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\\ T51 \  ‘  0R.
\ ' \    1/ Sentenced by His Own Father.

 
 

A Story of the Life Secret of I ‘~
New York Judge.

 

 

BY WM. H. MANNING,
AUTHOR OF “OLD DUI BLEDARK." “DANGER-
oL's DAVE." " DARK Jmm," " PARADISE
SAM," no, 210.. ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
A LIFE AT STAKE.

Tm: man of law drew a deep breath and look-
ed pityingly at the drooping figure before him.

“1 will be frank with you," he said, “and
confess that it is H very doubtful case.”

“And you think Homer Curtis will be con-
Vifitmir’

“ I did not admit that, but—"
“TUE meow) JuuoE‘s WIFE HAS romp THE PROOF or DISGRACEI" DETECTIVE “Convictol! Convictvdof murder! Obljult

cLAxmx MURMUBEDI Heaven! is there no reliI-[e Umvicted of mur-

   

 

  

 

 

\

‘1“;

a
O

‘ his life.

    

I

, cause he not only

' Detective Claxton.

 

 

der, and then— Ohi I shall go mad if this
thing happens!”

The scene was in the office of Albert Pollard,
nttorney-at-law, and it was one which moved
him deeply in spite of his long ex rience with
crime, prosecution and sorrow. e was a pros-
perous man. with a good practice and the air
and dress which usually go with such things.
The person before him had none of these world-

. ly marks.

She was a girl of something like twenty years.
Nature had gifted her rarely as to face and
figure, but it was clear she was not of even the
middle rank of life, as far as the power of
money went. She was neatly, cleanly and de-
cently dressed, but her attire was cheap and
plain. Lack of worldly means showed in all
ways, and her present air of dejection did not
add to her appearance in any but a melancholy

wa . -

'lihe lawyer tried anew to cheer her.

“ Do not yet give‘ up hope,” he advised.

“ But you offer none.” '

“ I have deemed it my duty to be frank—”

" I thank you for it. I asked you to give your
candid Opinion, and you have been ood enough
to do so. Better that than to have t e end come
upon me suddenly, when I was not in condition
to bear it as well as now. Still lam not and
never can be prepared’to accept the truth. No
hope! Merciful Heaven! what does that not
mean to mel”

She clasped her hands and stared at vacancy
with eyes that saw nothing in the room. They
saw only a man in a prison-cell. held under
char of murder.

“ iss Wolf,” urEed the lawyer, “ the end is
not yet. If Homer urtis is brought in guilty
we shall appeal to a higher court.”

“ Appeals are not always of any use.”

H‘True!”

“ Is there any hope from Judge Hallowelli”

“He is only a figure-head of justice. The
jury decides the matter. If it says ‘ Not guilty,’
the judge has no choice but to pronounce sen-
tence.”

“ If we could only do something!”

‘Pollard winced under the remark. He had
already done ‘something’—much, all that hu-
man lngenuitg could sug est to him. Then he
thought of t is girl’s rose, and his brow
cleared. _

“ We will do our utmnst’,” he assured.‘

“ ltis so hard' so hardl ,

“ Poor child! i understand l” -

“Obi how can I bear iti—how can If He is
innocentl—you and I know that; as innocent as
you and I are, MrJPollard.”

“ I believe it, but the proof—"

" HOW can we get itl—hOWi”

"I know not,” Pollard confessed.

“ The web of circumstantial evidence hems
him in. On! was there anything more cruelly
unjust in the world than this same circum-
stantial evidence? To tr a man on what no-
body knows; to depriveh m of life just because
certain occurrences are against himl What is a
human lifei-‘What is it that it should be taken
so thoughtlesslyi Cruel; cruel. indeed, is the
curse of circumstantial evidence l”

She wrung her hands and grew soexcited that
the lawyer became uneasy.

“Rimember,” be r nested, " that the verdict
is not yet rendered. ho knows what may not
hop n in our behal l Juries often give unex-
pecte- verdicts, an we may yet soc victory
perchin on our banner. Be of good courage
until al hope is gone.”

Mary Wolf hed. Well did she understand
how i ttle to heeded the encouragement

was.
, “ If only the real slayer could be found!" she

murmured presently.
- “ He mdy be,” guardedly answered the law-
7

er.

“ Homer Curtis would harm no man. I know
him too well to think that for a, moment. 0h!
air, it will break my heart if this thing be not

stopped.

Albert Pollard moved uneasily. He had a
sympathetic nature, which all the rough shocks
of his professional life had not driven away,
and rarely had he been moved more than by the
distress of this oung Woman. She was the
afliancod wife of he man under chargeof mur-
der, and her devotion was touching. He felt
her situation keenly and all the more so be—
.lieved his client innocent,
but because he had conceived a genuine respect
for the unfortunate man who was on trial for

This talk in the office was one useless in all
ways, and the fact was so impressed upon Mary's
nuiind that she did not long take up the lawyer’s

me.

She arose and went out into the air, and from
the office went to her home at once.

The city of New York has man curious
dwellers, and virtue and vice ban in hand
among the vast army which ives within the
limits of the town. In Mary’s homo there was a
curious mingligg of many things. If vice was
there she di n furnish it, but this oculd notbe

said with any degree‘of confidence of the only
other member of the househ id.
Tim-e, who knew her as he daughter of Ben

 

Wolf marveled at the difference between the
two, and there was cause for it.

She was refined, lady-like and good-hearted.
Ben was a grim, rough, unlettered, surly fellow
who had no friends, even among those as rough
as be. He called himself a ’longshoreman, but,
though he owned a boat and often went out in
it, he had never been known to do work at his
alleged calling. It was generally understood
that he picked up odd jobs around the piers, but
there Were those who hinted that Ben’s mode of
living would not hear the scrutiny of law.

He had a sobriquet by which he was universally
known—that of liriny Ben. To this was often
added that of ‘f the Water Wolf.”

The two lived in a rude old house close to the
North River piers; so close that the panorama of
the great stream was always before their gaze if
they saw fit to look. There they had lived for
many years, while Mary grew to womanhood
and, to the wonder of all who knew her, became
the woman she was.

To this house she now went. It was not the
home-coming that many girls would have had,
for she never had known what it was to feel the
love and sympathy of a parent—of these things
Ben Wolf had no supply.

She admitted herself with her own key and
went to the family room. There she had a sur-
prise. She had expected to find no one but her
father, and perhaps not him. He was not
present, but in his place was a woman she had
never seen before.

The latter had an easy-chair and was makin
herself at home. She did not rise, but set an
looked at Mary with calm unconcern.

She was not pleasant to look upon. She had
a face where nature’s passions seemed to have
strug led unchecked for many years, and a form
solan and bony that her flesh appeared an in-
sufficient preventive to the danger of the bones
prickigg through.

Soil and tattered of dress and evil of face,
she was not one whom Mary could feel glad-to

meet there. The latter felt obliged to say some;

thing, and did it as graciously as possible. '

“Good-evoningi Were you waiting for my
father?”

“ I may be, and i may be not.”

It was a replv as surly as Ben Wolf could
have made, and Mary was, not more favorably,

impressed.
‘ I resume you have some busineml"
It ayhe'" '

“ I don’t understand. ’

“ I didn’t expect vou would.” -

Mary looked puzzled and uncertain, and then
the visitor broke into a harsh laugh.

“Don’t be alarmed,” she responded. “I am
not insane, and you can take our eyes of!
from me without fear that Ish 1 eat you up.
Since I suppose you are entitled to some ex-

lauation will say I have been here with Ben

olf. H's is out temporarily, but will soon re-
turn. I am not sure I need to wait for him,
though.”

The last idea was evidently a sudden one, and
the woman seemed to find it worthy of more
than assing nttentlon. She abruptly rose.

“ I’ i go,” she announced.

Mary did not urge .her to remain, and she
went out without more ceremony, taking ‘long
steps which would have donepredit to a man, as
far as length was concerned.

Mary gazed after her curiously.

“A uliar person. I am not sure she is
sane if she did take the trouble to tell me she
was.”

It was all the notice she gave the visitor, then,
for she could not long forget the more serious
thoughts she had in mind.

Ben Weif soon came in.

He was a man of about fifty ears, and a good

men of the athlete. Muse e lurked in every
stretch of his big frame, and it was clear he
would have been a very bad foe to meet in com-
bat. His ponderous body had no unnecessary
flesh, and he moved with the strength of
an ox.

His face was bad to an extreme. It was
coarse and low, with marks which an honest life
never would have left there. Brute though the
animal was which hein One way resembled. no
0: ever had so much to repulse the beholder
as did Ben Wolf in his deeply-lined counten-
ance. I
He gave Mary a surly look and then sat down
in silence. It was not the fashion for father
and daughter to greet each other inlany way on
such occasions— dry had lehrned by experience

that he would not answer her—so she said no?

thing now.

She was thinking of Homer Curtis. and five
minutes passed in this way. Suddenly Ben
“9614?”? l n i yOur

at no es s crawlin throu h
head, now i" g g

The address was not unusual. It brought no

my)???“ ” h lied ‘

'aer sere .‘ouknowI
you about Mr. Cortisol” y tom

“I know you did," he retorted, sharply.
“ What did Isayl”

“Nothing.” ,

“That’s right. I said nothin' because I had
Jest uothin’ter say.\..[ have the same ter say

 

L

now. I don’t want ter hear any thing about your
Mr. Curtis. Ben is a good enmigh name for
me; no frills about it, and no airs. Set i”

“ Did he ever do you any harm—”

“ He? Wal, I should say not! D’ye shone he
could, of he tried ever so hard? Takes more than
such a counter-jumper ter harm old Ben Wolf.
Drop him, though; drop him i"

Mary sighed and obeyed.

“ You have had company, father,” she ob-
serVed. presently.

“ Wal, I don’t pay any tax fer it,”

The remark was ungracious. but not so much so
as usual. Ben seemed to find the fact rather
pleasant, and had a sly look of content on his
face as if he look much secret pie asure in having
bade. lady visitor, evrn if the kind made the
term a misnomer in reality. I

“ W ho is as she?” ,

“ W ho? Wal, ef 1’s ter tell ye on would know,
wouldn’t you? But ef ye don’t now, it nay be
because I won’t tell.”

The Water Wolf chuckled; something tery
remarkable in his surly career.

“She was a stranger to me; that's all,” an-
swaed Mary, with genuine indifference.

“ Yes, I a pose so.

Mary did not pursue the subject further, and
Ben let it rest. It might have been i'(-1g( tten
ly Mary had it not been for something which
followed. Ben put on his hat and Went out.
Mary, left alone, busied henelf with her usual
duties. ‘

She was thus engaged when she chanced to no-
ticeapaper under the chair where the old woman
had. sat. It was an ordinary-looking leper, and
she picked it up because it was (fl'ensive to the
eye of a neat housekeeper.

Looking to see what it was before she threw
it away she shpped short. There was writing
on it, and she caught sight of a familiar name.

It was that of. Homer Curtis. .

Looking further her curiosity was still more
aroused. The record, entire, was as follows:

“ Homer Curtis, born June 1901, 18—.”

Truly, it was um xpecled. She had never seen
the paper before, and was sure it tad not been
brought info the in use i ‘Lerwli or any of her
friends. Howrthen, lad ll «cme there?

Ben Wolf had from the first professed entire
indifference to ihe peril of the second man, and
as he lied never EC! n Hcmer more than two or
three times, and had spoken to him but once, it
was not to to sui posed he would have the inter-
est to record enytbu g al-out Bomer, even‘if he
had the information necessary to do it. ,

But the paper u s time, and it puzzled Mary
not a little. '

“ It seems imp¢ ssible that He old women could
have droppeu it,” the girl 0 ured. " but how else
could it have m me here? It must have been she,
yet what docs she know al cut Hon er?”

Another thing inmresud Mr as strange.
Whoever had n ads the record had made it
right as to the birth-date of the young man-—
something exceedingly cdd, if it red C: n e from
any source but his can hand. The episode was
striking, and when the flirt surprise was over
Mar began, naturally, to build upon it.

“ f the woman knows SD n uch about him,
may she not know mete? is it possible that she
may bdsble to do something to lighten the shadow
of our lives! I must see ler if it be possible. I’ll
ask my father more about her, and try to learn
wl'i‘etre age lives.” ‘

e c ance was not allowed her that of ht,

Ben Wolf did not «me home wh e she
sat up, and at a lute hour the retired, thou b
not to sleep until tired Nature absolutely e-
manded something of her nearied out brain and

mg.

er thoughts were always on one subject:

I,nul’1lghi‘s‘t’ could she do for the man accused
8

 

CHAPTER II.
ran mars vnamcr.

Tm: courtroom has filled with people mow-d,
according to the degree of their interest, by
painful anxiety, passin curiosity, or the bore.
dom of an id 9 ife. The jrry use out in the
case of the People versus Homer Curtis.

When they returned it would be to pronounce
the prisoner guilty or not guilty. and bll very
existence hung suspended in the balance.

He bore up well under the sue nee. He had
an air, too, which made him riends. There
was no bravado in his wai of waiting, but it

the composure w ich told of stron
nerv'es and—did it also indicate a conscience a
case

No one could tell that but himself.

Mary Wolf was in the court-room, asilent but
vitally-interested spectator. How her heart beat
with the a ony of the suspense! How her own
life, and , seemed at state. then.

Would the waiting ever end!

To old campaigners in the arena of the law
the end was not in doubt. It was regarded as
certain that the verdi t would be .egainst the

risoner, and t at be old die under the heavy
eel of circuins ntial evidence—the disgrace of x
modern civilization- ~

 

 

   

 

 

 

: ’{Det‘ective marten.

 

 

Viewed from the point of such evidence, the
web was strong.

It had been told that Homer Curtis and Morris
Strong had been partners in business under the
firm name of Curtis & Strong, and that until
shortly before the murder they had tosll ap-
pearances been on good terms. But there was
ample proof that this good will had been broken.

The evidence submitted ran after this fashion:

Morris Heath, a patrolman, testified that on
the evening of the murder he was on duty along
his beat on West street. He heard a revolver-
shot on one of the piers, and, going to investi-
gate, found the lifeless, but still warm, body of
a man there who was subsequently proved to be
Morris Strong. '

Near the body he had found a revolver, which
Was duly preserved and produced in court.

Timothy Keeler, a ’longshoreman, who had
been nearer the scene when the shot was fired,
testified that he had looked that way immedi-
ately after the report and had seen a man hur-
riedly searching for something, it seemed, on the
pier. This man had run away almost at once.

James Briggs, a clerk in the establishment of
Curtis & Strong, testified to a quarrel between
the partners, and-was supported in this respect
by other clerks: but none could say what the
trouble was about. ’

Angry words had posed between the two in
the private office, and it had been current talk
during the day that Curtis had threatened his
partner, though no one could say in what way,
or for what reason.

Moses Silbersky testified that on the day of
the quarrel he had sold a revolver to a man
whom be identified as Homer Curtis, and the
revolver he idbntified as the one found by the
body of Strong after the latter was found dead.

Arthur Stevens, office boy With the partners,
testified to moving Curtis‘s OVercoat, while the
owner was temporarily absent from the office,
and that a revolver had then fallen from the
pocket of the garment! He replaced it.

He identified the weapon found by Strong’s
body as the same he had seen in Curtis’s coat.

P. A. Dunne, police sergeant, testified that
two hours before the murder Stron had come
to the precinct station-house and to d him that
he had discovered that his partner, Curtis, had
been receiving stolen goods and selling them
over their counters.

He would not be party to such dishonesty,
audhad duly given information tothe authori-
ties as seen.

Upon this evidence the Government built
their case. claiming that Curtis had been dis-
honest and a receiver of stolen goods; that
Strong had learned of the fact and quarreled
with Curtis; that the latter had threatened
him‘ if he was expand; that Curtis then went
‘to the pawnbroker’s and bought the revolver;
that he met Strong on the pier lg engage-
ment or accident, or. decayed im ere, and
that he then shot Strong, his object being to
hide the former crime-that of, selling stolen

code.
3 If there had been any reluctance of the prose-
cution to go into court‘with‘the evide s it
w0uld have been dispelled by the fat th t, at
the last moment, they found three reliable men
who swore they had seen Curtis and Strong to-
gethernear the scene of the tragedy, a few
moments before the occurrence, and that both
men had been angry and had indulged in talk in
keeping with their m00d.

What was said none could tell, but they had
the impression it was about business matters,
and Curtis had been heard tosay plainly to his

com niou:

“ fifyou take this step I will make you repent
it to the day of your death l ’

They then went may together, Half an
hour later Strong was dead.

The defense could not deny _auy of the testi.
mony introduced. but if Comm was cor.
rect its features were to be ex in a way
which changed the aspect of all.

He admitted the quarrel with Strong, but
avowed that it was Strong, not him-elf, who
had’been introducing stolen goods into the store,
and that the‘vtrouble ensued when he learned of
the fact and accused Strong.

He admitted buying the revolver, but ex.

Iaiued that fact by alleging that it was done so
:6 could hide in the store by night and entrap
the brin ers of the illegal goods, Strong having
denied h s guilt. ’

As to the threats, he admitted he had declared
his purpose to divulge all he knew.

He admitted having been in Strong’s companv

the evening of the murder, and that thev had"

high words, but claimed he had left his partner
in good health and then gone tothe store add
passed the. night there, watching for intruders
as launed. ,

‘ e claimed, too, that when he reached the
store the revolver was gone from his pocket.
and that be supposed he had lost it, or that it
had been stolen from his pocket.

He could not prove an alibi because he Was
alone in the store. -

It was the claim of the defense that Strong
really had been the dishonest artner, and that
his motive in going to the po ice sergeant was
simply that of sel preservation; that be had

I

 

meanly resolved to make Curtis suffer instead of
taking the blame, himself, for handling the
stolen goods. _

It was their claim, too, that after Strong and
Curtis parted, the evening of the murder, the
former had gone to the pier and there met the
man who was the real assassin. Who this was
they did not pretend to know. Possibly it was
some stranger who had stolen or found Curtis’s
revolver, and then dogged Strong and killed him
for gain.

Such, in a general way, was the evidence the
jury had to sift, and it was the opinion of all
that the defense had but a poor case, with the
king, Circumstantial Evidence, at the front to

l
l
e
l
i

rule the hour and decide the fate of a human ,-

: flesh though he was.
When the jury flied out the spectators waited j

with what patience they could for the decision

being. 4

of the twelve.

Mary Wolf wasso nervous and weak she could
hardly keep any degree of outward composure,
or bear up under the strain.

Lawyer Pollard tried in vain to comfort her.

For the most part she ke t her own gaze on
the face of the judge, for, espite Pollard’sas-
sertion that the learned entleman on the bench
was only a “figure-hes ," she could not help
looking upon him as a most important factor in
the case.

This man was Otis Hallowell.

He had been an able attorney, himself; so
able that it was common talk that he had reach-
ed the bench without any of the political influence
which, unfortunately, makes so many of the
judges of New York.

As a jud e be had always been deemed learn-
ed, just an im rtial, but never in the least
sympathetic. 0 case had ever been before
him where he had been outwardly moved by
the sorr0ws of the accused. He had given all a
fair chance, but pity—that he eschewed, it
seemed.

He was of middle age, and one of unusual
happy gifts from Nature.

Tall and Well formed, he had a figure of fine
symmetry and strength. He had taken on the

rtliness which usually comes of mature years,

at no undue flesh, so his carriage was impress-
iVe and worthy of admiration.

His face was of rare power. Broad and firm,
it possessed well-shaped features, and about all
that gees to make up manly good looks, but it
was essentially a face of power.

Men had been heard to say it was the face of a
soldier, so much did it expreu iron will and
strength, but this was only partially correct.
In a word, it was that of one Who was just what
Otis Hallowell was—a judge; a ruler‘ on the
bench; a man who sat over the destinies of
others on the seat of justice.

His gravity, dignity, and a sug estion of sev-
erity might, it seemed, have fitto' him for posi-
tion there in the days when more severity and
less justice was dealt out to offenders, but he
had never been accused of more than a lack of
sympathy.

He had sat in the case of Homer Curtiss as he
satin all others, unmoved by the struggle for
life, but if he was cold as ice, even his worst
enemies, or Curtis‘s most ardent sympathizars
could not say he had been lacking in judicial
fairness to the accused.

The lens: wait ended at last. There was a
hum of voices.

“ They are coming!"

It was the jury to whom the remarks referred,
and they did come into the court-room with slow
and ponderous steps. ‘

Eager] their faces were scanned to learn the
result 0 their deliberations before their lips
could tell it.

Judge Hallowell was the only person present
who exhibited absolutely no outward interest,
and he was in no haste to put the momentum
question. He did so at last:

“ Gentlemen of the jury, do‘ you find the pris-
oner guilty or not gui t

And the foreman rep led:

“ Guilty l”

Homer Curtis drew a deep, quick breath.

Then he turned his gaze upon Mary.

She had fainted and lay iii the arms of the
psndn nearest her, unconscious of all from the
moment that fatal word fell upon her hearing.

It was a mercy to her, but it left the prisoner
Vii“: the sensation of being wholly alone in-his
or s s.

Many curious eyes were upon him, but he did
not blanch. After that one sign—the quick in-
drawing of breath-nobody saw the least evi-
dence of emotion. Even is lawyer appeared
more disturbed than be. With eyes which
wavered not he faced the pie and, though
free from bravado and do auce, bore himself
with great calmness.

“ What iron nerves!” 1

It was the comment of a man who had seen
andreds of persons adjudged guilty at the

'0
Some preliminaries remained. Lawyer Pol-
lard gave notice of an intended upped. and
Judge Hallowell stated he would not pronounce
sentence for a few days.

Curtis spoke in Pollgrd:

‘4

to Mary. The jailers will care for me!” ,

 

CHAPTER Ill.
A CHIEF AMONG DETECTIVES.

IN a plain room in a small, dingy house on
Hudson street a man sat by a table, engaged in
smoking and thinking. What he thought about
it would have bevn hard to tell from his ex-
pression. Whether the subject was grave or
gay, his face told nothing.

He was of about fifty years. and time had
Used him well. True, he was somewhat lean of
flash, and might at first sight have been thought
a fit subject for coasuniption, but further sur-
vey would show a good color in his face 'aiid
ample muscle in his arms and shoulders. No in-
valid blood was there, but he Was of the grey-
hound order, and fit for any trial of life, zhin of

He were not the slightest sign of beard, and
his brown face was open to every change of ex-
pression. Yet, no change is as ever depicted
there. Long care had made him as much proof
against such thin s as a man of marble. '

His name was laxton.

His occupation was that of a detective.

Among many men he was known as Chief
Claxton, on account of the enviable podtion he
held in the ranks of detectives. He was con-
sidered a skillful, successful and wily hunter of
men; an exceptionally able and prominent mem-
ber of his profession; and from this came his
sobriquet——“ Chief” Claxton. To this was often
added the appellation of “ The Record-Breaker.”

A servant appeared to annouuCe a visitor.

“ Sh0w him in,” was the quiet direction.

The caller came. He was none other than
Albert Pollard, the lawyer.

The two had a speaking acquaintance, and
duly greeted each other, now, at once.

“ I have called on business, Mr. Claxton,” re-
marked Pollard. '

st  l" 1

“ Have you read of the Curtis murder trial!"

“ Somewhat.”

“ I was the counsel for the defense.”

“ Indeed l"

“ We lost.” ,

“ Yes?”

5" Unfortunately, we did. I did in but, but
the evidence was too strong. We ad to sue-
cumb, and my client was brou ht in uilty, and
to-day he was sentenced to be an at a date
too near at hand to give him a fee ing at all in
the line of comfort."

“I can well believe the last part.” \

Chief Claxton made the remark calmly and
seemed wholly unmoved. Pollard quickly
added:

“ I believe my client was innocent, sir.”

“ The jury seems to have differed with you.”

“ Unforturately, they did.”

"' Juries are v-erverse.”

“ Mr. Claxton, i am reluctant to see that
young man go out of the World so miserably,”
cried Pollard, with asiidden outburst. “ He is

not of the sort of which murderers are madeL

and I know it. Sir, he’s as‘ innocent as] am.
More than that. it must be proVen, and I am
here to engage you to do it!"

“ Are you not a bit late in coming? The
proper time would have been before-he was tried
and convicted.”

-“Another lawyer than I first had the case,
and though he did not retain his place more than
a week—he was taken ill—he had engaged a
detective of good repute and put him on the
case. This detective, continued with us to the
end, but learned nothing. New, I hava come to
you. I am well aware that it is a west du-
Eerate case, as far as the chances of success go.

ut you are wise enough ito see that if you take
a forlorn ho I do not expect everything from
you, while am wise enough to know you will
do your best.” ‘

" We will see. State the case.”

Chief Claxtou spoke quietly. He was un-
moved hy the things of life, be they big or little.

Having heard all he meditatod. l

“ If 1 were a searcher for fame,” he remark—
ed. at last, “ I should not take this case.”

“ You do not rd it as hopeful!"

“ Considering w t on and the other detec- 1

five have done, it sure is not promising.”
“ But you will try it%‘ ' ‘
“ If you wish.”
" i certainly dc.”

"it will do no harm for me to . I may
possibly happen on something others ve orer-
oe‘k $31” be r' '
mean on
“ At once.” y sin

“ Do it, air, and look to me for your pay.”
Half an hour later Pollard left the house and
walked away. His face bore a more satisfied
exglietgon. ,
on’t suppose there is ' any hope,” he
thousht. “but if sigbody can bring the truth
‘0 “gilt, it is Chief axtoni”
\

That same evening Judge Otis Halloweli sat
in ms private room enjoying his cigar. He was
contemplating a cartain matter with some in-
terest. It was not in connection with his om—
ciai duties. That day he had sentenced a young
man to be legally executed, but this was not a

 

rare thing in his career, and he hardly thought-

of the young man nines he saw him led away.

 

   
 

 

 

—.

4.-

Official hours over, he always
“shop,” and thought no more about it until he
re-entered the court-room the next day.

Now, he was thinking of a new house he was
to build, and he was as near enthusxastic as he
ever allowed himself to be.

While he was thus occupied the door of his
room opened.

He looked around in some surprise, for though
he was the father of a charming daughter and
the husband of a noble wife, he could not have
recalled a case where either had entered his
quarters without first rapping on the door.

He expected to see one of them, now, but
what he did see was very different.

A woman was there; a woman who was a
stranger to him, he thought; and one not a
member of his household. Moreover, she was
meauly dressed and none too clean, and a per-
son of most forbidding appearance. Had Mary
Wolf been there, she would have recognized the
same old woman who had come to the Wolf
house a few days before, but to Judge Hallo-
Well‘s mind nothing was convayed except that
a Very disagreeable person had in some way ob-
tained sheets: to his premises.

He rose in disgust.

“What are you doing here?" he demanded,
severely.

“ Visiting you!"

Calme answered the intruder, and she closed
the door with all the confidence in the world
that it was the beginning of a long interview.

" Why did the servants allow you to come
here unannounced i"

“ My dear sir, don’t blame the Mikes and
Bridget: They had nothing to do with it. I
had expected to have a skirmish with them, but
the grocer’s boy kindly left the d0or open at the
basement with the habit of his kind, and I walk-
ed. in.”

“ You can walk out!”

The judge made a move to ring the bell.

“ Stopl’

She spoke so commandineg that Hall0well in-
stinctive] paused. One moment he gazed;then
his face fl’ushed with the anger of being thus ad’
dressed in his own house.

“ By heavens!" he cried, “ You shall not es-

cape after confessing your unauthorised en-'-

trance. I will hand you over to the police—”

at stop!"

His hand was on the button, but she jerked it
away before he could ring.

“Summon your hirelings,” she added, in a
deep, menacing tons, “ and all of them shall
know of that first wife of yours who never
reigned in your house, and but briefly in your
heart!”

Judge Ha110well’s hand fell. No need then to
tell him not to ring—he had the verybsst of
reasons for not touching the bell.

His face had lost some of its iron self-
‘control, and he gazed at his campanion in a

stran

ge way.
“ I think you and I understand each other,”
she went on. “ If we do not, I can assure on
a few words will make all as sin as day. S all
We s of the first Mrs. Ha lowellf”

“ omen!” he exclaimed, “ you talk wildly.
I know not what you mean! ’

“ No?"

“ Assuredly, no.”

‘hgave you forgotten the first Mrs. Hallo-
we

“ What Mrs. Hallowell?”

:: lzour first wife); h d b t ‘

repostsrons! never a u one.

“ Otis, we might go on this way forever, and I
might let am lie to me until we grow dumb
with age; t I seenouse in it. Is it possible
you don't know me?”

“ Why should I?”

Closely be scanned her face, but saw nothing
familiar.

“ Because,” she slowly replied, “ I am Deborah
Paine!”

It was a common name, in many respects.
Otis Hallowell had sat in judgment when on the
bench with many a person before him who had
a more patrician cognomen, and never felt the
lee; interest in the name or the men, but the
humble combination of words, sborah Paine,
seemed to have special power.

At her assertion his eyes dilated and his firm
face lost its firmness. Something like dismay
was therein expressed, and he seamed almost to
devour her with his earnest regard.

“ Deborah Paine,” she repeated, mlmly.

“ Not the Deborah—"

“ The same one who was your mother-in-

law !”

J ridge Hallowell did not dispute it. He re-
cognised her, now, and the consternation on his
face proved what the recognition was.

“ fathought you dead," he finally muttered,
'88 yo ., -

“ You see I am not.”

“True.” .- ’ -
“for a son-in-law you don’t seem glad to see
me. .

Otis Hallowell was not one to lose his res-
nnoe of mind a great while over any in for-
tune, and he now rallied and suddenly confront-
ed the danger. He imagined the case to be one
of blackmail, in one sense, and believed he could

sunk th ‘

 

Detect've Claxton.

get rid of her by using due care and yielding to
her in a money way.

“ Why are you here?” he asked.

“ To tell you a bit of news.”

“ W hat is it?"

“ YOu to-day sentenced a man to be hanged.”

“ What of that?”

“ Nothing, except that he was your son I”

“My son? Preposterous!"

“ 1 repeat it; he i your son by your first mar-
riage. and you have this day sentenced your
own flesh and blood to the gallows!”

' CHAPTER IV.
OLD Dnnouau‘s REVELATION.

OTIS HALLOWELL felt emotions, as he stood
before Deborah Paine, of wnich he had thought
himself incapable. He would have regarded
the statement as absurd if any one else had
claimed to feel a “curdling” of the blood, yet
over him came a sensation as if his own arteries
had ceased be the rivers for the flow of the life-
fiuid, and with the feeling came a nameless
horror.

He found no words to answer, and Deborah
went on: "

“ Homer Curtis is the son of Salome Paine
and Otis Hallowell. Yes, most honored judge,
the young man you have this day sentenced to
the gallows in your judicial capacity is you own
son l”

“ Woman, you lie!” exclaimed Hallow-ell.

“ I fell the truth.”

“ The boy died.”

“ Prove it!”

“ Prove he did,notl"

H I can.”

“ I would trust you not; you would lie!”

“ Be calm l"

“Becalm? How can I, under the weight of
such a villainous assertion?”

“ You may be less calm later on.” I

“ I say it is false.”

“ And on say it because you wish it were so.
Judge alloweil, do you think I am. a fool?
Would I come to a man of fylour power, and
trust to the chances of getting to is I, if I could
not prove all I assert ?”

The judge felt fresh oppression upon him.

“ You say you can prove it-"

“ And I can.”

“ Bow!”

“ Learned judge, do you remember that when
your child was born you regarded it as peculiar
that he had inherited a certain birthmark of
yours? Do you remember you laughed about it,
and said it was like a novel? Do you remember
your many jokes about birthmarks—”

9‘ The mark! What was it?”

“ A mole-like disfiguration on your arm, and
reproduced in exact harmony on the arm of
your sou.‘ .

1“ Well, well! The proof—”

“ Look on the arm of Homer Curtis!”

“ He is not here."

“ You can oto him.”

“ What if don’t want to!”

“ It is nothing to me.”

“Even if it is there,” added the judge, grow-
ing stranger, “ why should I care?”

‘ You have sent your own. son to the gal-
lows I”

The assertion struck home to Hallowell. What
if it were true? hat if the man was his son,
after all?

“ Woman, why have you told me this?" be de-
manded.

“ First, because I thought it would worry

on; second] , because I am willing tobepaid
{or keeping t a secret.”

“ Ah! I thought the cloven hoof would showd”

” Paf! Do you suppose I could be other than

our foe, under any circumstances! Do you
know of an reason why I should come to you
as a friend Doa’t felicitats yourself on your

t brain in finding out my motive. Of course
the clovan hoof shows; I don’t claim angelic

wing: or crovIvns.;’ r,

' uppose re use to pay you

“ Then the world shall know the truth; it
shall know Curtis is your son. Ay, for! can

reduce roofs which will be most convincing,

foamed udge." .

“. If I pay, you will remain silent!”

H  /

“ What proof have I of the fact last named?"

“I am not one to kill the goose that lays the
golden egz.”

M 

“ Our interests will be the sam ." .

“ Doe: Curtis know of this sec ti”
H

“ Does he know of you i”

‘ “ No. He was reared apart from his ma-
ternal kindred, the same as was the case with
the eternal part thereof.”

“ should not make terms with you unless I
saw the young man’s arm and found the birth-
mark."

“ Well said. Go to him, look for the mark,
and if you find it not, I‘ll never ask a penny
of you, or worry you further.”

Jud e Hallowell, feeling fully himself once
more, as measuring his opponent. The result
was not satisfactory. He could not help bellev~

. " r i ‘

‘not by any means received in like spirit. Amper-
re

 

ing that Deborahwu telling the truth, and the '

knowledge did not reassure him. He had no
intention of yielding to her, however. He
would have scorned t e man in his position who
Would allow himself to be made the victim of
blackmail, and he, for one, was not disposed to
be a victim.

“ Suppose all this is true,” he went on, “ why
should I let you seek hush-money of me? I am
not willing to admit a murderer to the list of
my children, but if I once let you fasten your
grip on my throat, there is no knowing where
it will stop. As well scorch the serpent at
the start as any time. Why should I pay you
blackmail?”

“ The notoriety——”

“ Can be endhred.”

“ The world will say—”

“ Whatever it pleases.”

“ Your Social position—”

“ Will not be lost.”

“ Your resent wife and your daughter—"

“ Will Be safe under the shelter of my“
name.”

Otis Iinllowell was growing to be more like-
the judge on the bench. He met Deborah’s gaze
firmly, and his manner momentarily grew more
stern and icy.

“ It is not my fault if Curtis lost all sense of'
honor and became a candidate for the gallow,"
he coldly added. “That is his afiair. As for
me, my record is clean. Salome Payne was my
lawful wife. There is not even the error of youth
to brin up against me. Where do you find
ground gor blackmail?”

Deborah smiled. She would have been blind.
not to see that the judge intended to fight her,
and regarded the battle as won already. Now,
however, there was as much cOufidence in her
smile as in his cool firmness.

Old, ugly, misshapen and rly clad though
she was, it was clear that eborah Paine was
not a person of weak turn of mind. On the con—
trary, she united education and native intelli-
gence with steady nerve and unusual cunning.

Unmoved she made her repl :

“ I re udiate the term ‘ b ackmail,’ learned.
judge, at if on want to know on what
grounds I think I can enforce my claim to your
ge‘nelgosity, you shall hear.” '

“ The law allows a man but one wife, I be-
lievel”

“ I have but one.”

“ Are you sure?"

“ Certainly.” '

Again the woman smiled. ‘

“ Can you prove the death of Salome Paine
Hallowell?”

A shade of uneasiness floated across the judge's

ace.

“ W by do you ask such an absurd question i”

“ Sir, ’ pronounced Deborah, leaning forward,
“ my daughter Salome still lives!"

“ Absurd!" declared Hallowell, but the-
troubled look on his face deepened.

“ From the hour when she left your house,
over twenty t{eats 1:50, fyou have not seen her,
but where is e pro '0 her death—"

“ Where is the proof that she lives?"

“ In a house in this city where she is this mo-
:fnlg sitting, awaiting my return!” flashed De-

“ O

“ oman, how dare you assert such a thing i”

For the first time a touch of human feeling
was in his voice. No ion or was it the calm
judge who s kc, but the eart of a common
man, beset w th doubt and fear, echoed in every
inflection of his utterance.

Deborah made a gesture of disdain.

“ Words, idle words! Why will you deal with
them? You and I are both ractical persons, or'
ought to be. Give no h to my claims that
cannot be established by proof, but do not deny
what I say until you have tested my veracity.
If (you doubt that Salome lives, come with me-
an see. Believe nothing until Eroven; doubt
nothin until my falsity is establ hed. Salome
lives: can show herto you if you’ll go with,
me. Will on do it!"

Otis Ha! owell movad uneasily.

“ I believed I had proof of her death.”

“ But you were not sure of it, were you!”

He was silent.

“ Come with me and see,” she urged.

“ Just Heaven! do you assert this as a fact?”
saddlegly’,’ sharply, cried the judge. ,

ol ‘

 

“ Salome lives, and—”
“ Is your only legal wife!”
Coldly the words were spoken, but they were

spiraticn broke' out on the listener’s 1’
which was not called there by the tempergturglh‘}
the room. '
Slidaienlythe lbroke forth fiercely:
o no re ievr oul Woman 0 e ”
“Come and mi” y ’ y an 1
The judge had been standing. He now
wheeled and began to pace the room excitedly.
His usual composure was shaken to the utmost,
and he could not think with his customar readi-
ness. Deborah watched him with critic eyes—
with eyes which had no shade of pity.
Abrliligtly pausing, at last, he declared:
\‘ I y take you at your offer.”

\

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I. . g, ,r

Detective Claxton.

 

 

 

“You would be a fool to do otherwise. A
“indent man will take nothing for granted.

by should you? Come with me and see the
wife of your youth.”

