would have suffered!

The boy was away the greater part of the
time, too, and in the month that passed since
they first became acquainted, J ohnnK‘Roach did
not see the young Italian more t 1 half a
dozen times. . .

It was the night of the day when the exami-
nation of young Clairborne had taken tplaice,
and the boy and the tramp. sitting toge er in
their garret, dispatching a frugal supper, were
busily engaged in discussing the events of the
da while munchin tneir bread and onions.

0th of them ha attended the examination,

and havin been careful to be early on the

round h secured good places so as to be able
see and hear all that passed.

“ They will a-hang him, sure,” the Italian re-
marked “ and we will not a-flnger 2e flve hun-
dred dollairs reward; it is bad, but he was not
ze game I was after. Ze Frenchman was no
man I a-picked out.”

“He didn’t do it,” growled the tramp, who
was not in a good humor. He had not been in
the best of spirits before, but since the trial he
had rown terribl morose.

“150, no, they ave got so right man now,
and they will make him dance upon notting,

79

soon.

“ Mebbe they will, but he never did the trick.”

“ Oh, yes; no doubt l”

“But there is a doubt, and a mighty big one,
too, and I hadn’t a suspicion that he was in the
land of the living until today,” blurted out
Johnny Roach, his face gloomy, and his
thou hts evidently far away.

Alt ough the boy was not apparentl watch-
ing him, yet, in reality, there was not t a slight-
est expression on the tramp’s face that escaped
him.

“Who you a-speak of. eh—sonie old friend
you did not expect to see i"

The question, though put in the most innocent
manner, recalled Johnny Roach to himself.

“Never you mind w’at I was a-sayingl” he
exclaimed, roughly. ” I’ve got _a queer way of
talking to mySelf once in awhile. Sa , ’ain’t

on got some blunt to stand a drin ’1' My
hroat is as dry as an ash-heap.”

The boy laughed.

“ All you think of is ze whisky.”

“ It’s the only thing that keeps me alive.”

“ I am what you call broke—”

“That’s dis usting!”

“But I crac ed a crib last night; no money,
but plenty brandy!”

“ Aha, now you are getting interesting!
Where is it?”

“ Hid in an old house up ze river road. You
like to take a nip of brandy, eh? Come along
with me.” _ _ .

The tramp accepted the inVitation with also.
rit , and the two immediately set out.

'Khe Italian led his companion direct to the
old cabin where the encounter between the
bravo and “ Monsieur Houma ” had taken place.

Few words were exchangcd between the two
on the road, but after the had entered the
cabin, and the old fellow lad examined it—
which thanks to the’raysol the moon streaming
in through the window, he was able to do us
vvl'ell as though it was broad daylight—he ex-
c aime :

“ Well. blow me! if this ain’t as neat a little
crib as I ever see’dl No one would think of
looking for plunder in here.”

u Oh, yes' it is very good,” and then from un-
der a pile of rubbish in one corner of the cabin
the Italian produced a couple of bottles of

d .
br’I‘Ilieiyes of the old tramp sparkled.
“ Aha! that’s the stuff!” .
“ Ah! diavolo! I did not think to bring a
7’

 

l
I.) Wiatis the difierence? . I reckon a thirsty
man Lin drink out of anything. Durn y. 1. cu ,
I’m good for anything that has got good bran y
in it from the neck of a bottle to the bung o: 5
“I!

“So am I! dim-ole! I would drink good
brandy out of an iron pot!"

“Me allee same, tool” responded the tramp,
with a grin, clearly proving by.the expression
that at some time in his wandering life he had
rubbed against a “ heathen Chinee.”

Then the two squatted on the floor, the

 

Italian pushed one of the bottles over to his
companion and the drinking bout began.

Corkscrews were lacking but the facility with
which Johnny Roach decapitated the bottle
with the back of the blade of a heavy clas -
knife which he took from his,pocket, clear y
proved that it was not the first time he had per-
formed the trick, and the Italian made a. re-
mark to that effect.

“ Oh, bless you! I learned the dodge when I
was a student at college, only it used to be
champagne bottles, then—champagne, the reg’-
lar fiz at a half a guinea a pop, my boy! You
wouldn’t think it to look at me now, would

e?’

“Indeed I should not; but, here’s luck!” re-
marked the boy, putting the bottle to his lips.

“Same to you. young hossl” and the tramp
took a generous dram of the potent fluid, and
stronger brandy he had never tasted.

"Whew! If this ain’t the stud? to warm up
the cookies of a man’s heart, you kin take all I
have 0t!”

“ it is 00d!” and again the Italian took
a swa ow, t e tramp watching him with a
great deal of interest.

“ Well, you must have a cast-iron throat to
pour it down that way,” he observed; “ I

hou ht I was pretty well seasoned lbut you go
ahea of my time.’

“I have drank brand ever since I can re-
me’mber. Diatolo/ I t ' k I was weaned on
i i

‘f Very likely l” and then Roach took another
sw1 .

“ Oh, it warms one like fire,” the Italian said,
patting the bottle gently as though it had been
a living thing.

“Mighty strong stud,” replied the other a
sleepy expression appearing on his face and is
tongue beginning to get tangled up. “I’ll be
hanged if I don’t feel like oing to sleep; I
never had a couple of drinks me this way,
afore; I say—you— 011—” and then, with a
gut, the tramp lai over on his side and soon

ame quite insensible.

But it was not sleep that had fallen upon him;
the tramp had been “ hocussed”—the brandy
was drugged. The tramp had been trapped.

 

CHAPTER XLI.
a PERSUASIV'E ARGUMENT.

Tm: Italian watched the old tramp as closely
as a cat would a mouse upon whom she designed
to feast.

“At last!” he muttered, with an air of in-
tense satisfaction. “ Now then. Monsieur J ohn-
ny Roach, you will speak, or I will know the
reason why 1”

There was a world of meaning in the quiet
tones, and if the tramp had overheard the
sentence, no doubt it would not have conduced
to his ce of mind.

The oy Went to the door of the cabin and
looked out n n the moonlit country.

Nota sou was in sight—nota sound in the
£2230 denote life of any kind in the neighbor-

Certain preparations the Italian went th rough,
and in about an hour the old trampawoke from
his unnatural slumber. As he opened his eyes
and looked around him in amazement he found
that he had been dragged over to one corner
and propped up against the walls in a sitting
posture. He was bound hand and foot. and so,
securely that he could not move a single limb
to save his life.

In amazement, utterly unable to comprehend
this adventure. he looked around him. His
gaze fell upon the Italian, squatted like a huge
toad in the center of the apartment, the moon-
li zht streaming in full upon him.

LBefore the Italian was a small portable fur-
nace, such as is generally used b traveling
tinkers, and a soldering iron inserte in the fur-
nace was slowly heating, the Italian watching
the operation with great interest.

“ See hyer, what is the meaning of this, any-
way?” he demanded.

“Say! do you not think we will make good
partners?” asked the other, abruptly.

“ Oh, yes, I guess so ” replied the old tramp,
unable to fathom the Italian’s meaning. ,

“ Very good 1partners, I think—Very good
thing for you. find the shelter and thefood,
and you do the sleeping and the eating. pay
and you enjoy, hey l”

The tramp stared in asulkv sort of way at
the speaker. It was the truth and he could not
deny it.

" I am not satisfied! Oh, no! I have worked
for on; is it not time now that you should
wor ' for me?” the Italian demanded.

“ Well. I am willing to do the fair thing,” the
tramp growled. conSiderahly alarmed by the
position in which he found himself: and there
wasa peculiar look in the eyes of the Italian
which he did not like; it meant mischief, he felt
sure.

" Yes, yes, I know that, but I want to make
sure.” the other replied, giving the soldering
iron a Vicious poke.

“You young “'ht-lp! w‘ot do you mean by
treating me in this hyer way t" cried 01 l .l l dinny,
in a rage. “ W‘ot do you mean by gutting me

 

 

drunk and then trussing me up like a cussed
chicken i”

The Italian laughed, and a deal of malice
there was in his laugh, too—mahce that fairly
made the old tramp shiver.

“ W’ot do ye mean by grinning at a feller in
that way, you hycnat” demanded Roach, de~
cidedly uncomfortable in mind.

“So I got you drunk, eh!”

“ l s’pose so.”

“You are a bigger fool than I thought.
Haven’t you drank liquor enough in your life
to detect the difference between the stupor pro-
duced by liquor, and that which comes from a
dru .6”

“ thought so—I guessed, you infernal whelp,
that you had hocuswd me!”