Hallowell shivered.

“ Not to-night.”

“ ChOose your own time, only make it soon.”

" Whatare your Wishes, in the mean time! As
the mother of Salome you may have some claim
upon me, I admit. I will give you a small sum
of money—"

“ Not until you have seen Salome.”

H No?"

“ No! I will not trade on more assertiona.
You must see and be convinced fully. When
will you see your first wife—your only wife!"

CHAPTER V.
THE IRON WILL BENDS.

JUDGE HALLOWELL saw the need of well-con-
sidered action, and he did not refuse the chance
to guard against the future.

" Suppose I meet you at a given point to-
morrow night," he suggested. “ Let it be al-
most anywhere e’xcspt here or—or where you
say she is."

Deborah did not hesitate over her answer.

“ Very well,” she returned. “ Make the place
of meeting where you will. I care not."

“ Will the corner of Fifth avenue and Thir-
teenth street do?"

it Yes.”

“ And the hour—how about ten of the even-
jug?”

“ Very well.”

Deborah replied unhesitatingly, and her readi-
uess was not encouraging. To the mind of the
judge it indicated that she was sure of her hold,

and could afford to waive small details. She i
 had not one iota of the man of low life, and had

had all the ways of a victor sure of triumph.
“ Let it be so, then,” he added.
thergpore to say?"
. “ otbing.”
“ Can you leave here unseen!"
“ I ought to be able to do it, with your help.”
“ Let it be tried.”

“ Now, is

HallOWell was in a horror of fear lvst she 

should be seen and his interview with her dis-

covered, but in this particular he was not to be I

tried mentally. He managed to get her out of
the house without any one obo-rving them on
the way, and then, when she had gone down the
street, he returned to his private room. He
closed the door and locked it. He was alone-
alone with the new discoveries

in the center of the apartment he paused.

llis figure grew statue-like, and his gaze be-
came iixwl upon vucmcy. He looked, yet saw
nothing of what was before him. Instead, he
saw the present and the future-saw them, and
his blooi seemed cold in his veins.

“ Just Heaven!” he murmured. “ What is
this I havo encountered i—what curse has come
.upon me?” .‘

He pressed his hand to his brow. It was hard
to grasp all of the horrible truth.

“ Salome alive!” he added huskily; “ my first
wife still living? Then what is Mirabel?"

It was the name of the true Woman who had
.so long presided over his home, and the mother
of his daughter; the woman he had delighted to
introduce to all as his wife through the
many years he had been engaged in climbing to
his honored position in the legal profession.

“ What is Mirabeli" he pursued; “my God!
what?” '

A giroan broke from his hot lips. He saw his
dang ter and her mother as clearly as if they
Were then before him, and the sight was one of
horror. Good, refined, womanly and all that

' their sex could demand, they were dear to him;
dearer than he had ever suspected until that me- :

ment. Much of his sternness had gone into his
family life, though he had never been harsh or
thoughtless of their good, but at that time all
(h?! had been to him flashed upon him.

is heart was awakened, and with the awaken-
ing came feelings too deep for utterance.

“ If this be true,” he exclaimed, “ would to
Heaven I had died before they ever saw me!"

If it_-was true! Deborah was gone, and with
her gomg had gOne much of the influence her
candid way of speaking had aroused.

“ It cannot be true! Why should an old hand
like me be influenced by the tales of a miserable
old woman, which cannot be proven in an
way? Provenl Iwill not believe it!
Paine had; I know she did.
mantle to be true.

Deborah
All this is too ro-
She lied; she lied l”

He tried to convince himself of it b reitera- ,
tiou, but the task was not so easy as he would ‘

have had it. Deborah had refused totake any
money until she had established the truth of her

- claim. That was not the way of a falsifler. ‘

“Salome alivel What madness rules this
hour? What fiend, of discord and malice has
entered my happy life? Alivel It is false, and
I will prove it so. She cannot have survived—
no; nor the boy, either.”

His thoughts turned to Homer Curtis.

In the rush of events he had given but little
"thought, before, to the son he bad, if Deborah
was to be believed. Now, this matter had its

rt.
“ If he is what she claims. I have this day sen-
my own son to death l” '

The thought caused him to grow pale. Had
there been no other evidence he would not for a
moment have considered the remarkable possi-
bility that Homer Curtis could hold that rela-
tionship to him, but it came now with telling
force.

For some time be paced the room, meditating
at first with confusion and doubt, and with
but little method, but, presently, he grew
calmer.

“ If Salome lives, the boy may have survived,
too. All things are possible. Is there any evi-
dence in the young man to that effect?”

Deliberater he recalled the personal appear-
ance of Salome Paine, and compared each
peculiarity with the facial marks of Homer
Curtis. He had sat on the case with but little
of feeling for the prisoner, and had not re-
garded his looks as a more sympathetic judge
might have done. Now he had to recall each
feature b itself.

He fina ly shook his head.

“ I fail to see that he resembles Salome.
about myself?”

! It was a still more difficult question to answer,
' and he mide but little headway at it.

i “ About the only thing I can recall clearly is
i that he had remarkable nerve all through the
l

l

I

How

 

trial—”
He stn pod short. He had not gone thus far
through life without his own peculiarities having
1 been brought to his notice. He knew he bad
i the reputation of having an iron will, and the
I power to meet all the trials ‘of life with marble
calmness.

And now the fact that Homer Curtis bad
.so borne up under his awful trialsowell was
[ impressive.

'Ihe prisoner was educated and refined. He

, shown none of the bravado which the ignorant
l mistake for courage. Calmly he had sat through
| the trial, unmoved as to outward show by his
: peril, yet, like an intelligent man, keenly alive
L, to it in point of fact, of course.
' What a similarity to the iron judge!
Otis Hallowell recognized the duplicated
picture.
“ My God! what if it should be sol”
L After pondering awhile on the possibility he
i went to the glass and looked long and earnestly
. at the face there reflected. Was there aught
therein to remind him or any one else of Homer
& Curtis}?
i "Children usually look like one or the other
i arent. I see nothing, now, to prove the possi—
; Eility of the case. But Deborah bade me look
, for the birthmark. That is the true line for
, proof or disproof. It must beseen to,,but how 1”
Again he paced the room. He had great in-
. fluence at the Tombs, where Curtis was confined.
3 The warden owed him debts of gratitude on a
1 large and numerous scale. At a Word from him
.the warden would undoubtedly have examina-
[ tion made, but he dared not authorize such an
' examination.
It would, perhaps, put him in the power of
another person, or set of lpersons.
“‘ I, alone, can do it. ut how, and when?”
Again he thought. Finally he exclaimed:
“ There is no time like the present.”
He looked at the clock.
“.It is so late the Tombs .will be quiet, new,
1 and I think the warden will stillbe present. I’ll
} go down, anyhow.”
i He went to the closet and took out garments,
but not the elegant ones he usually wore. In-
. stead. be selected a very rough coat and a
, slouched hat—an outfit he had not worn since a
1 fall trip to the Adirondacks with gun and dogs,
some years before. -
Leaving the house he walked two blocks and
I then called a cab, engaged it and went on his
: way. He arrived at the Tombs without advon-
, ture, and was soon in the presence of the war-
den.
That official was very much surprised to see
him, but he was welcomed with the warmth
' and attention which the creature gives the
imaster. The warden had not forgotten that
political influence, with Hallowell at .the front,
ihad obtained for him his remunerativelposi-
i tion. °
I Neither had the judge.
i “ I’ve come on business, Mr. Warden,” he an-
i

y ‘ nouncedhat last.

“ I helped you once.” ‘
“ You did, judge. and I am very grateful—”
“ I want your help, now.”
“ Mine? Bless you, sir, I shall be glad to ve
’ it, if it will be any help, really. What can do,
‘ judge?" ,
2 “ I want to enter the cell of Homer Curtis, the
' condemned murderer.”
, “ You—do!” '
l The warden almost gasped the words,.so sur-
prised was be.
“ Yes. Is there any rule agiilnst it!”
“ Why, not. for you. judge, of coursel”'cried.
l the official, Without stopping to think what the
‘ rule really was in such cases. ,“Of course such
thin 5 don’t include you," be repeated.
“ an you get me in without any keeperor
watchman seeing me!"  ' .
“ Yes, sir." '

t “ Indeed, sir?"

 

,' . ., .  . W" Eli/5",. ‘9‘

“ Apd you will never let anybody know of my
visitl’

“ Never, sir; never!”

“ Do you think Curtis will be asleep?”

“ Probably. He never yet has failed to put
in a full night. Wonderful nerve that man
has, sir: wonderful!"

" Go and see if he really is asleep.”

“ Gliidly, judge.”

“ Mind you. not a word to any one i”

“ Not a whisper, sxr." .

The warden hastened away, and HaIIOWell
rose and slowly paced the room, his brow stern
and thoughtful.

“ I may miss it by making a confident of this
man, but he is a willing slave. now, and will be
as long as be can hold his : mce, orI be useful
to him in any way. It's all right, 1 think.”

The warden returned and rrported that Curtis
was asleep, and that the way was clear for the
judge to do Whatet er he wished. Hallowell
made known his plan.

“You Will please admit me to the cell, and
then you will retire to a certain point I will indi-
cate when we are in the murderers’ row. At
said point you Vs ill please stand and keep watch
until] «me out.” d n

“ All shall be done as ou say, ju ge.

“ Lead on l” y

They left the room and walked along the dis-
mal way to “ murderers’ row.” Hallowell shiv-
eied. He was developing remarkable sensibili-
ties and weakness for one of his old character,
but he was learning the lemon which many a
man had learned before him: that trouble dis-
solves tbe iron of the will and brings better, if
weaker, qualities to the front.

There was nobody to interfere with the plan,
and the warden soon paused by the door ofa
certain cell. He unlocked the door.

“ Go in l” he whispered.

Quietly Hallowell indicated the point where
his ally was to stand and wait, and then he took
thfi light and, himself. passed within the narrow
ce

On the bed a siiigle figure lay in motionless
oblivit n, the (lee breathin indicating slumber
so profound an healthlu that many a man
in his own home might have envied the sleep of
rest.

It was Homer Curtis.

of his face, and he paused to look.

It was one of manly good looks, and one of
power. too. The broad jaws told of will beyond
the common, and Hello“ ell could not help be-
ing impressed. He noted, too, the fine brow
and well-shaped features, and the conviction
might have dawned upon a less moved observer
that the face as a whcle was a fine one.

But Otis Hallowell searched no more. Was
there so ht in the face torrecall Salome Paine
or himse f? He could not tell, and though deep-
ly affected he gave it up suddenly as he remem~
bered tle more'important business.

The condemned man lay just right for the ex-
amination which the visitor wished to make.

The arm of interest was well upturned, and

if the prisoner did not awaken. Setting down
the light, Hallowell, made the attempt. He
pushed the sleeve of the garment back and
sought for the alleged mark.

The mark was there!

Clearly defined an the smooth, white skin,
the srught-for, but unwanted, brand of Nature
was revealed to the eager eyes.

Deborah’s claim was thus far proven true.

"Just Heaven!”

Otis Hallowell breathed the words in a sort
of panic. Over tWenty years had since
he had seen the birthmark on his infant son’s
arm, but its counterpart on his own person
had never vanished, and both were well remem-
bored.

“ It is true!” .

The great judge whispered the admission
huskily, and his eyes grew large and full of
acme-thing akin to térror.

“ He is my son, and it was I who sentenced
him to deat on the gallows!”

Great beads of perspiration stood on the

sleeper in mute error for several minutes.
Just then he thought of only one thing—that
he had sentenced his own son. \

It was an awful knowled .

The moments were on, at he stirred not.
IHis expression ’was fixed and marble-like—a
look of horror and dismay. Was it, indeed,
his own flesh and blood which lay there con.
demned to a violent and disgraceful death!
How the judge’s thoughts ran riot, then; how
be swept the whole horizon of past, present

th !

adid not stop to think that his marriage
with Salome Paine had been anything but happy,
for he was not callous enough to let such a con-
sideration weigh for a moment. '

If this unha py wretch was his son. his son he
was in spite o the allied powers of unhappineu,
discord and crime. .

Once he lowered his hand as it to touch the
brow of thesleoper but his own movement rs-
called him too of the situation

 

   

He lay where the judge had an excellent view’

the loose night-dress made it easy to get at it .

and future without obtaining clear view of any- '

speaker’s forehead and he gazed down at the ‘

at 

 

 

 

Detective Claxton.

n

 

  

the hour. Homer Curtis must not awaken and
find him there.

Sighing deeply be replaced the disturbed
night-robe, and then turned and walked from
the cell.

The warden came forward and relocked the
door without intruding his ideas or common place
upon the distinguished visitor. Then they went
back to the office. Hallowell faced his com-
panion, pale, but calm as ever.

“I am obliged for your help, sir,” said the
judge. “I wanted to satisfy myself on one
point. Kindly remember you are not to mention
this toaubody. Here is a slight gift for your
youngest child.”

He slip d a. generous sized bank-note into the
hand of t e warden, and his night’s labor was
over. He was soon in the cab and homeward
bound. ”

“ What now?” he muttered, gloomiiy. “I am
face to face With the fact that Deborah told the
truth. How does this place Curtis and myself——
how lace Mirabel and Alice? Just Heavenl
how 063 it place as all?"

 

CHAPTER VI.
AMONG RIVER-THIEVES.

Cums CLAXTON hui not been idle since he
was engaged to take up Homer Curtis’s case,
but when, after some days’ delay from the time
of the ending of the trial by jury, the prisoner
was brought up to be sentenced, the detective
could not say he had any explanation to offer
which would acquit him.

Cluxton had talked with the prisoner, himself,
and with all who were interested in the case,
but what he had learned had not helped toa
solution of the mystery.

He had looked closely into thepast life of
Morris Strong, the murdered partner.’ He had
found nothing there to give him asuggestion.
As far as was known, Strong had had no enemies.
He had been a devoted attender to business; in-
deed, he was a sort of fanatic on the subject, his
unusual devotion to such things urisin from an
inordinate love of money. He gavo a his time
tothe making of it, and saved what he made
with the zeal of a miser.

His penuriousness, bewever did not seem to
furnish any reason for his violent end, for he
never carried so much money about with him as
the maj irity of.men did.

Finding all hopes in that direction cut oil',
ghlilef dClaxton outlined his views to Lawyer

0 ar .~ i

“ Soinehodv received stolen property.”

“ Yes," Pollard admitted.

“ Goods were brought to the store and sold
whith ware never paid for by the partners.”

e -.

“ Curtis declares it yvss Strong who brought
them, while Strong told exactly the opposite
stor to the sergeant of ice.”

H rue.”

“ Somebody lied, and we are bound to believe
it was not Curtis.” ‘ '

“ I do believe it.”

“Well, let us first rove it was not Curtis,
'anyhow. Prove tha , and we remove the
mo‘tine, inn part, for him to kill Strong.”-

‘ es.

1

“To prove it we must find whence came the
stolen oods, and who brought them to the
store. Iearly, it was an ally of the dishonest
Egrtner. Now, their store is near the river.

Iieve the goods were brought by water, and
upon that line of belief I shall work.”

“ Good! Goini”

This was all that Chief Clsxton told Pollard,
then, but he had a theor which was in keeping
with his remarks which 9 did not care to share
with even the lawyer at that time.

He went about the business with care.“ Before ‘

theday on which Curtis was sentenced he had
learned that various warehouses and stores near
the water front had lost goods, and that veuels,
there, had fared the same.
.Whether the property had gone into Curtis &
Strong's store was not certain, and the robber-
' ie‘slmight, as far as was knovvn, have been the
work of river-thieves who had sold elsewhere.
Among those who were deeply interested in
the outcome of the affair, was a young man
named Edward Acton. '
Be and Curtis had been - friends for many
years, and when the latter was arrested he had
no Homer his full sympathy and help. He
worked in the cause, and was one of the
few who had ke t faith in the prisoner innocence
through all. e was one, too, whom Chief Clas-
tou consulted when he took the case, and events
I proved that he made an impremion on the some-
what satin-nine detective.
onnai-ly i: th‘e sage evening when Judge Hallo-
was av ng ss ngu ar e rience axton
called on Acton at his room. xpe I ’
After some commonplace converlstion the
detective suddenly but quietly Isk :
Do you want to go out w th me to-nightl”
“ Certain] . here ’ ’
“To look orrivor-thievesi”
ll  r”

“ Why do on start?" .
., ELM 

   

 

" What I said does not necessarily imply that,
yet such is the case. I have been busy along the
water-front. You know my theory that the
goods sold ’in Curtis & Strong’s store were

rought by water. 1 think I have a bit more.”

“ What is it?”

“Patient and secret inquiry along the piers

seen two men about in a bOat in a way which
smacks of just the line of business I have had in
mind. I can’t say they are river-thieves, but I
think they are. I want to know."

“ And I am to go With you] Well, this is un-
expected good luck l”

“ Do you know what river-thieves are?”

“ Desperate men.”

“ Yes, and men who would shoot us as quick
as they would a mad-dog, if their safety demand-
ed it.

" It is not idle boasting when 1 say 1 am not
afraid of them.”

“ Good! I did not think you would be, or you
would not have heard of the project. When 1.
formed the plan I realiznd that i needed some
one to help me, and you occurred to me. You
are young, strong, brave and devoted to Curtis.
That’s why you are to go with me.” '

” I thank you for your good opinion, but, as
far as I can say, it is not over-stated. Ishall
be very much pleased to try the adventure with

OI].

“ Then put on the roughest suit of clothes you
can command.”

“ I am with you.
definite plan.”

“ I have, for I to-day learned that a firm do-
ing business u the river a bit, near Fourteenth
street, had iscowred that some knave had
made preparations, unless signs go for nothing,
to makea break, there. Several of the laces
already robbed—and among those which,_ haveI
learned positively, unwillingly furnished goods
for the illegal sa 9 at Curtis 66 Strong’s—shave
been robbed in just the same way.”

“ That’s cheering!”

“ If We can nab these fellows, and get them to
confess that they delivered the goods not to
Curtis, but to Strong, weshall be on the high
road to success.” ‘

Ed ward Acton, busy with his dressing.thought
he was in good luck to have so impressed at Wily
detective as to be giVen his confidence so fully.

It sometimes happens that we do not know so
much about matters as we think we do.‘

It was so with Mr. Acton.

Yet, Claxton was not deceiving him in the
least, and he was sincere in requesting his help.
He suspected there would be some warm work if
the river thieves were sighted, and wanted to be
able to cope with them. He knew of no. better
aid than one so devoted to Curtis, and had
divulged as much as he had, simpl because it
would do no harm, and seemed on y justice to
Acton. ’ .

The latter was soon ready for the street.
Both he and Claxton certainly looked rough
enough to hide their real characters.

’ The detective led the way, and they work
around to the point they were to watch withou
advertising their movements to any one about
the vicinity where stood the store which they
ex ected would be raided that ni ht.

t was a large building in alone y spot, and the
shadow of the walls made an admirable cover
for them to keep out of sight while they await-
ed the turn of events.

Hours were away;

“ They may not coming,” so gested Acton.

“ I think they will. I wish i was as sure
they will be the particular thieves we want.”

“ It seems almost impOssible.”

“ I have told you my reasons for hope.”

“They seem small to me, but you know best.”

“Those in my calling must necessaril build
on little or nothing, in many cases. I th nk we
need not cavil at the start here.”

“ What are we to do if they come?”

“ That I cannot tell not] the time comes.
You will keep near me and be ready to obey my
riirectionsflthmt comment, as far as possible.
Perhaps,” Claxton added, thoughtfully, “ I ma
go with them in their boat. after the robbery.

~ “ Go With them!" echoed Acton.

“ That is one way—go secretly, of course I
mean.”

“ But if you are found by them—”

“ It will be the fate of war. Hist! is not that
the sound of oarsl”

, Oars certainl were sweeping the river, thouqh
bthat did not in icate anything of value in itself.
Other people rowed on the old North stream.
The regular dip of the blades was still heard, and
Chief Clairlon, using his eyes to the utmost, saw
the shadow of a craft appear in the darkness.

SIOwer grew the stroke of the rowers, and the
craft approached with what seemed to be great
caution.

“ Something toconceall” murmured the de-
tective. '

" Do you think it, is they!" eagerly asked
'Acton,

“ We shall see.”

The boat had been put in the grasp of the tide.
and it was now allowed todrift. It bore down

1 think you must have a

 

 

“‘Icsnessl ssethst ouareworkin on
Minion-t"?  . 8 m.

on thapisrand final! touched. Chief Clsxton
turned t  no - _ g

has developed the fact that various persons have.

 

 

“ Set it down as fact that we are on the trail
of something,” he whispered. “We will 8&0
what."

Acton found the excitement of the moment
telling upon him. He has not accustomed to
such events, and when he reflected that this
might be t .9 first step toward the establishing
of Homer Curtis’s innocence, he found it IHCPS-
sar to put a check on his nerves.

he boat had disappeared, but there was not
aVerylong lull. The head of a man BhHVteid'
show the edge of the pier, and was followed by
the remainder of his person. He came up as if
out of the ocean, and stood erect.

For some time he did not move. Then he
crept along the pier with slow and stealthy steps
and approached the building.

He began to make a circuit thereof. Before

"he could put them in danger of discovery the

two men had retreated, and he found nothing to
alarm him.

He Went back to the edge of the pier, and an-
other niun speedily appeared by his side.

“We have found river pirates,” remarked
Claxton, calmly. “Whether they are of any
real value to us remains to be seen. Don’t build
too much on them. Thieves are numerous along
the water-front. Don’t hope 1:00 strongly.”

The watermen approached the spot once

more. .
. “Silent is the word," cautioned Ciaxton.
” Be prudent and watch. Ahi they go straight.
to the weak spot we discovered early to-day.
They plan to enter.”

“ Can it be these men held secrets valuable to
Homer Curtis?"

“My word for it,” the detective replied, “ we
will find out!" .

 

CHAPTER VII.
CHIEF CLAXTON'S GREAT RISK.

“ THEY are in the building 1”

The detective made the announcement with all
the coolness in the world. Experience had given
him the hardened nervos which brought a mat—
ter-of-fact air which Edward Acton tried in vain

to copy.

“ Isn‘t it time to seize them?” asked the latter,
eagerly.

" lyl I would not interrupt them now
for the world. We are makirg history, and
seeking old history. Let them work. As for us,
I will have a look at their boat. Come!"

The supposed river thieves where wholly in-
side the building, now, and there was not much
danger of discovery. Chief Claxton and his
companion freely crossed the pier and soon stood
by the boat.

Acton could see nothing about it to mark a
difference from the ordinary cr ft, but the
detective evidently did not intend to let any—
thing escape his net. He lowered himself to the

at. .
it was a fine craft, and of considerable size.
0n the bottom was a quantity of burlap, and
it was not hard to see this was to be used
in coVering up whatever came to the hands of
the thieves.

Nothing more was to be observed yet Claxton
stood so long idle that Acton grew impatient.

Finally the leader ascended.

"I am going in the boat,” he announced,
quietly.

“Do you mean it?" demanded Acton, sur-
prised. ‘

to Yes.’

,“ It will be perilous.”

“ If they find me and can work their will it
will be death,” coolly agreed Chief Clakton.
“All these chancssI must take, but I trust I
shall score a triumph.”

“ Haw can you possibly escape discovery!"

“ I have been studying on that. Observe
that there is the best of chance for me to hide
Under the pier until the are on board. After
that all depends on luck. When they have
broughtout their plunder and put it'in the boat
my chance will come, if ever. They will spread
the burlaps over the stolen gOOds. When they,
turn to their cars I shall make a break toget in,

i- too, and hide under the coverings.”

“ Surely, you cannot do it.”

“ I can surely try."

“ And if you faili”

“ I shall call to‘yon and we will seize them
right here."

Such was the plan Clsxton had formed, and
he did not waver in his determination. Acton
was very reluctant to be thmwn out of the case
at a time when his ally would be in the most
peril, but be was not leader there.

The detective held to the idea.

He secreted himself under the pier, and Ed--

l

' ward then returned to the vicinity of the build.-

I

ing. The thieves seemed to be still at work,
but they did their job well. Except for an occa~
sinnal gleam of light, as if from a dark in ntern,
there was nothing to tell of their operations.

Time passed.

Then the emerged.
V Acton to t nervous, but he had to let events
take their course? He saw that the thisvoo
were well laden with the spoils of their raid
and could well believe they were in an ton‘

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frame of mind. How much his situation dif-
fered from theirs, with the restraint which was
upon him and the pomibility of being left out of
the competition!

Down the pier they went, their movements
n0w quick and nervws.

Reaching the vicinity of the boat they

romptly lowered their burden and themselves
Follo'xed.

Claxton had cautioned Eln‘ard not to no-
prozic'u too close, but even this has hard] I
enough to restrain the lutter’s impatience. IIow
belonged to be something more thanaflgure-
head at that moment! He aliivOst hoped
Claxton’s plans would miscarry.

For awhile he could hear tllf‘ thieves busy with
their arrangements: then the cars dipped again
and the boat recededs

“ All is lost!" '

Elwurd muttered the words in a fever of
disappointment, but they meant no more than
that he realized he was out of the race. It 101 )k'
ed asif Clsxtcn had so far succeeded that he
was a passenger on the boat—a most hazardous
victory, surely.

The boat continued to move away until the
shadows of night swallowed it up and Acton
had the scene all to himself.

His first step was to goto the edge of the
her and make sure he had, indeed. lost his
ate companion, but Ulaxton was not there, and
the only inference was that he had goneasa
passenger. /

“ Magnificent nerve!” Acton muttered, “ but
was it good judgment? He is one man with
desperate criminals; man who would shoot him
without remorse it they found him, and I don’t
see how he is to makethe voyage undetected. It
is a stupendous risk;amere trifling with the
life given by the Almighty Giver. 1: looks to
me as if he is doomed i”

The object of these melancholy forebodings
was at that moment 1 ing in the boat under a
covering of burlaps. a had been successful in
entering the craft and covering himself from
view, and when the thieves pulled away he went
too.

It was no new thing for Chief Claxton to be in
peril, and if this risk was greater than some
others, he endured the thought without particu-
lar emotion. ,

The thieves knew the way, and knew their
business They did not long linger where they
could be noticed from the several piers, but
worked out into the river and then pulled
strongly but coolly down the stream.

The course was in keeping with the hopes of
the lone passenger, and he took courage accord-

ingly.
After a loag while the boatmen be u to talk,
and Clsxton stained his powers hearing to

catch the faintest clue.

“Another job well done!” was the satisfied
comment.

“ Yes,” growled the second man.

“ You must be a mascot.”

“ Durn itl I’m a man 0’ brains!” was the
modest rejoinder.

“flédmitted, but don’t you thinklyou’re lucky,
too

“Not a bit- it’s brains. There ain’t no sech
thipia) as ilglck. ’ "

oss y on are ri ht.

“ Sartain {boy g

“ If we land this cargo, we shall be a good bit
the richer.”

“ Right, my covey!"

“ It means a good time with the boys for
several moons.”

“ Dunk, you’re a fool! My advice is that you
quit spendin’ money in riotous liviu’ an’ settle
down for biz. You buy achance tor make a
pile an’ then retire an’ live like a lord the rest 0’
yer (la a.” ‘

“ Olf man, you must never have been young.
You don’t know what it is to cllnk the glasses
over the bar and see youth and plersure rule the
hour. Young bloods will be young bloods, and
don’t you forget it.”

“ They’ll be fools, ye mean.”

“ There’s something in that, but this you can
mark down: While the .wine flows red and the
girls develop maddening beauty. young blood
will run warm.”

“ And brains run thiul”

“Have it as you will, old man, but I’m still
young and I mean to get my fill of life.

‘ Oh! the eyes of my love are as bright as the sta
And her radiant smile is the sun of my life: m.
Ohl the taste of the wine is a j v to the lip.
And its touch is a balm to the heart torn with

' soul with the in of eac
And sing to the ck which haught’them in etch i‘ "

He_who had been called "Dunk" sung the
lines in a mellow voice, but with utterance so
low that even hiscaptious companion did not
try to stop him. But then the skeptic growled:

“ Yes. an’ you’ll be sorry some time. That’s
ygur hunt. though: not mine. Have your way,

a. but remember you’re sweoton my daughter.

Remember it! Can I forget it "en when
also i yet i‘r'i'uch, for she’s the inspiration of my

y ove .

Drop talk. Attend. to basins-3’

Thus curtly iquelched, Dunk relapsed into
silence, and the bout went on in its former quiet
way.

Chief Claxton was not learning much, but be
treasured up the one name he had heard and
prepared for the future. Unconscious of ‘the
fact that their secrets were in such vital danger
the thieves rowed on. After awhile their inan-
ner grew more wary and they turned tOWard
the New York shore.

The night favored them in one way, it being
so thick with fog that they were not observable
more than a few fathoms away, and the onlv
real danger, now they seemed likely to escape
police boats, Was in tho landing.

Tllwy drew near a dock with slow and steady
stro (es.

The craft glided in and finally touched the
pier.

It was the work of only a moment to make it
fast, and then they made their way to the upper
part of the structure. This was done, as Claxton
easily understood. to look to the chance s of their
being seen by any foe, but it Worked more against
than for them.

No sooner had they taken themselves out of
the way than the detective quietly dropped over
the side of the boat into the water.

He Was a good swimmer, and he soon gained
the support of one of the big timbers and, still
underneath, waited for renewal of action.

The thieves shortly haswned back.

“ Now for action i” ordered the surly man.

The craft was pushed entirely under the pier,
and then Claxton saw for the first time that
there was some sort of a structure beyond.
This develo ‘d into a box like Concern at the
street end 0 the pier, and he quickly perceived
that it was a regular storehouse for the thieves.

It did not take long to putuway all they had,
‘and they then put the craft back in its former
position, removed the oars to a safe hiding-
place and climbed once more to the top of the
pier.

The scene on water was over, but Chief
Claxton was not by any means ready to arrest
them. He could not tell what the next few
minutes would bring forth, but it was his opin-
ion that he would not arrest them at all.

He believed they would serve him better free
than in prison.

Leaving the vicinity of the river they crossed
West street and walked off.

Seen by gaslight, they were revealed to the
detective as a young man and one of middle age.
The latter was a bi , stout, slouching, fellow
but his ally was of tr m proportions and would
have been rather dashing had it not been for
the coarse clothes he wore.

They soon a policeman, and Claxton
noticed the latter look after them and shake his
'head. The officer was known to Claxton, and
the detective made haste to address him:

“ Who are those men?”

Duncan Davies, a sport. He plays the races
and handles_the cards. He claims to be square,
but I’ve noticed he is around a good deal, late] ,
With old clothes in place of the natty suits o
Wears usually. Strikes me as peculiar—”

could not afl’ord to lose sight of his game. He
walked on, and went where the river thieves
went. One of them he knew by name; the
other he hoped to know before he was done with
them for the hi ht. ,

They did not ng keep in the course they had
at first taken, but bore around and worked to
the quarter near the river. They at last passed
by a plain old house, and the big man produced
a key and opened the door.

Both entered.

Just at the last moment the big man had
nodded to a small boy who was passing, and
Clanon thought he saw chance again working
in hit behalf.

“ Boy,” he pleasantly asked, “ was that man
you s oke to Peter Wing!”

“ aw,” replied the young citizen. “ That
was Briny Ben." _ ‘

“ Briny Ben! That’s an oddnamc.”

“ Ohl his name is Ben Wolf, but we all call
him Briny Ben. He’s a waterman, you see."

“ Oh! Lives there, I take it!"

“ Why, cert.” ,

“ He isn’t the one I want, unis. he’s connected
with the Miffin Mission.” -

“ Him? Wal, I guess Briny Ben ain’t, b’thun
derf Mission! Great Scott! I should smilooer
see him in sech business. Naw; you kin set ct
down es fact that your mission man ain’t him!”

The boy walked on without explaining why
he was so sure, but leaving the impression that
he regarded Ben as a hard citizen.

“I am glad to know Briny Ben,” murmured
Chief Claxton.

'CHAPTER VIII.’
rm: mm or rm: wow.

TB! defective had been in the Wolf house be-
fore. one of his interviews with Mary Wolf hav-
ing beenthere, but he had not chanced to meet
Ben. and did not know anything about the

 

 

   

watermsn. Matters
when Ben , 501:. now put on a footing
pretty daughter. ‘ ;

i

 

\

o , , A.'\ :..',

“ The big feIIOW Idon’t know;the other is.

The patrolman had more to say, but Claxton-

interest as his

1

 

 

lf Chlcf Claxion hai found the right batch
of river thieves he had found more at the Hillle
time. As he had said to Edward Acton he be-
lieVed one of the first steps should be to discovor
and make them confess that it was to Strong,
not in Curtis, they had sold the stolen goods,
and now he thought a step had been take-n M-
ward the accomplishment of a clearing up of the
mystery.

He had to confess that tlzc first discovrry did
not Work well, if surface signs were to be c< n-
sidered. .

Curtis was Mary’s lover, and Ben M'olf was
her father. Did it not look, theiefme, as if the
two had been in league, and that it was to
Curtis that Ben had sold the stolen goods?

There was chance to learn somethin more
about Brinv Ben near by, no doubt, but C axton
tmk a different way. He lad iold Eduard
Acton to go directly h( me in cizse he, himself,
succeeded I!) going (if in the thiu'es’ boat, and
to that point the detective no“ went.

Acton haI reached time ahead of him, and
was much ielieVed when Claxton appeared well
and safe.

He begged to hear the story, but was not
gratified at. once.

“ One moment,” requested the wily detective.
“I have been thinkirg about another matter.
as 1 Cl me up. You know you introduced me to
the letrothc-d of your friend Curtis. Miss Wolf.
She impressed me as being a fire- girl. In case
things go wrong with Curtis, she will have a
hard row to bee. I trust she has gOod friends?”

“ She has a father, but—”

“ Ahl then she is all right.”

“th with that old scoundi'ell” declared Ed—
ward, with force. “ Why, he is no more a fa-,
ther to her, let the lie of blood be ever so
true, than a veritable wolf would be. All right
with him? Not much, for Ben Wolf is a scout:-
drell”

“ You rut it strongly.”

“ I do, for 1 know him veil. He is a surly
lrute who has never given tl-at poor child one
atom of fatherly love. He und‘sle are as much
apart as if the mountains (if the AlH'lGSGel arated
them. He latsd Enter, it 0,” added the
speaker, thoughtfully, “sud n y friend Wes
barred cut of the hcuse. Why he did hate him
Iknow not, unless it was because Mary liked
him. That was enough to make Bin hate any
one.”

“He must have some redeeming quality, I
suppose?”
“Then you suppose wrong). Ben has a bad
name. He calls imself a ongshoreman, but.
never works at his trade. Instead, he does work ,
on the water which may be honest, but I have

my doubts.” ,

“ Can it be he is a river thief?”

Thus for Edward had spoken with the head-
long hasie of indignation but there was now
something in Clsxton’s voice which made him
stop abruptly.

" What do you mean?” he asked.

“Simply that Ben Wolf was one of the men
we dealt with to-night.” '

“ At the pier?”

‘4 Yes.”

“ I am not snrpriscd— But what aspect does
this ive our case!” Edward abruptly asked.

“ ell, if, as I hered, we were on the trrck of
the men 'who sold illegal goods to one of the
partners of Curtis & Streng, it seems to give it
an important aspect.”

“ Do you think it is possible?”

“We lave io-night [roven Briny Ben a river
thief. W by should he not be as likely to be our
man as any other?"

“ If so, it is a strange state of stairs; Idid
not think to find the surly Watt-r Wolf mixed up
in it. Tell me all. Claxion."

The detective lad nothing to keep hack, and
the story was soon told.

“ I know Duncan Davies by reputation,” de-
clared Acton. “He is an unwanted lover of
Mary Wolf’s. but he has her father’s approval.
Davies is well known on the race-track. and is a
card-sharp. He claims to be square. You can

dge how much there is in it, after what you

a‘ve see: to-night.” ' '

“ What will you dot—arrest them?"
' “ Not by any means; not now. The plan is
to wait and watch. Acton, if you prove false to.

lthe trust I have reposed in you, and betr'av the

events pf this night to an one, even to

“'7
Wolf, yoizr friend Curtis wi lbangl”

Claxton spoke in a deep and impressive voice. _

and Edward hastened to reply:

)‘f‘gt I betray the trust, may I hang, my-
so

"That is well said, and I think you realize
the importance of silence and endless care.”
.Acton was anxious to know all about the
plans of the detective, but the fact that the lat-
ter had taken him into his confidence in a
measure did not necessarily indicate that he in-
tended to tellall his secrets. If Claxton sul-
pectod more than was plain to Acton, or if be
ad any well-defined plan in mind, he didmot
make the fact known. A '

After a discuuion to the Ian which the
leader thought advisable he took is departure.

Glam was eating his supper the next night,

 

 

 

 

 

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. a. wfl‘flw “erim

re
s

Iv"

  

, see if it is of value.”

-fidant. but his manner was as calm as ever as he

V , Wolf l" she retorted.
' kicker. and when

8

 

i
i

I Detective Claxton.

 

 

when he had a note from Acton.
come to the house when he had leisure.

Acton held a small slip of paper.

“I have here,” he remarked, “a bit of ma-
terial which has been sent me by Mary Wolf.
It has been in her possession for over a week,
but in the worry she has had over Homer’s case
it has been forgotten until now. Read it and

Claxton read:
“ Hom -r Curtis, born June 19th, 18—."

He looked up and asked:

“ What is this?"

“ A paper which came into Mary’s hands in a

.culiar way; a paper which may mean noth-

ng. or may mean much. Mary found it in her

own home. She is not sure how it came there,
but she believes it may have been drop d by a
mysterious old woman who had visi her fa-
ther. If such was the case, the questions arise:
Why should the old woman have had such a
record? how did she, or the writer, whoever it
me. have been, know when Homer was born!i
an bow happened it to be brought to Briny
Ben’s house?’ .

" Abl y argued, as far as I can see.” dryly re.
marked Claxton. “ but if you will explain
further I shall be able to grapple with the ques-
tions moreinteiiigently.”

Acton told of the visit of the bony old
woman to the Wolf house. and her fcuiiar
and unsatisfactory conversation with ary, as
related in the opening pages of this chronicle,
and then explained in detail how the present
pawr had been found.

hen all was told, the detective sat holding
the paper'and looking at it as if he hoped it
would answer‘ for itself and tell what it really
meant. ,

“ Ben Wolf certainly would not have such a
document,” added Acton, “ and it follows that
the woman must have brought and lost it.”

H Yeg'” ,

Claxton assented without seeming to know
what he said.

“ You say Mary is still unaware of the
identity of the old woman?” the detective pres-
entlv added. 4

M Y s N

“ it might be well to learn who the woman is.”

“ Emphaticaily, yes: I should say so.”

“ I will run dc wn and see Miss Wolf.”

Claxton put the paper away and soon left the
house. '

“ I am disappointed; he does not seem to see
much in it,” thought Acton.

Whatever Claxton thought he made no con-

wended his way to the Wolf house. He did not
once look at the paper, or seem unusually med-
itative.

Reaching the house, he was about to ring
when the door opened in his face and Mary
came out, equipped for the street. Her face
lighted up at sight of him.

“ I wanted to see you !” she exclaimed. gladly.

“ Did you? Well, I am here.”

“ Have you received the paper I sent?”

“ It is in my pocket, now."

“ And the woman is in the house!”

H Eh g”

“ The old woman who, I think, dropped it, is
in there with my father at this minute.’

“ This is interesting,” murmured Claxton, but
his manner did not indicate that he felt any in-
terest, himself. “ Pray. what is being done!”

“I don’t know. I had been out, and whenI
came in I found her there. Neither she‘nor my
father saw me, so I crept quietly away, and was
about to come to you in person, little as I could
hope you would arrive in season to do any good
-—-that is. to see her.”

“ Well, since she is there now, I don’t see why
I can’t see her," remarked the detectivo, calmly.
“ I will go in. I am accustomed to such matters.
and if you will indicate some favorable point of
view I will ask you to keep Well back while I
try my luck at listening.”

Chief Claxton seemed to be taking his time
with his remarks, but, somehow, be said a gomi
deal in a short time, and in a ,manner which made
Mary obey without the loss of a moment. She
led him to a place where he could act thelistener
under favorable circumstances, 4f anywhere
and then left him alone. "

Ben Wolf and Deborah Paine were seated
close to ether, but not engaged in conversation
when laxton gained view of them, They sat
silent, and, as the detective perceiVed after a

now: while of the silence, in a| mood not exactly
amiable.

Brinv Ben’s face bore a sullen expression.
wliile Deborah looked determined and grim, It
was Ben who first broke the pause. '

“ Ef anybody thinks they kin monkey with
me they are a good bit out 0’ their latitude l” he
“reviie‘iibi i d i

o s 0 ng an thin of the sort.”

“ Wal, Iydon’t like thi'lmlss.”

“ I never knew anything you did like, Ben
“You are a confirmed

It bade him '

‘ secret.

 

on have the least cause yon‘

kick the hardest. by will you he so foolish!” '

“I can't see why no money ain’t comin’.” i
“ I have told you the time is notrips. What

more do you want? I am managing this case
shrewdly, if I do say it, and I’m not going to
hasten matters and ruin all for the sake of com-
forting your small soul.”

“ Darn it! I believe you’re playiu' it on me.”

“ You are a fool, Ben Wolf!’

“Fair speech, old woman, or you’ll be sorry.
Why, I’d as soon put you out o’ the world—”

“And kill the goose that is to lay the golden
e '3’

gfiriny Ben was silent. It was clear that
the reminder had gone home so strongly as to
appeal even to his dull senses. The manner of
the two was very different in all ways. Ben
was ugly, surly and sour. Deborah had the
air of one who feels herself mistress of the situa-
tion. and her coolness did not for a moment
waver.

“ fyou’d only tell me yer plans,” he finally
began, again, but she interrupted:

“ You would ruin all in less than no time."

“Den’t I know enough ter manage my own
business?”

“You are not the man for this work. You
are headlong, impulsive and lacking in judg-
ment. It’s well you don’t know where the
golden gain is to come in, or you would ruin
all.”

" I reckon I’m equal to an old woman.”

“ You are not,” calm] asserted Deborah.

“Wai, I’ll be durnei i I never thought ter
see the like 0’ this, but I know you of old. ‘ You
always was cantankerous an’ ugly; always bound
ter kick 11 a muss when everybody else was
pleasant. he c’elight o’ bein’ mean was always

, your well-spring 0‘ joy, b’mightyl”

“ You s k with more of force than good
sense,‘Mr. olf. We will not discuss the point.
Suffice it to say that I know the way to make
us both rich, but you'll have to copy my example
in one respect—be patient. I am liable to bring

on gold any day, Ben, but you’ll gain nothing
by ravingover the delay and trying to get at my
on can’t learn it.”

Calmly Deborah rose.

" Whar be you goin’?” Briny Ben asked, more
amiably.

“ Hamel”

“ I’ll go with you.”

“ No, you won’t.”

“ Why not?” ,

“First, because you romised to keep away;
secondly, because you on’t know where I live:
thirdly, because it’s not prudent for us to be
seen together.” ‘

“ Have your own way.”

So spoke Benjamin, but his manner was not
more good-natured, and it was clear he yielded
only because he saw there was no help for it.
He hoped for something from Deborah Paine,
and though he could and did rebel, he was not
mad enough to give over all his chances simply
because he wanted to be ugly.

Chief Claxton saw that the interview was
over, and he made haste to get to where Deborah
would not discover him. He was disappointed
that the conversation had divulged no more,
but it was something gained when he found the
old Woman for whom he had been looktdg.

He retreated to where Mary await and a
word t') her was enough to cause herto take
him int i a place of safety until the other caller
could go out.

“ I am going to follow her,” he announced

“ Is there hope?”

“I know not.”

“ Of what did they talk?”

“ Of nothing which was any clue, but I hope
to get the trut by following.”

“ Hist! they come!”

CHAPTER IX. ,
ran DETECTIVE ON ran: TRAIL. , ‘

BOTH Claxton and Mary ceased speaking, and
Briny Ben and Deborah came along from the
room where they had been in consultation. The
detective had a good view of both, and he could
pot fail to be impressed by their unprepossessing

aces. , -

He was prepared to believe them capable of
almost anything they might see fit to do for
gain. and he pitied anybody they might have in
their power. as their conversation indicated they
did have some one.

“ When’ll I see you ag’ini" Ben naked.

“ Possibly, to-morrow. More likely, not for a
few days.”

“‘ N o underhand work, now,” Ben cautioned.
“ Hahl you get to be a bigger fool every
darl” .
With this encouraging remark Deborah pass-
ed out of the house. Briny Ben looked after her

, and submit his head. ,

“ I dunno. I dunno! Nobody ever was safe in
trustin‘ a woman. by thunder! an’ I feel I ain’t,
now. but it may be all right. E' it ain’t. jest
let her look out fer herself. for 1’" do her mis-
chief, sure on I’m alive. Nobody kin home the
mom on Briny Ben, ye knOw. Not much!”

Ben seemed to like to bear himself talk, and
his predilection that way bade fair to bring
Chief Claxton into trouble. There was no way
to follow Deborah while the Water Wolf stood
therelud growled like a sore-headed animal.

Fortunately. he did not long‘keep it up; He
went bapk'to his lair and the coast was clear.

(1' E,

 

 

Claxton said a few words to Mar , and then
slipped quietly out of the house. 9 feared he
had lost all hope, but it was only a moment be-
fore he discovered the tall, bony figure of the
woman. She had been waiting fora car. and
afsf it now came along she boarded it and moved

0 .

Claxton proposed to follow, but he did not take
the same course.

Calling a cab he exclaimed:

" Keep that car in sight, but don‘t get too near.
Be prudent about it, and you shall receive more
than the regular fee.”

The driver happened to be a person of brains,
and he lost no time.

‘;,I’ni dead onto them i” he exclaimed. “ Hop
in!

Claxton did not fail to do So, and they rolled
away in pursuit of the car. Every time it stop-
ped the detective made sure it wasnot Deborah
who alighted, and it was some while before he
had cause to cease his pursuit.

When Debbrah did change it was to take an-
other car. and in this way she worked on until
she was at last at the corner of Sixth avenue
and Fourteenth street.

Starting eastward, she looked with some
anxiety at the clock of a jeweler near at hand
and then quickened her pace and went on. The
journey was nearly over, hOWever. for she turn-
ed down Fifth ayenue u on reaching that poin‘t
and, at the corner of hirteenth street, found
the end of her haste. ,

Claxton was not slow to ‘notice a man was on
the corner, pacing back and forth in a half-
nervous manner, and this man at once advanced
toward Deborah.

He was of fine, athletic appearance, and though
roughly dressed be impressed the detective as be-
in one of more than common rank in life.

E10 and Deborah met with the air of persons
who had come together by appointment. and at
once began to tul earnestly. The dissimilarity
betWeen them was so marked that the detective
could not but wonder at it, and the fact of their
meeting awakened a question in his mind.

The woman’s interview with Briny Ben had
deVeioped the fact. or so seemed, that she ex-
pected to raise money in some underhand way,
and Claxton wondered if the way was now dim y
outlined. .

Her present companion looked grave and
downcast. Was he in her mils?

Anxious to see more of him, Claxton worked
around cautiously until the Opportunity “as
vouchsafed. When he had the desired view he
stopped short, so rised, in spite of his long
h bits of self-contro , b what he beheld.

he man was Judge tis Hallowell!

Claxton regarded them in bewilderment. but
the mood passed and he smiled at his own late
thoughts.

“ Ridiculous!” he murmured. “ Judge Hallo-
well can have no secret upon which the old
blood-sucker can trade.”

A decision which seemed wise in its genera-
tion, but it was fOIIOWed b another thought.
The detectiVe’s long exper ence had often led
him to adva ce as a fragment of worldly wis-
dom the asser ion that no man or woman, he the
subject from whatever station in life. “as
above suspicion, or above having a guilty 3...
cret.

Absurd as it might be to apply this to Otis

Hallowell, it would certainly be more absurd to ,

cast it out of sight when he met Deborah by
night in such a way and place, himself wearing
oldi rough clothes in place of his usual elaborate
att re.

“ The learned judge wishes to be unknown to
all he may chance to meet. That is plain. His

motive I don’t know, but let us look into this a ‘

trifle.” i

80 thou ht Chief Claxton, and he loitered‘
airound wit the innocentair born of long prac-
t on.

The interview was not prolonged. Hallowell
and Deborah talked together with the freedom
of old acquaintances, it seemed, and without
any disagreement perccptible in their manner.
The earnestness of the conversation was not to
be denied. howevo r. :

Presently the judge called a cab. It was duly
engaged, and then Deborah entered and was
driven. away. A second vehicle of the same
i=ort was near, and this Hallowell then secured.
He was driven oi! in the same path the first cab
had taken.

Claxton had not dismissed his own driver,
and, greatly mystified. he gave orders for a con-
tinued pursuit. Thus the three vehicles rolled
ninng one after the other, Deborah being the‘
leader,

“ Puzzling!” the detectiveagreed “ but I ma
find the explanation very simple. We will see! ’

'Their course was t0ward the west, and in due
time they reached West Sixteenth street. At a
certain house the leading cab halted, a d Deb-
orah alighted. The carnage then mov away.
Deborah had gone into the house, but that the
door was not locked was soon shown. Ballo-
well left his own cab. paid the driver, and then,
as this man followed his predecessor. the judge
mgegawzntiw fighter-E. turned the knob with
a n enar.as s new twouldo n
his touch. and went in. pi t’o

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“Hivedl‘ murmured Claxton. “ But what
have I secured?" ' '

He sent his driver back to the corner, and
then surve ed the house. It was one cheap
and plain_o exterior, and he did not doubt that
the interior was the same. He belieVed he had
found Deborah‘s home, but what was Judge
Hallowell doin there?

He could fo low no further, so he began to
pace up and down the street, watching keenly
without seeming to do so.

The patrolman of the block soon came along.
He was a stranger to the detective, but the
latter knew how to ingratiate himself to the
good will of almost any one, and this he pro~
ceeded to do with the knight of the locust, talk-
in on trivial matters,

8 had one thing always in mind, however,
and he worked around in due time.

“I saw a woman in yonder house, a. bit ago,
who seemed familiar to me, though I failed to
place her. Do you know who liVes there?”

The patrolman flourished his night—stick.

“ All I know is that there is an old woman
there who goes and comes a good deal. She has
groceries from the store over yonder, and they
are sent to the name of Deborah Paine. I sup-
pose that’s the old bird, herself. Ain’t shea
corker?"

“Not‘ very pretty, surely. ls she on the
square?”

“ Blamed if I know; I never saw anything
out of the way.”

“ Don’t know whether she lives alone, eh?”

“No, but I should say she must bu for at
least two, by the quantity of stuff she ta es.”

“ Is there anybody abOut here who can tell
more about her?”

“ I only know of the grocer and the landlord.
The last-named lives up on Seventieth street,
though. The grocer has probably gone to bed.
Hullol what hyena has broke 10006?"

The last words were uttered in a tone of dis-
gust as a sound which might mistakenl be
taken for singing by some one was heard owu
the block.

“ It’s that grooer’s boy, again i” lamented the

atrolman. “ Say, that kid will drive me mad!
file thinks he kin sing, but if I had a Chinese
gorilla that couldn’t give him cards and (193
and then wrastle him on melody I’d kill the
gorilla!"

Claxton had never had experience with' a

- “ Chinese gorilla,” and did not exactly under-

stand what the thing was, but the grocer’s boy
was a being of fact and voice. As he came
nearer the detective hurriedly directed:

“ Ask him slyly about the old'woman, and I’ll
remember it in you i”

“ Done 1”

The boy came up, and the patrolman began.
He was not without shrewdness, and he man-
aged to do the work well. Bearing around slow-
{y to the subject of interest, he made his wishes

nown.

“ Be I acquainted with Deborah Paine!”
questioned the boy, in return. “ Well, every-
body who knows her is. She’s a terror; that
Woman isl Makes more trouble than any three
customers on the beat. Got a tongue like a
needle. Just stands in her own room and gives
the Hall Columbia, even if I bring the bestof
things. Then there’s the other one—she sets
there while Deb jaws, and just stares like a gale
vanirod statooi”

“ What ‘ other one?"

“ Why, t’other woman.”

“ So there is another?” ‘

“ Wh , sure. She’s sick, or something of the
sort; al wore out but her brains; but they are
keen, and her temper is ’way up ter par.”

Some other questions were asked, but the
boy could tell no more that was of interest. He
was allowed togo bit we , and then Claxton
“remembered ” the patro man with a dollar
note and the latter wandered on, leaving the
detective to his vigil alone.

Considerable time had elapsed since the travel-
ers entered the house. More before they
came out. In themean wt: 8 Ciaxton waited
and watched. He could not understand wh
Judge Hallowell should come to such a miserab e
house at such an hour, disguised as he was, but
he intended to find out.

It was curious, be the facts what they might,
that his efforts to unravel the case had brought
him to the point where the judge who sat in the
Curtis case came into the game in any way,
now.

The bare possibility that it was not to De-
borah‘s rooms the learned gentleman had gene
was in a measure dissipated by what occurred
soon after. n watched the lighted
windows he saw two figures outlined on the
shade. They were those of a man and a woman,
and his acquaintancewith the peculiarities of
both those he had traced was enough to make
him almost sure on one point.

.“Hallowell and Deborah! They stand close
together. and seem to talk with animation and
seal. What mysta'y have I stumbled upon?”

CHAPTER X,_
rim Juno: IS sonqu rmsn.
As has been seen, Judge Hallowell met
Deborah according to the compact made in his

eXpectedly. The interview was to be twenty-
four hours after the woman’s visit, and as time
passed .he had no intention of failing to keep
it.

He was determined to put her claims to the
test and learn if Salome really liverh—if his fir~t
wife had actually failed to die in her youth as he
had thought was the case.

The waiting was tedious, and he was glad he

Durin the time, however, there was no evidence
of wen 'ness in his manner.

B )th on the bench and in his home he was the
same iron judge who had been known of yore.

govern his every act and expression.
He met Deborah ; he went with her to her home,
as has been seen; he passed the door of the

fears.

Once in the place his courage wavered more
than he would haVe cared to confess. The cool-
ness of his companion seemed to be that of one
who has victory in her grasp, and it was im-

presSive.

Deborah led him up the staii‘s, and to a wait-
ing room.

“Remain here until I see if Salome is ready
to receive you,” Deborah directed, and passed

on.

Otis Hallowell shivered. To see if Salome was
ready to see him! How thdt recalled old memo-
ries! Back in his youth there was a time when
Salome was perfect in his sight, or near enough
so to be able to sway his heart at her will.
Then, he had often gone to her in a mood of
anxious anticipation—gone to see if she was
ready to receive him.

Now—new, what a change!

He could hardly realize it. Years had passed;
his life had run in new channels; he had almost
forgotten Salome, and all the more readily be-
cause, long before, he had ceased to feel any ad~
miration for her.

But if she lived—if she did! How much it
meant to him!

Knowing how capable Deborah was of any
subterfuge, he was still possessed of some hope
that he would be able to detect a trick, and that
he could throw off the yoke and rise victorious,
insteed of meetin the awful calamity which
menoced him and a l he held dear.

Deborah returned.

“ Salerno is ready l"

Coldly the words were spoken.

The Judge felt a chill of ice upon his heart.
He rose mechanically. He was ready, too.

“Come!” '

Deborah led the way. It was only to the next
room. At that time the visitor did not think of
looking tosee what that room was like. If he
had he would have seen that it was plainly and
meagerly furnished; he would have seen evi-
dences of poverty which were not to be found in
his own luxurious home. '

He saw only the person he had come to see.

In the center of the room wasa large easy-
chair. In the chair sata woman. His gammet
hers.

She was clad in decent black, but it would
not have gained her notice for its richness or
style. In the apparel, and in her own appear-
ance, there was nothing to make an agreeable
im ression.

er face was hard; exceedingly hard and
bitter, though the last element was subordinate
to the same coldness seen in Deborah’s manner.
As she gazed at him her expression did‘ not
change. It was fixed and firm; it was severe
and unwomanly; it was ice-like and inexorable.

Yet, had she been less cold, there was that in
her face which would have recommended her to
pity. Although still a comparatively young
woman her hair was very ray, and in each linea-
ment of her countenance over-ail the marks of
ill health. She was not emaciated in any do-

, yet the stamp was there, telling of sufl'er-
ing and physical in.

All this was 0 a nature to excite symmthy,
yet the face, itself, repulsed where the non
softened.

Not of
mom t. All his attention was ven to es-
tablis ing the truth or falsity of abortion
that she was Salome. .

The first sight gave him a shock. ..

.Twenty years had passed since he had seen
his first Wife. The lapse of time had changed
him greatly; it had chanced the woman more,
since she had had illness to contend With.

But he saw the dark complexion: the hair
which, where it was notgray, was still so deeply
black; the dark. large eyes; the 'heavy brows
and the firm mouth; and each feature was as he
remembered it so well.

His power of resistance fled; he gave up the
H ht, then.

eborah had been watching both keenly.

“Must I introduce you two?” she qked, sar-
castically. _,

Hallowell drew a deep breath and aroused to

e. _
Looking at the woman in thec'hair he mur-
mured: .

“ We meet again i”

 

house and was near the preof or dispr of his ‘

this did Otis Hallowell think at‘that

Own house the time she called on him so un- '

had no longer to think upon it in suspense. i

\Vell, indeed, was it for him he could so;

 

“ We dol” coldly, grimly replied the relic of

I the past

“ it is like seeing one from the grave.”

“ The grave is not kind enough to take me.
Look! Do you think I am better in life than in
death?”

She half-lifted her hand, but it fell back to
her side.

“Salome,” pronounced Deb( rah, “ is the vie
tim of a spinal complaint which has robbed her
of all but breath. She; cannot take a $1. p-
she has to be cared for in allthings more than
a child; she is so helpless she rises and retina
only with my help; she is unable to feed her-
self, or to move her hands and feet as others
do. She is a living “reek!”

The words iv]! with painful effect upon Hal-
lowell’s ears. For the moment he forgot what
it meant that this woman still lived, and re-
membered only the youthful Salrme he had
loved With the madness of youth—loved sow-ll
he had made her his wife.

It was a shock.

“ We have not been used alike in this world,"
pursued Salome, in a voice unsLaken by emo-
tion. “You have had the sweets, and I the
things which are bitter. I have known poverty,
sorrow and disease.” '

The nerveless hand moved {(cbly in her lap,
and her helplessness appealed to Ballowell
strongly.

“ You shall have the best doctor that money
can procure,” he declared. “I will engage an
eminent specialist who will be able lo help you,
if anybody can.” ‘

“ I am not unmindful of your (fist, and I can-
not afford to refuse it, luutl think you will find
he will say like all others: that there is no help
for me.” .

” Let us hope not.”

Mechanically Hallowell made the reply, but
the faintest possible smile on Deborah’s face re-
called him to other matters with a start. He
had more to think of than the curing of Salome.

“ You see,” remarked Deborah, “ that l have
not lied to you.”

The judge could not dispute the claim.

“ Let us confeont the facts of the case,” added
the old woman. .

Confront the facts! What did that not mean
to Otis Hallow-ell!

“ '.'.‘0 put it briefly,” Deborah protecded, “ you
find that Salome is alive. Perhaps you have
learged that the young man in the Tombsis your
son.

“Tell me how all this has come about!” cried
the judge. “Through the years I never have .
had the least doubt that Salome and the boy
died. How, in mercy’s name, does it come about
that they live?” ’

Deborah motioned to Salome. The latter’s ex-
pression had grown colder and more severe, and
there was hatred in the gaze she bent upon the
visitor.

“ Did you ever concern
were dead!" she demand . .

“ I took what I thought were reasonable pre-
mligilo’ns, but I was a boy, then, and 1 may have
or .

ourself to learn if we

‘1! — . . . ..

"You erred more than once!” cried Salome, ‘

bitterly.
now, they are come home to you. I have borne
them for years; now, you can take your ,
share.”

“ In what way did I ever do you harm!” de-
manded Hallowell, with impulsive warmth.

“ You broke my heart and mined my life
with ours stematic cruelty. You—” “- ‘

“ everl declared the judge.
point to one word or act of mine which will
sustain that charge. We did not get along well
together as husband and wife, but when did!
ever fail to' remember my duty? Boy I

but I had married you,a’nd Itried my best to’ 

have peace at our fireside.

“ Peace 1" echoed Salome, with scorn.

“ I knew before I married you that on were
volatile, willful and wild, but I was linded to
what these qualities‘in an engaged girl would
lead in a wife. I soon found 0 , Your temper

it was, and nothing more, which mined alL’V'IV

You began to lead me a cat-and-dog life. and
my love died out; I confer it. Still, {tried to
do my duty, for it was hard to forgettheold
life wholg. You know how, even when We
could he meet in peace, I still kept up the
hpme, legv ng you to do with It as you

P
" Yes; on did leave me!"
“ Was allowed to remain?” i
“ You were master of the house.” '

“ I was not.”

case me:
“ Who was!"
“There was no master. You were mistress,
and in that capacity you became all else. You

ruled with a rod of iron, and,an I ventured

“You cannot » ’

 

“ Then, I bore the weight of your sins; ._ _

 

to come near you. drove me out with your temper 

and reproaches.”
Both were getting warmed to their subject,.
and accusations flowed with zeal. Salome’s

eyes flashed with hatred, while Hallowell was

dee y moved as the weight of the old wrongs.

or imaginary, as the case might [30,?an
over him with reviving influence. " .
Deborah sharply interrupted: .
" You both forget yourselves; you are m .

,i

 

z.

 I. not to bring up old quarrels, but to speak of the

1 ' future.”

‘ “ True!”

- The judge made the acknowledgment with a

deep sigh. Then he added:

j i “ One thing more must be attended to. I must
4' ‘ kn0w how you happen to bealive; how the boy
’ happens to be living if he is the unfortunate
3 youn man now in the Tombs.”

 “ e is. Can you doubt it?”
 “ I have expressed no opinion.”
' “ We can give y u documentary evidence in
full if you idoubt, but I know of no more con-
3" vincing prod than the birthmark on his arm.”
‘ So thought Otis Hallowell.
'» “ You evade my question—"
, “Not by any means. The boy and I live be-
t v cause we escaped the flood when the river rose
L v : and washed so many to death. The bodies you
;{ found and buried were those of I know not
i “' whom. Enough that we escaped. We were not
' in the cottage when the waters came to kill, and
. we were not victims.”
'lw‘ “ I was not satisfied with the identification,”
 Hallowell admitted, “ but all others declared
.r  they Were sure, and I yielded as much to their
einphatic assertions as to my own Opinions.
0 Then, when dafs passed and no word came
; from, or of you, lost all doubt.”
1 , “ I had resolved to disappear from your view
’ ' forever.”
“ You kept the resolution too lon , or not
long enough!” bittei ly answered the ju ge.
“ You did not long mourn for me before
teking another Wife.”
“ Do not speak of her!” cried Hallowell.
“Is she too good to be mentioned herei”
“ She is too unfortunate.”
V “ True, she is not your wife, but she has your
home and name. I have neither. I envy her.”
“My God! Why?”
“ She is not your married slave.”
“ Be silent, woman !” l
T “ No marriage law binds her—”
“ Be silent, I say! Dare to cast another sneer
‘ at her and— ’ .
" The judge stopped short. He had clinched his
" hands and taken a step toward the woman,
, but he remembered her condition and pauSed
Ii" abruptly. She watched him with the attention
 of a cat, and with the bitter look on her face
he so well remembered in the old Salome. So
. she had delighted to wring his heart.
» " His temporary pity for the invalid went out.
"‘ s Womanly attributes had not come to her with
illness, and it was plain she was the most vindic-
tive of foes. .
‘ ‘ She made a strange picture. She was surround-
‘ ed in a chair by pi110ws, and these kept her up-
right. She did not once move, and could have
V moved but little under any condition. Her help-
\ less hands always lay in her lap in the same way,
"i , and her head was’ rarely turnei in the east. She
', " looked like a corpse gifted with the power to
’4' ' flash hatred and malevolence. ..
“' And this woman was between him and happi-
nes~i between him and the lady the world knew
as h s wife!
:23, . He felt an unusual weakness, as if all his
' strength had been used up, and a desire to be
- alone.
The desire became a. ruling
“ The hour gr0ws late ”
,. cannot delay here, and I
3 '  ' need say more at this time.

ssion. 

e remarked. “I
do not see that we
I will see you

“You will always be welcome!” sneered

, I Salome.
f: I i “I shall have more tosay when I have an op-
"' 3 .r portunity to think. I need to confront the state
9 of auxin”! find here. Until Lsee you again, ac-
&
a drew a roll of bank-notes from his pocket.
‘ He made one step to hand then‘! to Salome, but
‘ l luddenlB changed his mind and passed them
over to eborah, ins d.
' Two pair of eyes gliaened with cuEidity, and
’ ,- no remonstrance was made against is disposal
I '   “we , '
i 5 . They did not fear he would run away.
a . With heavy stops he went out of the house.
. ‘ He 'went, and Chief Claxton followed him
' " , lhome.

 

CHAPTER XI.
MONEY Is rain ovum
vamn men were seated in a room which
was overs certain saloon in New York. They
, were persons who each and all bore the damp
.5. - which marks the city “ sport,” and they had the
' ‘kuowlng air of the man who thinks he dos
 ‘  know it all.
. Outside the room two other men stood in con-
’ ‘ ' Vei'sation. One was the proprietor of the saloon;
' a and the other was one well known in these
,, though hardly r inble to his own friends,
His name was iaxton; his-occupation was
 \ guidadetective; but he did not any longer
' ' it.
- ' He had donned clothing which was fanciful
_ and “ loud,” and had a certain buoyant air to ac-
company the gsrments which made him seem
anything but d gnifled. l
V . ‘ Claxton " declared the owner oflths premises,
 _ .. “ I hate to do this thing.”
I “ It will be better for both of us,” calmly as-

 

vases.

’ " Detective'CIaxton.

sured Claxton. “ Y on know it would disappoin
me to be refused, while as for you—

“ You would give my secrets away to the

lice?”

“ Exactly!”

“,I yield, much as I dislike to do it. Come to
me!

He escorted the detective into the room. All
eyes became fixed upon them. The saloon-
keeper went to the crowd and lightly an-
nounced:

“ Boys, this is Dan Murphy, a friend of mine.
If any of you want to try him at ker, you had
bettgr have some blank checks a filled out for
use.

It was well done when done, and Mr. Mur hy,
thus jestingly introduced, was duly receiv by
all. Nobody thoughtof doubting him when he
had been introduced from such a source.

Despite his attire and quaint air of rakishness
he still preserved a kind of clergyman-like look,
and this was such a novelty to the others that
they took more interest in him than they would
otherwise have done. They talked with him
freely.

It was not Claxton’s first essay in the role,
and he was ot at a loss for material tocarry
out his plan. is talked with the best of them,
and was soon voted a hail-fellow-Well-met.

He had sat down at the table by the side of a
voung man who rejoiced in the name of Duncan
Davies, and who was no stranger, as far as up-
pearances went to the detective; but if any-

ody had told r. Davies that there was mean-
ing in all this, he would have been surprised.

He rather ignored Dan Murphy at first, but
the latter warmed him up without seeming to
have any aim in doing so.

Presently a game of poker was proposed, and
some time was thus spent. Daniel proved that
he was no novice at the game, and in a way that
brought sorrow to the hearts of many there. In
fact, no one did as well in the contest as Daniel,
except Davies, and the latter gained his supe-
riority of winnings in the last round by stub-
bornly “ blufllng” when he held only two pairs

of sights. Up to that time Dan had seemed to
.have eat nerve. but flung down his cards and
mix them With the pack with an air of dis-
gust.

Davies chuckled much over his succesa.

He might havebeen lessamused had be known
that Dan had put down four aces.

It may have been poor judgment: it may
have been good. Anyhow, it pleased and warm-
ed Davies up, and he first ordered drinks for the
crowd, and then took Daniel aside and began to
talk with him in great good humor.

He told of wonderful success at cards, and
then wuund around to another subject, avowfng
his deep admiration for ladies.

“I don’t an as ” he asserted, “there is an-
other man in eyv York who has a more pro-
found respect for the sex than I. I’ve been in
love more times than a few, and though I’ve al.
ways got out of it aliVe, I now have a case that
is going hard with me.”

“ You seem to hold your own well.”

“ HOpe does it; hope! .Butl must wait a bit;
she has another lover, and though he is likely to
soon go off the hooks, her heart is all torn up
over him, now. Oh! but she’s a good one!”

“ May I ask where you find such a paragon?”
questioned Daniel.

” Since you look to be fifty yourseld, you may.
She is named Mary Wolf, and she’s the daughter
of a poor but honest ’longshoreman. Old man,
the darling is a screamerl"

“ Well recommended, anyhow.”

“ None too well.”

“ So you’re going to marry her?”

" Yes; later on.” ‘

“Accept my best wishes when you get her.
If you had the passion for the water that I have
you would cultivate the ’longshoreman as well
as his daughter, and thus serve both sides of a
good aim "life."

“ So you like the water?”

H Yes.”

" B/ Jove! come with me, any dag;l and you
shall have your fill. Briny Ben s a boat
which is always at my dis 1 and we can have
some famous pulls on t e river. Ben is her
father. you see. ’

“ I shall accept your invitation, friend, for it
is just what I want. I was born and brought
up near the water, but blamed little of it have I
got of late.” '

“Come aroand and let me introduce you to
Ben now.”'

“’Not to-day— Oh! well, wh
hangs heavily on in hands.
hearty. and Ill go wit you.”

Davies had taken a strong fancy to his new
friend, and he did not take his offer back. They
l‘iiftltfiie house and wended their way toward Ben

0 8.

not? Time
ad off, my

she need not be surprised to see him in any role,
but he was not sure but the boldness of the pre-
contagious would result disadvantageously.

8 might by an unlucky start betray him.

Fortunately, she was not in when they ar-
rived, but B iny Ben was. _Unfortunately, per-
haps, Ben d d no reCeive the new guests as
Davies had hoped e would. Ben was wily, and

\

 

, Chief Claxton had already notified Mary that.‘

 

he had good reasons for not wanting to make
new acquaintances.

It was not his way to trust any one when he
could help it, and as long as he made the calling
of a river thief his, he wanted as few friends as
possible.

He was surly to the stranger, but this was not
heeded by Daniel. He proceeded to make him-
self agreeable. In this be “as not wholly unsuc-
cessful, for Ben could find no fault With his
manner, and the surly Waterman had promised
the ride in his boat before the callers had been
there over half an hour.

It was not the strongest of footholds, but now
that Ben‘s nature was so far unfolded by him-
self, the detective felt that it was a good deal
gained. Perha s more would come later.

Claxton and avies left the house soon after.

The former was desirous of eliciting some-
thing from the sport which would bear upon the
illegal operations on the river, but Duncan was
duly cautious and let nothing slip. When they
parted Claxton could not say he was any the
wiser, but he had gained the good will of at
least one of the river thieves, and he hoped some-
thing would come of it.

They separated, and each went his way.

That evening Mary Wolf called upon Claxton.

“ I want you to explain something which puz-
zles me,” she exclaimed, after a little conversa-
tion. .

“ Very well: give me the chance.”

“ My father has had a visitor.”

“ The same old woman?”

“ Yes; Deborah, I heard him call her.”

“ Delightful name! And what did our fair
Deborah have to say?”

“That I don’t know, but she gave fathers
sum of money."

“ Lucky Benjamin!”

“ I don’t know that he is.”

“ Noi'l

“ No. Why should she give him money?”

“ True.”

The detective murmured the reply as if he
saw nothing worthy of excitement about the
matter.

“ She has a hard face, and I don’t believe she
is one to be generous to anybody. Even if she
is, why should she give to him? He is a well,
strong man, much younger than she."

“ That is true.”

“ I can‘t help thinking,” added Mary, hesi-

~tatingly, “that he may have done some favor

or her.”
Chief Claxton did not think so but he was
uzzled over the money matter. What he had
learned i)(‘f()r8 had prepared him for it, in a
measure for the repeated visits of the woman
indicated some secret understanding, but he did
not know why she should give Ben money.

That it was in payment for some service Clax-
ton felt sure was an incorrect surmise. Ben had
never hinted at it in the conversation of which
the detective had heard a part.

“Describe how the money was given,” Claxo
ton directed.

“There is but little to tell. Deborah called,
and they were in the front mom. They talked
secret! , and then she took out the money and
hand it ovar.”

\ “ How did he receive it?”

“Eagerly.” .

“ As if it was a right?” 

“Yes. And when he had it he grumbleda
good deal—because it had not come sooner, I
thought.”

“ Possibly you are right.”

Chief Claxton’s thoughts went back to the
meotin between Deborah and Judge Hallo.
well. hat had taken place in the house on
Sixteenth street he did not know, but it was

suggestive that the woman should be flush with

money right after it.

“ I don’t undcstand it,” Mary repeated.

“ Nor I.”

“ But can’t you find out?”

“ Perhaps so."

“ Can there be a connection,” slowly asked
the girl, “ between this matter and Homer Cur-
tis? I think Deborah kn0ws something about
Homer, since she or saint-body else had the date
of his birth; and now she gives money to father.
1 am worried ' I am sorely worried. I am
afraid father is keeping back the secret of
Homer’s case—though it seems absurd.”

“ Rely upon it, this money transaction has
nothing to do with the killing of Morris Strong,”
decidedly replied Claxton. “ It may be any.
thing else; it is not that 1”

Mary sighed.

“ 1 had hoped— ct feared!”

“ Poor child! know how you feel, but be
comforted. , Good often follows in the their of
evil. Be of hope.”

“ If I only could!”

“ You must, for Curtis’s sake.”

“ I will: I will!” Marv exclaimed.
knows what may happen?"

~ ' CHAPTER x11. ‘ ‘
N d I; woax or nscm.

o ays atera man of torei n a pesrance
left Judge Hallowell’s house Illgd vyalked ofl'
down the street. His manner was at first care.
less but he soon assumed a brisker way, and,

“ Who

 

 

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after a glance around as if to assure himself he
was not under observation, he continued at a
re id pace.

carding a car in due time he went on until
he could ride no longer. Then he walked still
further, and found himself in a humble quarter
wholly unlike that which gave an air of elegance
to all about Hall0weli’s neighborhood.

Ringing a certain door-bell he ,was soon in the
presence of Chief Claxton.

The caller was E iward Acton.

“ Hal" exclaimed the detective, with more
than his usual animation, “ so it is youl How
goes it?"

“ I am just from the judge’s housc.”

“ Weill"

“ 1 am safely domiciled there.”

“ And unsuspected!” '

“ So far, yes."

“ Good! I think it will be all right.”

“ I hope so, but I still remember that, though
I took no open part in Homer Curtis’s trial, I
was often in the court-room, and I fear the
keen-eyed judge will remember having seen me
there.’

“ Be at ease! Hallmvell’s business in court is
to sit in judgment on prisoners, not to act the
policeman. I'll almost swear he never looks to
see who is among the loungers, or disinterested

rties, and you did not appear as a witness.

ell, how were you received?"

“ With great kindness, and yet with due
formality, such as was to be ex cted from one
of Hallowell’s breeding and soc al position. He
has been all I cauld desire. He said the letter
from Senor Aqulllcz, of Australia, was all the
recommendation I needed, and he cordially in-
vited me to make my home with his family
while I was in New York.”