“You guessed right; I cannot afford to fool
with you all my days. I have spent much mo—
ney on you and now I must have some of it
back,” the Italian replied, in the coolest possi-

‘ ble manner, and he rattled the iron up and

down in the furnace again.

Roach looked at the boy and watched his
management of the soldering iron for a mo-
ment, a puzzled expression upon his face; then,
all of a sudden, he broke out into a loud lau .

“And so, you cunning imp of Satan! you 9-
coyed me here and hocussed me for the purpose
of making a stake out of me, eh? and you think
you are smart, maybe.”

“ Oh, yes ” responded the other, placidly
paying much more attention to the furnace and
the iron which was now at a. red heat than to
the risoner. '

“ ou won’t make nary stake out of me, for
all of your smartness. You kin go through
me all you like, and if you kin scare up more 11
a uarter you’re welcome to it.”

‘ Oh, I know that; I have been through
your clothes two or three times when you were

aslee .”

“ 'I’he blazes you have!” growled the old
tramp, in disgust.

“ A flea would starve on the pickin from a.
dozen like you, but I know how to in money
out of you.”

“ You do!” cried the tramp, in wonder.

“Oh, yes,” and the Italian drew the red-hot
iron from the furnace and flourished it in the
air, and so near the face of the tramp that the
heat aflected him unpleasantly.

“ Sayl w’ot are on ’bout!” he growled.
“ Keep that durned t 'ng away! Do you want
to burn the nose 06! of me?”

“ o, no, not the nose; that would not do any
good.”

There was a sort of implied threat in the
speech which made the old tramp shiver. his
face turned all sorts of colors.

‘ For Heaven’s sake tell me w’ot you are
goin to do.”

“ '1 you so that you can earn money,” the
other replied, in the most matter—of—fact way.
“\Vhat good are you n0wl No good! But I
will fix you so that we can travel together as
pals and pick up a fortune.”

“ You diabolical scoundrel!” cried Roach, in
an agony of fear and r e.

“It is so simple; it wil not take but a min-
ute, and the pain—well, it may pain a little, but
it will not last long,” and again the Italian
thrust the hot iron so near the face of the mic.
erable old tramp that his skin was nearly blis—
tered.

Roach groaned in horror and vainly struggled
against the bonds which confined him.

The Italian laughed.

“Oh, I have bound you tightly: I thought
you might be foolish enough to object to the
procee ing; men in this world seldom know
what is good for them. Your eyes haven’t done
you much good—” ’

“ My eyes t” screamed the old tramp, in deadly ‘

terror.

“Yes, I am going to put them out with this
hot iron——”

“ Uh, mercy! mercy!”

“You’ll make plenty of money as a blind
man, and I will lead you around and take care
of you.”

“ For Heaven’s sake s are me I”

“ How else can I get ack the money that I
have spent on you t” demanded theother, indi -
nantly. “I offered you a chance but you w0 d
not have it.”

“ Spare me and I will do anything!”

“Give me something ts work on then so I
can get the five hundred dollars reward ofl'ered
for the murderer of Mrs. Esperance!"

“ I don’t know any thing ‘bout it!”

“You lie!” and in order to give due emphasis
to the accusation the speaker thrust the hot
iron so near to the face that the old vagabond
screamed in mortal terror. “ You had the dia—
monds! Bah! did on think you fooled me by
pretending to flu the diamond in the street
which you tried to sell? 0b. 110; I am notso
easily led astray as that. “It was a cunnin
dodge, but I was up to you in a moment. Aug
that was the reason Why on almost fainted
when you discovered that t is stone was a false

~ one; you had all the rest, and you thought you

had a fortune in your grasp.”
“So help me Heaven! I don’t LDOW Wuo 
the trick.’

0. .

~..~...‘...‘... . .

28

The Double Detective.

 

 

“You know more than you are willing to
tell, but you shall speak or else I will make a
nice blind man of you,” and again the speaker
searched the face of the old tramp with the hot
'ron until he roared in agony.

“ Spare me and I will tell you all I know, but
it won’t do you any good, for though I was
right on the spot, and almost saw the trick
done, I can’t tell you who did it.”

“ You can tell me enough, perhaps, to put me
on the right scent.”

“ Blast me! if I don’t believe you are a detec-
tive!” exclaimed Reach, suddenly, the idea just
occurring to him.

“ You are right; I am, and now speak!"

And Speak the old tramp did, and a most
wonderful story he told—not a very long one,
but directly to the point, and at its end over the
face of the secret a cut, who as the reader

Obany has guesse was no other than La

oset, came a gleam of triumph.

“ At last I am on the track!” she cried.

CHAPTER XLII.
THE RIGHT ONE AT LAST.

Jus‘r two hours after the time the revalation
of the tramp to La Marmoset was made a
strange scene took lace in the mansion of
Judge Clairborne in ew Orleans.

The judge was in his library, seated at his
desk, busily writing, when the door of the
apartment—which he had not taken the precau-
tion to lock—opened suddenly and the young
man, who looked like a Creole, and who called
himself Felix Houma, entered the room.

The judge looked around and when he caught
sight of the intruder seemed to be both amazed
and annoyed.

He had been engaged in writing for some time
and his desk was littered up with the pages
which as fast as he finished them he pushed to
one side in heedless confusion.

Resting his arm upon his desk he had wheeled
around and confronted-the intruder.

“ Well, sir, what is the meaning of this in-
trusion?” he demanded, sternly.

“ You remember me, judge?” asked Houma,
not at all abashed by the cool reception.

“ I do, sir.”

i ‘f Possibly you have wondered at the interest
I have manifested in this Esperance case?”

“ I have not troubled my head about the mat-
ter at all.”

“Perhaps

 

not,” responde the other, very

. dryly, “but you will understand why I have

a.-

-rival who had supplanted her in the

been interested when I say that I am a de-

. tective. ”

“’It is a matter of perfect indifference to
me.

“ You are wrong, sir; you are deeply in-
terested.”

“I understand; you refer to my son; but
he is innocent, sir, and time will show it.”

“That is exactly what I have come to say;
and more—I think I have discovered the real
criminal!”

“ That. is news, indeed i” cried Clair-
borne, warm y, but at the same time gazing at
the other with Searching eyes as though he
doubted the truth of the statement.

“I am afraid you will not think so when you
learn upon whom my suspicion rests.”

“Explain, sir, at once, I beg.”

“I have secured possession of a glove, stained
with blood and with the marks of human teeth
upon it; also a bridle rein spotted with the same
crimson fluid, and can prove by competent wit-
nesses that the Owner of the love, disguised,
was in the neighborhood of the sperance lan-
tation on the night of the murder, and the she
had good cause to wish to be revenged u n the
ecticns
of the man for whose love she thirsted, for

“ ‘ Hell hath no fury like a woman scornedl’ "

The judge laughed contemptuously.

“ Well, r. Detective, you are not a master
of our trade if you think Miss Lauderdale is

ni , for this glove and rein story is not new
$0 me As the master of this house all idle gos-
si soon comes to In ears, and I immediately
sifted the matter. questioned the lady her-
self and she, finding that her wild adven-
ture was known, confessed all. _ She was not
in love with my son, as I had sup (1 all
along; but, on the contrary, was evotedly
attached to Colonel Terrebonne, and when she
was told that he was paying attention to Mrs.
Esperance her jealousy and rage were unbound-
ed. In disguise she resolved to watch them and
learn the truth for herself and that was why
she, in male attire, was in the neighborhood of
the plantation on the night of the murder. She
saw a love passe 9 between the man whom she
idolized and the bold, bad woman, and her

. anger was so great that she could only. prevent

herself from giving vent to her rage In words
by thrusting er hand into her mouth, and in
her excitement she hit it until the blood came.
That is the whole truth in a nutshell.”

“ I haven’t the least doubt that it is the
truth, and since you are so clever in explaining
mysteries, will you tell me where I can find the
man who was with Mrs. Esperance on the ni ht
of the murder—who entered her apartment y

' means of a secret stairway which was reached

 

 

bya door right at the head of the bed, and
who, after the murder was done, escaped from
the house b the same means—the man who
was eviden y on the most familiarr terms with
his victim—the man who, years ago in Paris
was known as the Ga American, and w
committed what was be loved to be a murde
at the time, for her sake, and on that account
was forced to fly ?”

“This is a romance, evidently l” exclaimed
the judge, plainly showing his astonishment.