“ Aquillez rendered, him valuable service
when he was in Australia, and he was Aquillez’s
guest. All I fear is that when you put off your
present clothes for New York made ones—if

ou do—yo’u will lOse your foreign appearance.
‘I‘rue, your dark complexion gives, color to the
claim that you are the son of an American father
and a Spanish mother; but let ua,not borrow
trouble. How like you the judge?”

“ He seems to be a fine man.”

“ He is so regarded.”

“ Yet, you have set me to watch him."

“Old things often occur!” murmured Chief
Claxton.

-“ I wish,” earnestly declared Acton, “ you
would tell me what you expect from Hallowell’s
house. I can’t see how anything is to be learned
which will help Homer Curtis.”

“ My friend, I was never more sincere than

when I told you I did not know, either. If I’

had not had good reasons for the step I should
not have sent you to Hallowell’s. at I do not
see how it will prove anything for urtis."

“ Yet, you sent me.”

It 6‘."

“I am working in the dark.”

“ So am I!” ~'

“I beg your pardon if I seem over-curious,
but I am so bounl up in small compass by my
role of working without clue to anything what-
ever that I am in constant fear of making some
blunder. If I Were better informed, I could al-
wa a be on my uard."

‘ Should the time come when 1 can divulge
anything. I will do so gladly.”

Acton dropped the argument. He saw that
the detective was bound not to tell anything
then, and. as Homer Curtis’s welfare was the
all-important consideration. heidid not see fit to
make more talk over the ways and means,

Claxten undoubtedly know best.

' “Of course,"‘add_ed the detective, presently.
“ you ha'ye seen the Judge’s family?” '
l‘

it What do you think of theml"
“ Mrs. Hallowell is one of the sweetest and,
at the same time, most capable woman I even

saw."

“ And the daughter!” Claxton asked, as Acton
hesitated for a moment.

There was a slight degpening of color in
.Ed ward's face.

“ A good copy of her mother, with all the
glory of youth added to other glories. A most
beautiful, amiable, refined and attractive girl, if
I am to describe her to the letter.”

“ Ah l"

Chief Claxton murmured the word in his own
vquiet way. Acton feared he had been too clear,

, - but when he looked for any sign in the detec-

tive'a face he saw nothing.

“I regret," Eiward went on, “thit I an
obliged to appear before such a family in an)"
bill: 6 "WIRMIOI'WIH rule. It’s bad enough to
act the part of duplicity in any "898. but "hell
one takes worthy [maple to impose upon, it
makes him feel small!"

Once more the speaker was afraii he had said

' too much, but his companion continued impas-
eive. . ,

“That‘s a fact,” Claxton agreed.

“This matter is not likely to injure them, is
it!” nevered Acton.

“ ow can it? Of course none of the Hal-
'lcwells had share in the slaying of Morris Strong
—the idea would be absurd. Rest easy; you

/dispr0Ved any lack of interest, and he began to

 

have only to watch at the house and report all
details of what you see. Pray do so now!”

Edward made thqreport.

He had never been more surprised than when
Claxton came to him and asked him to go to the
judge's house in such a role. Claxton knew the
Senor Aquillez whose name was used in the case,
and knew of his being in New York, though
Hallowell did not; and by some hold he had on
the senor, he had prevailed upon the latter to
write, as if from Australia, a letter which intro .
duced Acton as Warren Vintou, an Australian.

This letter had gained the young man access ‘
to Hallowell’s home.

As Aci0n was so much in the dark, himself, he 3
really thought he had nothing to report, but l
Claxton resolved himself into an inquisitor and .
asked questions without limit.

At times his words seemed soirrelevant to .
Acton that the latter was sur rised, but Claxton ‘
took all without comment. hether he found i
consolation in the result he did not say. ]

Finally, he made a motion as if the interview ’
was nearing an end. ,

“ Thus far,” he remarked, “ you have done all ‘
I can ask. Return to your work, and be patient ,
and careful. Watch all that occurs. Observe .
Hallowell, his wife and his daughter. See what
their mood is each day, and if you notice any-
thing odd in their acts.”

If the detective had been perfectly frank he f
would not have included either I the wife or
daughter in this direction, but he could not be- 
tray everything to Acton.

“ Observe,” he continued, “ whether they have
callers who are not of their rank in life. See
who these callers are, if any such come, and re
port to me fully.” ,

Claxton cleaned his finger-nails with scrupulous
care and slowly added:

“ If you see any of the family go out clothed
in a way not customary to them, follow quietly
and secretly, and see where he or she goes.”

The speaker put away his knife.

“ Possibly," he resumed. in a voice so slow as
to be almost a dra w], “ only Hallowell is likely
to goon such an expedition, for even if the ladies
wished to, they would hardly venture. They
would be more lil¢l_i"'—Claxton mused to yawn
—“ more likely to send Hallmre l,Jii any case.
Yes, I think so. But watch, watch! Vigilance
is the price of liberty in some cases. In other
cases,” and the (yes of the detective suddenly
brightened, " it is the price pf human life.
Watch, my friend: watch unceasinglyl"

Edward Acton felt o rested. There was that
in this injunction wh ch touched him deeply.
The latent flash of feeling in Claxton’s manner

realize that he was engaged in seiious work—
and engaged without any idea of what he was
doing. He remembered Claxtbn’s reputation—
the “Record-Breaker,” be was called; and it
meant something.

And he was a blind instrument of a cunning
man

There was no line of arguing, so Edward let it
rest as it was. He heard the rest of the injunc-
tion and then took his leave.

' “liy Jiivel"be thoughtas he went hack to-
ward I-Iallowell’s, “a man don’t know what he
is tackling when he lets himself he made the in-
strument of a detective. I am left all in the‘
dark, and yet I must work for Claxton. To
what end? Why under the light of the sun has
he sent me to the judge’s house? None of them
can be in any way connected with the tragedy,
or with the solution of the mystery, and

am ashamed to act the spy. But all this is for
Homer Curtis! Let me remember that,“and go
On, eVen if it d0es hurt me to deceive such

iple.”

Then he had a more consolinrthought:

“ Perhaps the detective thinks the real crimi-
nals will come to Hallowell, to tr and keep
him from weakening on what he has one against
Homer.”

It was not a brilliant theory. but Acton was in
a mood to grasp at straws.

Reaching the house, he encountered Alice
H-il10well in the hall.

He bud not aver-praised her when talking
with Claxton. She was of a refined style of
beauty which made bera delight to the eye,
while the stamp of true womanly gondnees was
on her face as indelibly as nature eVer a plied
it. Ber manner was gracious'and kind, in ngled
with the merry spirit of youth which,“in her
ca-e. was sure to wound or severely try others.

At her father’s request she had greetedflm
supposed Australian with cordiality, and he had,
in her opinion, thus far proved worthy of it all.

Aston had been reared in a style equal 0 her
Own, and the saving that blood will tell w swell
illustrated in his case. Although claiming to
hail from adistentland he was intelligentenough
to have made his way well in the new circle he
was in, even if he had been unaccustomed to
New York ways; and the one fact was apparent
if the other was not.

They DOW adjourned to the parlor, and Alice
entertained him as she well knew how, with kind-
ness and with womanly grace.

The young man each moment found her more

 

attractive from his point of view. That subtle ,
something which cannot beanalyzed by all the

art and high-sounding phraseology of those who
have tried, brought them together in mint, as

' peOple, and especially the young, will be ettrnCt-

ed one to the other when congeiiiality axisIS.

It was this which made his ta~k >0 Ptpef'ially
obnoxiou~~ to Acton. It Was l ad enough to de-
ceive Judge Hellowell, a gentleman be regarded
as all that was courteous and upright; but it was
worse to act a treacherous part is hen Alice was
concerned, and, perhaps, lay the foundation for
that which would make her hate and despise
him later on.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
TROUBLE COMES 1N.

” ABE you eVer do“ n-hearted?”

Alice asked the question abruptly, after she
and Acton had been in conversation for some
time.

Ed ward could not avoid a slight start.

“ Down-hearted?" he repeated.

H YPs."

“ Well, I think I have. a fairly buoyant
nature,” he re lied. “Why do you ask 1”

“ Because, t ough I have thought my nature
Was that way, too, 1 am beginning to doubt it."

“Indeed! Iam sorry to hear that. I trust
there is no visible foundation for such a feeling?”

“I can’t say there is, and it annoys me to
think lam basing my fears on something un-
seen and Jinknown. n brief, I am oppressed
with a presentiment of evil!”

She laughed as she said it;not with the free

, manner of one who fully realizos a weakness,

l.ut more as if she was afraid of being laughei
at. She need have had no fear. The apparently
trivial matter gave Acton a decided shock.

“ Do you believe in presentimentsf” she added.

“ I never have.” '

“Nor I. I feel that I am absurd, n0w, but
the feeling remaiDS.”

“ May I ask when it beganl”

“ It was since you came-”

She stopped short, hesitated, and then added

I with some embarrassment:

“ That was certainly an awkward remark,
but I trust you will not 'regard it as anything
more than a chance and unhappy connection of
events. Of course I did not mean to associate
one occurrence with the other.”

“ You need hardly say it, Miss Hallowell, for
I am well aware of your good intentions.”

He was, but he did not feel any mire re-
conciled to her presentiment after the e” or she
had made.

“ In brief." she admitted, “ I lave been
oppressed with a fear of, I knew not what. It
seems as if something unpleasant was about to
happen.”

How many times Edward had laughed at

resenfiments before! He did not laugh now.

et, if anybody had asked him if he believed in
such things, he would have replied in the
negative without hesitation.

If he was worried new, and be was, it was he-
cause ” Conscience i cth make cowards of as all,”
according to the old saw.

“ Perhaps," pursued Ailee, “ my gloomy
feelings rise from the fact that my father has
not been in his usual spirits of late. He is very
dear to me, and when i see, as I have done re-
cently, that something is. troubling him, It
troubles me.”

“i did not imagine he was a gentleman who
had any troubles.’

“ Be neVerhas l‘een, but now—”

Acton waited anxiously for the ccmpieiion of
the remark.

" Now, something does seem to worry him. I
have not ventured to ask what it is.” ‘

Edward wished he had not been made the re-
cipient of this confidence. He was not in good
spirits, an 'how, and to see Alice‘s melancholy
facc gave im a fresh depression, himself. Sud-
denl sbe bri hiened.

“ ow foo uh I am, to he sure! I don‘t know
whyl have told you all this nonsense, only I
happened to meet you when I was feeling just

fight to befoolish. Forget all six ut it—I uni '

going to.”

Quickly chanpirg (re snlject she
to talk liplutl , and the chaim of the new word
trade Edwar for the time forget her presmti-
iiicnt.

Si e had left him sleifigomewhat later, when
Judge Ballowell cuts the house. Acton
had found his host a man who knew how to
entertain faultlersly, and it was not different,
new, tut, though he asked after the welfare
of the supposed Australian. and said all a host
could, his manner impressed Edward strongly in
another way. i

The strong face of the judge looked worn
and troubled. He did not betray the fact

as others would have done, but the signs were 5

there, nevertheless, and Acton remembered
Alice’s words.

When he had gone to his room. presently, be
reviewed everything.

"Am I in a family already afflicted with
trouble, and here as a”spy and traitor? B
heavens! the role is a most ignoble-one, and
will fill it no longer! But Curtisl—Curtis, and
his battle for life! I must keep tomv work:
I must, let the result be what it may. Yes; I’ll
go on, but I feel sure Alice’s presentiment will

been.

*mvmw-Wn on

 

 

 

... <,_;-.-»

 

V me!”

12

‘1' ‘."I ‘yvy‘

' Detective Claxton.

u

 

be realized. The presentiment came after I
entered the house! That is clear to me, if
not to her. But, nonsense] what is a presenti-
ment? A thing of the inmginatiOn, temporarily
out of order. Shall I stop for a presentiment?
Not ll I’ll go on, and then—then Alice will hate

He paused, dwelt upon the idea, and added:

“She will hate me!"

That seemed to mean a good (leal to him, for
he made a quick, nervous gesture, and looked
exceedingly gloomy. Then, presently, he irrita-
bly supplemented:

‘ What a fool I am!"

He was fully convinced of it at that moment,
yet he could not fight down the feelings which
were in his mind. He respected and admired all
of Hullowell‘s family, and the outlook was not
pleasant. At all times he was confronted with
one thought:

“ What act may pot Claxton ask of me, yet?”

 

At that moment Otis Hullowell was in his pri-
vate room, even more actively engaged in
thought. He dwelt not upon troubles which
might come, but those ulrcndv at hand.

There had been nochauge for the better, and
he did not see how any could occur. With
Salome alive the position of the present inmates
of his house was dried and unalterable. If the
arm of law was not about them, Nothing could

at it there. Believmg his first Wife to be dead

8 had never taken any steps to annul the mar-
riage, and she must remain his only legal wife
while she lived.

Perhaps he could keep the truth from Alice’s
mother by bribing Salome anl Deborih, but
could he, himself, ever enjoy life while he know
of the family curse!

Again, there was Homer Curtis.

Not once in the long stretch of years had be
imagined he had a son, but the fact that it might
be so—he believed, now, that it was—kept his
mind busy much of the time.

A son, and he had sentenced him to the gal-
laws!

It counted not then that he had been a mere
agent of the law. He had done the duty impOSed
upon him by law, but it was not now in a com-
posed spirit that be reflected upon the fact. He

ad sentenced his own Swill HOW the thought
haunted him! How it was always at hand, like
a fiend that mocked his weakness.

He was weaker than be had thought. A few
weeks before he Would have disdained the impu-
tation that he could have a kind feeling for one
charged with crime, no matter how much long
year-i of love had endeared that one to him.

Now, here was a young man he had never been
attracted to until the whole web of his life seem-
ed about to be torn to pieces in ignominy and
disglrace, yet the iron judge was touched in spite
of a l.

Strangely was be drawn toward the doomedi
prisoner.

“ If I could [belieVe he is not my son— But I
cannot believe it. The assertions of the women
are backed up by proof I cannot well question.
Yet, it may he that if I were to see him his own
lips would give me roof that he is not what he
seems. He cannot ave been in the plot against
me, or he would not have been content to wait
:ptilnhe was legally sentenced. If I could see

in

It was the first time the idea had entered his
mind. If he could see this wretched young man
who Was to die so miserabl i

“ I must see himl Yes; I’ lmake someexcuse
no matter how feeble: and go to his cell. I’ll
talk with the donmed wretch; I’ll ask him of his
past; I'll see if he is like— Ohl God, what if he
should be like any one I know, in mannerl”

Again came the struggle to avoid believing he
was the father of the convicted criminal; the old,
vain struggle, which haunted him all through
the days, whether in his home, on the street, or
upon the bench; the attempt to defy his own he-
lief, and the war of failure.

“ I must see him," was the decision. “ It can
be done with the Warden’s help without any pub-
licity, and it may result in something. I want-
to know the young man’s past. I trust it will
not be as unhapvpy as my own."

His thoughts out back over a long stretch of

cars.
y United with his strong will there had been a
perverseness in these days, and at the age of
twent years he had left his father‘s house, cut
loose rom all home associations and all he knew,
and 'gone out into the world with the folly of
youth to live apart from all his kindred.

He had plenty of money Which he had inherit-
ed, so it was in no sen-ten stru is for bread.
0n the contrary, he continued in e egant leisure,
suiting his tastes fully, but, as he had no beat
for dissipation, being free from that curse.

He met Salome Paine.

She was young, brilliant in her way, and pos—
sessed of a certain kind of beautv. She had
health and the strength of a man. She had the
blaneet‘of black hair, abundant and glossy; she
had lino bl «ck eyes and may Cheeks! and she had
a kind of dashing buoyancy of spirits which cap-
tiv'lted Hallowell.

Handsome she was, but it was not the kind of

 

300d looks he would have admired a few years

later. There was not in her nature any refine-
ment, delicacy of feeling or regard for what was
noble. She was as fully animal as the panther
of the forest.

Hallowell, bittered by his family troubles,
did not wait to find out anything more about her
than that she. captivated his imagination.

He married her.

After a few months things went wrong. She
had a temper which she never tried to control,
and it made trouble. he did the best that could
be eXpected of one of his years to keep peace,
and he had all the more reason when a son
was born to him. This was with him a tie;
a demand for good Will. It made no differ-
ence with Salome. She cared nothing for the
child, and began to care less for the man of her
choice.

Fire needs fuel to feed upon. Ilallowell had
already found he had made a mistake, and, when
he also found he had lost nil her regard, her fits
of temper, indifference and scorn—each had its
turn-becamo harder to bear.

Like begets like. Gradually his love for
her, responding in the example she Set, died
away, and only the burden of the mistake re-
inninr-d.

One night he left the house abruptly after a
quarrel. \Vheu he l‘i turned to the town it was
to ride mmin for fifty miles upon hearing that
the valley was in the embrace of a flood.

He arrived too into to see or save his wife
and child. The house had gone down in the
flood. .

Later, bodies were found which, despite their
unpleasant condition, others identified as those
of his wife and child. Uncertain at first,
he finally accepted the positive assertions of
neighbors and servants that the bodies were, in-
deed, wlint they claimed, and when, after sev-
eral months pussed and no word came from the
lost ones, the last thought that they had escaped
left his mind.

'Such was the history of his unfortunate mar-
rings.

And wife and son still lived!

lie regretted that he had not questioned Sa-
lome further, when he last saw her, to learn how
she had escaped, but the point was not material.

He was face to face with the facts of the case,
and they were keenly real to him. No wonder
he brooded over them; no wonder Alice saw a
change in him. , .

“ I must eve Curtis,” he murmured. “ I want
the oung man’s story, 100. ' I want all I can get
on t is unfortunate subject. I’ll see him i”

A servant knocked at the door, and delivered
the message:

“A lady to see on, sir.”

“Who is itr’ang there was irritation in the
judge’s voice. '

“ She said you would not know her name, and
she did not give it, sir. She is not dressed like a
wealthy person, and she looks like one in
trouble—’

“I will see her.”

It was the last words which had led to the de-
oision. Otis Hallowell knew how to appreciate
the situation of any one who was in trouble.

He Went down and saw a pale, slight girl who
had an attractive but sad face. She rose and
stood as if frightened at her own temerity.
1d“;1 think I do not know you,” he remarked,

n C

u y name, sir," she faltered, ii is Mary Wolf!”

CHAPTER XIV.
FOR ran DOOMKD MAN'S sum.

JUDGE HALIOWELL bewed politely. The
files of the girl before him could not but impress
him as being that of a good face, ml the shadow
of trouble resting upon it a pooled to his sym-
pathy still further. He was earning late in life
that he did have a fund of sympathy, and learn-
ing, as too many do, through the eflects of his
own troubles.

“ In what way can I be of service to‘youf" he
ingpired kindly.
ti ary looked uncertain how to meet the ques<

on.

“ I am afraid to tell you,” she admitted. -

“That need not be the case. While Ido not
agree to do anything until I know what it is,
there is no reason why you shhuld not tell me
what has brought van here. and do it freely.”

“ I-I want to speak of Homer Curtis, sirl”

Hallowell could not avoid a slight start.

“ You will remember [him as an unfortunate
gnung man who was before you in the court-
rOom lately,” she added.

Remember! Could he ever forget?

The once-iron judge regarded her more close-

 

'2‘

“ Is Mr. Curtis a friend of yours?” he inquired.
Her head drooped.
" A very dear friend,” she replied, almost in-
audibly.

u Ah 1”

“ 1—1 am his promised wife 1” Mary admitted,
with a sigh. -

“ Indeedi”

It was no idle repetition of expressions, for the
judge was studying her face (sharply. At the

trial no one had appeared ‘who claimed kindred
with the prisoner, and. with the knmrledge he
had of the case, Hallywell believed he could see

why this was. Now, with himself in the back-
ground, it was a new sensation to find Curtis
had one who was with him in heart, and all it.
implied.

What company did the doomed man keep?

Fortunately for his reputation in his father’s
eyes there could be no doubt as to Mary Wolf.
No one could See her without feeling that she was.
noble in the full sense of the term.

She was slow to say more, and the judge final-
ly murmured:

“ ilis promised wife! The chances of your
eve; ,being more than that do not seem to be the
lies .

“ Ohl sir, do not say that!" Mary cried.
“There must be hope i—there must, for he is in.
nocent! He is not guilty; he cannot be! ,Uli
sir, I know him well; I know him to be menia—
lile of the horrible crime charged against him.
There is not one thought in his mind; there is
not one inclination which would lead him to
crime. I know it, for I understand him to
well!”

It was not a logical argument. Even the dul-
lest of men could see that, while for one who eat
on the bench as Otis Hallowell had done, it WhE.
merely the wild and syinputhic plea of a woman
with a heart bowed down with grief.

Mary’s hands were clasped tightly, nervously,
and she could hardly articulate in her sorrow
and fear, but the plea was elcquent in its denione
stration of affection, if not in logic.

“ Have you any more evidence?” kindly asked.
the judge.

“ Unfortunately, I have not, but do not let;
that influence you, sir. I have come to yen for
help; I have come to beg that you will do some—
thing for himi Ohl sir. you are powerful, ard.
I beg of you that you wil use your influence for
him! Others tell me it is outside your province,
but I know you have influence—all in your po—
sition have. You are great and influential, and
his life is at stake—his life and mine, for I
cannot live without him. Ohl hear the prayer
of a wretched woman and save him from his.
fate!" .

She fell on her knees at his feet, and her voice
was like the wail of a lost soul. ’

She lifted her clasped hands to him in prayer;
she turned the full battery of her tear-suffused
eyes upon him; she pleaded with voice, and eyc,,

and with all the viewless but wonderful potency
of her womanly love.

Judge Hallmvell's face trembled; he could
hardly keep back the tears which would have:
dimmed his own eyes.

Gently he tried to lift her to her feet.

“ Let us talk—”

“ Yes, yes; but only here!” she cried. “ I will.
not rise until I have your pledge to help himl I.
will notl—I will not!”

It was no longer the shrinking girl, timid in
the presence of one above her in worldly station,

conquered all else and made social rank .1, thing-
of infinitesimal pro rtion.

“ But I will to k the same with you else-
where—”

“ Promise me now,—here, here!”

It was on the judge’s lips to give the promise
that he would do all he could, but he remembered
that if he did he] the prisoner the fact must be
concealed from a l the world.

Unless he would make a direct bid for the re—
vealing of his Secret, it must be unknown that ho
had. done ought for the convicted man.

Stwpingme “ith Mary to her feet and direct—
ed her movements to a chair.

“Be reassured!” he gently said. “ Am I a.
savage that it should be necesfia for a woman
to speak with me on her bra ed knees? Bo
calm, child; be calml—I will listen to you
fairly. Let me hear of this unfortunate young
man, and of you. Tell me all; tell me how

i you came to know him, and what you do know

of him.”

There are times when all does not lay in
the words which fall from the lips. Otis Hallo-
well had said bu little, yet Mary did feel
reassured. There, as that in his voice which
told of friendly sympathy, and nothing else is.
stronger.

She told the stor plainly. Under'any other
condition she woul not have divulged, much
less dwelt upon a secret'WbiCh was too sacred
for others to listen to. but DOW—now, all
was at stake, and she was eager to show how
well she knew Curtis; how noble she knew him
to be. ,

She told the story: apd Hallowell listened
.with the keenth attention. Not a word did

tear-dimmed.

What a love she revealed! How the base and
“mud things of life shrunk Away in the presence
of such devoti nl '

He saw tha time, nor disgrace, nor jury’s
verdict could crush out her sfl’ection,,and he
felt like taking her in his arms und blessing her
for her devotion to that unfortunate prisoner of
Mahdi?" th' f th k

e no "1K 0 6. ind. Dee as he was
moved he still saw his Own pigityjnn, Her

 

Ch‘nc‘” 0‘ getting his blh‘n sympathy more:

and expression, and with her drooping figurc, ‘

but the woman and the love which was hers- .

he lose, and it hit eyes had echoed the voice of ,
his heart they would more than once have been “

 

i
i
k
I
x
i
i

W-..

'1 max-5 7

,
-, any"

 

 

Detective Claxton.

 

 

fewer than if he had been no more than the
judge—it made it impossible for him to express
sympathy of radical kind when he had so much
to Conceal.

Still. he could comfort her in a measure.

“ I think,” he observed, anon, “ that Curtis’s
lawyer has taken steps to secure a new tria'.”

“ Yes, but if you would speak a word for Mr.
‘Cnrtis—”

“ The new plea will go to just men.”

“ But your influence—”

'“ Would not change law or evidence.”

“ It would do more than either, if you were to
go to the other judges who must hear the case.”

Hallmvell had already thought of that, but he
dared not say so.

another 'udge on the appeal. What would be
the result?

There was no new evidence, as far as he knew,
and the appeal could be made only on technical-
ities. Donhtlsss, his Own course asa presiiding
justice would be criticised. He tried to think
wherein he might have made an unfair discrim-
ination against Curtis, but saw none.

it was a peculiar fact that since he had sat
down on the bench, no decision of his had been
over-ruled, and he feared it would be sus-
tained now.

“Then where is the ground for hope?” he
thought. “ How can a new trial be secured ?”

He shook his head at the prospect. If he had
felt no personal interest he would have said it

“ Do ye?”

The Water Wolf rested on his cars as he spoke,
and, leaning forward, regarded his companion
in a menacing manner.

Unmoved, Dan Murphy calmly made re-
s once:
p“l should be a fool if I did. I am myself
engaged in work this blesses] minute, so tospeak,
which I should not want the world to know—ay,
not (Well you, Ben. Can one happy-go-lucky
liver object if another gets his bread-andbutter - r
in a fashion not popular with the law-and—order :
forces?”

Dan smiled lightly, but Ben was not easily
Convinced. He inwardly cursed the hour when
Dunqu Davies brought Dan to his home, but it

“ Let us hope for the best.” was out of the question, but he could not say it was too late to think of that, now. _ \ . 
“ But there is no new evidence. and there can 110". “ Ef you hold ‘yer tongue it’s all right.” =
be nothing better unless you act." 7 “ There must be a new triall” he declared, “i shall, Ben. ,_

Hall0well shook his head.

“Ohl do not say No!" Mary cried. “I Will
not go away with the refusal! Promise me you
will do what I ask; it is only to use your influence
for him i"

“ I am only a blind instrument of J ustice—”

“ Speak not the word 1” Mary exclaimed;
“there is no justice in the law which dooms a
man on circumstantial evidence 1" '

“ You are not wholly wrong.”

“ Act; do something; save him, or I shall go

-madl”

There did seem danger of it. Not before had
she given way to her feelings so much, but n0w
she was with the judge, even she saw how feeble
was the plea under which she sought relief.

with feverish energy.

CHAPTER XV.
_ THE WATER \VOLF AT WORK.

THE gray light of dawn was slowly making
itself felt along the piers of the Metropolis.
Darkness was being pushed back b the power
of the sun, and the artificial lights ickered dis-
mally over theivide stretch of land from the
Battery northward.

A boat came alou the river so close to the
decks that each pier- ead almost grazed the craft
as it slowly mored southward.

In the boat was one man. He was a brawny
fellow, with the muscle to pull the heaviest boat

“ That feller in the dock was done with his ,.
cash. Why hadn’t I ez good right to et as any- ,3
body else?” ’ 

“ That's logic.” ~‘

“ You ain’t no better than any one else I" sud-
denlv cried the Wolf. . j_

“ Who said I was?” ,. ,r

“ I know ye, anyhow, an’ I wouldn’t trust ye
the length 0’ yer nose!”

” You put it wrong, Ben. I admit all you
allege except the last part. I am not in the 
habit of going back on a friend. I have done no
business with you, and couldn’t betray you if I
Would; but this you can set down as faét: I > 4 g‘
am mum when I hold a secret.” .

“ I hope you be.”

+1» ..

7.35.:-

With no evidence in Curtis’s favor, she en- aver handled by a solitary rower, and he handled Ben did not speak as if he was sure of it, but ' -
; deavored to make an officer of law upset the his charge without any trouble. he saw he would gain nothing by an ing more b j,
3 whole machiner of his department for her sake. As he went he used his eyes well, and a sudden on that head. He dropped a part 0 his sullen "117“

“Be calm,” allowell urged, a world of ten-
derness in his voice. “All is not yet lost. The
plea for a new trial may be acted upon favora-
hly. Do not give up your hopes. Your lawyer,
Mr. Pollard, is a shrewd and persevering man—
Yes. yes' he is all of that!” cried the judge.
glad to have found 0: a thing to say which did
not smack o! evasion and indifference, “ and he
'will do what he can. B3 hopeful, forIthink

there is hope. Who knows what the new trial_

will bring forth?"
“ But will there be one?"
"‘Qnite probably.”

deeply. She dropped on her knees at the judge’s
feet again. and covered his hands with kises be-

start, presently, told of some discovery.

He checked all motirn of the boar, looked more
keenly, and then pro lied it into a dock.

Something there ad caught his attention,
and he rowed toward it with eagerness. It was
a thing which floated on the surface of the
water, and with a peculiarity which not many
landsmen know. The motion was not new to
the hoatmun, and he did not hesitate in any
respect. Straight to the object he went, and
at the moment he arrived a fanciful surge of the
water upturned a human face—the face of a
dead man.

blood-sucker had been before im, or, the
dead man may have died as poor as he was now;

manner, and gave all his attention to the row-
iii of the boat.

t was not far to his haven, and in due time he
landed both himself and Dan Murphy. The lat-
ter had thought it possible that he would get an
invitation to breakfast, but the Water Wolf
did not see fit to take him to his heart just he-
cause he had discovered a secret dangerous to
the boatman’l welfare.

They talked on the pier for some time, and
then Ben said he must leave and did so, first
bidding Dan a half-hearted adieu.

Dan watched him move off.

 

 

3" ‘, "‘Will you aid?" . He who had come was not affected by such a “ I don‘t seem to be winning m way to

f , ‘“ I will goovei'all the evidence again.” slight thing, and after a quick glance aroaud to Benjamin’s heart as I could wish. ’1] swear

3 i ' "‘ And then?" see if he was observad be, seeing no si to that he don’t suspect I am Claxton, the detective. or

 f “ I will help if I can see an atom of chance.” effect, thrust_ his hand into the pocket of the that I am’an enemy, but he is careful enough so . .

:' Mary had been prepared for utter refusal, drowned person and sought for plundrr. he don’t want anybody to share his secrets. , . ‘
" and this unexpectr-d good fortune touched her There was not much there. Perha someother Cunning Ben! You may be able to keep this 

thing up, and then, again, you may not.” ,  .'
The detective was neluctant to accept his re-  '

1 fun he could withdraw them. at any rate only a few coins rewarded the buff, but there was no help for it, and he walk- I ..
j. "Heavon bless youl—Heaven blem you for- searcher. He secured these, but lOoked very ed awa all the more determined to win in the . ,; 
" ever!” she cried, brokenly. much dissatisfied when he saw his search was end. e had Davies in the toils, as far as hav-

 

It was a sinful experience for him. His
heart ached or the girl. She knew not of the
bond of sympath between them and‘knew not
how lad he won dhave been to ave given his
prom la free] and unreservedly; knew not
that all she fe t was echoed in his mind, and his
grief made the stronger because he had been
doomed to sentence his own son to an ignomin-
ions death.

Mary felt that she had trespassed all she
could on his time, and now prepared to depart.
He re-echoed the promise to examine the evi-
dence fully and sea if‘there was perceptible
hope, and she was moved with gratitude.

As she neared the parlor door it was on her
lips to apologize forintruding upon him, but

Better

not to be better rewarded.

His work done he stayed for nothing. His
oars’ dipped water again, and he was moving
out of the dock when a voice suddenly sounded:

“ Hallo, Benjamin 1”

Truss robber of the dead almost fell out of his
cra .

Anxioust he turned his gaze upward. On
the pier stood a man, and one he recognized im-
mediately.

“You’re a gay boy, Briny Ben,” added the
s ker. “You believe in making hay while
,t a sun is jost getting ready to shine. I see.
than the old way, by far. How did your
harvest an out?”

Ben oli' could have cursed the meddler with

lag his confidence was concerned, and it was
only a matter of time, he thought, when Ben
would come around.
He had read Ben fairly well in some respects, ‘ .:
but not in all, as the sequel roved.
When the boatman reac ed his room he had
along and serious period of meditation. He ,
did not like the fact that Dan had seen him rob . .
the body. He judged other men by himself, _ i l
and felt that his secret was not safe. If it was 1 r %
not. he needed to do something about it. ' l!
The result of his deliberations was that he
went out, after breakfast. and walked to where
Davies had told him Dan Murph lived.
It was a small, so-called hote of reputation
none too savo

 

we

 

the speech was cut short by a circumstance she great good will, but he dared not. He recog- Ben was around theplace for an hour or more. i - 'u;
could not but regard as singular. nlzed the man who had been introduced to him Then he went away and spent the day in other
“I shall be glad to have you come again, by Duncan Davies as Dan Murphy, and he was pursuits.
child," the judge remarked. ' not glad to have anybody get clue to his secret Late that evening he returned to the hotel, or
What pawer the words had! ways. w its vicinity and hung around until it became
Her face flushed. 1‘ Suppose you take me in, Benjamin?" Dan quiet. He had noticed that there was one int
“ ay 1?” _ went 0n. next to the rear yard which had a 10w add tion, . .
“ Most decidedly. Let me see you often, for The Water Wolf hesitated but only for a mo- or ell, and he was also aware this was close to ' i ,_
I—I hava a feeling for your troub o.” ment. He was in for a bad job. He had been

It was not the moat definite of remarks, but
the tone could not be misu nderstood.

“ I thank you, and 1 will come gladly,” she
hastened to say. “ I thank you for your kind-
nose—- May God bless you 1”

He accompanied her to the door, and she went

,-out into the night.
’ He returned to the palm and stood looking

caught in work he would not have known, but,
since it was so, the safest of all ways seemed to
be to comply with the request. If he left Dan,
the latter would not only be angry, but would
boon the scene, and have the pawer to prove
an charge he might make in his anger.

ullenly he put the boat back and took the
passenger aboard.

the room occupied by Dan. ~ . 
When the proper time seemed to have come ‘ '
he made an effort to e'nter the hotel unseen. He
was wholly successful in the attempt, and passed
through without encountering any inmate.
After that it was not hard to gain the roof of
the addition, and he did so with rare skill for
one of his weight. Fairl up, he paused and
watched and listened. he window of Dan

 

. at vacancy while the hands of the clock moved “ ’I.ongshore work pays well, eh?” smiled Dan Mur y’s room showed no light, nor was then

on‘ many aspace. ‘ “ Murphy. anyt ing to indicate the presence of a human
‘ May she come?’ he murmured. May one The only reply to the significant remark was being inside. All this pleased Ben. He believed _, - ,,
. come wbor-ie sorrows are my sorrows, come to a surly glance and Ben gave all his attention to Dan was asleep, and desired such a state of  *~ ,
 see me! Ah! I only wish I could, talk with her the use of the oars. He was anxious to get out afi'airs devoutly. , 

as I should be glad to: I wish I could seek
sympathy from her as she does from me! But I
cannot; my secret will not bear the light of day,
and I must hide it and fight aloner fight. But
she shall have my sympathy, for not only does
she low the boy. but she is of noble mind. How
diffcrant from the woman I first loved l”

of sight before others could see him.

Robbing of the dead was not one of his regular
means of support, but he disdained no end which
helped him along, except honest labor. His
occupation of the morning was one which
carried the seeds of trouble along with it, and it
was best to be careful.

He went to the window.

He raised the lower sash.

He listened again carefully.

Nothing was to be heard. .

Then with increased care he crept into the
room and stood on the floor where he could ro- - -
trout or advance, as circumstances seemed to de-

 

. Hallow" “filled at the “1008”. Dan Murphy waited patiently, and when they mand. ‘ f;
, Mary was kind, thoughtful. Wide-rate and were wellout in the stream he added: From the window at the other side of the 4
true: Salome had be"! Pervefle. headless of the “ I judge the sort of craft you unload most, as Kiln-cc some light struggled in from a street- 1- v
“01198. 0' Otbfl'v 3915‘“ find “Bramble. moved a ’longshoreman, is in the way of flotsam.” p. It fell on the foot of the bed. It did not ’ i‘ ’
“5'10 3'” by “’9 'P‘m 0‘ “’0 “our. . “,Critter.” answered Briny Ben sullenly, “1 reveal what he would have been glad to nae.
3"“ “i '8' "0‘ '03“ ""3 Judi“ thousht 0' that. have known men to judge too much.” The covar- lookad too trim by far for the pm- . 2.» '
Mary's earning and her request had given It Mum" me?” “'0‘ ‘ deeper. , - 5

f

more color and mom haste to a plan Hallowell
had had in his mind. Curtis’s case would go to

 

‘ “E! you want ter unit, you."
“ Do you think i object to what you did!”

I

l

 

Disappoith unseat} his face. '
Haunting awhile, hathen crept forward with

 

14-

"l

. . l

Detective Claxton.

 

 

7—..———4—_— -7- V. n a,

 

 

. Grewling some unintelligible comment he
5 ’ went to the gas-fixture and boldly made alight.
It gave him view of the whole room. He saw
,. nothing whatever of interest. He had eVery-
"» thing to himself, and that was just what he did
not want.
“ Where is the critter?” he grumbled. “ Does
he keep night—owl hours?”
 His wandering gaze rested upon a slip of
. aper on the table, and he went to see what
5» t was. Several lini‘s were written in a free
' hand, and he read as follows:

'f  “Have gone away for the time.
S I’Vednesday or Thursday.

Will return

“D. Munrm'."

Briny Ben flung the paper down viciously.
 “ Jest like the confounded critter. Gone
,2“ when he ought ter be here, an’ all my fun
' gone, too. Durn the luck! it’s about what I
:n 3 always get. l'd like ter swap luck with a
V: 1 blind mule. But I wonder what he’s left?”

' Another instinct began to prevail, and the
boatman began a survey of the room to see if
and plunder was at hand. He found but little
of it; Dan did not have a very extensiva Word—
~  robe, and all other things were equally scarce.
 Five minutes’ search convinced him there was
a“; nothing which would repay the risk of carrying
' oil’, and he gave up the idea.

“ Left, all around l” he growled, as he started
toward the window.

~ With all the speed which was consistent with
safety he retreated as he had come.

He had not fairly left the addition when the
door which led from the room to the hall opened
and Chief Claxton came in quietly.

“ Good-night, Ben!” he murmured. “ If there
were not greater things at stakeI would see
you, now, but it must be postponed. Next time

I, D you go on such a raid, don’t be so free in asking
‘3 1' servants as to where my room is. It you do,
I {burnerrand may get suspected, as it did this

~ me. I .

 Satisfied that the boatman would not return,

'7, 3 the detective lighted a cigar and sat down to

' enljo it. '

‘ enjamin is dangerous!" he commented.
" V “ I can’t believe he suspects my trade or iden-
b’, ' 'tity, but he i: sore on my discover cf the morn-
; lug. He don‘t want partners in h s secrets, and
if judge this night raid arighr, he Would have
slain me in bed if I had been there—and asleep.
Ben is dangerous!" I

The comment was as quietly made as if he
.had no earthly cause to fear the big Water
Wolf, but this did not mean he was deaf to the

warning voice. .
“ Ben,” he decided, “ I shall keep on in the

’ very coursel have marked out, and if I can

‘ keep you from killing me. I think we shall be
god friends, yet. But I know your way, now,
u; I know your way 1”
52‘ __
V CHAPTER XVI.
5“ ruin PRISONER or run TOMBS.

Tan night was dark, and the warden at the
Tombs was seated in his private office, thinking
what a miserable time it was to be patrolling
the city and defending it from evil-doors.

A note was brought to him.

“ Show the gentleman in i" he quickly direct-

ed.
ii And in a few seconds Judge Otis Hallowell.

entered.
, " My dear sir, I am delighted to see you i” the
'3' warden exclaimed. “ I am almost dying of the
. blues, and your help will get me out of the rut,
if you intend to stay with me.”
‘ I have come tosmoke with you, Mr. Warden.
Try One l” '
The last words referred to the handful of
 cigars the judge extended, and the ofl‘i-ial did
' not refuse the chance presented. Both secured
a “light,” and then they sat down to smoke and
y salk. Hall0well was in his coolest mood, as far

.' as could beacon, and he had never been a better
companion.

He took the bulk of the conversation upon
himself, and entertained the prosaic warden as
 only a man of genius and ideas can.

"5:, * It was half an hour later when he approached
theaiiibjsct of his call. Yawning, he carelessly

“ How is Curtis, your prisoner?"
.‘ “ He’s in good health, and I must lay he’s the
’ _ nerviest man I ever saw with us. No bra or
blaster, but simply courage of the best sort.’
“ Bears up well, eh?"
M Ye "l
“ “Probably thinks he will get a new trial."
- s; “ He never has said so."
- “ Doesn’t he get downcast at alli”
I “ Not for a moment, as far as one can see.
But it’s pure and simple nerve, sir, for he must
, are how he stands. Oh! you can rest assured he
,7;  '- ~ to net satisfied. really, or oven hopeful. Grit,
' j judge; is the name of it 1”
“ Rea ly, I would like to see this man.”
“ Why don‘t you?”
“ Ccn‘it he done!"
g I “ Of course." I , x
> .“It must he in private, than. When I saw
him before he was asleep, you know, and as the

 

 

 

 

 

great caution and reached the bed. He found  hour was so late there was nobody about to tell .
his worst fears realized: there was no one there. 1 of the matter,

but you know of this, warden.”

"‘ It shall all be on the dead quiet, sir: I’ll see ,

to it that nobody knows of it now but you and
me.”

“ Geodl I’ll go in and see him. Arrange it
at once, will you?"

The first step had been taken without publi-
city, and the care of the official made all else
easy. He Went away, onlyt i return soon after
with the information that the coast was clear,
and that he had duly notified Curtis of the
honor in store for him.

“I’ll see that no keeper gets in your way,
judge." added the warden, obstquiously.

H~ill0well extended his thanks, and went to
the cell with the valuable aid. The warden un-
10cked the door, and then retreated judiciously.

The judge entered the cell.

The prisoner had been seated, but he rose with
the air of one doing the honors of his own home.

“ Good-evening, sir,” he gracefully said.
“ Thanks to the warden, I am able to offer you
a reasonably comfortable chair, and it is at your
service.”

I-Iallowell replied in a firm, clear voice, and
took the chair, Then the prisoner himself sat
down on the edge of the cot.

“ W a meet under different circumstances
than when we Were last together,” the visitor
remarked.

“ Yes, air; this is not the court-room.”

“Did you expect, then, to be here now?"

“If you mean to ask whether I expected the
trial to result as it did, I will say that, being in~
nocent, I at first expected to be cleared without
trouble, but as the work went on, and the array
of circumstances hemmed me in tighter and
Slight”, I decided it would go against me. It

i i

“ And then?"

“Then you did your duty.”

“ As I remember it, you (60!: i ll coolly.”

“ I was innocent!”

Homer Curtis had Spoken with unfailing calm-
ness, and even now there was no more in his
manner. There was nothing of the theatrical
displa y in his manner, and no attempt to influ-
ence his companion. Calm as if his life was not
at stake, he made the assertion evenly.

“ You expect a new trial, I sup 9?”

“ I am told that Judge Hallowell‘s decision and
rulings are rarely. or never, over-ruled.”

“ But you retain hope?”

“All men do while there is hope. Itis the'
way we are made, and a precaution to make us
hold to the life, we have.

“ Can you in no way establish your inno-
cancel”

“ You know how we tried at the trial.”

“ There is nothing new?"

“ Nothing.”

“ You are reputed to be a very cool prisoner.”
» “ Nothing is to be gained by dejection. It
lwiltlnbe time to give up all when all is surely
os .

“ Suppose all proves to he lost?”

“ Then I will try to die like a man.”

Calmly the statement was made, and the‘
judge felt like seizing the hand of the prisoner.
Such magnificent, unassuming ‘ courage was
enough to arouse all his sympathy and admira-
tion under all circumstances.

“ You still assert you me innocent?" l

“ Emphatically, yvsl" .

Curtis looked the questioner in the face with a.
gaze which never anered.

All through this talk the Judge had been eying
the young man critically. He had beentrying
to read his' very soul, as it were, and what he
did read was in Curtis’s favor. At all times
the latter met his gaze, not defiantly or with do
effort, but with that nameless something which
indicates the honest man, free from secrets he
mav wish to hide.

'lf Hallowell admired his great nerve he also

began to feel he was with an innocent man, but
the thing of all things was that cool. unassum-
ing courage. '

This quality had always been imputed to him~
self.
Was it the illustration of the old saw that,
“ blood will tell?”

Hallowell was beginning to feel keenly for
the prisoner, and with the awakening of hi-t‘
sympathies and admiration came with renewed
force the question: Was he, indeed, the son of
the visitor? '

For some time longer Hallowell dwelt upon
the am jact‘, but he had come with another ob-
ject. and he soon mentioned it abru tly:

" Ithiuk l have never héu'd the story of your
life?

“ It. was not mentioned at the trial."

There was an evasion in the reply, as Hallo-
well well saw, but he did not allow it to abash
him.

“ It is ap rent to me that you are of go’od
rank in life. ‘

“That dependau n wb t you mean. I was
reared under hum ls oi umstancas, and can
claim no more than that there was honor in the
home. There was no, cameos form: no
wealth, and no mingling in llod polite so.

 

v  f /

[Vita—""1133 -  

 

 

“ Would you mind giving me a sketch of your

1 Wouldn‘t care to have any one i life!”

Curtis gazed somewhat Wonderineg at the
questioner.

“ Why should I?” he inquired, bluntly.

“There is a movement on foot to secure a new
trial for you, and your lawyer has mentioned it.
to me. If there is to be a fight to save you, a.
friendly turn from we may not do you any"
harm, but I do not like to work in the dark.”

“ Of course not.”

“ I am sincerely anxious to do you a good
turn, if I can, Mr. Curtis.”

“ I should be foolish to refuse your kind titer,
and though I should not comply with every one,
the reputation of Judge Hallowell is well known.
to me,” gracefully replied the prisoner.

” At least, what you may say will not be used
to your injury.”

“Enough! You shall bear mystery, which
may he told, as far as I know it, in few words.
What I don’t know might require much time in
the telling.”

There was somethin in the speaker’s manner
which suggested that t e shadow of the past had
been over him in some way, and Judge Hallo-
well waited ea erly for the recital. For the
first time Curtiss gaze fell. He looked away as.
if he were calling up the past out of the abyss of
time. Presently he began:

“My earliest recollections are of living in a.
small town in Pennsylvania, on the banks of the
Allegheny River.”

The judge shut his lips tightly; it was on the
bank of the Allegheny he had last seen his son.

“I was with two old people whom i called
father and mother,” Curtis added. “ I supposed
them to be my parents, and had no reason to
believe otherwise until I was ten years old.
One day a playmate declared l was not the son
of the Ashwns—such was the name of the old
couple.

“Child-like, I went to them with the story.
They told me it was false, and that I was what:
they had claimed: that they were my parents.

“ Shortly after we moved to a point near
.Philadelphia, and there we resided until I was:
sixteen. Then both Mr. Ashton and liisvwife fell
ill of the same trouble. Both died. He was the.
last tp succumb, and before the breath of life
32m out he called me to him and told a singular

rv. ,
“He confessed he was not my fathtr, and‘
from his liis I received all the news he could
give of the past.

" I have said they lived near the river.
a gift to them from the stream. ,

“ One May day, fifteen years before, there
wasa fresher. which amounted to a flood, and
many people were drowned at various placas
along the river. v

“No lives were lost where Mr. Ashton lived,
but one was saved.

“ In that time of disaster a mass of Wreckage
was thrown ashore almost at his door, and on
the wreckage was a child of perhaps two years
of age. The child was myself. .

“There was nothing about me which told
who I was, or whence I he come. Mr. Ash-
ton asserted that due inqluiry was made to get
trace of my friends, but have always doubted
this. The‘ Ashtons were old and childless.
From certain things he let drop I suspect that,
instead of trying with any degree of zeal to
find my friends, they seized the chance to add to
their houmhold one whose helplessness appealed
so strongly to their kind hearts.

“ Be that as it may, nothing waslearned.

“Mr. Ashton died. I did think of tryingto
tiace my relatives, but I never made any stir,
and the passage of time daily made success more
doubtful.

“ I own tried, and do not know to—day who I
really am.

f‘ Left alone. I came to New York and ob—
tamed a situation suited to my years in a
n ercautlle house. I was as tuccessful as was
t“ he fxpectrd, and, starting on nothing, fin-
ally fcund myself with enciiph mom-y savpd
to warrant my making an if‘fort for myself.
I went into ‘partnersh p with Morris Sirong.
How that partni rship ended the late trial has
told you.” .

Curtis ceased speaking,

The judge “had listened to all with ra t at-
tention, and listened to be almost conv need.
His mind m not new on Curtis‘s business Ven—
ture. but on something else.

“ You do um bear the Bumumeof your bene-
factor,” he reminded. -

“ N0. [did not see Why I should sail under
tale. colon, and I dropped the name of Ashton,
retaining only my first and middle names. Thua

became Homer Cumin." I

“ Do on not thinkyou oeuld even now trace-
your re ativesf”

“ It is poasiblo." ’

“ Do you not care to know of them 1"

“Situated as I am now, I do not mink they
would care to hear of ms,” frankly answered the
prisoner.

“ Have you anything by
prOvs your identity?"

“Nothing, unless it is the clothes Ihad on
when I was cast up by the flood."

“ What did you wear?" r

' ,4).   h ‘

I was

which you could

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Detective Claxton.

I 15

 

 

 

“I am not capable of telling in detail, but the
one thing which I should select as the most prom-
inent of all was a blue cloak, as an outer gar-
ment, which was fancifully trimmed and of very
rich material. In fact, all I had on was fine and
costly, from the point of view of a woman.
knew but little of such matters. The cloak,
however, was impresdve.”

Otis Hallowell saw the cloak in imaginatkn as
plainly as Curtis did. Well did he remember
that Salome had purchased the material just be-
fore he saw her last, and that it was in process
of manufacture when he went out of the house,
himself. neVer to return.

He dared not ask how it W‘IB trimmed, of Cur.
ti , but he had heard enough. The story, sup-
plemented by the hirthmark on the prisoner’s
arm, could not be otherwise than convincing.

It was as gOod as proven that Deborah had
told the truth. ’

CHAPTER XVII.
ran TIE or amon.

JUDGE HALLOWELL sat in siience. He had
gone back in imagination to that time so far
away when he had Salome and this son of his as
his dailycompnnions, and he thought with sor-
row what the n illfulucss and temper of a woman
had done.

If Salome had been different, what a differ—
ence it would have made in his life! ,

It might have made more than he Was then
thinking, for, in truth, Salome was not one
whom he could have introduced to his own
sphere in literand her deficiencies would bavo
been such a barrier to his career that it was
open to doubt if he would evor have been a
judge, or even a lawyer. '

Small things change the current of many a
life, and the rverseness of a woman may
change eVeryth ng in a career founded for life
and eternity. ‘

“ Do you see ought in this which bears upon
in casein court?”

omer Curtis asked the question with a faint
smile. It was not a serious inquiry, but made
as if to break the lull.

The judge aroused almost with a start.

“ Hardly that,” he replied, “ but you have in-
terested me, nevertheless. Life is full of strange
things. Your story— Butit is one which must

.be subordinate, now, to other matters. As to
your trial, I hope I did you noiujustice in my
decisions?"

There was almost apleading look in the gut:
the speaker fixed upon his companion, but
Hom‘er readily replied:

“ I consider that you used me very well, sir.
I know what your position was, and feel that I
had full justice from you.”

“ I thank you i”

There was more of feeling in the reply than
was safe, and Hallowell suddenly realized it and
took caution for his guide.

“ I like to be just," be added.
your application for a new trial.
yer hope ”

 

“ Now, as to

Has your law-

“ He tells me so, but I have some doubt of it.
That is—” .

Hallowell understood the sudden pause.

“ You have not said anything which will in-
jure you, Mr. Curtis. Iam not here as a spy,
nor would 1 use aught confided to me thus to
your hurt—”

“I am sure of it, sir!” Curtis hastened to
say. ' _

“ You are quite right. Now, I seldom take
any notice of the men or Women who are before
me for trial, further than is n to do my
work properl , but circumstances—certain cir-
cumstances— ave caused me to feel an interest
in you. I confess I should be glad to see you
shake off this incubus of alleged guilt. You are
not of the stuff of which murderers are made,
and I don’t think you guilty.”

“”I am very grateful for your good words,

“ Practical effort is the test of assertion, and
I will see if I can do something in the way of
proof. Just now I can say but little, but there
may be more later on.”

“ You are kind, and I will remember it in
you, sir.” " '

If a third party had been present he would
have seen in the manner of the two, if not in
, their looks. a similarity both marked and sug.
gestive. The bad a way of Bgeaking which
was alike, an the courtesy of t e elder man’s
way seem inborn with the younger. All this
was striking in the light of recent discoveries,

Anon, Hallowell rose to go.

“ I have a favor to ask of you,” he said.

.“ I was not aware that I was in a position to
do favors to any one,” Curtis swered, smiling,
“ but I shall be pleased to hear from you.” '

“ Refrain from mentioning my visit to any
one!"

“ Even from my lawyer?”

“ Yes.”

Curtis looked so riled.

“ Why should I u that?” .

“ “As a favor tome, and solcan be] you,
As a judge I am in singular work when com
here and offer my Md, and it lsiimpsrativo that
’ the {act lie kept secret now and forever. I tell

,you but the truth whonlsaylam so pm

they must yield a point.

. with success.

 

 

that my capabilities for helping you exceed those
of any other person living, but my share in the
work will hays to be secret; a matter between
you and myself, alone. Believe me, it is no idle ,
remark when I say this.” ;

“ But to keep my law} er in ignorance—” |

“ May mean your salvation i” l

“ \Vhat would he so) ?” ,

“What will he say if a new trial is granted 1'
you, without his knowing why it was done?” i

Curtis looked quickly at the speaker. There :'
Wasso much of meaning in the tone that he was
moved n ithnut knowing why. Q

“As a judge, and for other reasons,” added j
Hallowell, 5“ vaould not have it kn0wu I have 1
been here for anything, but this I can say to
you: I never gained an end by underhund
work; I know whereof I speak: 1 giVe yi’ll my .
w< rd of honor I mean you only good, and if my
course may seem strange to you it is, believe me,
the one which promise you the mast of all that i
can be done for you. In return there is only
this—no human being but yourself must know
of thi<.”

Standing erect, his fine form seen to the best
advantage, the judge Was an imprtssive sight, .
then. Something of this was visible to the ‘
prisoner, but thire was more.

An unseen, mysterious, peculiar influence u as
upon Homer Curtis, and it Was an iuinul=iro
decision wholly unlike himself n hen beubruptly .
exclaimed :

“ It shall be as you say; I sgr: q to all!”

“ “’0” said! You shall not regret this.”

It was hard for Hallouell to keep back other
words wl ich trembled on his twugue, but it was
done. He must be of ice, outwardly: he must
have assutp the part even if his reputation
had been di erent, while as it was, it was a
vital necessity.

He did not delay much longer. He had said
all that was necessary, and, he felt sure, more 2
than prudence would allow.

It was time for him to go before he said
more.

Father and son parted with a firm clasp of the
hand. It was a situation with but few possible

arallels, and to the judge it was touching.

0 held the hand of his son for the first time
in many years, but theion was condemned to the
gallows, and it was the father who had sentenced
b.

m.
Hallowell want out, and was soon in his cab
and rolling homeward.

Unknown to him, another cab had followed
him dowh to the Tombs, and it went back not
far in the rear of his own vehicle. When it
discharged its occupant, soon after be dismissed
his driver, it was Edward ActOn who alighted.

The judge entered the bones, but he did not
long delay below. Going to his own room he
be an to walk about and meditate.

be last doubt had gone from his mind, and
he knew it was his son he had seen under such
peculiar circumstances. Painful, indeed, was
the situation. The young man was rescued
from the grave, as it were, to be sent to the
gallows—unless the machinery of law could be
thWarted. '

“It must be; it shall Le!” Hallowell mutter-
ed. “ There is no ground for a new trial, but
it must be had. I'll see the other judges, and
They must grant a
new trial— But what if they should refuse!”

The thought made him shiver.

They would have their reputations to con-
sider, and to force the State to the expense of
a new trial without any good reason was much
to ask of a judge who might possibly ruin his
career by the ste . - ‘

“ But it must 9 done!” Ha110well reiterated.

He was all the more poaitive in his assertion
because he knew that, (at the best, it would be
hard to carry his point, and he was afraid the
effort would fail.

If it did fail—well, Homer Curtis
demoed to die on the gallowsl .

The judge felt that he had more of a task.on
hand than any one was capable of attending to

was con-

He must save Curtis; he must manage with
Salome and Deborah so that they would do no
harm with their vicious tongues; and he must
save his daughter. Alice, and her mother, so
that no misery would come to them. .,

The last was the hardest task of all. What
human being could act aright in the case?‘

“My poor Mirabell” he murmured, what
may not be in store for you? Wpuld to Heaven
I had died before I ever met you! And yet, I
never dreamed that Salome lived.”

 

The next morning Edward Acton called on
Chief Claxton.

” There is news,” the latter quietly remarked.
“ I can read it in your face.”

“News which does not please me!” declared
Auction, gloomily, as he dropped heavily into a
c a r.

“Granted! You betray that. What is it?"-

';1Yc,i’u directed me to spy upon Judge Hallo-
we ——

“ Aheml To watch him, on mean?"

“Let us not handy wo s. ‘pr’ isa word

 

all understand. and if the acts it ‘inipliegand

the creature who  «Milli "011,130 “9'

 

spised, it does not make it necessary to trifle
with the English language when referring to the
deeds grownig out of it."

“ Aheui! As you will. You said—"

“ l haVe spied upon the judge.”

“ Well?"

“ Last night he left the house, and I acted the
spy upon him."

it \7rsg‘l

“ He went—”

Acton lost his bitterness of speech and leaned
forward in some anxiety b8 he added:

“ He went to the Tombs!”

I‘ Ah!"

“ What happened then 1 will leave you to
judge. I don’t know, but why in the world did
he go there?”

Chief Claxton said nothing. He looked at the
floor and meditated. \thl aware as he was
that one of many ti ivial errands might have
been responsible for the vall, he, like Acton, was
prone to rash to one conclusion.

“ Why,” Eduard added, “unless it was to see
about Homer Curtis? You may think this a wild
gUPSHbet you have started my thoughts in cer-

t. taiu channels, and if I am wrong I fail to see it.

Did he go to see Homer?”

“ Why sh< old he?”

“True, why?"

“ Unless n e have some proof of the pessibility.
We should be absurd to think he was there with
that object in view. Why should he go to see
Curtis?” ’

Ed ward looked some“ but disappointed, for be
rather wanted his theory sustained.

“ \Ve can get: 11 this from Homer,” he remarks
ed. “If he did see him, it is easy to learn of it."

“ Of course.” ,

Claxton agreed readily, l ut he seemed singular-
ly destitute of ideas, or not inclined to make
them known. He was, in fart, so apparently
inlsz irent that Acton waxed indignant.

“Have I sold my soul for nothing?" he do-
mended.

“ Excuse me: I do not understand.”

“After all 1 have done is it possible that it
amounts to noihim; i"

“It is not pOBSIble. It does amount to some-
thing. I have taken note of all you have said,
and I regard it as important."

“ What does it point to!" i

“That I cannot tell until I have looked into
it. Give me time, Mr. Acton; the world was
not made in a minute." ,

“ Have it as you will. I suppose I am unduly
precipitate, but I’m eager to get the meat out of
this kernel and have done with it. If I am to
be despised, I want to get right at it, you see.”

Claxton did not see fit to ask what his caller
meant, but, seein he was in such an unpleasant
frame of mind, he did all he could topacify him.
and the interview wound up without more
friction. »

When Edward was safely out of the way, the
detective prepared for the street in a leisurely

way.
“ I think I have a call to make!” he observed.

CHAPTER XVIII.
'A MAN 0F SILENCE.

MARY WOLF was seated in her home when a
messenger brought her a note. She read it, and
then put on her hat and went out. On a corner
Bot far away she found Chief Claxton awaiting

er. ’

“ You are prompt,” he remarked.

“ The call was one I could not neglect,” she
answered quickly. “ I hope you have news?”

“ On the contrary, I am in search of news.
What do you know about Homer Curtis’s past,
life, in general?" . '

“ Enough to know there is nothing in it he has
occasion to hide!” was the qluick reply.

“I am glad of that, for am in search of in- ,
formatiOn. Who and what is he?”

“ What do you meani” ,

“ Where are his parents?"

1. “ I don’t know.”
“ You look guilty, if I mayso express my-

 

- self."

“ What have the to do with his case!” ,.

“Possibly, noth ng; perhaps, much. You
think there is nothing to hide, you say.” -

“ I am sure of it, and though my judgment
does not wholly a prove of my course.“ will
answer as well as can. If he has parents he i
does not know of it. In fact, he does not know
who his parents were, or even what their names
were. ,

“ You interest me,” said Chief Claston,
though he did not look as if he'wras interested in
the least. “ Tell me all about it.”

Mary agreed, but she was so reluctant that
it was not one to get her started. When
once under way 5 talked well, and to the point,-
and when she was done Claxton had the same
story which had been told by the prisoner of the
Tombs to Hallowell.

“ l have complied with your request,” added
Mary, “ but, as all his friends are (lead, you
will see that they con have no bearing on the
case which has put h where he is.\,

“ That is very true,” Claxton, admitted
“and I beg your pardon for troubling Ego. I ‘ 
had thought there might bosomething in t w, ' \
however. As it is, noharm is done, Miss . é .

 

 

   

    
 

   
 
 

 

 

   
 

./

’16.“

‘ r

\

I will regard this as confidential, and you may

rely upon my discretion.” .
There was not much more to be said, and he

soon Went his way. If Mary could have followed

the drift of his mind she would have changed

her opinion of the importance of the interview.
The detective was puzzled, but he knew he

had found something worthy of more attention.
He summed the situation up.

“ Deborah has means at getting money, ap— i
Hallowell i

patently by means of blackmail.
visits her. and then she is suddenly flush.
Hallowell goes to see Curtis in the Tombs—if he
does. NOW, I learn that Curtis doesn’t know
who his father is. What does all this implyi"

He thought on the subject Carefully, but gain- ‘

ed no light beyond what his first impressions
had been. This encouraged him. An idea that
held was worth l0oking into.

He ended b going to a certain polica officer
of the city. his man had moved in the same
circle as Otis Hallowell, at one time, but he
had been less lucky in seekinga high position in
his business life, and had wound up in adifferont
station.

Claxton knew his history well, and to him he
went.

Taking his time he brought conversation
around to the desired subject without giving
clue to his motive, and they spoke of Hallows!
as a ‘ud e.

“ y t a way, I believe you knew him early
in life?"

“ We were schoolmates.”

“ Was he the same sort of person in his youth?"

“ Very much the same.”

“ Never wild or dissipated?”

H No."

. “I can well imagine it. Such a man would
drink wine like an iceberg, and woo a woman in
the same fashion."

“ Ohl he was social, but always prudent.”

“Ever married more than once?’

6‘ No.1

Chief Claxton began to feel that he was book—
ed for a failure.

" Has he always fitted in New York!"

“ Yes. Wait a bit! Now you speak of' it,
I believe he did have a little touch of human
weakness at one time. He left home when
nineteen or twenty, and was gone three or four
years. His father was not the easiest man to
get along with in the world and as Otis had
means or his own, he just packed up and got out.

' Nobody ever has known where he passed those

"he showed signs of guilt.

years. as far as l am.aware.”

The detective did a little figuring to see when
the time was that Hallowell was thus absent. r

“ What do you supB‘ose he did with himself?”

" [ have no idea. e asked him when he re-
turned, but he was as silent as the grave. We
gained no clue whatevsr. His taciturnity made
comment, and i remember that one of our num-
ber suggested there was a woman in it, but if
there was he did not say so."

Claxton was duly Observant.

, “ W h! was! the notion of a woman men-
tioned? r

“ Because he would tell nothing, not even
where he had been all the while, and we could
{iotghink of any other cause for such taciturn-
ty. -

" There may have been a woman." ,
“ Yes. I suppose he had a heart, like other
folks.” .
“ He went all alone?" ‘
:4 Ya.”
“ (13nd nobody knows more about it than
on
“ I know of no one. If Hallowell had aught
,gomcguceal, you may rely upon it he told no

There was no more to be gleaned, and the de-
tective went his way.

“A woman in itl’ ho murmured. “ Was it a
close shot? Was there a woman in it?”

If there was, Claxton did not see the we
clear to learn the fact immediately. He dir ,

i ,however. see one thing which must be done. He
went to Lawyer Pollard, and ma in known a do.
sire to see Curtis in his cell at once, and the twu
went together.

The sentenced man received them with his
peculiar air of haspitality which prison walls
could not lessen. This time Ciaxton sprung his
pomt abruptly.

“ I understand Judge Hallowell has been to
see you?”

It came without warning. and Curtis was not

roof against the assault. His face flushed, and
it was buta transient
knees, and what followed proved how well

C ton had proceeded in gaining this much by

his stratage . , -
- " That who has been here?” ‘
Curtis asked the question after a brief pause
and his manner was full of what seemed to be

surprise.
1) nor mad a gesture of re ance.
“ Your Jest is ill-timed.” pm
“ Do you deny that be has been here?”
“The question is absurd. Why should he
come to see the man he has sentenced? Judges
, are usuail ready to sentence. but they do not
can to ace their victims unless the awful

, r.

L Detective Claxton.

bodies and safety.”
, it was the first murmur, the first si of bit~
I terness Pollard ever had heard from h s client’s
i lips; and even Claxton knew him well enough to
| be aware that the assault on the officers of law
was forced and unfelt.

“ We speak only for your good when we men-
i tion the fact of his visit. Rest assured of that.”

“ Who has informed you so strangely?”

“ That I cannot tell.”

“ I thought not.” ,

Pollard leoked very much b'ewildered, as he
had not been taken into the secret.

“ If there has been anything of the kind, Cur-
tis, you want to tell of it. At this moment
Claxton is the best friend you have, for he is
the man who is seeking to savo you.

“ i am well aware of that, and if there was
anything I could do, I w0uld attend to it.”

"  you assert that Halloweli has not been
here?

Sharply Clnxton asked the question, but there
was no wavering on the part of the prisoner.

“ He ma have been when I was asleep, but I
can’t say have seen him, myself.”

“ You ‘can’t’say it. Do you mean you will
not?” '

“ This grows unpleasant. I am very reluc-
tant to discuss a pomt where we do not advance,

 

. and where no good seems likely to come of it.

Why should I blind myself tomy Own good?
Why should I keep my friehds from helping me?
I am not blind to my own interests.”

The detective was staggered. He could not
but see that Curtis had not directly said that the
judge had not been there, but if there was an
evasion in his form of expression, it was clear
nothing would be gained by persistence. If eva-
sion there was, the strength of character of the
man was not to be shaken. .

“ The future may prove you are blind 1" Clear-
ton retorted, “ but you can have it your own
way. 1 am not going to force you to be saved.”

Curtis could not help wavering. It was hard
to refuse a reasonable request to those engaged
and paid to act for him, but he would not go
contrary tothe pledge given to Judge Halo-

well.

Pollard took the subject up. though all in the
dark, but a glance from Claxton caused him to
abandon it speedily. _

“ One thing more,” pursued the defective,
presently. “ Have you never had an idea of
whom Morris Strong purchased the sto on goods
sold in your store?”

“ Not the least.”

“ You saw no one hanging around?” ~

“ Not to my recollection.”

“ And saw Strong in secret conversation with
nobody l”

H No a,

“ Do you know Ben Wclf?” l
"I may say No to that. I met Ben at the
house, and tried to be on good terms with him.
I failed so gsignally that he ordered me to keep
away and my meetin s with Mary were far
from his residence. In riei’, Wolf did not take
a fancy to me, nor I to him. so we kept apart.”

“ Do you think him honest?” '

“ Iven Mary daubts that. .His pretense of
being a ’longshoreinau is not deceptive to many
.who do kn0w him, but haw he lives 1 know not.”

“Never saw anything to indicate he wasa
river thief i”

Curtis looked thoughtful.

'"Nn; but it might have been so and I be
none the wiser. I saw him solittle I kDOW noth-
ing of him. If you mean to ask if he could
have sold the goods to Strong I will say I never
saw him about the premises, or in any way
where I could gain ground for the belief that he
might be concerned in it.”

“ He goes out much in his boat.”

“ Yes."

“ And gets his living while gone.” .

f iii suppose so,” Curtis admitted thought-

u y. '

“.Aiid at night.”

“ Do you suspect him of being a rivor thief?”

“ Frankly, I do.” and Claxton hull-smiled as
he rcmambered the time he had ridden in the
Water Wolf’s boat.

The prisoner was silent for several minutes,
and so deeply so that he did not hear when he
was addressed by Pollard. Suddenly be ex-
claimed:

“ Now you bring the subject up I remember
that Strong used to go to a i lace on a pier near
Canal street—I in not recall the exact place—
and talk with a «herman. At least. so he said in
answer to a question of mine. This man he
represented as one whom he used to go fishing
with when he was younger, and he claimed to
have he it up acquaintance for the sake of the
stories! e old man told. He asked me to go
there but I could not attend to it at the time,
and ‘ never went. Could the old fisherman
have been concerned in this matter?”

“ Well. unless you can be more definite we
are not likely to know." _

“I can, his name was Oakes, or so Strong
claimed.”

9' Possibly he can he found.”

“ Strong said he was well known.”

It I!”  ‘5.” .

 

shadow of the bench is between their precious I

 

u

“ This is my first thought of the matter for
some time but recollections come fast now they
are started."

There was more he thought of, but, though it
might amount to something, there was nothing
which would indicate that a valuable clue had
been found. Claxton thought it worth looking
into, and there they rested.

Shortly after the visitors left the cell.

CHAPTER XIX.
A DECISIVE MOVE.

Caner CLAXTON did not fail to look into the
case of the man Oakcs mentioned by Curtis.
He Went to the patrolman on the beat where
the suspected person lived.

“ Know him?" the patrolman repeated. “ Obl
yes; I know him Well. By that I don’t mean
there is any intimacy between us, though he is
one of those fellows who are always seeking
the company of a policeman—a class who may
be set down as having schemes in mind so that
they think it prudent to keep solid with the
officer. A man without any cause to fear the
law never tries to make free and friendly with
a patrolman.”

“Then you think Oakes has such schemes in
mind?” Claxton asked.

“ I make no charges, because I know nothing
against him, but he has been mighty friendly
with me.”

“ What's his business?”

“ Calls himself a retired fisherman.”

“ Do you doubt it?"

“I have no cause to. To put it quick and
simple, he is one of the apparently idle persons
who may be all right and may not. ’

“ Does. he go out on the water much!” .

“Occasionally. Can’t say he gees ‘much.’ ”

“ Where is his home?”

“ Yonder.” ‘*

The officer indicated a plain old wooden house
which filonted the pick.

. “ Who has he with him!”

“ I don’t know of anybody.
for himself.” .

“ Do you mean that he occupies all that build-
ing, alone?”

‘ As far as I know, he does, but he tells me it
is not fit for any one to live in. He says the
floors are unsafe, and he lives there at some risk,
himself.”

Claxton looked at the house doubtfully. It
surely was old enough to make the assertion

lausible on the surface, but he did not believe
it, nevertheless.

“ Is he abroad much a night?”

“ I am not here,and t e patrolman who had
the beat for some years died only last week."

" Ever see Oakes with men who own boats?”

“ He’s w ith them about all the time.”

“ Do you know a man called Briny Ben?"

“He’s one that Oakes herds with. I know
Ben by sight, and once spoke with him, but he’s
a surly c up and I never had a chance to get
really acquainted with him, even if - I had
wished.”

He keeps house

Clextcn had struck a vein of more than pass;

irg interest, and be ursued it with atience.
Many questions he as ed about Briny en and
his association with but there was not
much tobedevelw. He came to see Cakes,
and the two were riendly, but there was nr thing
gained from the officer which would indicate
guilty connection between the watczmen.

The defective hung around until he had view
of OBkels .

He proved to be asteut, hearty specimen of
humankind, but his lack of real intelligence
would have been a bar to the theory that he “ as
a receiver of, and ;dealer in. stolen geods. led
it not been for the expression of cunning on his
r: u h face. That made up for more refined in-
telligence, such as one would look for in an
ally of thieves and disposer of their, goods.

Claxton continued on. He know others must
know something oankes, and in the an st care-
ful way he went about getting the desired in-
fovmation.

He has not so successful as he hoped, in! it e
idea grew upon him more and more that. Orin-s
Was not the man to be able to live in sundiig
idleness without some source of income.

In the afternoon the suspected man went out
in a boat with a stranger, and the detective
innde a resolution. I '

There might be no time to apply for a search-

warrant, so he took the onlyvisible means of '
1

getting at the desired end, w ch was to see the
interior of the building.

He had seen "that the year was particularly
susceptible of attack without danger of dis-
covery, and he went around and made an in-
vestigation of the window nearest at band. \

It was fastened, but he was not to be I i flied.
He forced the sash up, and was soon inside.

Evidently, it had been a long time since the
house had been occupied in a regular way. "Ihe
furniture was still there, but it had been iven
no attention. As a rule dust covered it th ckly,
and dirt was on the floor so deeply that every
hootprint bowed as if in snow.

Losin 0 time, he went over the whole rem-
lacs. e did not expect to find W dance
fiaunted before is eyes. and in this he was not
disappointed. hen he looked for hidden evi-

 

;.- W

l

;

.

 

 

 

.1“..ng
. Jw .

 

 

lam-r. .

 

 

 

 

 

 

I .

K

r  , 

DetectiVe Ciaxton.

, "may "

 1'7

 

 

dence there was disappointment. He could get
trace of no secret receptacle, and all his efforts
went for nothing.

This did not disturb him, and the fact that
Oakes had the whole house to himself when he
kept up the role of a poor man counted for more
than what was not to be found.

When the detective went home he did some
thinking, and the result was the determination
to do a bold stroke of work. ‘

He did not know on w hat ground he could ap-
ply for the arrest of the suspected man, so he de-
termined to take the power into his own hand.

The result of this determination was seen in
the events of the night.

Waterman Oakes retired early, and was soon
asleep. Perhaps he slept the sleep of inno-
cence, and had nothing to Worry him. Be that
as it may, his rest was broken rudely before the
dawn of day. At some period of the night he
was awakened by an unnatural sound in his
room. He turned ovar and listened.

“ What’s that!” he muttered, sleepiiy.

All was Still. ‘

“ Mebbe a rat. ’

The theory did not satisfy him, but he was
not timid enough to be worried. Deciding in
his sleepy way that it was not worth lookin in-
to, he began to fall into slumber again. hen
the “ rat ” moved once more; he took a grip on
Oakes’s throat.

The latter became wide awake in an instant.

He tried to rise, but a strong hand held him

ck.

“ Be still!” ordered an unseen person. “ Utter
One word of alarm and you are a dead maul”

Oakes gasped for breath.

“ Mercy l” he exclaimed, as well as was possi-
able with the hold on his throat. t

“ That depends on yourself. Be still and you
live; resist, or give an alarm. and you die!”

“ I am mum.”