“ Oh, n0° I have a witness who saw the scene
—-one of the husbands of this much-married
lady—the man who was supposed to have been
killed by the Gay American in Paris on this
woman’s account, now a wretched old tramp.
He was outside in the garden, lurking in the
neighborhood for the purpose of getting money
from the adventuress who had wrecked his
life, but was now flaunting it so bravely upon
the money of some other fool whom she had
either coaxed or forced into pandering to her
wla'ms. Through the window he saw the dis-
guised man enter the room and heard this fe-
male flend address him as the (lay American.
Then the tragedy followed; the woman drank a
glass of wine; it was drugged, and as she strug-
gled with insensibility the murderer struck her;
then, alarmed by her scream, he fled through
the secret door. The guests entered the room;
the murder was discovered; the proposition was
made to search the garden. The tramp at once

erceived the peril that he was in; if he was
gound he surely would be accused Of commit-
ting the deed; one way of escape only was open
to him: the chamber wherein lay the dead wo-
man was deserted; by means of the veranda
without the tramp gained access to the apart-
ment, and from the body stole the diamond
nevklw-e—diamonds as be supposed, but which
were only clever imitations, for the Gay Ameri-
can, ruined by the siren who held the threat of
exposure over him, in order to raise money had
substituted false stones for the true ones, and
before the murder occurred had disposed of
them, one by one, in a dozen different places.
After possessing himself of the necklace, it was
easy enough for the old tramp to escape from
the house b means of the secret staircase. I
am no botc at my business, as you will own
when you know all. You have been in Paris
often: did you ever hear of La Marmosetl”

The judge gave a start.

“I am she, and also—Mrs. General Calhoun
at your service!”

Clairborne turned deadly pale.

“I have weaved the web around you so
strongly that there is not a single mesh through
which you can break. You, udge Clairborne,
are the Gay American; you are the man who
tried to murder me b the Italian’s aid; you
are the assassin who ki led Adeline Esperance l”

A. fierce light shone in the jud e’s eyes, but in
an instant t e female spy had im “ covered
with a cocked revolver.

“If you attempt resistance your blood be
upon your own head 1” she said.

A bitter laugh came from the judge's lips
and he settled back in his chair as though glad
that the suspense was over.

“You are indeed a wonderful woman and
every word on have said is true. That woman
was tte evi genius of my life. She followed
me here to America, after years had elapsed,
and by threatening me with a disclosure of the
past made me her slave, but from the first I
determined to break the bond by killing her,
and from the ver beginning I bent all my ef-
forts to that end; er extrava nce brought me
to the brink of ruin, and her eath alone could
save me. You must not think, though, that I
intended to let my son suffer for my crime. For
[years I have stnven to bring about a match

etween him and Miss Lauderdale sim ly be-
cause I have used ,up nearl all of her ortune
and dreaded discovery. ' hese pages contain
my confession,” and he pointed to the papers
upon the desk. “To-Dig t 1 should have been
on the road to the wilds of the West, and in two
days more this confession would have been in
the hands of the district attorney; but, thanks
to you, I am spared that trouble, but to die
upon the scaffold will be bitter indeed 1”

And as he finished the speech he leelned for-
ward and buried his face in his hands.

It was really pitiful to witness the distress of
this strong man; even the stern bloodhound of
the law hesitated to disturb him.

But for once in her life La Marmoset was to be
baffled of her prey.

The despair was feigned; the position was as-
sumed simplyto cover the conveyance to the
mouth of aca ule of poison which he bad man-
aged to take rom his vest ket.

He raised his head, deat ’s seal already upon
his face and Ian had!

“No handcu s for Inc—no prison cell, rope
or scaffold 1” he gasped. “See justice done In
boy; let Philippa marry the man of her hea .
I have no fear of the future, for, though I took
a human life, I give my own in return, and the
avenging hand of justice should have stricken
that vile woman, who has wrecked so many
lives, years and years ago. ”

The utterance of the speech was the last ex-
ertion of Clairborne’s powerful will. Hardly

 

had the last word left his lips, when his e es be-
came lassy, his strength failed, the reath
came 9 ort and thick, and in a moment more
Judge Erasmus Clairborne had “joined the
majority.”

. Yith the revelation of the mystery our task
15 one.

Of course La Marmoset exerted herself as
much to procure the release of the innocent
prisoner as she had done to hunt down the
guilty party.

The facts of the case never got out, for the
Confession left by the judge was given into the
hands of the district attorney, and with the
delicacy common to the high-toned Southern
gentleman, he concluded that no good end could
be gained by making the matter public, and so
smirching t 6 good name of one of the oldest
and most honored of all Southern families.

Even Raymond never knew all, although
when he came to settle up lis father’s affairs he
was astounded to discover that the estate would
hardly pay the debts.

To Philippa Mrs. Calhoun made known the
judge’s last words in regard to her, and now
that all obstacles were removed. it did not take
long for the lovely girl and gallant Lance Ter-
rebonne to find out that they were all the world
to each other.

The two tramps, both of whom had enjoyed
the favor of the adventuress at one time, disa -
peared, and rumor said they went North In
company, bound for more congenial regions.

The most astonished man was the Briton, Sir
John, whose mone had contributed so greatly
to solving the rido e.

When he discovered, beyond the possibility
of a doubt, that the woman whom he had es-
teemed an angel was much nearer a devil, he
shook his head as he meditated upon the nar-
row escape which he had had.

“Women are a conundrum, and I give ’em
up,” he muttered.

And La Marmoset?

She still lives, and at some future time we
may relate a few more chapters from the life of
this marvel of her sex.

THE END.

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By C. Dunning Clark. Ready September 27th.

A New l~suo Every Week.
BEADLE'S BOY’s LIBRARY is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cent.
per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLisnmis,
98 William Sti’eet, New York.

 

‘~ jitly Mary.

American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS!

The C

 

 

l The Masked Bride; or. Will She Marry
Him? By Mrs. Mary Reed ('rowell.

2 Was It Love! or, Collegians and Sweet-
hearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D.

3 The Girl “'li‘e ; or, The True and the False.
By Bartley T. Campbell.

4 A Brave Heart; or, Startlineg Strange.
By Arabella Southworth.

6 Bessie Raynor, the \Vork Girl° or,
The Quicksands of Life. B' William M’ason
Turner, M. D.

6 The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess in
S ite of Herself. Sara (‘laxton

7 A aughtcr of ve; or, Blinded by Love.
By Mrs. Ma Reed Crowell.
8 Heart to cart; or, Fair Phyllis' Love.

By Arabella Southwmth.

9 Alone in the World; or, The Young Man's
Ward. By the author of “ Clifton,” “Pride
and Passion," etc.

10 A Pair oi Gray Eyes‘ or, The Emerald
Necklace. By Rose Kennw y.

11 Entangled ; or, A Dangerous Game. By
Henrietta Thackeray.

12 His Luwi‘ul “'ii'e; or, Myra, the Child of
Adoption. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.

13 Madcu ), the Little unkercss; or. The
Naval (,adet's Wooin . y Corinne (Irishman.

l 4 “'hy I Married Inn; or, The Woman in
Gray. By Sara Claxton.

15 A Fair Face; or, Out in the World. By
Bartley T. Campbell.
16 Trust "or Not; or, A True Knight. By

Margaret Leicester.

17 A Loyal Lover ° or, The Last of theGrims-

the. B Arnhel aSouthwm'th.

18 is ldo ' or, The ill-Starred Marriage. By
Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.

19 The Broken Hctrothal; or, Love versus
Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine.

20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or. The
Lost Heir. By Agile. Penne.

21 N0“’ and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar-
r Him? By Henrietta Thackeray.

22 T e Bride oi‘an Actor; or. Driven from
Home. By the author of “ Alone in the World,"

“Clifton, etc.

23 Leap Year; or, Why She. Proposed. By Sara
Claxton.

24 Her Face “'11:; Her Fortune. By Elea- ‘
nor Blaine.

25 Only a Schoolmistress; or. Her Untold
ret. By Arabella Southworth.

26 W thout a Heart; or, Walking on the
Brmk. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

2'1 Was She a Coquette ‘! or, A Strange
Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray.

28 8 bil Chase; or. The Gambler’s Wife. By
_ rs. Ann 8. Stephens.

29 For Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Him-
self. By Sara. Ciaxton.

30 The Ben uct Girl ; or, A Million of Money.
By Agile enne.

31 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By

ary A. Denison.

32 arisna, the Prima Donna; or, Roses
and Lilies. By Arabella Southworth.