“ Remember itl” «

“ Ef you've come here fer plunder you've come
ter the wrong shop; a burglar wou d starve on
what I hev fer keepin’.”

There was a brief pause; then the unknown
speaker asked:

" Where are the stolen goods?"

“ What stolen goods?”

“ You area ‘ fence.’ Where is our plunder?”

“ Thunder! I ain’t got an . his is the first
I Wear heard of sach a thing.’

. “ Why will you lie to me?”

“ I ain’t lyin’." .

" Tell me the truth; own up: and you shall not
be molest/ed. It’s not you we are after, but some
one else. - Save yourself, man, and be wise. I
promise you freedom from arrest if you‘ll tell
the truth. We want to touch the receivers of
the stolen goods; not the thieves. Will you save
yourself?" v ~,

“ I don’t know a thing you’re talkin‘ about, an’
I a’in't had no hand in each work. I’m no fence,

n .—

“ Silence him 2"

Before Oakes could understand the import of
the order some sort of covering was slipped over
his mouth, and his last chance to call out
was gone. Once more he struggled, but that,
too, was too late.

Ropes were tied on his ankles and wrists, and
he was promptly lifted from the bed.

He was a man of courage, but this sort of
treatment worried him. He judged others by
himself, and was of the opinion that he was in a
very bad way. He was sorr be had not taken
chances while he could, an made an outcry,
but his resolution was not in date,

He was lifted and borne away—where he could
not tell, but in a short time the fresh air which
struck his face told that they were out of dawn.
Then he was bundled into a vehicle and thelatter
moved away. '

oitkes gurzled and moaned. ing to get his
captors to take some notice 0 him, but, be
worked in vain. Not a word was spoken tohim,
and a ride of what seemed to him a long while
ensued. '

Finally the carriage stopped; be was fitted
out and carried into a building, and in due time
the mnfl‘icr' was removed from his eyes and
mouth. Power of sigh‘ and 809’ 011 was thus
restored to him. He looked and saw before mm
a man who wore a mask which was so effective
that he could tell nothing of phat was behind
it.

Only two gleaming eyes told of life back
of the mask. He thought them very bright and
menacing.

Then sounded a voice:

“ Eon seeto what your obstinacy has brought

on i
y Stern and hostile was the begining.

“I ain’t ter blame," remonst’rnted Oakea.

“You are wholly to blame, for if you had
used reason. things would have been very much
different. Even BOW. however. your case is

not hopeless. You can “have one last chance
to gave ionrself. What do you know an)“;
the late orris Strong?"

The speaker leaned forward as be asked the
quaflon, and his keen eyes were used to the
He had no reason to com lain of the

Oakos’s jaw drop and e betrayed

""m' The at had gone hm

guilt in a”?! 1'"-

 

His companion gave him ample time to reply,
but the sharp regard never was turned from
his face.

He tried to rally, and finally found his
tongue.

“ I never heerd o’ sech a man.”

“ Why will you lie to me?”

“ I ain’t lyiu’-—”

“ You sol.) stolen goods to Str mg. Why will
you be so stupid? If you would save yourself,
don’t try to save too many others along with
you. Own up! Nobody is trying to do you
harm. and you will be given proof of it if you
are sensible. Confess, and I promise you free-
dom from arrest and prosecution.”

“ Et' I had anything ter tell I would do it,
but I ain’t got’ the least idea what you mean.
I ain't handled no stolen goods—”

“ Fool! are you bound to go on to ruin?”

“ I don’t know what you mean.”

“ I say you sold stolen goods to Morris Strong,
and I am going to make you confess it. You
will never leave here until I have the truth
from you. I tell you that you are not menaced
if you own up; it is an attack on an entirely
different party. You are safe if you speak out,
but if you do not, this house will be a prison for
you until your bones rust in your body from
want of use.”

The inexorable voice made Oakes feel very
unpleasant, but he did not hesitate for a mo-
ment. If h was guilty of what was alleged
against him, he was strong in the determination
to hold his secret.

This the questioner saw) but the latter did not
lose courage. With dogged persistence and
keenness of words he pursued his attack, and
the conversation went on. He found he had
met his match. Now the first surprise was over
Oakes gave no sign of guilt or weakness. If his
companion was firm and dogged, so was he.

Finally the masked man rose.

“You have chosen our path, and you can
follow it while you wis , but of this be assured:
you will never leave here until you do confess,
and every hour of delay will make your position
all the worse. I am going to havs the facts
about your connection with Morris Strong, if “I
keep you here at starvation pitch until your
flesh goes to join the fools you stole.”

“ I can’t tell what don’t know.”

“ You will tell what you do.”

“ Mebbe!” ,

“ 0r starve.”

“ I kin do that.”

“You will, unless you talk. I’ll see you

again.” ,
And masked Chief Claxton left the room.

‘ CHAPTER XX.
A SPY woaxs WELL.

‘ IN the street near the house occupied by Deb-
erah Paine and Salome, a man was waiting and
watching. He was not a preposaessing-lookiug
person, and he had not made himself more so in
turning the collar of his cotit up around h s
neck.

, He' had done this with a desperate effort at
disguising himself, but it was not becoming to
his style. -

This man was Briny Ben. '
His attention was on the house in which th
two women named were residing, and it was
plain he had some definite object in view. Deb-
orah had refused to let him know where they
liVed, but he had been equal to the emergency.

and had found out.

Now, he was none the more kindly dispOsed
toward.them because he had been obliged to
learn without their being willing it should base.

For a long while he had paced up and down
the street, watching and waiting. He had been
barred out of their so .rets so thoroughly that
he was determined to get at them if such a thing
was possible; and to win more than they were
willing to grant, if he was capable of it.

“ Hulloi who’s that?”

The Water Wolf muttered the question under
his breath as he saw a man ascend the steps and
ring the bell. ,

“Mebbe he ain’t goin’ tar see them. but I
ga'nt ter find out. He is let in. I wonder who

)7

Ben was not able to tell, so he did the next
best thing. He shed with his gaze glued upon
the windows of the room he knew was occupied
by Deborah and Salome, and he was not long
kept waiting for evidence of the kind he craved.
Suddenly the shadows of two persons were
thrown upon the wind0w-shade—one that of a
woman; the other. that of a man.

“ I have them i” the Water Wolf muttered.
“ I knowed I Could do it, an’ 1 hev. 'The fel-
ler has one ter see them, an’ I’m no good of
I don't now who he is store I go for bed.
Ida! old Deb, you can’t fool Ben Wolf! He‘s
enough fer you, with all yer cunnin’l”

And who had gone to the rooms of the two
women?

When Deborah Paine learned that Judge Hal-
lowell was below she had been quick to have him
admitted, and it was their shadows Ben had
seen on the shade.

:30 you want to see me or Salome!" Deborah
as .

    

 

“ Both 1”

Otis Hallowell nnBWered tersely. and his face
was stern and fixed. If the woman had not had
such an overwhe‘ming advantage she might
have been awed by the pOWer of the face, but
she had as much courage as his own, and was
full of cOnfldence in her position.

“ I will prepare Salome,” she quietly replied.

Left alone, the judge paced back and fith
until she came again. Then he entered Salome’s
room.

If she had moved since he saw her last there
was nothing to tell of the fact. She seemed to
sit exactly as she did before. and her expresaion
was the same. Cold, fixed and sew-re, she
showed no more of human emotion than the
walls of the room.

Ha110well bowed slightly, but neither of them
gave a formal greeting.

“ I have come again,” the judge remarked.

“ I see you have,” Salome admitted.

“Have you either anything more to say to
me?"

“ Why should we have”

Deborah asked the question, and it was plain
she was on the defensive until she knew just
what he wanted.

“ I didn‘t know but you might have.”

“ 'We have not."

Hallowell’s gaze wandered to the ounger
woman. Again her face fascinated im un-
pleasantly. its Coidness and immovable severity
were as im iressive as they were unpleasant.
How times had changed both her and himself i
The fire of youth \ as gone, and one so com-

letely that a casual observer coul see nothing
lift; but the judge had seen, on his former Visitr‘
that all the hot temper of the woman was but
vailed. ’

There was a pause until he abruptly amused.

“ When I was here before,” he said, “ we
spoke of the youngI man who is in the Tombs,
condemned todeat .”

"‘ Your son and Salome's,” amended Deborah.

“We spoke of him,” continued Hallowell.
” Can you saytmore of him?”

“ In what way!"

“ You know to what he is doomed.”

“ Death 1” i I

Deborah answered coldly. The visitor re-
garded both women closely.

“ Have you no pit for imr’

“ As much as his ather has, I think!” Salome
retortcd.

“ Have you reason to believe me lacking in

pity?”
“ I don’t know.”

“ Let us all prove our gifts in that way. You

have shown yourselves well informed as to the

prisoner I have named. What do you know of
the crime for which he has been condemned?”

“ Nothing.”

“ I do not believe he committed the deed, but
some onedid. Do you know who it was!”

on No.» \ r

“ Remember it will not alter our relations of
money giver and money seekers if he be proven
innocent. Can you in no way explain who did
commit the murder!”

“ Was that a hat brought you here?"

“ Frankly, it was.”

“ Then you have made an error. We do not
know of the case at all.”

“ You came to me when he had been con-
victed."

We had lost sight of the

“ Chem, only.
boy for some years. Welcomed of him through
If he is,

his trial, and then We came to you.”

“ You speak without any feeling.
as you senert, my son and yours, do you realize
that you, as a mother, should feel for him?”

“ What can I do?” coldly asked Salome. “I
am a helpless invalid, unable to out of this
room. Add to that the fact that I know noth-
ing about the crime more than I have had in
the papers and you will see I can do nothing.
You haVe power—if you care to save his life.
why don’t you?” . .

“ Nobody can save it without evidence.”

“ Eeek it, then; it is not my work i"

All the while she had maintained the same
cold expression, and it was clear that no mother.
ly feelin moved her in the least. Hallows"
sighed. e remembered that when the boy was
an infant, the mother had giVen him no
love, but regarded him as an interlt r in the
family who was no more than a bot er and a
care to her. It was natural she should feel no
more, now.

. “ Is flesh and blood so weak?” he asked,
wearily.

“ What can y0u expect ofa woman in my
condition?” '

“ What can one expect of a mother!
love is that which lives through pain, sufleri
disgrace and all time. Have you none of t
divine feelin which moves others of your sexf"

Salome 10o ed concerned.

“ I have not seen him since he was a child.”

“ Nor I,” replied the judge, “ but the tie of
blood is strong even in death.”

The women exchanged aces. They exalt:-
ed in the glimpse they ha of the strong man‘s
Egan. He would be all the easier victim for

em.

“Of course,” remarked Deborah, with m

l

‘K.
Ber.

 

   

   
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
 
   
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
     
    
  
      
   
   
  
  
    
   
   
    
    
    
    
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
    
  
   
  

   
  
  

 

‘18

 

Beteotive r plaxton.

 

 

haste, “ if we had any knowledge which would I

help him we would be glad to giVO the informa-
tion, but I assure you We have none. We do
not know who killed Morris Strong. We swear
to that.”

“ We do indeed,” added Salome.

The candor in their munncr convinced Hallo-
well. He had come in the hope that they had
been holding something back, but the hope
dicd out. He was as far from the truth as
ever.

He sat in moody silence while the woman
continued to watch him. Biltcrly they hated
him, and they wrre glad he suffered. It was
much to see the stately oak bend.

At that moment they ri'sembled two vultures
watching their prey. Deborah’s face was full
of exultation," while Salome’s marble wuy re-
laxed enough to let the gleam of gratified malice
shine in her cold eyes. Her face, though, was
the same as of old, and the Sphinx could not
have been more immovable of feature. She
was like a dead woman with eyes still gifted
with tho power of motion.

Hallowdi finally aroused!

“You have neVer told me how you escaped
the flood,” he reminded.

“ It is easily told. My husband deserted
me__”

The judge made a deprecatory gesture, but
let the assertion go unchallenged.

“ And my life became unbearable. Theday
of the flood I was some distance from home
spending a few days with friends whom I hm
gone to see, to relieve the desolation of my ex-
istence."

If the truth had been told, in full, it wonll
have been said, then, that Salome had gone to
see neighbors as wild and unscrupulous as her-
self, and that there was no seeking for peace,
but for hilarity, in the visit of long ago; but it
was not told.

“ When the rain subsided I started for home.
Filled with the deepest grief”—I-Iallowvll knew
this was a falsehood, but he let it go-“I grew
desperate on my way. I had the child in my
arms, but he was a heavier burden on my soul
than to my arms. I think I was temporarily
mud, crazed, but this much is certain: unwilling
to have him live to know of my wrecked life, I
put him on a sort of raft which was floating
past, and confided him to the keeping of the
river, to live or die as his fate might have been
ordained from the beginning."

Again was the truth tolt only in part. The
child’s mother had been under the influence of
liquor when he was thus left to his fate. That
was the plain fact.

Ilallowell shivored. To what a low pass had
the cocoa partner of his life come!

“ The raft drifted away, and with it went the
child. I tried to go on homewsrd, but the flood
was on and I had to change in route. I was
not at any time in danger. hen the waters
subsided, however, I found that our—that my
home was gone, and} I was a wanderer on the
face of the earth.

“I set out to earn my living, and went some
miles away.

“ While there I learned of a. child which
had been saved from the flood, and w in
the keeping of a family named Ashto I
went srcretly to the/place and saw it was my
own child.

“ I d id not make ntysclf known. Why should
I? The child was in no] hands, and I coald
not Cure for him as would. I let him stay
nith them. I never have spoken with him
since. Three or four times I gained knowledge
of him, and when he left his home, after his
foster—parents died, I knew of his taking the
name of Curtis.

“The next thing I heard of him was when he
was on trial, here for murder. I notified you
of his identity, and, that’s all I know.”

“And now the be is down there!” and the
judge pointed town the tombs.

“ He seems to have his mother’s fortune and
ill luck.” "

:‘His mother seems to care nothing about

:0

“What do you expect of me?” demanded
Salome, with severity. “Am I to add to my
misfortunes by grieving over the child of a
father who used me so cruelly?”

“ We will not discuss that point," responded
Hallowell, his patience worn out.

:1 am glad to hear you are satisfied to drop

Irritany answered the unnatural woman, and
thd judge was chilled from saying more. He had
sent the eminent specialist to see her as he had
promised, but he could not inquire asto the re-
sult with the present feeling upon. him.

He rose to go.

“We shall be glad to see you at any time,”
uncarineg remarked Salome.

Ho bent his head in a stately bow.

“ Do you inten? to remain in New York!" he
asked. ' .

“ We do!"
The reply was emphatic. His desire to get
them away was scented. and the answer did not
have to wait. If he had had any plan in his
mind it was not unfolded. Ho mond toward,
Ihodooc, and Deborah pnparcd‘ to Isodiim on

I. ...,.

 

  

“ I wish we could help the prisoner, judge,”
she diplomatically observed.

“Thanksl”

It was his turn to be of few' words, and he
went down the stairs without the formality of
an adieu. He went with a more complete real-
ination of the character of those he left behind

in.

CHAPTER XXI.
RRINY BEN.

WHEN the judge emerged from the house, a
pair of kceu eyes became fixed upon him at
once. They were those of Ben \Volf, and Ben’s
mind was filled with triumph.

“ llad a nice long confab ain't ye?” he mut-
tered. “ “had. I wa‘n’t in it, but I’m goin’ ter
be in it now, of my legs don’t fail me. I‘ll lind
out who you be, or lose all my wind in raciu’
after ye.” '

Fortunately for Ben, Hallow-ll had not come
ina cab on this occasxon, and he had no dillicult
task before him. The judge set off ata gOod
pace, however, walking with the nervous energy
of one whose mind is ill ntcasc.

“Looks like u king;r 0’ New Jersey, or some
other small umpire,” commented jealous Ben.
“ Ef Lhad sech a ligger l’d hire out inter some
Dime Museum, b’gosh 1”

His sarcasm did not prevent him from being
on the alert, and he followed With dueskill.

It was not a short journey, but Judge Hallo-
well finally drew near his home, and his foot
echoed on the flags which were daily trod by
men of millions—a very different locality from
that Ben was accustomed to. The leader finally
paused at a certain door, applied a key and en-
tered.

Briny Ben waited until he felt safe from dis-
covery, and then went forward and read the
name on the door- late.

“ Hallowelll al, he‘s got a name ez long 92
his pocketbook, an’ some couldn’t commit it ter
memor , but there is reasons why it ain’t hard
fer me.

He ambled away. He wanted to get more
information asto the owner of the house, but
he dared not ask of a policeman, and servant
maids were not cut at the gate at that hour.
Luck favored him, however; a man came reel-
ing along the street with the heaviest kind of a
liquid load on board, and he made a clutch at
Ben’s arm.

“ 1 so y, friend,” he requested, thickly, “ can
you tell me where Number One-thirty—one is?”

It was but two doors from Hullowell’s house,
and Ben volunteered to act the guide. He did
so. mu -h to the gratitude of the drunken man.
Then Ben seized his chance.

“ Do you know Hallowell?”

“ Do 1? Why, like a book.”

“ W’ot’s his full name!"

“ Judge Hullowell.” \

“ Is his first name ‘ Judge?”

“ No; it‘s Otis.”

“ It’s what?”

U Otis.”

By this time the drunken man had got the
door open, and as he s ke the last words he
lost his balance and vii inside the door. A
sci-Vent appeared to view, and Briny en knew
his day was oVer, but if it had been otherwise
he would not have found his power of speech at
ones. He stood staring at the door until the
sound of a patrolmnn’s stepi awakened him to
the instinct of self-preserwatiou, and he moved
on, nimble of foot but dazed in mind.

“ Otis! he murmured, in a strange way.
“Otis—Otis Hall well! Be I dreamiu’, or is it
ez it seems? Otis ullowelli Wni, I’ll be dash—
ed ter ruin!”

He stopped on a street-corner, took 03 his hat
and waved it in the air wildly.

“ Otis, Otis I” he reiterated.

It seemed as if he had caught the drunken
mood- of his late charge but it was the drunk-,
enness of triumph. Finally he grew more collect-
cd, but broke into chuckles loud and long-Con-
tinued. It was clear he had made some great
and to him. important discovery.

“’No wonder they w-i’n’t willin' I should share
their secret!" he admitted. “ Ohlhut ain’t they
hada snap? How long has it been goin’ on?
Like ez not they’ve been bleedln’ him fer years,
an’ I now-r come in. But I’ll get my share now;
you jest bet I will!”

For one of his surly and slow nature all this

 

exhilaration was remarkable. but Ben really
had cause for all his joy.

immediate visit to Deborah and her dnnghter.
Instead, he went back toward Judge Hallowell‘s
and sought for information. He had hardly
known whom to apply to, since he could not
hope to win the good will of man or woman,
but he finally happened upon n grocer’s boy and
worked tnc mine so his satisfaction. Answering
a question, the boy replied:

“ Yes, I do SPI‘Ve Judge Hallowdl.”

“ Do be live alone?”

“ Naw; his family is with him.”

“ Who’s he got ?"

“ Wife and daughter.” .

“ Who?"

“I said wife and daughter.”

“Ohl Ah! Yesl”

“Friend 0’ his?" asked the boy, sarcastically.

“ Married, is ht? Yes, yes!"

_ “Say, old chap, what is up? Ef you want to
break into the house, don’t do it. I’ll give you
dcnd away.”

Ben had more to ask, but he had lost his grip.
He failed to connect with Young America, and
the latter soon moved on. Ben had to do the
same, but his brow was knit in a frown which
was not one of tempo r, and it was plain be was-
studying out a problem. He walked without
much idea of where he was gt ing, but his feet
did their duty, and he finally arcuscd frim
thought with a start.

He in as before Deborah‘s house.

He rung the hell with aconfldent air, and
then waited until a servant applared. She
looked at him supercilibualy. The neiahbor-
hood and the hruse were alike withiut any-
thing like aristccratic tendencies, but even this
Wild felt she could look (lOnn upon rough Ben

oll'.

The boatman was not in the least abnshcd.
He told whom be u islud to see, and she finally
decided to give Deborah the chance to do the
refusin if there was to be anything of the sort.

Ben ad not the least fear that there would

There was not. Word came that he would be
seen, and he was soon in the room above. Deb-
orah looked bath severe and annoyed, but Ben
dzd not care.

“ Why are. you here?” she demanded.

“ Why do you s’pose’i"

" You were to keep away—”

“Yes; accordin’ ter your plan. Et didn’t
work, thong h. You thought you could fool me,
an’ not let me know where you livul, but you
see et wasn't tcr be. You’ve got for get up
earl ter beat out Ben Wolf, b’goshl”

“ ’hat do you want?" sourly askedDeborab.

“ A talk with you an’ her.”

He did not know vii-ere Del crah’s companion
“as, but he was shrewd enough to suspect that
the open door to the next room would solve
the question, so he jerked his thumb in that
direction.

“ She is too nervous to see you.”

“ Not much, she ain’t; I’m here for business,
an’ you‘may czwal con'e right for time. She
kin stand it ez wal cz I’ve stiod a'gcod dralo’
monkey biz all altng. Come ter time; it’s the
onlv way i"

Deborah knew Ben of old, and now that his
stubborn n'anner was pn sented to her so strong-
ly in this case she gave way. She went to
Salome, and sewn returned to say he could enter
the room. He went. and greeted Salome
with a short nod. He sat down, and the
trio regarded each other. There was hostility
in each gaze. and it was plain their alliance
if" certain ways did not go deeper than the sur-

lim-

Suddenly Deborah broke the silence, sht rtly
and sharzply.

“I to] you it was not safe for you to come
here." she exclaimed.

“You said so, then; I know it, now,” coolly
replied the Water Wolf.

“ Then wh are you here?”

“ Became ’m dead enter you!”

“ What do you mean?"

“ I know where you got that money i”

“ You do?” '

" Yes. The judge o’ the court panned it out,
an’ I know why he did if. L! rd, 10rd! jest fer
think that Ote Hallowcll is on dcck ag‘inl Why,
it's the richest 1 ever beerd of!”

Ben broke into chuckles long and loud, while
the Women exchanged uneasy glances. It was
a savage blow to them that he had penetrated
their secrets.

“ Et’s the funniest of all things,” Ben went on,

The di~covery had ’ his happy mood wonderfully at variance with

t everything on new footing, and,‘instead of , his usual -url_v manner. “ Why, I ain’t heerd

u
Being a beggar for a share of the profits of I of Ote Hallow-ell in twenty years, afcrp.

blackmail, he was where he could act a leading i

ft. .
p.“ Oh! but won‘t I make the women howl!” he I

elegantly thought. “ No more bowln‘ down at 

1 did
notice that the jcdllc Who let on Curtis‘s case
was named Hallmvell, but. Lord! who’d hev
thought at was your son-in-lnw. Debi”

“ How do you know it is?" sharply demanded

their feetl—no more settin’ around like a blind 1 Deborah.

fool while they reap the golden harvest an’ give
me the husksl Ha! ha i”

He was tempted to go to the “women”nt
once. but prudence prevailed. and he went home,
instead.
when he did mt he dreamed of riches which I
would have made Midas pole with envy.

I WM IIOII'OIO in alhtimmmlnl he had . plan

 

  
   
   

ail.‘

it‘did not include on. “Sol

“I see him here last night: I follered him
home; I found out all about him. No wonder
you had a way 0’ gettin’money. Oh! I’m dead
outer you, I say, an’ new I reckon I shall not be

It was not a night of sound sleep, but I a fifth wheel tor the coach any more.”

“Since you know all‘thls you will see the
vital need of caution, and the need of letting,
me mans a all.” ’

s ,oftherockscomedqwn. Efyou‘_

  

   

vflhhei .e.

 

 

~..___.- LI

. _._,~h.\

       
  
   
  
  

 

-_...._....-...-,,~-. -... v .

1.-.. .. . -_._~____- A _ _ A"

'9“,va ...

 
 

Detective Claxton.

 

 

are stingy you will see Ben kin do a little brac-
in’, too.”

“ You would ruin all."

“ Mehbel”

Nothing could change the Wolf’s self-con-
fidence, and Deborah and her daughter were al-
most in despair. They did not give Ben credit
for the shrewdness he actually pessessed, and
believed any effort on his part Would, or a
verity, be the ruin of everything.

Presently he continued:

“ Of all the funny things I ever heerd of, this
is the queerest. Say, hev you known all along
where your dear son-in-law was!”

“ Never, until Very recently.”

“ He’s an honor ter your family, he is; a big
b0wer an’ a red trump. A judgel Lord! pity
the rest o’ yer flock didn’t pan out in that way.
thy, you ought ter be a duchess, or temperance
orator, or Something brilliant. The j edge proves
that brains run in the Paine family i”

Ben could not get over his exhilaration, but

Deborah was in a mood approaching despera- ‘

0|).
“ Tell me why you are here!” she demanded.

CHAPTER XXII.
TH]: WILY WOLr‘s WEB.
BRINY BEN noil'iel amianly.
“I'm always glad ter oblige,” he professed.
“ I am here to say that I Want more money l”
“ But we haven’t got it!” beorah exclaimed,
net-Vously.
,_ “Gammon!”
“I tell the truth. We intend to bleed Otis
Hallowell well before we are done with him,
but haste would ruin all. We have gone slow,
so as to make a sure thing, but it’s only a re~
prieve for him.”
“ Au’ a st'ind-ofl’ fer me.
you kin skip out an' me be none the wiser.

 

Et

V won't do; the eleven foot shows, an’ i must look

a

' over 8

 

out fer Number One. I'll do at, too; I ain‘t goin’
ter let you do me out o’ my cash.”

He had resumed his old, dogged air, and was
a dangerous man to their plans.

, “ You will ruiu all!" Deb'orah again declared.

“ I won’t ruin my game.”

“ You would never succeed with Judge
Hallowell.”

“ I wouldn’t go ter him.”

The Water Wolf leaned forward and replied
in a distinct voice:

“ I'd go fer Mrs. Jedge Hallowelll”

Ben’s eyes lighted up with the genius of his
scheme, and he added in a firm voice:

“ I’d go ter her an’ say: You ain’t the legal
wife 0’ Ote Hallowelll There’s another woman
who claims him, an’ you are onlv an lnterloper
in the fold. That’s where I shOuld strike l"

_ Deborah and Salome looked aghast.
, “ You would be mad 1" Deborah exclaimed.

“ Cull it as you please.”

“The present Mrs. Hallowell must be kept in
ignorance, if we are tdget anything out of them.
It is this which makes the hold upon the judge.
If his wife knew of the secret. what cause should
we have to ask money of him?”

“ He cares ez much fer whatthe world says as
any rich does.”

“ Well, why should his wife gay to keep the
record of her disgrace quiet! he would save
Hallowell’s roof at once, and that would be the
end of it.” ,

“ I'll bet my socks she would pay me wal tor
kn0w the truth.”

Ben was obstinate, but the women both took
d hand in the attempt to influence him. Their
arguments were logical, and they urged them
with the strangth of schemers “)0 see their hold
slipping aw y.

Deborah had a hope that Ben was only mak.
ing his assertion to get more of an "Com-1.. Cy
over them, and she worked to that end, but w 1;.
out making her theory clear to him.

Ben was sullen and firm for awhile, but he
yielded in the end.

“ All 1 want is plenty 0’ cash," he exclaimed,
“but I want that won, an’ I want it sure. You
kin at any time get a pockctful from Hallowell,
and then skip ’out an' leave me in the lurch.
The only way ter deal With me, an‘ keep me
still. is tr? 3934"?" mm”? (10‘0". 511‘ hand me
enerous share."

The emand was clear enough. and they met
it accordingly. Being in his power they could
but promise what he asked. and they promised
accordingly. Deborah agreed to go to the judge
and makaa demand fora large sum, to be deliv.
ered at cuce.

Briny Ben was full of cautions. He did not
trust them, and he said so, but added that he
should be on the watch all the while, and if thvy
tried to deceive him, or to get out of town with
the proceeds of blackmail, he would make them
gon- for theJreacbery.

u 9m gOin’ for on the watch all the while,”

. mrtod. “ 1' I be lookin’ when you don’t see
me; Ill] haunt this section like a ghost; an’ now.
in“ will escape my eyes. You'll he might,
.mflt tu- get the bulge on me,.an’ef by any
chum {on should get off, leavin’ .me in ch.
lurch. 1' I follow yi'xni ter the ends 0' the earth a,

n I
mural. no not going to deceive you.”

‘MDon'tP’i

an. 1-12,, , .

Any day you wish -

 

l
l

1 her eyes had been busy.

 

   
 

” It is Vitally necessary we should all work to

, one end.”

“ So it is!” Ben grimly agreed.

“ We will not try any unfair game."

“ Et wouldn’t be safe!”

Nothing could make the Wolf act the man.
Perhaps he knew them too well to trust them.
Anyhow, he did not trust them.

When he rose to go he turned to Salome. She
had scarcely spoken during the interview, but
She had lost no part of
the conversation, and was as greedy as any of
the vultures who were rear-3mg out for Judge
Hallowell’s money. There as no feeling in
Ben’s manner, or in his voiCe, as he hrusquely
asked:

” How are ye!"

Salome sighed.

“ There is no change. What change can I ex-
pect bur, death? Here I sit, day after day, and
see no one, and have none of the pleasures of
life that others enjoy.”

The wom-in’s condition was certainly pitiful,
but she referred to it, now, as she did, simply to
try and touch Ben’s feelings.

I “ Must be kind 0’ dreary,” he admitted, calm-
y.

“ You cannot understand.
shut out from the world as I aml
living death i” ,

She lifted her hand; then let it fall heavily.
Her living eyes looked out of her dead face with
the look which would have moved many. It
did not move Ben.

1“ \Val, I ain’t ter blame,” he almost rudely re-
p led.

Then he turned away and went to the door.
There he paused to again caution then against
treachery, and every utterance had a threat as
telling as his words could be.

He finally went away, leaving them both re-
lieved and frightened—for they knew how un-
safe their scheme was \\ ith him to have a share
in it. He was satisfied with the call, but still
sus icious and surly.

‘ Ef they try any trick they’ll repent it to the

Think of being
Think of the

l.day o’ their death!” he muttered, as he went

down the street.

He lost no time in getting home. ‘

Ben wasa man of schemes, himself, and he
had another he had not called into play. He
found Ma y at her work, and he surprised her
as she ha rarely been surprised before by giv-
ing a bluff but amiable greeting in place of his
usual surfy silegg;

“ Hullo, gall w be you?" he asked.

“ I am as ubual.” Mary answered, as soon as
she could command speech.

“ You 10a tired.” ‘x

it Do I?"

“ Yes; sorter worn out.”

“ I am not working any more than usual.”

“ Wal, don’t; you mustn’t make yerself sick,

e know.”

This soliciturle was new in her experience, for
the Wolf had nevrr shown her the least kind-
ness, even in her childhmd. She did not know
what to. make of it. He increased her wonder
by keeping the mood up, and actually gave his
help about the work in various ways. It was
not until an hour after that the eleven hoof was
revealed. When it was, she eXperienced no dis-
appointment. She had not been hopeful of a
new order of things at that late date.

Finally Ben broke out suddenly:

“ How’s your Curtis gettin’ a’lungi”

Mary started nervously.

“ Whatdo you me ni”

“ Anything new in his behalf?"

“ Nothing, I am sorry to say."

“T00 bad! I feel sorry fer him, an’ fer on.
Now, 1 don’t believe he is guilty. fer he on’t
look it; an‘ it seems a great pity he should suffer
fer what someboiv else did. It’s worried 'me

werful, but I ain’t said no hin’ fer fear et
would sorter make you feel wo . Sech things
do, of side parties don’t keep up out’ard cour-
age, ye see.”

Marv did not ass. She mw nothing, except
that Ben Wolf had developed into a mystery.
W hat it all meant she could not imagine. She did
not know how to answer, and did not answer at

all.

“I’ve been thinkin’," pursued Ben, “that ef
we had some money we could get the boy out 0’
his flx. Eh?”

“ i think he has all the money he needs."

" al, et aint ourn for use.”
It No'”

“ We want some.”

“ What could we do!”

“ I’ve got a plan. Can’t tell ya w’ot it is, but
2! I'kin raise the stuff I’m goin’ ter clear Car-
is.’

Mary was not tempted by the alluring bait.
She did not understand Ben, but one thing she
did believe—he was not sincere.

“ Be you willin’ ter raise it of [give ye the
chance?” added the Water Wolf.

, “ How can if”

Ben moved his chair forwnd in his eagerness.
His whole soul was bound up in his schemes to
get money, and he was on nettles» to spring the
neWest plot. . ,

“ I want ye ter go tar Jedge Bailoweil -an’ oak
him ter advance the cash!"

, .

. .__,_

Mary’s face flushed. At first she thought only
of her own visit to the judge, and thought that
Ben might haVe learned of it, but she soon gave
up the idea. The apparent wildness or the plan
next caught her attention.

“ You remember who he is,” B! n pursued;
“ he’s the man who set on the bun h a hen Cur-
tis was tried. Now they say he is always ready
ter do a good turn ter the poor an’ needy, an’ ef
you go an’ say vie want the n oney bad, he is-
sure ter hand it over an’ make no talk about it.
See?"

Mary found it hard to reply. She was be-
wildered hy the proposition. knowing it could
not be other than a selfish aim of the boatnian’s,
but she could not find words to meet him.

“ It’s mighty easy,” Ben insisted. ‘

“ I do not think so.”

" “7115?”

“ The judge would refuse.”

“ I’ll bet he wouldn’t.”

“ Why sh< uld he comply ?”

“ Wal, it’s like this: You would tell him how
much we need it—telling him, 0’ course, that
you an’ Curtis are goin' for be married as soon
as you kin; an’ you would dwell (1] your love
fer Curtis, an’ sorter move the jedgc'a heart.
See?"

The first surprise was over, and Mary thought
she did understand. Not beii-g aware of any-
thing more than the boatinan’s craving for
money it looked like a scheme to pet that
money, and no more. Her nature i'evelted
against the plan. and she finally gained her old
com ure and firmly ansvwred:

“ am sure Homer has all the money he needs,
and I cannot bring myself to dothe thing you
ask. There is no reason why Judge Hallows]!
should give to us, even if he is generous, as you
say, and 1 cannot ask him—”

a“ I tell ye I know he won’t refuse.”

“ I cannot ask him i”

“ Do ye mean ye won't?"

, “ I did not say that.”

“ NOw. gal, see here: This is all easy, an’ no-
body will kn0w it but us two. You jest go
along an’ mind me. l’m er best frir nd, an’
I’m older an’ wiser than you be. Oblige your
father in this—”

“ Again I say I cannot.”

There was unexpected firmness in her manner-
of speech, and the Water Wolf’s temper flashed

I

u .
p"An’ I say, by thunder! that you will an"
shall i” he cried, hotly.

CHAPTER XXIII.
MONEY ls CALLFD FOR.

Bamr BEN pounded iis knee as it registering
an oath, and his red face grew redder with ex-
citement. His mask of good-will dropped, and
he was the turbulent Ben of old.

Mary had seen too much of him to be fright-
ened by his outbreaks, unless they went beyond
words, but her mystiflcation was deep and in~
creasing.

“ You must go ter Jedge Ballowelll” he re—
peated, after a pause, as she did not reply.

“ Father, you cannot accuse me. of being”
neglectful of your commands,” Mary answered,
at last, “ but you ask too much now. I fail to
see why I should go to Judge Hallowell, of all
men—fl

“ Because I tell you to.”
“What interest can he have in Homer Cur-
tis—”

” Not any!” declared Ben, hastily. “ I didn’t
say he bed. All I did say was that he was
genemus—”

“This grows tiresome to me. I have sat!
that Homer has all the money that is needed,
and he has able counsel to see to his interests.
We should work in vain, even if we had the
means of doing it. I feel, too, that we should"
be likely to do more harm than good. Do not;
urge me, for I cannot agree to ymr‘firorossl.”

It was her ultimatum, but Ben di not reccg»
nine it as such until he had-wasted a good deal
of argument and many a harsh word. He tried
all means, but in the end he admitted defeat and
let it rest. .

After that he sat around and sulked like a.
wounded animal. He would not answer Mar .
but kept his place and seawled his wrath. or
did some thinking, tm, and the result was seen
later in the day. He went out jmt before
nightfall and purchased a new coat. It was”
rough as its new owner, and did not fit well, but.
he was not aware of it, and he thought he had
made himself presentable to any society.

He did not take the garment home, but housed
it in a safe place. '

 

silence and still scowling blacklv.

Mary was worried. . She knew him well
enciigh tobe aware there was some scheme in
his mind, and she always feared when there war
evidence that he had a scheme. Such things-
never meant anv good with him.

After eight o’clock he went out, secured the
coat, and, putting it on with satisfaction. start-
edonapilgrim He hadtrodthewaybe-
foreand did not hesitate, and in due time he:
fip'gsoached the house where Judge Halloweh.

 

 
 

Sorting the hall and a servant appeared. i."

4
swig

Next he went home and bad supper, eating in '

.«i

 
  

. I
..‘i

. .
.
. .
43
J
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M
.-
v
;s

 

 

 
 
    

 

 

20

i' F'

Detective 01

n“: _i

axtOn.

 

 

“ Tell the judge a gent wants ter see hlml”

So commanded the hontman, his manner lord-
ly in one wny if not in another, but the servant
looked in wonder.

“ What name?" he iloubtfully asked.

“ I’ll tell tliatw him.”

“ Your card—”

“Idon't deal with sech rubbish, an’ I ain’t
here ter deal with you, either. Ef I was, I’d
know how ter do it, mightv quick. Did you
hear my say-so? Get a move on, an’ go ter
Halloweil, quick. See?”