33 The Three Sisters; or, The Mystery of
Lord Chalfont. By Alice Fleming.

34 A Marriage of Convenience; or, Was
He a Count? By Sara Claxton.

35 All Against Her; or, The Winthrop Pride.
B Clara Augusta.

36 Sir Archer’s Bride; or, The Queen of His
Heart. By Arabella. Southworth.

37 The Country Cousin° or, All is not Gold
that Glitters. By Rose Kénnedy.

38 His Own A sin; or. Trust Her Not.
Arabella Sout worth.

39 Flirtation; or, A Young Girl’s Good Name.
By Jacob Abarbanell, (Ralph Royal.)

40 Pledgcd to Mnrr ‘ or. In L ’ Bo .
By Sara (‘laxtom y ’ ove s "as

41 Blind Devotion' or, Low A ‘ t th
World. By Alice Fle’ming. b mm 6

42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second
Love. By Arabella Southworth. I

43 The Haronet’s Secret ; or, The Rival Half-
Sisters. By Sara. Claxton.

By

44 The Onl Du nghtcr; or, Brother against
Lover. y Alice Fleming.

45 Her Hidden Foe; or, Love At All Odds.
By Arabella Southworth.

46 The Little Heiress; or, Under a. Cloud.
By Mrs. Me. A. Denison.
47 Because S e Loved Him; or, How Will
End? By Alice Fleming.
48 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeannette‘s Reps-
ration. By S. R. Sherwood.
49 His Heart’s Mistress; or Love at First
Sight. By Arabella Southworth.
80 T30 Cuban Heiress or, e Prisoner of
/

Vintresse. By Mrs. sry A. nlson,

 

367

|
l

l

i 6

 

 

Two Young Girls; or, The Bride of an
Earl. By Alice Fleming.

The \Vinged Messenger; or, Risking All
for a. Heart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.

Agnes Hope, the Actress' or. The Ro-
mance of a. Ruby Ring. By William Mason
Turner, M. D.

One Woman’s Heart; or. Saved from the
Street. By George S. Kaime.

She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to
Conquer. By Arabella Southworth. ~

Love-Mud; or. Betrothed, Married Divorced
and —. By in. Mason Turner, M. D.

57 A Brave Girl; or, Sunshine at Last. By
Alice Fleming. .

The Ehon Mask; or. The Mysterious
Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed ('l‘OVVi‘“.

A “’ldow’s Wiles; or, A Bitter Vengeance.
By Rachel Bernhardt.

Cecil’s Deceit; or. The Diamond Legacy.
By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton.

A “’lckcd Heart; or, The False and the
True. By Sara Claxton.

The Maniac Bride; or, The Dead Secret
of Hollow Ash Hall. By Margaret Blount.

The Creole Sisters; or. The Mystery of the
Perrys. By Mrs. Anna E. Porter.

‘tht Jealousy Bid; or, The Heir of
Worsley Grange. By Alice Fleming.

The “’ii'c’s Secret; or, ’Twlxt Cup and
Lip. By Col. Juan Lewis.

A Brother’s Sln‘ or, Flora‘s Forgiveness.
By Rachel Bernhart t.

Forbidden: Hans; or, Alma’s Disguised
Prince. By Arabella Southworth.

\Vcnvers and \Veit; or. “Love That Hath
Us In His Net.” By Miss M. E. Braddon.

9 (‘ulnille; or, The Fate of a Coquette.

Alexandre Dumas.
70 The Two Orphans.

65
66

68
By

By D’Enery.

71 M Young \Vii‘e.. By My Young Wife‘s
I usband.
72 The Two \Vidowu. By Annie Thomas.

73 Rose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory
Girl. By Maud Hilton.

74 Cecil (‘ustlentainc’s Gawe' or, The Story
of a Broidered Shield. By 60k a.
By J. 8. Le

75 The Black Lady of Dana.
Farm.

78 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson.

77 Christian Oakle ’s Mistake. By the
author of “ John H fax, Gentleman." etc.

78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in
the Family. By Myself.

79 A uecn Amongst “’omen. Bé the
out or of “The Cost of Her Love ” “ ilded
Sin," “Dora Theme," “From Gloom to Sun-
light," etc.

80 Her Lord and Master. By Florence
Msrryat.

81 Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte.
82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta. Orred.

83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie
homes.

84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of
“John Halifax, Gentleman."

85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet.
86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot.

87 The Romance oi‘a Poor Young Man.
By Octave Feuillet.

88 A Terrible Deed; or, All for Gold. By
Emma Garrison Jones.
89 A Gilded Sin. By the author of “Dora
horn," etc.
90 The Author’s Daughter. By Mary
How t .
91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade.

92 Eileen \ Ian no; or. the Dawning ot the Day.
By Dennis O'Sulllvan.

93 Love’s “'ictory. By B' L. Farjeon.
94 The. Qui '. Heart. By Mrs. Oliphant.
95 Lettice A nold. By Mrs. Marsh.

96 Haunted Hearts; or. The Broken Be-
trothal. B Rachel Bernhardt.

97 Hugh Mel .on. .By Katharine King.
98 Alice Learrnont. By Miss Mulock.

99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary
Patrick.

100 Throufih Fire and Water. By Fred-
erickT at.

101 Hannah. By Miss Mulock.
102 Peg Womngton. By Charles Reade.
103 A Desperate need. ByErskine Boyd.

0

heapest Library Ever Published!

 

 

 

104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. L. Far
Jt-on.

105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By
w. M. Thackeray.

106 From Dreams to By E
Lynx Linton.

107 Poor Zephi By F. W. Robinson.

108 The Sad Fortunes orthe Rev. Amos
Burton. By George Eliot.

Waking.

109 Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By
B. L. Farjeon.

1 10 The “Wandering Heir. By Charles
Reade.

11 1 The Brother’s Bet; or Within Six
Weeks By Emilie Flygare Cation.

1 12 A Hero. By Miss Mulock.

1 l 3 Paul and Vir rlnla. From the French of

Bernardin De St. ierre.

114 ’Twas In Trufalgar’s Buy. By Wal-
ter Besant & James Rice.

115 Tile Nlnid of Killecna. By William
Black.

1 1 6 llctty. By Henry Kingsley.

117 The “’ayside (‘ross' or, The Bald of
Gomez. By Captain E. A.’Mllman.

11? The Vicar of “'ukeiield. By Oliver
Goldsmith.

1 119 Muud Filohan. By Annie Thomas.

120 Thaddeus oi' “'arsaw. By Miss Jane
Porter.

121 The King of No-Land. By B. L. Far-
Jeon.

122 Love], the “'ldower. By W. M. Thack—

; 123 An Island Pearl.

l

 

cruy.

By B. L. Fax-jeon.

124 (‘ousln Phillis.

125 Lcllu ; or. The Siege of Grenada. By Ed-
ward Bulwcr (Lord Lytton).

126 “'hen the Shi Comes Home.
Walter Besant and ames Rice.

127 One of the Family. By James Payn.

128 The Birthrlght. By Mrs. Gore.

129 Motherless; or, The Farmer‘s Sweetheart.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

130 Homeless or, Two Orphan Girls in New
York.. By Alliert W. Aiken.

Sister against Sister; or The Rivalry of
Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed rowell.

Sold for Gold; or, Almost lost. By Mrs.
M. V. Victor.

Lord Roth’s Sin; or. Betrothed at the
Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens.

 He Love Her i By Bartley T. Camp-

By

131
132
133
134

1 35 Sinned Against; or, Almost in His Power.

By Lillian Lovejoy.

138 \Vas She His Wife ‘i By Mrs. Mary Reed
Crowell. .

137 The Village on the Cliil‘. By Miss
Thackeray.

138 Poor Va ria! The Broken Troth.
By Margare Blount.

139 Margaret Graham. By G. P. R. James.

140 Without Mercy. By BartleyTCsmpbell.

141 Honor Bound; or, SealedtoSecrecy. By
Lillian Lovejoy.

142 Fleeing n-om Love. By Mrs. Harriet
Irving.

or,

143 Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman's Work.
By Rett Wlnwood.

144 A Strange Marriage; or, John Foster’s

Heiress. By Lillian Lovejoy.

145 Two Girl’s Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed
Crowell.

146 A Des crate Ventur.° or For Love’s
Own Sakle. By Arabella Southwdrth.

147 The War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush-

man.

148 Which “fan the Woman 1 or, Strangely
Misjudged. By Sara Claxton.

Reedy September 12th.