He was not improvin his chance, and the re-
sult might have been a ght at the door, but the
judge happened to come along, himself. and
undertook to solve the difficulty. Ben became
civil for he had an end to gain, and asked for a
word in private with the master of the house.

here was a time when he might not have se-
curedit, but now the judge was patient with
every one, and he led the way to the parlor. Ben
sat down with all the confidence in the world. He
w s confident. He did not intend to interfere
wi h Deborah’s campaign, but he knew he had
the means of making a sensation if he saw fit,
and it gave him an air of confidence not appro-
priate to a supplicant.

He assumed aconfidential air.

“Jedge,” he said, “ I’ve come in regard ter
Homer Curtis!"

It was an ominous opening, and he watched
to see the result.

He met with disappointment. .

Of late the judge had been looking for an at-

. tack from any quarter, and caution had restored

his old calmness to its proper plac a. He heard,
now, and believad an attack was coming, but
he did not waver or betray si us of confusion,
orkiin any way show understan ing of what was
on

“ Proceed l” he requested, aifably.

“ About Homer Curtis, ye know,” Ben re-

peated. ‘

“I caught what you said. Who is Homer
Curtis, pray 7"

Ben was disappointed. He wanted to see
signs of guilty knowledge, but there was none.
This did .not alter the fact that Hallowell knew
all, but as Ben wanted to make an undsrhand
impression it was not pleasing.

‘ You sentenced him to death, ye know,”-he
growled. ‘ .

“ I remember now."

“ I thought ye would.”

Again Ben missed the mark, and he began to
feel discouraged.

“ 'I’his Curtis is a fine feller,”he declared, “ an’
he ain’t goilty. We all know it, an’ of we had
the money we could prove is By ‘ we ’ I mean
my daughter an’ me. She It engaged ter him;
my daughter is ye see.” ‘

“Indeed! Who is your dau hter?"

“ Her name is Mary W0 f. Mine is Ben
Wolf, watermaii. See? New, jedge, tor be
frank, we want ter prove him innocent, but we
ain’t got the mono fer the campaign."

The speaker ha assumed a cOnlldential air.
He leaned forward in his chair, and tried to
look amiable and good. It was a herculean task,
and not wholly successful.

Hallowell was puzzled. He had not forgotten
Mary; he remembered her with" the deepest of
.good will; but he could not understand this

' man’s visit. If'Mary wanted money, why did

1

‘ friendly Welcome,

, thin

she not come herself? She ought to be sure of a

while this disreputable

stranger could hardly expect it. Again. Hallo-

well regarded it as absurd that the visitor could
Mary’s father. Ben, blissfully ignorant of the

hot that Mary had been there before him,

watched anxiously to see how his plan was to

Noticed.

Quietly the judge answered:

“ Curtis has a lawyer, has he not?"

H Yes." I

,‘I‘ Isn’ e capable of managing the case?”

“ We want ter work a side issue—-”

“ Don’t the lawyer believe in it!"

“ I ain't seen him."

V “ Do so. at once. That is my advice."

“ But we need mone , an’ my gal thought you

might supply it. Shes bashful; the gel is. an’

the alloWed she’d never dare tor face ye, so I

come instead."

The Wolf was fast proving himself a falsifier.
but, though Hallowell saw that much, he did
not betray the fact. .

- ‘.‘ Why should you expect me to give you any-

r,
“ ’I’hey tell me you are generous.”

" “ You must have confounded me with some of

my nelghborsdam not aware that I possess
any such quality of mind.” \

Briny hen maved uneasily. He seemed doom-
:ed to misfortune in his efforts, and the many
'schemes for lgetting money which was not his did
not look he] so promising as they did.

“ You ought ter hear my poorgal moan an’
take on!” he declared with pathos. “She’s jest
tadin’ all awa , she s.”

“ Why not rin her here?”

'“ She Is she assent come.”

‘“ Have our seen her!” \ .~

“No. Wal, mebbe she was at Curtis’s trial.
but you wouldn’t be likely for notice her.”

» " And she dares not come here!"

 

H No.”

“ Not even with her father?”

“No; she’s timid, ye sees.”

Hallowell saw a good deal more than his visi-
tor thought he did, and knew the latter was act-
ing a false part. -

“Well, Mr. Wolf, if you will bring Curtis’s
lawyer with you i will talk business, but I can-
not do it otherwise. I am not generous. as you
have mistakenly been led to believe, and I can’t
do what you ask. Let the lawyer come, how-
ever, and we will see what can bedone if he says
there is not money enough for the campaign.”

Ben’s face was a study. He was mad clean
through at his failu , and in the beat of his pas—
sion he came near i ining all by letting out the
real secret and informing Hallowell that he knew
of his past life, and about the prisoner of the
Tombs.

Restraining himself, he made an addition to
his plea in the same vein, but only with the
same result. He did not move the judge in
the least, and it finally dawned u n him
that all effort was fruitless, and that 0 might
as well go home as to sit there and waste
words. .

He rose with his sullen air at its height.

“ Et shall be ez you say,” he admitted, “ but I
hope you won’t be sorry fer it.”

“ Why should I?”

“When I think 0’ my sufferin’ gal-”

“ Try to curb your feelings. Of course a
parent has such weaknesses, but, after all, what
is a human heart? There are thousands of them
within a few blocks of us. One is small in the
grand total.” ‘

Briny Ben suspected he was being mocked at,
and the secret again trembled on his lips but
be checked his rash desire and took the advice
with sulky composure.

He went out of the house, escorted to the door
by the judge. One) on the street his anger
found vent, and his muttered remarks referred
less to a suffering daughter than to rage and
dies intment.

“ 6 shall smart fer thisl—he shall i” the
Water Wolf cried. “I ain’t the man ter be
trod unler foot, by mighty! an’ I’ll be re-
venged. Sheers at me, does be? Don’t know I
kin crush him like I Would a mean snake, does
be? Oh! it ain’t wise for them ter throw stones
an’ mud who live in glass houses. Yes, yes; I’ll
make him sweat!”

All the way home Ben indn ed in thoughts
like these, and when he reachei there e was so
far forgetful of his “ suffering daughter” that he
did not even speak to her. ‘

Mary was equally mute, but’flIbre observing.

[She knew from his manner that whatever

scheme he had gone out to try had been a failure.
He betrayed the fact in various ways, and she

'knew his moods well.

For this reason she knew he was now medi-
tating some new plan.

It was one which included both reven eon
Hallowell and the lining of his pockets. ‘ince
the last interview he had been more than ever
anxious to ive the judge a taste of his powers
of mischie , and as there was but one Way, he
looked to it carefully. :

He realized that Deborah had spoken well
when she said it did not look romising to get as
much money out of Mrs. irabei Halloweli as
could be had from the judge, but he would not
give u the idea. .

“ I Ein bleed her more or less,” he thought.
“ an’ ef Do-h kin reap a harvest off from Otis,
I’ll then stop in an’ give the whole snap away
tor his present wife; but tell her “will ef I lose
money out o‘ it. I’m bound ter that. Yes,
yes; I'll tell the judge’s wife ef I sink the whole
ship in doin’ it 2"

CHAPTER XXIV.
A DISSATISFIED SPY.

Tait following day Edward Acton called upon
Chief Claxton.

“ I want to be released from my promise!” he
declared.

The detective heard without change of coun-
tenance.

“ What promise?" he asked.

“To act the spy i”

“ You refer to—"

“ My position at Jnlige Hallowell’s.”

“ Ahl don't you like it?"

“ I have before told you it is in every way re-
pugnant to my feelings, and contrary to the
way of a gentleman. I am in Hallowell‘s house
as a living lie and as a spy. It is too much."

Digly the detective asked:

“ ow is Miss Hallowelli"

Acton flushed.

“ You are not persplcacious. now. I have
not concealed my opinion of any member of the
household. I admit all seem to me the acme of
refinement and noble bent of life. For this
reaso’n I must ask to be released from my posi-
tion.
m“!’I,Iomer Curtis would like to be released from

s .

Claitton had leaned back in his chair. and his
leg dangled over "the. arm thereof in the moat
negligent fashion imaginable He looked to be
the rsoniflcatiun of ease a lodiflcrence. but

he st 11 had the faculty of sending shots home.

 

“ I know: I know,” Acton admitted; “ but
how am I helping my unfortunate friend?”

“ By doing as I have told you 9’

“ What have I discovered?”

“ Anything new?"

6‘ N0.”

“Then your discoveries would not sink the
ships in the river, it is true, but I live in hope.”

“And I in fear! Why should I spy upon Otis
HaIIOWell? What good can it do Curtis?
Heaen knows I would do all in my pOWer for
my poor friend, but how am I to further his
ends by acting the spy i”

“ The trouble with you, Mr. Acton, is that
you are afraid you will be] p him i” coolly replied
Claxton.

“ Sir i”

“ You are afraid you will discover something
which will help him!” steadily repeated the dc.
tective. “ You know I would not have put you
in that house without good reason."

“ You put me there blindfold; I have neVer
had the least idea of what I was to diSCover, or
look for.”

“ If my life had depended upon it, I could not
have told you. I did not know, myself."

“ Then why iit me there?"

“ To save omer Curtis,” evenly replied
Claxton, “but I see I have mistaken both my
ages": and the depth of your friendship for Cur-

tis.

Acton flushed. He struggled with himself for
a moment and then earnestly exclaimed:

“Can you ardon me? I am a fool. and I see
it clearly. should never have forgotten Cur-
tis’s interests, and I will not again. Overlook
my folly if you can 1"

“Once more you are sensible.
last.”

“ Believe me, it will; but I am placed in a
very painful position at Hal10well’s. Goin
there with a lie on my lips, and in my heart,
have been used as if I were the most honorable
of men, and I hate liself for the deception.”

“ I am sorry. bu ask you to stay a little
longer. I think it will scan ie over.”

'“ It shall be as you say. If you know of any
way to hasten events I shall be glad to have you,
.bowever. The kindness of the family is a con-
stant reproach to my guilt mind. and I would
be out of it as soon as pOiii- ble. Rely upon me,
though, to give my best services to the cause we
have in mind.” .

“ Do it, and don’t be wholly disheartened. It
does not follow that all is lost.”

“ Can you see hope?” Acton eagerly asked.

“ I can’t so I do.”

Edward’s ace grew grave; he believed hope
was not a fi ure in the case.

“ You tel me there is nothing new ?” Clnxton
questioned.

“ I know of nothin ”

“ Watch on! Something may occur which
is not expected. Watch on; watch unceasmg-

I hope it will

It was a vague injunction, but Acton was
always oppressed by the detective’s charges,
and he felt in the old mood. now. He had set
Claxton down as a man all cunning and no
feeling. He did not credit the claim that he
was working in the dark exce t as far as be
“as himself concerned, and be] eved it was run-
ning, pure and simple, which was keeping him
in suchignorance.

As he walked toward HalIOWell’s, later on, he
thou ht of all this.

“ would not endure it for any One but
Homer. 'Ihis man Claxton seeks to play with
me as a chessman does with his pieces: he moves
me on the board, andIgo about blindly and
mysteriously, exposed to attack I cannot my-
self meet. And in the end—What then? Clax-
ton will win or Sosa. as the case may be, but I
shall surely lose. Yes, lore sill—lose Alice’s
regard—lose her friendship—and win only her
hatred!” '

It was not in the best of humor that. he reach-
ed the house. He felt like going to the room al-

lotted to him and spending the day in brooding ~—

over the matter, but Miss H8110“ ell met him in
the ball by chance, and he went with her to the
parlor, instead.

“ I am again down-hes ed. Mr. Vinton,” she
declared, with a sigh, ad tossing him by ihe
name he bore in tl e Hallowell household. “ Do
you know, I think I am gttting to beaperfect
image of ('litcoursgementl"

“ And all since 1 came to the housel”

“ You have not forgotten my unlucky speech,
I see. You must forget: don’t make me answer-
able for an unfortunate c0nnbination of ideas. Of
course you have nothing to do with it, and I as-
sure you that you have the good will and confi-
dence of all here.”

“ That is pleasant,” declared Acton, but in his
heart he wished it otherwise.

“ What do you sup se is troubling me now?”

“ I should be gla to knOw. Perhaps I can
help you.” .

“ There may be such a thing as being toowm-
pathetic. But you shall hear. As you are

aware, my father is a judge. I have never given / '

much thought to the matter. Womm are not
supposed to be interested in business, and I am

sure I could not be so to a practical extent if I f
tried over so hard. Thus, I have looked upon

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Detective Claxton.

~21

 

 

my father’s calling with as muchAnditYerence as
if ho,were a merchant or something of that sort.
Now, I realize that it is different.”

Edward began to be worried.

“ Why so?" I

“ A story I have heard. It was from an old
gentleman, retired from business, who lchs nenr
us—an old family friend. H) was present in
court during a recent; trial where my father was
the presiding judge. He took the interest in the
matter which an idle man will, and told me of
it to amuse me. Ughl he simply chilled me, and
left me gloomy and melancholy.

“ \Vhat was the case?”

“ A trial for murder, in which the accused
was adjudged guilty, and is own now under sen-
tenco of death. I don’t know whether he is
guilty or not, but this much is sure—I am great-
ly Interested in one who is interested in him. He
has a lady who thinks much of him; who is pro-
bably his afliaiicvd. Think of thatl—thiuk of
tlwir relations, and of her feelings now he is con-
demned to die!”

Alice showed deep feeling, herself, and Edward
was very uneasy.

“ She is a poor girl‘, as far as worldly goods
go,” Alice pursued, “ butshe is a woman, never-
theless. Think of her now!”

“ it is hard," Acton admitted.

“ Her name,” continued Alice, mechanically,
“is Mary “'olf!"

Acton had been sure of it. He had no reason
for so thinking, but had from the first had the
firm belief that it would result so.

“ She is the daughter of a ’longshoreman.
Very poor they are, no doubt, but my neighbor
tells me she has an excellent face, and is no
doubt an excellent girl. You don’t know how I
feel for her!"

“Better kee your mind from the subject,”
hastily advi Acton.
H  r,

“ Youcau do her no good, and—”

a “I am not so sure of that. I am going to see
her, and I want you to accompany me!”

Alice had come out of her usual retiring mood,
and spoke with the decision of one whose sym~
pathies are strongly awakened. Since she heard
of Mary Wolf it had occurred to her that she
had not been doing the amount of good in the
world that she might have done, and now she
was eager to make amends for what she thought
was a wasted past. ,

Acton was speechless for a moment. The

~ idea of his going with herto Mary was start-

ing.

“ Don’t think of such a thingl” he finally ex-
claimed, hastily.

“ Why not?”

“ Would you go where poverty rules and
squalor is king—

“ Where else can one do as much good?"

“ But their home would be so different from
your—”

“ Then I may be able to lighten their burden.
Iimagine this unknown Mary hasa poor old
mother and father who feels deeply for her in
her distress, and that it is a sad home, now."

Edward thought of Ben Wolf and shivered.
He was not the kind of parent pictured.

“Miss Hallowell,” he replied, “I should be
very glad to help you, but in this you are
“1‘0"8, ifI may say so. Abandon your id”,
for it is not wise. Leave these peor maple to
others; it‘ is best so."

Alice was quick to accept a rebuff, usually,
and she then and there abandoned the notion of
having Acton for her escort, but the plan of

, going, herself, was given new life and zeal by

the opposition.

Her native tact now came into play and
though she talked more about Mary Wolf she
did not give E-iward cause to suppose his advice
had fallen on stony soil. He was in fear least it
might be so. however. .and took occasion to
advise against it In ads-heats but plain way.

Advice is easy to 8W8. and is one of the things
which are seldom acceptable and as seldom
followed.

Alice heard all and did not give reason for
him to believe he was_talking in vain, but the
result was not in keeping with what he wished.

When they separated he remembered the cir-.

cuinstance with uneasiness.

“ What evil geniua “38 PM the notion into her
head? I don’t now that any harm would ensue
if she went to Mary Wolf. but I am sure Claxton
would not approve of it, and there’s no knowing
what the result would be. I hope she won’t
think of it again.”

His wish came too late.

At that ver moment Alice was preparing for
the street. am with a fixed purpose in view.

“ I’ll :0 and see her immediately l"

Such had been Miss Hallowell‘s decision when
alone, and she made preparations accordingl .

She left the house without being obsorvedyhy
any one, and took her way toward the Wolf
résideucc, she having learned where it was from
the gentleman who had told her of the trial.

In due time she reached the vicinity ot the.

Never before had her daint f
Gum’s _ Y 0
Such a street. Sympathetic as she was, :E. 
never gunfight of gating agioogg the poor,
0.7, s e was w ere t vert
“I: weir rule and ruin. _ w y and Vi”

CHAPTER XXV.
BROTHER AND SISTER MEET.

ALICE looked in wonder at the scene presented
by the untidy, rough street, and the presence
of certain rough and untidy young men on the
corners, who looked at her offensively, brought
the blood to her cheeks and made her quicken
her steps. She felt the need of an escort, and
was glad when the number of the desired house
came to her sight.

She rung the bell. The slipshod woman who
answered the summons gazed at her in wonder,
but, on hearing her request, muttered:

“ Next floor, frontl”

Alice went up. The further evidences of
poverty were all around, and her brief hesita-
tion was forgotten in her desire to meet the
girl whose trouble had brought her there.

She knocked at one of the doors. ,

It was soon opened, and she saw a pretty,
but sad-faced young woman whose every look
was a recommendation in Alice’s view.

“ I wanted to see Miss Mary Wolf,” she ex-
plained.

” That is my name,” was the gentle reply. 1

“ Then it is you I wish to see.

Mary was surprised, for she was not accus-
tomed to receive such callers, but .she did‘not
forget hospitality. She invited Alice in, and
gave her. a chair. The daughter of the judge
looked around with curiosity for a moment but
speedily transferred all her attent'pn to ear.
Shi- sought with careful attention' to read t e
other’s taco.

No hard task was hers; Mary had a charm
about her which was not to be misunderswod,
and Alice felt happy, then, that she had come.
Surely the child of poverty was all she could ex-
pect in appearance.

“ I hope.” Alice began, “ you are not inclined
to resent the coming of a stranger, for I am not
sure my erran'l is one which will seem to you as
it is intended."

“ I can tell better as to that when I have
learned of its nature, but I am sure that I shall
not resent it.”

“ My expression was not happy, I confess.
Let me not try to deal any more in generalities.
but come to the point. I think you are the same
Mary Wolf who Was in court during the recent
trial of Homer Curtis?”

“ I am the same Mary Wolf,” was the reply,
accompanied by a sigh.

“ I hope you will pardon me for coming here,
since I have no idle motive in doing so. I was
not at the trial, and never knew of you until re-
cently told of the case by one who was present.
My sympathies were aroused, and I could not
avail coming to your home to ask if I could help
you in any way whatever."

“ You are very kind, and I should be ungrate-
ful not to appreciate it."

“Now I am here I confess I do not know
what to say or do, but this much is certain-I
feel for a sister woman in trouble. More prac-
tically, if I can do anything for you I shall be
glad to.” ‘
i‘LIjiiifortunately, I know of nothing,” Mary
s g .

“ This is a severe trial for you.”

“ It is worse than death l” was the sudden, bit-
tor/exclamation.

“ I! the proof positive against himi"

“Proof! There was hour he was convicted
lon a false accumulation pf evidence—of unfortu-
nate. misleading circumstances.”

“ Was the judge to blame?” Alice asked, anx-

iouslg.

“ bl no!"
“ Could he help you, new?"
‘ No.”

I

f'You—you are a more than passing friend of
this young maul” hesitatingly asked the visitor.

“ He is more than life tome. I was to be his
wife!” ,,

The pathos of the reply went home to Alice’s
heart. Deeper than words was the sound of the
girl’s voice.

“ Could not his lawyers-ave himi”

“ It was tried in vain.” ‘

“ But some hope may remain.”

“ I have lost hope.”

“Tl’iat you must not do. There is always
ho . . ‘-

Aliee felt how useless such words were in re-
ality. but they served a better purpose than she
dared to expect. Ever since her trouble Mary
had been hearing the load alone, hoping against
hope, and seeing less of it left as each day went
on. And all the while she had had no other per-
bson of her own sex in whom to confide. The
human heart in its hour of affliction turns nat-
"rally on .ome sympathizing friend. He whose
nature is such that he refuses the call of Nature
and goes to no one. then, has a heavy burden;
but if it can be told in the resencs of sympn.
thy, the load lessens witht e tears which wash
its bitteer away.

Stranger that Alice was, Mary found herself
accepting the kindness offered, and with a relief
not to bee-xpcctcd. _

The conversation continued for some time,
and though it might have been unimportant td
any one else, it did not impress them as coming
under that head. Steadil the bond of sym-

 

pathy was cemented, and A to. learned, little by

 

little, much of the case which, before then, . f_
Mary had not dreamed of telling to any of her '
friends. .
The visitor was all in earnest and she had , l
many things to suggest. They were often very
impracticable, and always more sympathetic
than hopeful: but their import could not be mis-
understand. :f
“ I am afraid I can do nothing,”finall_v con- - -
fessed Alice, “ but I havea plan which may be »
of promise. I willsee if it is so, and if any- ,.'
thing comes of it, you shall know.” h "
Her plan was to ask her father for his aid, but
she was careful enough not to mention it prema-
turely. Thus far, too, she had overlooked giv-
ing her own name, and Mary was ignorant of
her identity.
“One thing more,” she went on.
see Mr. Curtis. Can it be done?"
“I am not sure, but I think it can. I am :.,
allowed to enter his eel], after the keepers have , ~:‘ '
made sure I have ncthing with me which could
be used by him to effect his escape; and I do
not see why you should not fare equally well.” ,
“ \Vhen can We go?” " . g
“ I was going to-day, for Homer’s lawyer has '
secured permission.”
“Then let us go at once. But I forgot; you
may think 1 would spoil the interview." - ,-, _'
” On the contrary, I shall be glad to have you 
keep me company.’ ' ,
There Was sincerity in the reply, and it was so , 4'}
decided. Liary made her preparations. It was
at this juncture that Alice had a sudden thought.
“I have not given you my uamel" she mutter-
ed. “ How stupid of me. I am Alice Hallo-
well, and the daughter of Judge HallOivell-
You ,may remember him in connection with the
trial. ' ~ ' ,
Remember himl Mary had the best of reason 1",}
to remember, but not so much because he had
sat on the bench as on account of later develop-
ments. She knew Edward Acton had gone to
the house on some mysterious errand. Now, 
she was startled to find that the judge’s daughter a i t
was in her own home. i ‘
She had been looking the opposite way when
the announcement was made, and she managed
to control herself before she looked around.
She did not, however, feel the liking for her
guest that had been hers just before. ,
Without knowing why she felt a thrill of sus-
icion.
p “I wonder'that you came to me,” she oh- I

“ I wish ’to

 

 

89W . 12‘
“l have told on why. Is the reason less 
forcible because am who I am?” . -’ ;
The solicitude in the question did much to dis— ‘ -
arm Mary, and she hastened to avow her in~ ’ (it
accent-co all prejudice. ' » 1 *1
There was now {00:1 for thou ht here there ,. ‘35
had been none previously, and s e s died Alice -~".

closely, but the latter was one to bear the strict-

est scrutiny. Her face spoke for itself, and , '
Mary decided whatever an one else might be, l c,’
her visitor was free from a suspicion. - x . ‘

They journeyed to the Tombs in company.
When they arrived Lawyer Pollard was just: , V
finishing an interview with his client, and he . g ,
took charge of matters and helped the latat _" _
callers Over all rough places. They entered the - ,,
cell of the condemned man.
Homer had been warned that he was to have ' ,
a stranger visitor, but he did not know who im 2..
was, and when he rose to meet them there wan 
even more ignorance on his part than on that of . _,
Miss Hallow ell. ~ '
Neither had the least suspicion that they-who
had a common father Were anything to each.
other; neither imagined that, though they now 5
met for the first time, they should long have 3 5.-
known each other; and as theuooked with ‘  
mutual curiosity it would have n thought a.
madman who might have told them they were
brother and sister. ' 1 v , _
The intro ucticn gave Curtis his first sur- 
prise. The me, Ballowell, had come to be of -‘
on he then passing interest in his life, and it as-
sumed new importance, now.
It was mysterious that the judge should come , v
to him and talk as he did, pledging him to 3"
secrecy, and now what meant the coming of the a:
judge’s daughter! ' '
Be greeted her with faultless politeness, and ,..~
Mary soon made all known. Alice was there an   2'
a s mpatbctic friend, and no more. .3.
urtis did not question the statement, but be
was not so sure it was,truc. A wave of sucpi‘ .
cion passed over him. Could it be that Ballo--'
well was less of africnd than he had assumed to i
be. and that the girl was now there as a spy!  _.,
The suspicion was natural, but before Alice ;‘ '
went her manner had about eradicated the . 4"
doubt, and he was willin to believe her all also 
claimed to be—one move only by sympathy. 7 ~
He fully realized, however, that it was an . 
chance which had brought her there after ' I
father's visit. ' i
She talked with growing interest, for she had ‘ r a
taken the deepest liking for Mary, and new '1, ~ ‘
found L‘nrtis all that any one could ask for in
appearance, and the best of good- will mulled. ' ‘- ,2
There was, however, nothing to tell 0 the bond
between two of them: nothing to tell that the tie"
of blood was there—no secret magnetism such as, .
ha been claimed in similar cases. ‘ i ’

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Before she rose to go Alice mentioned an idea
which had been growing in her mind.

“ I am goin to interest my father in this
case!” she dec ared. “He has great influence.
wand I will ask him to do all he Can for you.
am too much ignorant of the ways of law and
other things to know what he can do, but he is
of a kind heart, and he will not turn a deaf ear
to my request. If he can help you he will.”

Curtis murmured his thanks. He Wondered
what the judge would say when he knew his
daughter had been in the cell ofacondemned
man without his permission.

He feared it would be an injury to his chances,
but there was no help for it. It would seem
singular, 'and doubtless be wholly useless, to ask
her to say nothing. No; the best way was to
accept the drifting of Fate’s ship, and see what
the result would be. Probably nothing would
come of it.

The girls went‘ away with good wishes on their
tips. They, too, parted outside.

“ You shall hear from me again," Alice prom-

e

 

ouhrrss XXVI.
iron ran DOOMED MAN‘S sans:

ON one of the leading streets of the Metropolis
was the residence of a judge well known to all
who kept any track of the men and deeds of the
City of New York. He had an advanced and
eminent position in his profession, and had sat as
.a justice until his hair was gray with the passage
of years.

At the same hour when Alice Hallowell and
Mar] Wolf were in the cell at the Tombs a card
was brought to this eminent judge as he sat in
his parlor. He read and directed:

“ Show the gentleman in, at once!”

A tall and imposing-looking man entered. It
was Judge Hallowell. The senior magistrate
:rose and hastened to grasp his hand.

“ My dear judge!” he exclaimed, “ I am very
:glad to see you. Pray be seated, and let us
smoke the pi of peace in the old way I”

,For years allowell had been welcome to the
’home of the speaker, and though their friend-
ship was, in one sense, founded wholly on their
association in their profession, they had taken
delight in doing favors for each other, and in
extending the courtesies of home and fireside.

Now they sat down as of old had began to talk 4

accordingly. But Otis Ballowell’s mind was
not on his work, and he came around to more
important matters as soon as he could.

"Judge," he said, “I believe you now have
'before you the case, on appeal. of one Homer
\Curtis, who is ecudemned to die for murder?” .

"Such is the'fact.” ’

“ It is one of my cases."

“ I remember the fact.”

“ When do you render your decision on the
appeal!"

“ .Very soon. The decision is all settled now,
‘mutI have held it back as a matter of custom.”

"Ma I ask the result?”

.“Ca you douth Your rulings will all be
sustained.”

Hall0well's face fell. He had ex ted and
dreaded this reply, but had never g ven up the
hope that it woul be different.

" Indeed!” he murmured.

“It cannot be otherwise. There is no new
evidence, nor claim of any; and as for the few
objections to your decisions. they are puerile. I
am. surprised that Curtis‘s lawyer should have

i come heforE us with such a weak plea for a new

trial." _

“ My rulings are not immaculate.”

“They are, if I may say so without seeming
'to flatter, the nearest of those of any judge of
whom I know. In t is case they could not be
faulted.”

“But there mustbe some weak point in the
prosecution’s case!”

“'Ighgre is none. All is clear as a bell, so to

a .

“ But do you think the verdid in accordance
with the facts as presented?"

33%;? do‘Ilm'” i (1 para

I own; was w ng es be.

“ He was not seen tomdoo the murder.”

" As long as circumstantial evidence prevails
in our courts of notice we cannot find a weak-
ness in such evi once as we have here. Be at
ease, Bollowell; your reputation for fair rulings
will not suffer in the case of The People versus
Homer Curtis!”

The senior judge looked up with a beamin
emile as if he was gMngan assurance whlcg
would bring nnall ed pleasure. Little did he
ima lne what it id bring to his companion.
If allowel. had been on trial for murder,
himself, he wou.d not have been so much
moved as he was then. More than his own ruin
eeemedbefore him.

Leaning forward in his chair he exclaimed in

7 an intense voice:

“Judge Iwant on todecide a' nine me!”

“E”, . y s t

" Curtis must have a new trial!”

” What, what?" cried the senior judge,
amazed

\

“ I wish you to decide that my rulin were.

wrong. and prejudimal to the cause of t e pris-’
oner!

 

“ You do?"

“ I do, sir.”

“ Upon—my—word l”

The speaker could find no terms in which to
express himself with sufficient force, but the
way which he uttered the few simple words told
of unbounded astonishment.

“ Why, you must be deranged !” he exclaimed,
after a pause. ” I iieVel‘ heard of such a thing.
A judge who wants his rulings faulted! Well,

wall, we shall hear of an honest politician
next!” ‘

“I want you to do this as a favor to me,
judge.”

“ A favor! Well, well! And why?”

“ Because I am convinced that the prisoner is
innocunt."

" W hat is your proof?”

“ I confess I can give none, but I desiie the
consummation I have mentioned. I am flie-
satisiied with the result of the trial, and would
gladly see the young man have another chance
for his life. If we take it fro.n him we take
what we cannot restore, and all on the basis of
circumstantial evidence. I have given the mat-
ter due thought, and am convinced that justice
will miscarry it this thing goes on. Let us not
have the ibility of an error to Worry us when
wgare ol , and done with bench and bar. Give
him a chance for his life!"

The senior judge sat motionless.

“ You amaze me!” he confessed.

“ Because I ask for justice tempered with
mercy?” Y'

“Because you want your case torn up.”

“ My rulings—”

“ ere perfect 1”

“ The evidence—”

“ Was strong.”

“ But the jury may have decided hastily.”

“Then it fails to show. How could they de-
cide otherwise with such evidence before them?"

“ Be that as it may, I still desire you to hand
down adecision which will grant a new trial.
Don’t send a man out of the World so hastily
who may be—who must be innocent!”

“ But you say you have no evidence to that
eff icr.”

"l have none—”

“ A judge should be able to give a logical rea-
son for his acts and opinions.”

“I cannot giVe such reasons, sir, but if you
will take the will for the deed I will say that
I have the strongest of reasons, in private.
Ohlige me by doing as I say, and any favor
I can do now, or henceforth, for you will be done
gladly.”

“ But upon what grounds can I grant a new
trial? As I have said, nelthl' the evidence nor
your rulings have a flaw, as far as I can ace,
and the lawyer for the young man presents
nothing to enable me to have a doubt. You will
admit it is a serious matter to ignore law and
evidence. The State would be put to fresh ex-
pense. and my act would be sub ect to the criti-
cisms of those who would deligh in accusing me
of worse than error.”

Hallowell was silent; he knew it to be as
stated. '

“ You see how I am placed,” added the senior
ad 0.

j "n his matter is at vital interest to me,
sir.

“ Did you know this young man?”

. “I—I know of him.” ’

‘ “ Has he worthy parents!” was the sympathetic
inquiry. '
Hallows]! brushed his hand nervously over his

face.

“I think his father stands well in the eyes of
the nblic.”

“ hat did he do at the trial!"
“ The father?”
“ Yes.”

“ I-LI think he acted as well for the boy as he
could under the circumstances."

“ You say he is an honorable man?”

“ I think he is so reputed.”

“ Did he give the son the benefit of careful
rearing!”

"As far as ability went.”

“Then it is a sad case. I am very sorry',
Hallowell, that I can see no loophole fora favor-
able decision on my part. The fact is) judge,
you did your work too well.” -
This was intended as much for a compliment
as anything else, but never did compliment fall
more to t e ground. Well, indeed, did Otis
hallowell knowehe had “ done his work too Well!”
And little did the senior jud e suspect how his
learned brother was writh ng in anguish of
spirit over the hopelessness of the case. Hall
well had been aware when h: came that t
chances were all against him, so far as law and
evidence were concerned, but he had been full
of h , if not belief, that he would succoe-i'in
OVer- niiuoncing the arbiter of Curtis’s fate.

Once there his eloquence seemed all to have
deserted him and no wonder. He had no case
and, to a cool sitter of law, impassioned appeal
counts for but little unless‘snpported by law and
evidenw. '

Not yet did he abandon the attempt, how-
ever, and the interview was prolonged for some
time.

“I can promise you but one thing,” finally

i

 

stated the senior judge. “I will again go over
the matter with care, and I’ll give the accused
the benefit ofevery deubt.”

“One thing more! Do not send in yopr de-
cision until you hear from me again.”

“ I gladly promise that, and I am sorry I can-
not do more.”

There the affair practically rested, and all
further talk was of subordinate nature. Hallo-
well did not pursue it to an extreme, for he was
anxious to get away, and this he did soon after.
He went toward home.

The result of the interview had not surprised
him, but it was, nevertheless, a disappointment.
The word expressed it but feebly. With the
adverse decision of the judge he saw all the dan-
gers of the position even more clearly.

Homer Curtis seemed doomed to the gallows.

Every day had made the hold of the unfortu-
nate young man stronger upon Otis Hal10well.
Truly, the tie of blood was all pawerful, and
though they had been so long apart the father
was as deeply interested as if he had known of
the tie long before. ,

Now, the probability of the young life going
out in sorrow and shame was overwhelming.

Once at his own house HallovVell hurried to his
room anxious to be alone, but he had hardly
clo the door when Alice’s voice was heard
asking if she could Come in. He wanted to say
No, but there was a plaintiveness in her tone
which made him hesitate and then answer affir-
matively.

She entered and came to his side at once.
With unusual impulsiveness for her she ex-
claimed:

“ I want to ask a favor of youl”

“ Proceed, child.”

“ Will you grant it?”

“Come, come! that is not fair! What is the
favor?” '
“ I want you to save a human life!”

CHAPTER XXVII.
nanosan‘s CALL.

JUDGE BALLOWELL could not avoid a start.
The statemmt seemed so ill-timed, and yet so
well-linwd, as it uere, that he could not keep
his usual composure.

“ Don’t let me frighten you,” Alice pursued.
“ When I say I want you to save a human
life, it does not mean that one of your kin or
friends is in such need—far from it.”

“ Then who is?” ‘

“One in. whom I have become interested
through the force of circumstances, and whom
I would be glad to help not only for his own
sake, but for the sake of another.”

” You mystify me. Come to the point, child,”
the 'udge urged.

“'I‘he person in peril is a prisoner in the
Tombs."

” In the Tombs l”

Hallowell echoed the words with emotion
Alice could not fail to notice, but she did not
understand the cause thereof.

“ Be patient,” she requested.“ “I suppose I
am stupid in the light of your legal knewl.
edge and wiser years, but give me time, There

. is in the Tombs a young man in peril of his life.

Of course you cannot sympathize with him now,
for he is noth'ng to you: but he is much to some
one else—to a girl who loves him tenderly. For
her asks you will listen, will you not?”

.- Hallowell’s face was turned away.

“Mo is this young man?" he asked.

.“ His name is Homer Curtis!” ,

The jud a had been sure of it. Fate lwas play-
ing with im like a veritable football, and he
was surprised only in an indefinite way. Any-
thingrwss possible, n0w. But he felt the force
of an appeal coming as this came.

“ What do you know of him?” he asked, as
soon as he could command his voice.

“ I have been there.”

‘u  r

“ In the Tombs.”

“ In the Tombs!"

Hallowell asped the words, rather than spoke
them. His aughter in the Tombs! It was like
a blow to him.

“ Don’t be angry,” she implored. “ I went
under the impulse of the moment, and never
thought ,what you mi ht think of it. I am
sorry if you are vexed, at it is true, neverthe~

ess.

" Why did you go—how did you go!”

“ I went with Mary Wolf, the eiflanced of the
unfortunate primner.”

“ And: what do you know of her?’

‘ I went toher home to see about her, and
our visit to the prison was made suddenly.
Don’t blame me, for I feel sure this young man
is not so bad as they say. He looks good and
manly, and he can’t be a murderer—no; he can-
not!" "

The judge gazed and said nothing. This was
progress with a vengeance. He would be pre-
pared for anything, now, since Alice had been
there! But he began to W0!)de how she gained
any inkling to the matter. Had some of his
foes struck him in the dark! ,

” You saw him at the trial,” Alice pursuvd,
“and I am sure you will not say he is an evil-
l0okmg man. I do not think him so, and 1 must
say I am as much interested in his case as if he

 

 

V

v

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i

étective‘ ‘ eaten.

b

;

 

was an old friend of mine. Of course I' do not
mean by that that I am interested except for
Mary Wolf's sake, for he is nothing to me.”

Nothing to her! The judge wondered at the
choice she made of words. Nothing to her! It
was true; he was nothing but her brother! Fate
grew ironical.

“ Are you really offended?” AliCe pleaded.

“ Child,” he responded, in a strangely tender
voice, “I was thinkinggl have much to think
of. I think you were making a I‘i!lll&l‘.i about
the young man. You have not told me how you
chanced to go there.”

Alice told all. In a simple, straightforward
way the story was told, and Hallowcll heard all
she couli relate. Much he marveled. Was it
not remarkable how she had sought her unknown
brother as if directed by an over-ruling hand?