140 An Ambitious Girl or. She Would Be
An Actress. By Frances elen Davenport.
Ready September 19th.

A new issue every week.

Tm: WAVIRLIY Iunmr is for sale by all News-
dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re.
ceipt of six cents each. '

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
88 William street, New York.

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l Deadwood Dick, TEE PRINCE or THE ROAD
B Edward L. Wheeler.
2 hallownone Jack. B Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
3 Kansas King. B Bu alo Bill.
4 The Wild-llorse unters. By Captain
Mayne Reid and Captain li‘rederiek Whittaker.
5 Vagabond Joe, THE YOUNG WANDERING JEW.
B 011 Coomes. Double. Number, liiets.
6 lilil Biddon, Trapper . By E. S. Ellis.
7 The Flying Yankee. By (M. l'. lngraham.
8 Seth Jones . By Edward S. Ellis.
9 Adventures oi Baron Munehausen.
0 Nat Todd. By E. S. Ellis. I
The Two Detectives. By A.W. Aiken.
Gulliver’s Travels. B Dean Swift.
The Dlilnb S iy. By 01 Coonies.
Aladdin; or, ‘IIE \VONDERFI'L LAMP._
The Sea-Cat. By Captain Fred. )Vhittaker.
Robinson Crusoe. (27 Illustrations.)
7 Ralph Roy, THE BOY BUCCANEER; or, THE
FUGITIVE YACHT. B Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
18 Siudbad the Sal or. His Seven Yoyages.
19 The Phantonl Spy. By Buflfalo Bill.
20 The Double Daggers. By E. L. Wheeler.
21 The Frontier Angel. By Edwards. Ellis.
22 The Sea Ser ent. By‘Juan LCWIS.
23 Nick 0’ the ight. yT. C. Harbauzh.
24 Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P. Ingrahaui.
25 The Bohi‘aptain. By Roger Starbiiek.
26 (floven oot', TIIE BUFFALO DEMON; or, Tm:
BORDER VULTURES. By Edward L. Wheeler.
27 Antelope Abe, THE BOY GUIDE. 01] Coomes
28 Butl'alo Ben, THE PRINCE OF THE PISTOL;
or. DEADWOOD DICK IN DIsGrIsE.  L. Wheeler.
29 The Dlim b Page. B ' Capt. F. Whittaker.
30 Roaring Ralph Roe wood , THE RECE-
LEss RANGER. By Harry St. George.
31 Keen-Knife, PRINCE or TiIE PRAIRIEs. By
Oil Coomes.
Bob \Vooll‘, TIIE BORDER HUMAN; or. THE
GIRL DEAD-SHOT. By Edward L. Wheeler.
The Ocean Bloodhound. S. W. Pierce.
Oregon Sol; or, NICK errLEs’ BOY SPY
B Ca t. J. F. C. Adams.
\ ili Ivan. By Edward L. Wheeler.
The Bo ' Clown . By Frank S. Finn.
The Ill den Lodge. By ’1‘. C. Harbangh.
Ned “' 'lde, THE BOY SCOUT. By Texas Jack.
Death- ace, THE DETECTIVE. By Wheeler.
Roving Ben. By J. J. Marshall.
Lasso Jack. By Oil Coomes.
The Phantom Miner. BI: E. L. Wheeler.
43 Dick Darling, TIIE PONY ‘xrREss RIDBR.
B I Ca t. Frederick Whittaker.
44 Ratt lng Rube. By Harry St. George.
45 Old Avalanche. By Edward L. Wheeler.
46 Glass Eye, THE GREAT SHOT or THE WEST.

B Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
47 iii By T. C. Harhangh.

ghtin ale Nat .
48 Black ohn, THE ROAD-AGENT. By Badger.
49 Omaha Oil. By Edward L. Wheeler.
50 Burt Bunker, TEE TRAPPER. C. E. Lasalle.
61 The Bo Rifles. By Archie C. Irons.
52 The “(h to Buil‘alo. By C. E. ‘ e.
53 Jim Biudsoe Jr. B Edward L.Wheeler.
54 Ned Hazel. B’y Ca t. .F. C. Adams.
55 Deadly- Eye, THE *NKNOWN SCOUT; or, TEE
BRANDED Bmmanoon. By Buffalo Bill.
56 Nick Whililes’ Pet. Cs t. J. F. C. Adams.
57 DeadWOOd Dick’s Bag: es. By Wheeler.
68 The Border KiuiiI. y 011 Coomes.
59 Old Hickory. By arry St. Geo e.
60 The White ndian. (rapt. J. F. . Adams.
61 Buckhorn Bill. ByEdward L. Wheeler.
62 The Shadow Ship . BV Col. P. Ingraham.
63 The Red Brotherhood. w. J. Hamilton.
64 Dand Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh.
65 Hurr cane Bill. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr
66 Single Hand. By W. J. Hamilton.
67 Patent-leather Joe. By Phili S. Warne.
68 Border Robin Hood. B ui'falo Bill.
69 Gold Rifle. By Edward L. eeler.
70 Old Zip’s Cab u. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.
71 Delaware Dick. ByOll Coomes.
72 Mad Tom “Western. By W. J. Hamilton.
3 Deadwood Dick on Deck. By Wheeler.
Hawk-eye Harry. By 011 Coomes.
The Boy Duelist. By Col. P.1ngraham.
Abe Colt, TIIE CROW-KILLER. By A. W. Aiken.
Corduro Charlie, THE BOY BRAVO; or,
DEADWOOD Ian’s LAST ACT. By E. L. _Wheeler.
Blllo Dick. By Ca iain Mayne Reid.
Sol Ginger GIANT RAPPER. By A.W. Aiken.
Roaebu lfob. By Edward L. Wheeler.
[Allin-“Ill! J o. By Captain J. F. C. Adams.
Kit Hareioot. By T. C. Harhaiigh.
“011°, “10 30! Ranger. B ' 011 Coomes.
Idl'li‘ the GI!“ Miner. By  L. Wheeler.
“"9 Bucklmmo B Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
Dm'd 30".“ By .Waldo Browne.
The and Pirates. By on t. Mayne Reid.
PhotOfrarh Phil. B E. RAVheeler,
lslun J m. By Brace rid eHemvng.
The Dread Rider. By G. .140 Browne.
The Captain oi‘the C uh; or, m YOUNG
RIVAI. ATinm'Es. By Bracebri Heinyng.
92 Canada Chet. By Edward L. en
93 The Boy Miners. BV Edward S. 1113.
94 Midnight Jack. By T. C. Harhau h.
95 The Rival Rovers. Lieut.Ool. whine,
96 Watch-aye, THE SHADOW. By E. L. Wheeler.
97 The Outlaw Brothers. By J. J. Marshall.
98 Robin Hood, TEE OUTLAWED EARL; or. Tin:
Y MEN or GREENWOOD. Prof. Gildersleeve.
99 The Tiger or Taos. By G. Waldo Browne.
100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or. A
STRANGE STROKE FOR LIBERTY. By Wheeler.
101 Jack Harkaway in New York. By
Braceme Hemyng.
102 Biol: Dead-Eye. By Col. Ingrahsm.

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03 The Lion of the Sea.

05 on Rube, THE HUNTER. Cat. )1. Holmes.
()6 Old Frosty. THE GriDE. By '] . C. Hnrbaugh.
O7 One-Eyed Sim. By James L. Bowen.
08 Darling Davyl'i By Harry St. George.
09 Deadwood ick as Detective. By
Edward L. \‘Vlieeler.
10 The Black Steed of the Prairies. A
Thrilling Story Of Texan Adventure. By Bowen.
1 l The Sea-Devil. By Col. P. Ingraham.
12 The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe.
13 Jack Hoyle, THE YOI'NG SPECU’LATOR; or,
THE ROAD To FORTUNE. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
14 The Black Schooner. Roger Starbuck.
The Mad lVliner. By G. Waldo Browne.
The Hussar ('a main. Col. P. lngrahani.
Gilt-Edged Dic . By E. L. Wheeler.
“1" Soiners. THE BOY DETECTIVE. Morris.
Mustang Sam. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

bdi-iI-II‘HHH

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Cinnamon Chip. By Fdward L. Wheeler.
Phil Hardy, TIIE Boss BOY. By C. Morris.
Kiowa Charley. By T. C. Harbaugh.
'l‘ippy, THE TEXAN. By George Gleason.
Bonanza Bill, MINER. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
Pica 'une Pete. By Charles Morris.
\"il -Fire, Boss OFTHE ROAD. Br Dnmont.
The You ng Privateer. By H. Cavendish.
Dead\vood Dick’s Double. By Wheeler.
Detective Dick. By Charles Morris.
The Golden Hand. By Geo. W. Browne.
The Hunted Hunter. By Rd. S. Ellis.
Boss Bob, THE KING or THE Boo’rnLAcRs:
or. TIIE PARNDROIIER’s PLOT. Ed. L. Wheeler.
Sure Shot Seth. By 011 Coomes.
Ca tain Paul,TIIE ENTUCKY MOONsnINER;
or RE BOY SI'Y or THE MOUNTAINS. By Clark.
Night-Hawk Kit. By JON. E. Badger, Jr.
The Hel iless Hand. Capt. Mayne Reid.
Bionde ill; or, DEADWOOD DICK’s HOME
BASE. By Edward L. Wheeler.
Judge Lynch, Jr. B T. C. Harbaugh.
Blue Blazes. By Fran Dumont.
Solid Sam, THE BOY ROAD-AGENT; or, THE
BRANDED BRows. By Edward L. Wheeler.
Handsome Harr '. By Charles Morris.
Scar-Face Saul. y Oil Coomes.
Dainty Lance, THE {OY SPORT. By Badger.
Clpta n Ferret. 1r Edward L. Wheeler.
Silver Star, THE BOY KNKEHT. By Coomes.
\Vill \Vildiire, THE THOROUGHBRED; or,
THE WINNING HAND. By Charles Morris.
Sharp Sam. By J. Alexanderl’alten,
A Game of Gold. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
Lance and Lasso. By Capt. F:Whittaker.
Panther Paul, TIIE PRAIRIE PIRATE: or,
DAINTY LANCE TO THE RESCUE. J. E. Badger.
Black Bess, WILL WILDFIRE‘s RACER; or,
WINNING AGAINsT ODDs. By Charles Morris.
3 Eagle Kit, THE BOY DEMON. B '011 Coomes.
4 The Sword Hunters. B'Iy .Whittaker.
5 Gold Trigger THE SPORT. .C.Harbaugh.
6 Deadwood flick of Deadwood; or,
TIIE PICKED PARTY. By Edward L. Wheeler.
Mike Merry, THE ARBOR POLICE Boner,
Tn: NIGHT-HAWKS or PHILADELPHIA. Morris.
Fane Frank of Colorado. Buffalo Bill.
The out Captain. By Whittaker.
The Black Giant. I]? J. E. Badger, Jr.
New York Nell. By . .Wheeler.
\Vill Wildfire in the Woods.
Little Texas. By Oil Coomes.
Dandy Rock’s Pledge. B .
Bill gage. B Char es Morris.
Hie ory arr . y Harry St. George.
Asa Scott, Tin: EAMEOAT BOY. By Willett.
Deadly Dash. By JOE. E. Badger, Jr.
Tornado Tom. By T. C. Hsrbaugh.
A Trum Card. By Charles Morris.
Ebons an. By Frank Dumont.
Thuu erbolt Tom. By Harry St. George.
Dandy Rock’s Rival. By G.W. Browne.
Bob Roekett, THE BOY DODGER. Bv Morris.
Captain Arizona. By Phili SA ame.
The Boy Runaway. By ieut. Perry.
Nobby Nick of Nevada. E. L. Wheeler.
Old Solitary. By 011 Coomes.
Bob Rockett, TEE BANK RUNNER. Morris.
The Sea Trailer. By Lieut. H. D. Perry.
“'ild Frank, THE BUCKsinN BRAVO; or,
LADY LILY’s LOVE. By Edward L. Wheeler.
Little. Hurricane. By 011 Coomes.
The Hidden Hand. By Chas. Morris.
The Boy Trailers. By Badger. Jr.
Evil Eye, KING or CA’H‘LE THIEVES' or, THE
VUL'I'URES or THE RIO GRANDE. Bv F. Dumont.
Cool Desmond. By Col. Della Sara.
Fred Halyard. By Charles Morris.
Ned Tem le, Tm: BORDER BOY. Harhauizh.
Bob Roc ett, THE CRAcstAN. By Morris.
Dand Darkc. By Wm. B. Eyster.
Buil'a 0 Billy. By CapLTavlor, U. S. A.
Captain Kit. By Lieiit. H. D.Perry.U.S.N.
Captain Mask. By Phili S.Warne.
Buii‘alo Bill’s Bet. By aptain Taylor.
Deadwood Dick’s Dream. By Wheeler-
Shadowed. By Charles Morris.
Little Grit, THE .WILD RIDER. By Ingraham-
Ar¥lél?wb; Tail MAN WITH THE KN!"
. . sr Iig .

eatherwcigh t. By Edward Willett.
The Boy Bedouins. By Whittaker-
02 :he BlachilisBJegfiiéel. (Bay Wheeler.

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203 The oy Pal-do. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr-
204 Gold Plume. THE BOY BANDIT. Insraham.

06 Deadwood Dick’s Doom. By Wh
206 Dark Paul, 1:: Trans Kmo. By 0- Morris.
207 Navajo Nick. ByT. C. Harbaugh.

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By Col. Delle Sara. 
()4 Deadu'ood Dick’s Device. By Wheeler. '

The Branded Hand. ByFrank Diimont. I

 

8 The Boy Hercules. By Oil Coomes.

9 Fritz, THE BOUND-BOY DETECTIVE. Wheeler.

0 Faro Frank of High Pine. ByE star.

1 Crooked Cale. By JOE. E. Badger, r.

z Dashing Dave, THE DANDY DETECTIVE.

By Charles Morris.

3 Fritz to the Front. By E. L. Wheeler.
\Voli‘gang TIIE BORDER or TnE RIIINE.

By Captain P rederiek ‘Vhittaker.

Ca itain Bullet, THE RAIDER KING. By

T. . Harbauizh.

Bison Bill, TIIE PRINCE or TIIE REINE.

By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

Captain Crack-Shot. By E. L. Wheeler

Tiger Tom, THE TEXAN TERROR. By Oil

Coomes.

Dcspard, the Duelist. By P. S. Warns.

Tom Tanner, SCALAWAG AND SCAeEGRAcE.

By Charles Morris.

Sugar Coated Sam. By E. L Wheeler.

222 Grit, the Bravo Sport. By Ingmham.

223 Ozark All“, KING or THE MOUNTAIN. By

Edward Willett. ‘
224 Dashing Dick; or, TRAPPER TOM‘S CAsTIE.
By 011 Coomes.

NM MN) M N Nah? NNNGM
fat-d i—v-I H H i-Ii-I hid-ch
"‘ Oi: out c: Go 6--

NJ
00

225 Sam Charcoal. By Charles Morris.

226 Snoozer TnE BOY SHARP. B 'E.L\Vheelcr.

2' 7 Dusky arrell, TRAPPER. yE.Emerson.

228 Little “'ildiire. By OllCoomes.

229 Crimson Kate, THE GIRL, TRAILER. By
Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

230 The Yankee Rajah. By C. D. Clark.

231 Plucky Phil, or Tin: MOUNTAIN TRAIL. By
T. C. Harbaugh.

 Gold-Dust Dick. By E. L. \l'heeler.

Joe Buck, oi'Angels AND His BOY PARD

PAUL POWDERHORN. By Albert W. Aiken.

234 Old Rocky’s “ Boych ;” or, BENITO,
THE YOUNG HORSE-BREAKER. By Buckskin Sam.

235 Shadotv Sam, THE MESSENGER BOY; or,
TrRNING THE TABLES. By Charles Morris.

236 Apollo Bill, THE TRAIL TORNADO. By Ed-
ward L. Wheeler.

237 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain; or,
TRE MVSTERIOUE RANCEERO. By P. Ingraham.

238 The Parson Detective. ByOli Coomes.

239 The Gold-seeker Guide: or, TEE LOsT
MOUNTAIN. By Captain Mayne Reid.

240 Cyclone Kit. B ' Edward L. Wheeler.

241 Bill Bravo an His Bear Pards.
By T. C. Harbaugh.

242 The Two ‘ Bloods’. By Charles Morris.

2423 The Disguiucd Guide. By OliCoomes.

244 Sierra Sam, THE FRONTIER FERRET. By

Edward L. “'heeler.
2.15 Merle, the Middy. By Col. P.1ngraham.
By Buckskin Sam.

246 Giant George.
247 Old Grizzly and His Pets. By Captain
- “ Bruin " Adams.

2-18 Sierra Sani’s Secret. By E. L. Wheeler.

2‘19 Milo Romer. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

250 Midshipman Mutineer. By Ingralmm.

251 Light-house Lige. By J. F. 0. Adams.

252 Dick Dashawayi; or, A DAKOTA BOY IN
CHICAGO. By Chas. orris.

253 Sierra Sam’s Pard. ByE.L.Wheeler.

25-1 The Hali‘ Blood; or. Tin: PANTHER or
TIIE PLAINs. By Edward 8. Ellis.

255 Ca taln Apollo, Tun KING-PIN or Down;
or. man 0' LIGHTNING‘s FEUD. By T. C.
Harbaugh.

256 Young Kentuck; or, Tin: RID LAsso.
By Captain Mark Wilton.

257 The Lost Hunters; or Tu UNDER-
GROUND CAMP. By Captain J. . C. Adams.

258 Sierra Sam’s Seven; or, Tin: STOLEN
BRIDE. By Edward L. Wheeler.

259 The Golden Harpoon; or, Low AMONG
THE FLOEs. By Roger Starbuck.

260 Dare-Devil Dan, Tn: YOUNG PRAIRIE
RANGER. By 011 Ines.

261 Fergus Fearnaufiht, m Niiw You
BOY. By George L. A en.

262 The Young Sleuths; or. Riemann";
Mimi’s HOT TRAIL By Charles Morris.

263 Deadwood Dick’s Divide. By Edward
L. Wheeler.
264 The Floating Feather; or. MERLE

MONTE’s TREASURE IsLAND.
Ingralram.
265 The Tiger Tamer. By Capt. Whittaker,
266 Killb’ar,the Guide; or. DAVY Csocxrrr‘s
CROOKED TRAIL. By Ensign Charles Dudley
Warren, (01' the Engineer‘s Corps.)
267 The Buckskin Detective.
' Harbaugh.

By 001. Prentiss

By T. C.

268 Deadtvood Dick’s Death Trail. By
ward L. Wheeler.
269 The Core

Gold SthD' or. MERLE, Tn
DEMNED. By Coloue Prentisslngraham.

270 Blizzard Ben m ARIZONA Cch-‘ll-
By Captain Mark Wi ton.
271 The Steam Man of the Prairies.
By Edward 8. Ellis. Ready October 8d.

Amiememweek.

The Hair-Dime Library is for sale b all
Newsdealera five cents per copy or sent by m on
reoel t oi six cents each. READLE & ADAMS.
Publighers, 98 William Street. New York.

____._. ~__.__..__
_____A__

A Hard Crowd. By P. S. Warne.

1
2 The Dare-Devil. By Col. Ingruham. r

8 Kit Carson, Jr.
4 The Kidnapper. By P. S. Warne.
5 The Fire-Fiends. By A. P. Morris.
6 Wildcat Bob. By E. L. Wheeler.
7 Death-Notch. By 011 Coouies.
8 The Headless Horseman. A strange
story of Texas. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
9 -Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover.
10 Vidocq, ' '1 ME FliEXL‘H POLICE SPY.
Written by himself.
11 Midshipman Easy. Capt. Murrynt.
12 The Death-Shot. By Mayne Reid.
13 Pathaway. By Dr. J. H. RobiIISOn.
14 Thayendanegea. By Ned Buntline.
15 The Ti er-Slayer. By G. Aimard.
16 The W 'te Wizard. Ned Buntline.
17 Nightshade. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
18 The Sea Bandit. By Ned Buntiine.
19 Red Cedar. By Gustave Aimard.
20 The Bandit at Bay. By Aimard.
21 The Trapper's‘ Da hter; OR,
THE OIITLAw‘s FATE. By Gustave Ainiard.
22 Whitelaw. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
23 The Red Warrior. By Ned BuntliIIe
24 Prairie Flower. By G. Aimard.
25 The Gold-Guide. By F. Johnson.
26 The Death-Track. By F. Johnson.
27 The Spotter-Detective. By Aiken.
28 Three-Fingered J ack, THE ROAD-
AGENT or THE Romans. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.
29 Tiger Dick, THE FARO KING; or,
THE CAsHIER‘s CRIME. By Philip S. Warne.
80 Gospel Geor . By J. E. Badger.
31 The New Yor Sharp. By Aiken.
32 B’hoys of Yale. By J. D. Vose.
33 Overland Hit. By A. W. Aiken.
34 Recky Mountain Rob. By Aiken.
35 Kentuck, the Sport. By Aiken.
36 Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken.
37 Hit-1, the Hunchback; OR, THE
SwosmtAImR or THE SANTEE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
38 Velvet Hand. By A. W. Aiken.
39 The Russian Spy. By Whittaker.
40 The Lon Haired 'Pards:' 0R,
TEE TARTARE or THE me. By Jos. E. BadgerJr.
41 Gold Dan. By Albert W. Aiken.
42 California Detective. By AiLen.
43 DakotaDan. By 011 Coomes.
44 Old Dan Rackback. Oll Coomes.
45 Old Bull’s Eye. JOs. E. Badger, Jr.
46 Bowie-Knife Ben. By OllCoomes.
47 Pacific Pete. By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
48 Idaho Tom. By Oll Coomes.
49 TheWolfDemon. By A. W. Aiken.
50 Jack Rabbit. By J. E. Badger, Jr.
51 Red Rob. By Oil Coomes.
52 Death Trailer. By Buffalo Bill.
53 Silver Sam. By Col. Dells Sara.
54 Always on Hand. By P. S. Warne.
55 The Scalp Hunters. -Mayne Reid.
56 The Indian Maseppa. By Aiken.
57 The Silent Hunter. P. B. St. John.
58 Silver Knife. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
59 The Man From Texas. By Aiken.
60 Wide Awake. By Frank Dumont.
61 Captain Seawaif. By Ned Buntline.
62 Loyal Heart. By Gustave Aimnrd.
63 The Win ed Whale. By Aiken.

By Buckskin Sam.

64 Double- t, the Death Shot. '
By Joso h E. Badger, r.

65 The Red Ra ah. By F. Whittaker.

66 The ue. Mayne Reid.

67 The Boy Jock . By J. E. Badger.

68 The F hting rapper: or, KIT

CARsON TO THE news. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams
69 The Irish Ca tain. . By Whittaker.
70 Hydrabad. y Dr. J. H. Robinson.
71 Captain Cool-Blade. J. E. Badger.
72 The Phantom Hand. By Aiken.
73 The Knight of the Red Cross:

or. TEE MAGICIAN or GRANADA. Dr. J. H. Robinson.
74 Captain of the Rifles. Mayne Reid.
75 Gentleman Geor e. By Aiken.
76 The Queen's usketeer : or,

THIsnE. THE PRINCESS PALEIsT. By George Albouy.
77 The Fresh of Frisco. By Aiken.
78 The Mysterious Spy. By Grainger
79 Joe Phenix. POLICE SPY. By Aiken.

’ 80 A Man of Nerve. By P. S. Warne.

81 The Human Tiger. By Aiken.

82 Iron Wrist. the Swordmaster.
By (30]. Thomas H. Monastery.

 

  :  I’Sll 4 11.11 M sv

, ._._..___——___.

 it i ii“? A...

1..

 

 

83 Gold Bullet Sport. By Buffalo Bill.
84 Hunted Down. By A. W. Aiken.
85 The Cretan Rover. By Ingraham.
86 The Bi Hunter: or. THE QUEEN

OF THE WOODS. y the author of “ Silent Htmter."
87 The Scarlet Captain. Dolle Sara.
88 Big George. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
89 The Pirate Prince. By Ingraham.
«90 Wild Will. By Buckskin Sum.

91 The Winning Oar. By Aiken.

92 Bufi'alo Bill. By Dangerfield Burr.
93 Captain Dick Talbot. By Aiken.
94 Freelance, By Col. P. Ingmhnm.
95 Azhort, 'l‘IIE AXMAN. By A. P. Morris.
96 Double-Death. By F. Whittaker.
97 Bronze Jack. By A. 'W. Aiken.
98 The Rock Rider. By Whittaker.
99 The Giant Rifleman. Oll Coomes
100 The French Spy. By A. P. Morris.
101 The Man from New York: or,

THE ROMANCE or A RICH YOUNG WOMAN. By Aiken.
102 The Masked Band. Goe. L. Aiken
103 Merle, the Mutineer. Ingraham.
104 Montezuma. the Merciless; or.

THE EAGLE AND THE SERPENT. By Col. P. Ingraham.
105 Dan Brown of Denver, THE

ROCKY MOUNTAIN DETECTIVE. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
106 Shamus O'Brien. Col. Delle Sara.
107 Richard Talbot of Cinnabar;

or, THE BROTHERS or THE RED HAND. B A.W. Aiken.
108 The Duke of Diamon s; or. THE

FLOWER or CALCU'I'rA. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
109 Captain K (1. By Col. lngraham.
1 10 The Silent ifleman. By Herbert.
1 1 1 The Smu ler Captain; or, THE

SKIPPER'S CRIME. By
112 Joe Phenix, PRIVATE DETECTIVE;

or, THE LEAGUE or THE SKELETON KEYS. By Aiken.
113 The Sea Slipper; or, THE AMA-

TEUR FREEBOOTEKS. By Prof. J. H. Ingmham.
114 The Gentleman m Pike; or,

THE GHOST or THE CANYON. By Philip S. Warns.
115 The Severed Head. Whittaker.
1 16 Black Plume. B‘y Col. Ingraham.
1 17 Dashing Dandy. By Major Burr.
118 The Bur lar Captain; or, THE

FALLEN STAR. By Pro . J. H. ingraham.

119 Alabama Joe, By J. E. Badger.
120 The Texans y. By N. M. Curtis.
121 The Sea C et. By Ingraham.
122 Saul Sabberday. Ned Euntline.
128 Alapaha. the Squaw: (.r, THE

RENEGADEs or THE BORDER. By Francis Johnson.
124 Assowaum. the Aven er: or,

THE Doou on THE Dnmnns. By Franc Johnson.
125 The Blacksmith Outlaw; or,

MERRY ENGLAND. By Harrison Ainsworth.

126 The Demon Duelist. By Monstery.
127 Sol Scott. THE MAstD MINER; or,

DAN BROWN‘s DOUBLE. By Joseph E. Badger.
128 The Chevalier Corsair; or, TIIE

HERITAGE or HATRED. B the author of “Merle.”
129 Mississip i ose. By Ed.Willett.
1‘80 Captain Wolcano. By Aiken.
131 Buckskin Sam. By Col. Ingraham.
132 Nemo, King of the Tram s: or,

THE ROMANY GIRL‘s VENGEANCE. By Whit aker.

Ro . Rover. By W. Carleton.
134 Dar 9 Dan. By Col. IngrahaIn.
135 The Bush Ra r. By Johnson.
136 The Outlaw- unter. Johnson.
137 Long Board. By Oll Coomes.
138 The Border Bandits. Johnson.
139 Fire-Eye. THE SEA HYENA; or,
THE BRIDE or A BUCCANEER. By Col. 1’. Ingraham.

140 The Three Spaniards. By

George Walker.

141 Equinox Tom. By J. E. Badger.

142 Captain Crimson, THE MAN or TIIE
IRON FACE. By Major'Imngvrfleld Burr.

143 The Czar's Spy. By Monster-y.

1 44 The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.
By Victor Hugo.

145 Pistol Pards. By W. R. Eyster.

146 The Doctor Detective; or, THE
MYSTERY or THE GOLDEN CornN. By Geo. Lemuel.

147 Gold Spur. ‘By Col. P. Ingraham.

148 One-Armed Alf. By 011 Coomes.

149 The Border Rifles. By Aimard.

150 El Rubia Bravo. KING OF THE
SWORnstN. By Cal. Thomas Hoyer Monstery.

5 The Freebooters. By Aimard.

152 Captain Ironnerve. THE COUN-

TEREEITER CIIIEII'. By Marmaduke Dey.

153 The White Scalper. By Aimard.

154 Joaquin, THE SADDLE KING. By
Joseph E. Badger, JI'.

J01: PHENIX‘H GREAT MAN HUNT.

ed Buntline. 9.

 

155*he Corsair Queen. Ingraham.
156 Velvet Face. By Major Burr.
157'. Mourad. THE MAMELUKE.
Col. Thomas Ho er Monster . ‘
he oomed oxen. Dr. POWell.
159'Red Rudiger. By F. Whittaker.
, 160 Soft Hand. Shag). By Eyster.
161 The Wolves of ew York: or,
By A. W. Aiken-
2 The Mad Mariner: or, DISHON-
ORED AND 'DISUWNICD. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
163 Ben Brion, THE TRAPPER CAP-
TAIN. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
164 The King’s Fool. By C. D. Clark.
165 Joaquin, the Terrible. Badger.
166 Owlet, the Robber Prince; or,
THE UNKNOWN H InHWAruAN. By Septimus R.Urban.
167 The Man of Steel. A. P. Morris.
168 Wild Bill, TEE PISTOL DEAD SHOT.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.
169 Corpo Cannon. THE MAN or
FORTY DUELS. By Colonel Thomas Hoyer Monster
170 Sweet William, THE TRAPPER
DETECTIVE. By Jose h E. Badger, Jr.
171 Tiger ick, THE MAN or THE
IRON HEART. B Phili S. Warns.
172 The lack) Pirate. By Ingraham.
173 California John. By A.“’. Aiken.
174 Phantom Kni hts. By Whittaker.
175 Wild Bill’s rump Card. By
Ma'or Dangerfield Burr.
1 Jaguar, THE ROBEER QUEEN.
By Captain Mark Wilton.
177 Don Diablo, THE
BAIR. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.
178 Dark Dashwood. By Major Hall.
179 Conrad. the Convict; or. WAS
HE GI'ILTY? By Prof. Stewart Gildersleeve, LL.D.
180 Old ’49. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr.
181 The Scarlet Schooner: or, THE
NEMESIB OF THE SEA. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
182 Hands U 2 By Wm. R. Eyster.
183 Gilbert, e Guide. C. D. Clark.
184 The Ocean Vampire; or, THE
HEIREss or CASTLE CURSE. By ('01. P. Ingraham.
Man r. By A. P. Morris.
186 The quck Bravo. Buckskin Sam.
187 The Death’s Head Cuirassiers:
or BRAVE or Au. BRAVES. By Ca t. Fred.Whitta.keI-.
“188 The Phantom zeppa. By
M or Dan rfleld Burr.
89 ild Bill’s Gold Trail: or, THE
DEerRADo DozEN. By 00]. Prentiss Ingraham.
190 The Three ardsmen. By
Alexandre Dumas.
191 The Terrible Tonkaway:
OLD ROCKY AND HIS PARDs. B§Buckskin Sam.
192 The Lightning port; or, THE
BAD MEN or SLAUGHTER BAR. By Wm. R. Eyster.
193 The Man in Red. By F.Whittaker.
194 Don Sombrero, THE CALIFORNIA
ROAD GENT. By Captain Mark Wilton.
195 The Lone Star Gambler: or,
THE MAID on THE MAGNOLIAs. By Buckskin Sam.
La Marmoset, THE DETECTIVE
QUEEN. B Albert. W. Aiken.
1 volver Rob. THE RED HANDED;
By Joseph E. Ba er, Jr.
198 The S eleton Schooner. By
Col. Prentiss lngraham.
199 Diamond Dick, THE DANDY FROM
DENVER. By Buckskin Sam.
200 The Rifle Rangers.
Mayne Reid.
201 The Pirate of the Pincers; or,
JOAQIIIN‘S DEATH-HUNT. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
202 Cactus Jack. THE GIANT GUIDE;

By

PLANTER-COR-

or,

By Capt.

or, Tm: MAsRED ROERERs or BLACK BEND. By
Cnpluiii MIer Wilton.
208 The Double Detective. By Al~

bert W. Aiken.

204 Big Foot Wallace, THE KING or
THE LARIAT; or. WILD WOLF, THE WAco. By Buck—
skinSmn.

205 The Gambler Pirate. By Col.
Prentiss Ingraham.

206 One Eye, the Cannoneer: or,
MARSHALL NEY's LAST LEGACY. By Capt. Frederick
Whittaker.

207 Old Hard Head: or, WHIRLWIND
AND His MILK-WHITE MARE. By Philip S. Warne.

206 The White Chief. By Captain
Mayne Reid.

A new issue every week.

Bondlo’s Dime Library is for sale by] all
N . 'gd .310”, um cents per copy. or sent by Inn on
ri-(o‘iti )t‘ of twelve cents each. l-H‘IADLE &' ADAMS,
Pub hers, 98 William Street. New York.