“ You saw him,” murmured the judge.
“ What did you think of him?"

“ I saw nothing evil in him.”

“ \Vhat looked he like to you?"

“I don’t understand?’

“ \Vas be like any one you know i”

“ 1 think not.” replied Alice, in surprise.
you think he is?"

“I? No, no; of course not; but you seemed
singularly interested. How did he receive you?
Did he know who you were, anzl did he speak
with anger of the judge who had sat at his
trial? ’ ‘

“ Not a word of complaint did he make.”

“ He referred to the judge, didn’t he?”

“ Onl
afraid 6 might feel some resentment, and for
that reason I hesitated to meet him, but he did
not say an unkind thing, and was as kind to me
as if I had been a friend. And l—well, really,
I became interested in him.” ’

Hallowell was breathing freer. He .was glad
to know Curtis had not mentioned that he, too,
had visited the cell. '

“Like you,” the judge admitted. “I fail to
see anything evil in the appearanceof this young
man. He is charged with a crime which some
one will have to answer for heavily at the seat
of divine judgment, but we need not feel hard
toward him.”

" Do you think him guilty?”

“ The jury so decided. Do not let your mind
run upon the subject, child,”

“But it does, father. I cannot believe him
guilty, and, when 1 think of Mary Wolf, my
heart bleeds for her. Father, you are influen-
tial. Cannot you do something for him? Can’t
you secure a new trial for him?”

“ The case has gone to anotherjudge.”

“ But you can use your influence. Do not be
inlifft-rent to the matter because he is nothing
to you. Think how it would be if he were as
near to us as he is to Mary Wolf! Imagine how
we should feel if he was ours, not hers—if he
was of kin to us!”

H illowell ‘found it bard‘ to keep his face
stead v.

“ If you wish, I Will look into the case more
fully,” he replied,

Alice threw her arms around his neck. i

“ Now you are m father indeed!" she cried.
“ I thank you warm y, and I hope you will find
something of importanc . Try to, for Mary’s
sake.” ‘

She had more to my, and she dwelt upon the
virtues of the girl in whom she had become inter-
ested, and her belief in Curtis‘s innocence. as
longalshe deemed it prudent. When, at last,
she left the room, Hallowell at long in medita-
tion. '

“ Strange very strange!" he finally murmur-
ed. “ Fate s always full of wonders, and never
more than now.”

There was a knock at the door. A messenger
boy had come with a note, and the recipient
opened it and read as follows:

«Ju{;us HAuzwtllliaLL-o ‘ di t ‘

‘ on are wan e are mm a 3 eiy on in) mint
business,“ D? nothdxilaxy, for I can a: otheraiose be
he ns 0 or W a fly nccun me
ansdxyou need haVe no fear. pmmptlyv

H 

“ DEBORAH PAINI."

He crushed the note in his hand,

“ It will have to be attended to as r unwed!»

He burned the note, and then don his but
and coat and started. He could not imagine
what the call meant, but as he had no reason
to suppose any new com'ilication would occur,
he was wise enough to believe a craving for
'money was at the bottOm of it all. He ruched
the house withoat incident of imgoruuce’ and
was admitted by the old woman w o bud 89mm]
charge of the building. .

Not long had he been hands the house when
there was aring, again, at the bell. Answer-
ing it, she found a tall, peculiar-lookin mm
there; one who was dressed p00rly, but id not

“ Madam,” a tersely exclaimed, “ do you
want to earn fifty dollars?”

“ Fifty dollars!” she gasped.

“Yes.” '

“ Well, show me the chance and see!" m“
we nick reply. ’

N t ms enter the house and listen to '1,“
the man Who has just come in has to say."

u on! you ask a good deal, now."

lie displayed the promised money.

’ 100k in keepln with his attire.

whenI mentioned who I was. I was

 

I will make no disturbance in
All I ask is- the chance I

" This talks!
your place, madam.
have mentioned.”

“ You wc n’t break in on him—’7

“ No, no; I tell you I will be still as the grave.
Ca‘njyouylace me where I can listen?”

‘ es

“ D.) it quickly.”

The money was the god of conviction to the
woman, and she took up the case with the zeal
of one bought as she was, utterly. She admitted
the stranger and conducted him to a small room
on the same floor with the Paines. Circum-
stances favored the would—be spy, and she was
able to place him where he could both see and
hear all.

“Now you can go," he added.

She went, and he—Chicf Claxton—gave all
his attention to the interview in the rooms be-

yond. .

Hallowell was with Deborah and Salome.
Their conversation had not progressed far, as
was t i be seen by what foIIOWed.

“ If this is merely a suinmcns for money,” the
judge was saying, suspiciously, “ what used was
there of this sudden call to me?”

“ Simply that we need the money,” Deborah
replied.

“ Are you going to leave the city?”

It  77

“ Then why the haste you did not mention be-
fore?”

“ We have bills to pay—”

“Enough! How much do you want?"

Deborah looked at Salome, as if to get strength
for the demand.

“ Twenty thousand dollars!” she then boldly
answered.

“ What?"

“ That is the sum.”

“Do you realiza what a sum you ask for?—
dcifypu understand it is a small fortune in it-
as

“We understand it is the price of silence,”
coollv replied Deborah.

“ Dearly bought.”

“ Is not the peacs it will bring worth the
sum?”

“ Ha110well was silent, looking down and
meditating deeply. The woman seemed to fear
the result, for she went on, presently, in a hurried
way:

“ Pay us this money and the world will
never know on are the father of a man
who lies in the ombs under sentence of death,
and it will never know that you have a wife liv-
ing besides the one you call so before the public.
No; the world shall not know that here"--she
poifntgd to Salome—“ is your one and only legal
m e
Hallowell raised his head with an air of firm-
ness. '

“ There must be conditions!” he declared.

CHAPTER XXVI”.
ABOUT STOLEN GOODS.

DEBORAH quietly asked:

“ What is the condition?"

“That you and she leave New York at once,
and permanently. and that before on 0 you
sign a paper which I will draw up, Ha lowell
answered.

The last part of the condition did not seem
to impress Deborah especially, but she hesitated
before she made reply: -

“ It is not easy for us to leave the city,‘ ill
as Salome is.” ,

“I will see that all possibleisdone tomake
your departure easy, and free from all danger
to health or anythin else.”

“Will you pay or our going—pay all ex.

mes?"

“If you wish, though I do not see that it
would make any great gap in the twenty thou-
sand dollars.”

“That money weights heavily on your soul,
don’t itl" Salome demanded, bitterly. “ You
see it as large as a mountain. when you should
be glad to give it to me. The woman who rules in
your house, but has no right there, has access to
your coffers at all times, while I, your only
legal wife, haveto beg for the few miserable
dollars you consent to dole out!”

“ I have refused you nothing."

“I never had anything from you. When we
lived in that little t0wn in Pennsylvania. long
before you ever met the resent Mrs. Hallowell,
you gave me only a smal cottage, while she has
had a mansion. Our child had on] enough to
keep the breath of life in him, wh is her child
has the fat of the land. I judge by that. that
man like legal wives and children less than
others. Now, you will let our child die on the
gallows. and let me want for food and the neces-
saries of life.”

It was an irritable complaint, but Hallow-ell
received it with unwavering patience.

“Considering Ionly knew a few days ago
that oung Curtis was our son, and 1 suppomd
you sad through all the years until the same
date, and that, since you brought yourself again
to my attention I have refused nothing, I must
express the opinion that your complaint is not
well founded. ’

" That‘s it; no good word for me!” l

“ Let my acts speak for me—”

 

 

“ They have spoken in the past.”

“ If you failed through twenty years to let me
know you were alive it is not my fault. ’

‘f Nothing is your fault!”

“ We waste words in speaking thus—”

“Yes; you do not care to speak of your sen-
tenced son and your cast-off wife!”

The judge turned to Deborah.

“ Let us talk of business,” he suggested, with
patient fortitude. “Can you leave New York
as soon as you get this money i"

“ I suppose so.” ~

“All shall be as you say. The paper I draw
up will be to the point, and will shut ofi‘ any
further demands upon me. It is an unalterable
condition of your receiving the sum of money
referred to.” ‘

S ilome gave indications (f having more to
say, but Deborah Silenced her with a quick and
warning look. The older woman “as too wise
to allow matters to progress in the channel they
had entered that evening, and she reached out
only for the blackmail desired.

“ We will sign any paper in reason,” she re-
lied. “ We do not wish to interfere with the
appiness of your home. if there is any. in say-

ing that‘ I do not claim any high reasons! I
know if Salome put forward her claim as your
wife we should never derive any good from it,
while the money will be of practical value. We
willdo all in reason. Give us the cash, and we
will sign off all rights and never trouble you,
henceforth.”

“ All shall be done as you say,” Hallowell an-
swered, with an air of relief.

"And Homer Curlisl—wili you let our son
die?" asked Salome, who seemed in an especially
vicious mood.

“ I asked once before if you had any idea who
really did the deed for which I believe he is un-
justly sentenced. If you have, for h aven’s
sake, speak and do not let an innocent man—do
not let him suffer!”

“ I know not who did the deed."

“This is true,” added Deborah. “ We are

rfectly candid when we say this. As I have
told you before, we did not know of his where-
abouts until the papers were full of the tragedy,
and as to the real criminal, if he is not the one, we
know nothing.”

“Enoughl You shall have the morey as
promised.”

Hallowell rose, and was escorted to tie door
by Deborah,

Chief Claxton had been a close listener to all
this, but he found he could not listen, as be de-
sired, to anything more. Deborah wheeled
Salome’s chair into the next room, and all op-
portunity to act the spy upon them was at an
end for the time. Heidid not, however, give
up hope of hearing them talk in private, later

on.

He sought the old woman he had bribed before,
and the promise of more money in the future
was enough to ten her cupidity anew. For
such a generous giver she could afl'ord to Work,
and certain arrangements were made which
might be of value sustqumtly.

The detective the left the house.

Of course Hallouell had gone his way, and

there was no more for Claxton to do in that I

quarter. He went home at once, and he gave no
token of excitement over his discoveries.
“ The woman Salome claims the judge as her

legal husband, and he does not deny the alleged v

fact. We must. therefore, admit it to be a fact
in reality. Singular state of life for the up-
right judge, yet I can well believe his honor has
no smircb.

“ Next. both admit that Homer Curtis is their
son. Still more striking! Hallowell is not well
placed; he is badly placed. The case waxes re-
markable. But who killed Morris Strong!

“ All these parties profess not to know, and if
I ever find they do know, I shall be surprised.

“ Well, we will see what can be found out
elsewhere. If I can make Oakes confess, as I
hope to do. that he has been selling illegal goods
to the late Morris Strong, one point in Curtis‘s
favor will have been gained. I am sleepy, and I
think I will retire.”

Claxton yawned, and, going to bed, was arleep
almost as soon as he touched the bed. Verily,
he had the all-important faculty of dropping
business as soon as business was over.

He was not permitted to sleep well, that night.
Half an hour later he was called up, and a
messenger being admitted, this report we)
made: .

“ she wishes to see you, and says he will tell
all h knows.”

“ me and tide wait for no man.” remarked
Claxton. philosophically, ; “and a repentant

thief must not be ignored in the hair of his

softening of heart, especially vi hen this condition
is brought abo'ut by a lack of food for his
stomach. Such repentance should be en-
couraged.” ,. -
Dressing with these remarks he went out add
was soon at the house where his prisoner had
been put away. Oskes had been allowed to go

hungry. He was not, put in danger of starva-
Ition, but his feelings had been touched through
his appetite, if not in any other way.

Claxton was in the house for some time. He . ,
then went out and found another man. The

~

  
  

 

 

, , t , . t I .» Vvl‘

Detective Cl ston.

' .

 

latter was a notary-public, and though he was
not accustomed to domg work at such an hour,
he responded freely to the call from such a
source.

Later, still, Claxton left the house with his ,

coat tightly buttoned. OnCe more in his own
quarters he sat down and, lighting a cigar, read
the following document, which bore at the end
the record of the notary that all therein had
been sworn to in his presence:

‘ I. Bartholomew Oak s. of the city, count and
State of New York. do make the statement )elow
of my own free will. and swear that all is strictly
true. and in accordance with fact. which is em-
braced in the confession which foil vws:

"About two years ago Cir-re cami- to me a man
named Morris Strong.

in my boat.
and when he came to me on the occnsi in men
tion d h - made- a proposition to me which was as
herein stated'

" He said that in his business he could maki- a
good deal of money if he had a l)’)l(lll'l(l wtlli.i':
confederate, and he proposed to me tluit, as l h d
an extensive acuiaintance \vith water ion, I gut
certain ones of 1 mm to steal goo ls i‘ro aiongl m

riVet‘ front. deliver to Hit“, and I to him (Strong). and ,

he would sell these goods in his store and divide
fhv' rods with the.

" unwisely yielded to this proposal, and the work
w Is begun.

"i had known various witvrms-n whom I knew
to be river thieves by .rofession. and to them I
went. It was not ban to make the bargain for
they trusted me. and We entered on the scheme as
planned.

“ Ever Since, We have kept up the illegal frame. or
we did until Morris Strong was killed. I ri-ceivod
goo is from various watermen. and Strong took them
from me. knowing that all had b en stolen. We (ii-
vided the pr digs. as agreed upon.

" He. told me several times that his partner,
Homer Curtis, was not aware of the illegal goods
in any way. he being able to lot-p the tact from
him because he (Strong) handled the books so much,
but that he had much trouble in fixing matters so
that. Curtis wou d not see the goods were not among
those re ularly purchased. \

“ He a ways represented to me that Curtis w is of
such a nature that he would not agree to any such
illeg-l traffic.

“in regard to the killing of S'rong I know
nothing. I have no means of knowing whether the
right man was arrested when Cur is was taken into
custody. This much I will say. however: I was
among thoSe who saw the goods which made the
trouble between the par ners (Curtis and Strong),
and I am prepared to swear that these guids
were the. same I had but lately receivml from a
wah-rman named Benjamin Wolf, and myse‘f d»-
livere:i to Strong to be sold in the store of Curtis 8;
Strong.

" Wolf stole them from some were near the river,
and for the very purpose for which they Were used.

“ And 1 further swear that. from this same
Benjamin Wolf I had received such goods all the
time I was engaged in the illegal traffic myself,
tairli‘dfthat. he has long been known to me as a river
, "i make this statement without malice toward
any one. and declare it to be true in all respects.

. "BABTIIOLOIEW Ours."

Having reached the last line Chief Claxton
laid the pa r down.

“Very In ad in Mr. Oakes to deposel” he mur-
mured.

Ha waved the paper back and forth for some
time and then put it away in his pocket.

“ Better than some things which would bring
more in open market,” he remarked, and then

. went to bed and paced the rest of the night in

sound slumber.

When he arose he read the document again.

“ Mon sometimes retract’ in court,’ he re-
marked, “and then again. one cannot have too
male; pgoof. It will do no harm to shadow Ben
I I e.

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
’ wear was noun on run mun.

BRINY BEN was seated on the end of a pier
when Duncan Davies and the latter's new
friend, “Dan Murphy,” came al0ng and joined
him. Not yet had the waterman come to look
upon Daniel with favor, and he glared with all
hi, ugliness when they advanced tohim.

‘ Hello, Bewamini” greeted Dan, jovially,
" how a it ‘

Till” Be ’ l 1 I

s was no score :a runtinkee in
with his character. p y g p 8

"Fishing?" \

“ Can’t '6 See I ain’t?”

“ Well, don’t see» any fish, it is true, but
there are fishers of men, as well as of other
things."

The Water Wolf turned a pair of hostile eyes
suddenly upon the speaker.

“What do ye mean?” he demanded, lusp
picioualy. '

“ Well, Duncan and I have just taken afew
good dollars from some fellows who thought

they could play poker until they saw us. That's

what [I t(gall being fishers of men."

Ben granted again in the old way, and the

. suspicion went out of his manner in a measure,

but he sat in silence while the other two men
talked glibly. He did not take any more kindly
to Davies’s liking for Dan than he did toDan

I himself, and he wished theiutimacy dropped.

/
. ., . . I,
“’ ’I AM r, J. 

I had known him ever .
silica he was a by. and had often taken him out ,
As he. grew up he went iuto busine<s. '

  

1 Anon, Davies sent Ben’s auspicioris up again.
i “ Dan wants to go out with us in your boat
some time, Both”,

The Wolf looked up with eyes all aflame.

" Ef .‘iiister Murphy wants ter go boatin’, he
‘ kin do so on his own book!” be exulaimed.
‘ “I’ve got all I kin do ter attend to my own
boat, an’ my own business. Others kin do the
saline!”

Davies looked chagrined, but Dan took it all
without the least sign of annoyance.

“I suppose you have to keep linsy, Ben," was
i his unmoved reply. “The confounded politi-
clans are tinkering with the tariff all the time,
and it just keeps us small try so back in the rear
that we have to hustle for bread and skim-milk.
Why Can‘t they send sensible men to Congress?"

At that moment l)an Murphy did not care
. whether Smith, Jones or Brown represented
‘ him and his friends in Congress, but he directed
the remark to Davies with an object which did
not fail. he succeeded in getting Davies to talk
politics, and the skillful change of subject took
about. all the edge off from Ben’s surly refusal.

The “70" did not warm up, however; he sat
in sullen silence and let them talk to their
hearts’ content, but he had nothing to any.

Dan was not foolish enough to try and force
his way. 'He let Ben sufficiently alone not to
annoy him, but not enough to give rise to the
suspicion that he was angry at the refusal of the
boat.

Dan and Davies soon moved on.

Dan had come there that day to make a last
, effort to get into the Water Wolf‘s good races.
‘ He had failed, and then he let it rest. hen he

left Davies, he walked on in a. thoughtful mood.
! IIis course was homeward. When he arrived
lthere he soon transformed himself into Chief
3 Claxton again, but this form of his being was
7but temporary. Ho prOCeeded to assume an-
other disguise, and though it was not pronounced,
[he made himSelf look sufficiently unlike Dan
r Murphy so that a casual view of him would not
betray him as the same person. ’
“I can now lOok to Briuy, Ben with some
degree of success, perhaps,” he murmured.
He once more left the house.
i The Water Wolf was not busy in those days.
, He had reason to think he had better not do
too much river work until there was a change
, in a certain quarter. The disappearance of
1 Cakes was not to his liking.

It did not occur to him that Oakes had fallen
into the hands of the police, but, always ready
to suspect treachery, he was afraid the receiver
of stolen goods had decided to retire from the
calling and might see fit to drag some of his old
clients into trouble. ~

Feeling in this mood .the Wolf haunted the
glen as of old, but went not on night raids, nor

roke the law as he had before.

Fear is sometimes more powerful than con-
science.

That afternoon he was prowling along the
piers, talking with his numerous acquaintances
at various points, some of whom were honest,
and some as disregardful of the rights of pro-
perty as himself.

He thought he was duly watchful, as one
ought to be when he acts the river thief, but he
would have been unequal to the occasion had he
not received ouizide help.

\l’Vhen he was on his return a follow thief laid
to iim:

N somebody is followin' you.”

“ There is?” cried Ben, with a start.

of Yegoih i

“ Where is he?”. ‘

“ Don’t look around. manl Be prudent.
Somebody did follow you up the street, and I
seen him jest now as you stopped to talk with
me. He’s out o’ sight, now, but he’s still in the

nu .”

‘Fls it a detective!” the Wolf asked, with an
ugly scowl.

“ Don’t look like one.”

“Ef anybody is follerin’ me, he had better
look out!” ,

“ it may not be anythin serious, but men in
our biz want ter be carefu . Don’t let him git
($223.1; you, but be wise an’ you’ll git outer him!

Briny Ben was not afoul, and when he had
made up his mind to he cunning, he had the re-
quisites to do it. When he moved on it will with
his eyes open, and the result was that be had
view of the watcher.

He did not recognize “ Dan Murphy,” but he
did decide' that he was being spied upon for no

ood, as far as his interests were concerned.
le went home, and saw he was followed to that
p nee.

After that he lost sight of the spy, but he was
cunning in an endeavor to learn if the relief was
temporary or permanent. There was in the
house a man he could trust, and be induced this
man to go out and annoy the coast.

When the man returned he reported that the
spy was lingering near. 1

Then all of Ben’s an or may.

“ I don’t_know who e is, nor what he’s driv-
in’ at, but, by thunderl nobody kin spy on mol
I ll give him a chance ter do it after dark. an’
of he tries, there will,he music. Did the fool
think he could watch me and I not know of it?”

 

 

The Wolf had no reason to boast of his tri ‘
umph, since it was due wholly to the eyes of
others, and not his own, but it did him good to
think he had been a victor, and he gloated over
the supposed craft of it all.

Not until nine o’clock did he stir out; then he
made ready and left the house. He sauntered
up the street, keeping up a retense of survey-
ing the piers, but he had his regard directed
more sharply else“ here, and he soon found he
had made no mistake.

His hand nought his pocket, where it found a
read v weapon.

“Er he wants ter see me, I’m ready!” the
Waterman muttered.

Near at hand was a pier which was then so
little occupied that hehad reason to believe it
would be free from watchmen and all others.
Out on this he walked in uneasy, slouching fash—
ion, and sat down on the further end.

He had taken position where he could look
back without showing the least turn of his
head, and the result was soon to his liking.

The spy followed and concealed himself he-
hind a box.

“Cunnin’ as the Old Nick!" Ben muttered,
doing justice at last. “ Yes- he’s all 0’ that,
but it Won't do him no good. don’t know who
be is, but he’s my enemy, or he wouldn’t be fool-
ing around on my truck. I’ll see who he is;
yes, I will!”

Rising, be walked down tire ier. As he
neared the box he was careful to ook the other
we , but he suddenly turned, when opposite it,
an Sprung at and around the obstacle.

He had the spy tefore him, and at once laid
‘hold of him.

“ I’ve got yel" he cried. preparing for a strug—

le.

To his surprise the spy stood still.

“ Yes; you’ve got me,” he admitted.
of it!”

“ Well, you’re a coil one!”

“ Wh shouldn’t I be cool?”

“ Coir ? Darn it! will you be cool when I’ve
ketched you like this?"

“ I am caught, but why should I get excited?
Do you think it much of a catch 1"

“ Do i? Wal, you bet Ido 1 You’ve been spy-
in’ on me, an’ now I’ve got the whip-row. Darn
it! 1’]! fix yel”

“ My dear sir, you seem to be in error,” was
the calm response. “ Why{ do you think so
wildly? Spying on you? idiculousl I have,
all I can do to attend to my own affairs. Say,
friend, can’t you give me a dime to buy a night’s
lodging?"

His composure was so great that Ben might
have been staggered in spite of circumstances,
but ill luck brought a discovery which changed
all things.

“Thunder!” the Wolf exclaimed, “ you are
Dan Murphy 1”

The cornered detective was quick to accept the
situation.

” Dan I am, dead broke and in a hole. Say,
Ben, this s rting life is a bit stale when a “new
is in hard uckl”

“ S ) it’s you i”

“ It is, sure.” -

“ I hey you, at last!” _

“ You’ve got me' yes. But thv such Violence,
Ben? Are 1you jealous because ’m down on my
luck and— ,,

“ Say, let up on that, will yef Man, I’m dead
on ter youl I don’t know who .you be, but I
always felt it in my bones that you was a man
ter be avoided and looked out fer. I never
trusted you an atom, an’ now I know ye as you
be. You’ve played the spy 0n me all the after»
noon, an’ new we’ll hev n settlin’

“ 'B'en, you’re crazy! Why should I spy on

yoa c

“ Yes, why!"

“ It is my question.”

“ I kin give an answer, I s’pooo; it’s because
you’re a sneak o' acme sort; I don't know what.
But I’ve got yo, yo mean reptile!”

“ You wax vio eat. If on don’t want to be
my friend you needn’t, bu Davies is, and I ask
fa r lay from on or—”‘ i

“ o threats!

“ Have I' made any?”

“ You come high it, you sneak!” .

“ You are wrong in the assertion, and as for
the name you have applied to me, I am tired of
it, and of your course all through. Take your
hand off from mel"

“ When I get ready l” \_

H Now ‘1’

The detective made an effort to wrench him-
self away, but Ben held fast, and the result was
a struggle. At first it sci-med to be of but
trivial importance, but Claxton was quite in
earnest in his demand, and the Wolf was ripe
for mischief. One thing was in his mind which
.Ciaxton did not look for, and it speedily
developed. ‘ *

Ben found, very much to his surprise, that he
had met his equal in strength and skill, and his

Ian of forcing from the spy a confession of his
rntentions suddenly clian . '

Acting on the theory t at there was no time
like the present, he swung his hand around to
the pocket where his knife rested, and there
he found no trouble in connecting. His fingers

“ What.

 

 

ii

 

 

 

 

"i

 

 

 

 

' knife must ’a’ done its work right ter the

' Detective Claxton. I 5

 

 

closedk around the weapon, and it came out with
a or .

mm the first they had been near the edge of
the pier, and their movement; had taken them
nearer. , Neither noticed this.

Briny Ben did not wait to gather his balance,
but swept the knife around with a vicious blow.
It found some solid substance, and the Wolf
knew he had struck home.

Under the force and surprise of the stroke
Claxton instinctively leaped back. His feet
found no support, and with a last, unavailing
grasp at Ben he leil over the edge.

There was a sp‘ush, and the Water Wolf.

stood alone on the pier.

 

CHAPTER XXX.
mi: WOLF SEEKS ins DEN.

FOR a moment the waterman stood panting on
the edge of the pier. looking only downward,
but, as he saw no more of his ate antagonist, he
instinctively turned the other way.

The place was far from one of safety for the
work he had ddbe, and he feared to see that he
had witnesses to the crime: But he seemed to
be alone, and the first panic were off.

Still, he was not in a calm mood. Believ-
ing he had done murder, he felt the dread of
the halter which is such a wholesome fear to the
evil-minded, and he saw a foe in every shadow.
Long he stood and looked, but the night was as
usual. He seemed to have all the place to him-
self and his crime.

His confidence returned, and then he was all

right. Conscience he had none; and thebully in
his nature came to the front.
' “Wal, he’s f0und out what it is ter meddle
with Ben Wolf 1” was the triumphant exclam-
ation. “ Nobody kin blame me, fer he brought
it onter his head, hisselfl”

The logic was not exactly clear, but he believed
in it, or seemed to then.

. Relieved of immediate apprehension, he
thou ht of his foe and, lying flat on the pier,

down into the water. The night was not
fizht enough for the purpose be had in view,‘and
he could see nothing. He was looking for a body.
There had been no cry from the water, and he
was next to sure the work had been done well
and effectually.

Each motion of the waves he watched. as far
as it was revealed to him, but on none could he
see a burden drifting which would tell what he

_ wanted to know.

“ Kin it be he got out of it an’ is clingin’ ter
the pier, below?” the Wol wond . 2‘ Et
might be—but. no: at can’t be. He never utter-
ed a cry when he went down, nor after. an’ tbs
'nt.

His memory recalled to the weapon, he ooked
for and found it on the pier near his feet. One
thin at once attracted his attention.

“ lood!" he muttered. f‘ Yes; I did my work
well, an’ ther's no more need 0’ wonderin’. I’ll
git out 0’ here in short order!”

Hesitating for a moment he then flung the
knife into the water, and as it sunk he turned
and walked rapidly away from the scene of his
crime. As he turned into the street he could not
help felicitating himself upon his good luck i
escaping all notice. '

None had seen anything of the deed, as far as
he could discovsr and when he met a poliCeman
that omcer' passed him by without even aglance.

The Wolf entered his own house and sat (loan
in a corner. He lighted his pipe and sought due
consolation from the fragrant weed. As the
smoke rolled away he exulted more than ever
Over his good luck,

“ No more monkey biz from Dan Murphy!”
he muttered. “ I always knew he was a sneak,
an’ now he’s got what he deserved. I wonder of
he was a police “DY? H0 might '3’ been; I dunno.
Anyhow, he won’t trouble no more.”

While this seemed tobe true Ben was not in his
best humor. He realized that soinething un-
pleasant might possihl‘i come of the affair, and
could not wholly bani it from his mind, gs he
would have been glad to do.

Mary was busy sheet the room. He had not
addressed her since coming in, and she. was
equally silent. Presently. in passing him, her
gaze was drawn to something 'which made her
stop suddenly. She stOod gazmg at him in a
strange way, her color varying as she looked,

He saw a part, if not all of this, and his anger

’ blazed u .

,“Wha‘i: in thunder be you starin’ at?” be
roughly demanded. ,

“ Father, there is blobd on your clothes!"

She made the assertion impulsively, and was
sorry for it the moment it was said. , In the past
it had been her plan to ignore what was likely
toannoy Briny Ben, and now she realized she
had made a mistake. If she had doubted it, he
gave roof at once.

Into his eyes flashed a light which might have
startled a person of the best of nerves. He half
mas and then settled back. He felt~that he
ought goeurb his wrath, but was not equal to
- occaflon.
than“ a vain eflort to conquer himself he
broke forth:

«You no igloo you say it; you lie, an’ you

knowyoudr

 

Mary discreetly subsided.

“ Where do ye see any blood?” demanded the
Water Wolf, warmly. “ You don’t see any, fer
there ain’t none ter see. Blood! Gammonl
You lie when you say itl”

The ferocious glare of his barbarian eyes was

not what the girl would caretodare, and she ;

tried to quiet the storm.

“ Very well; I may be mistaken—”

“Et ain’t ‘ vury wal.’ How dare you lie ter
me—”

“ I say I know nothing about it; let it ’rest,”
ansvwri-d Mary, with surprising calmness.

“ Ohl you’d like for let et rest, wouldn’t ye?
Like ter creep out of it after puttin’ sech a
charge onter me—”

“Even if true, what does it signif l”

The Wolf suddenly collapsed. us, what
did it signiny She had not insinuated that the
blood came from man, dog or cat. By all of his
talk he was simply bringing it into more im-
portance. He took a new turn.

“ Of course; of course; it wouldn’t mean
nothin’ cf et was there, which it ain’t. That
stuff ye see is red paint, gal. I was around
when Sam. Billin’s was paintin’ his—painting
some work he had ter do. But where do ye see
the paint, gall" r

Mary was sick at heart, but she indicated the
point. It was on his coat. and next to where he
had rested against Dan Murphy when he struck
the blow.

Ben took the coat oil.’ and cleansed the “ paint ”
away
sat down to meditate again.

Events were not to his liking. He had stabbed
Dan Murphy in the heat of passion, and though
there was no remorse, there was some whole-
some fear. Crime is never 'too well hidden to
be beyond the reach of possibilities, and with
Mary in possession of so much he was worried.

“ I’ve got toi- get out 0’ New York l”

80 he thought, and, this decided, he began to
look further.

“ Deb Paine don’t git along fast with that
money. I don’t know whether she is on the
square or not, but et’s in her power ter git the
cash an’ skip, herself. I don’t trust tor her; I
must cut out fer myself. I must hev the
shiners, myself, an’ I’ll proceed ter take ’em in.
But h0w l” .

It was a question not easy to settle. It looked
as if Judge Hallowell was the most promising
source in one way, but, really, the Wolf was
afraid to know too much of him. The safer way
was to go to Mrs. Mirabel Hallowell, and there
he found some objection.

She was, be presumed, a happy wife. Would
she pay much to know she had no right to the
name she bore? -

Carefully the waterman went over the mat-
ter. x There was much to be considered, and he
was not sure of his best course, but as be pro-
gressed he arrival at one conclusion.

“I’ll see her: I’ll- work the game fer all it’s
worth, an’ of it don’t pan out one way, et will
another. I’m just ez sure 0’ my grip oz of I had
the cash in my llns ii0w l” . .

This conviction made him feel better, and, in-
deed. he did have a strong case.

“ Et’s everybody for himself,” he decided.
“Deb nii’ her hoprful daughter will howl like
Comanche Injuns, but down they go ef the inter-
cats 0’ Ben Wolf demand it!” '

He mac and went to the window. Despite his
complete triumph over Dan Murphy, he was not
at case. What if the man had escaped death in
some way} It did not seem probable, but the
pier was capable of a gOod many-things. He
might have csoaped, possibly.

So the Wolf looked out of the window and
dreaded to see the spy hovering near.

“But I reckon he’s gone, an’ I’ll jest hustle
around an’ art my nest feathered: then I’ll skip
the to“ n an’ be seen no more here. New Orleans
is about my size. I reckonl”

In the Corner he sat and smoked until he grew
sleepy; then he went to bed. He dared not cau-
tion Mary not to n ention the alleged paint, but
his mind dwelt on it not a little.

“ EB she does blob, it’ll be the worst job she
ever did !” he muttered.

The night passed. . .,

In the morning Ben looked sharply at Mary
when they met, but, if she placed'any weight
upon the events of the. night before, she gave no
evidence or it. He could see no change in her,
and as he had the lack of faith in her which ig-
norant peOplo are prone to have in thbse whom
tfiey consider weaklings in the race of life, be
t ought it pos~ible that she really placed no de-
pendence or: the incident of the blood-stains.

Shortly after, Duncan Davies put in an appear-
ance.

" Ben, have you seen Dan Murphy!” the
younger man asked.

The Wolf’s ores glittered.

“ No, I ain’t."

‘,‘ He was to meet me at the corner above, this
mornin .”

“ Wa . the corner ain’t here."

“ I’m aware of that."

“ I don’t know nothin’ about yer man Dan, on
I don’t want ter'.“ added Ben. sullenlv.

:‘ You needn’t be so ugly about it.”

‘ I reckon I havea right tor be all please.

- I’

as Well as he could. When it was done he'

i Ef you like Dan so mighty wal, why don’t you
' stay with him all the while?”
5 Davies began to be excited.

“ Say, you sore-headed old bloke! what is eat-
ing you, anyhow? Are you Jealous because I
speak to Dan?”

“ I don’t care a cuss fer you nor Dan, neither!
Ef you want him, go ter him, but don’t never
mention his name ter me ag’in. See?”

Duncan was used to hearing outbreaks from
the waterman, and he would not have thought
anything of the present one had not Ben’s man-
ner been offensive in the extreme. This angered
the gambler in earnest, and he hotly retorted.

“Yes; I do see! I see you think you can
run this whole univarse, including my share of
it. but you are mightily mistaken. If you see
any more of me, you'll come to me to do it;
and if you come and give me any more gulf,
I’ll punch your eye for you. Perhaps you see
that! You can go to blazes, Ben Wolf!”

And the angry speaker strode out of the
house.

The Wolf winked fast and hard. He had
not intended to quarrel with Davies, and had not
realized the possibility of it until it was too late.
When Davies broke forth he had not tried soon
enough to appease him. and now the damage
was done he knew Davies’s nature well enough to
be aware it would do no good to try and make
the trouble up while his fit of anger was on.

“ I’m sorry for this!” Ben confessed, to him-
self. " The boy is red-hot. an’ he kin make et
bot fer 1m, too, ef he sees fit. He could tell all
about my river work— But then he wouldn’t
dare l” '

He tried to console himself with the latter
idea, but it did not wholly answer require-
ments. Ben had a weak record in the view of
law, and it worried him to think that one who
knew it so well was in such a mood.

“One thing is sure,” he decided, after a long
period of thought. “I’ve got ter git my fine
work in at once. I’ll go ter Missus HalloWell
this very mornin’, an’ see what kin be done."

He made ready and started for the judge’s
house. That point he reached in due time and
rung the bell. .

CHAPTER XXXI.
ran: mm. or GUILT.

Edward Acton.
“Mr. Vinton,” she said, calling him by his
fictitious name, “may I ask whom I saw you

street, yesterday morning!" ,

EdWard started. He and Chief Claxton had
been as careful as possible in having their inter-
views, as a rule, but, on the occasion mentioned,
he had met the detective by chance at the point
named, and they had stopped in conversation
for some minutes.

All this he remembered, and his face flushed
guiltily. but he rallied and tried to look in-
nocent.

“I remember ‘I was out fora walk, but I
know so many people-that is, I have made a

may have met any one of them

He was annoyed at his own awkwardness,
but if Alice noticed it, she did not make any
comment.

“ He was a tall, slender man, with a smooth
face, and a general look like that of a minister,
though Ldon’t think he was one.”

“I think that must have been—a—I do not
recall the name, now, though I was recently in—
troduced to him.”

This uncandid reply made Alice look dip-

interl, but she did not seem to see Acton‘s em-
‘arrassment.

“ What do you know of him!” she continued.

“ l? Ohl nothing.”

‘u‘ What is be? Is he a gentleman!"

“ As far as I know, he is.”

“ Where does be live?”

" I think 1 was not told,” replied guilty Acttm,
wishing himself Well away.

“ Well, I don’t like that maul"

“ N01” with emphasis.

“ May I ask why?"

“ He has been acting the spy on mel’"

“On you?" gasped Acton. - ’

“ Yes. Twice when I‘ve been on the street I
have seen him; and he regards mo in a very in-
tent, and yet a very secret way, i 1 if he thinks
he i: too wily to be seen at it. Worse than all,
he once followed me when I was out, and only.
disappeared when I entered the house of the
friend I had gone to visit. When I came out he
was gone, much to my relief, but the fact re.
mains that he did follow me. New, I don‘t
know his object. but I am more than displeased;
I am afraid of the man. by should he follow
moi—why should he look a me so strangely?"

Acton was in a fever of dismay. ‘

“ Has he made any efl'ort to get acquainted
with Von! .

H No.”

better to do."

 

motive. I think it is moreuand though I

25“

Tnar morning Alice Hallowell came to

with at the corner of Broadway and Thirtieth

H NU?" I

“ He maybe an idle fellow who has inothing‘

“ I have heard of such men, but he does nbt I
seem like them. I cannot feel that such is his ,
III.

geod many acquaintances sinceI came here—I “

I

 

 

 
 

   
 

 

 

' last evening and this morning. an

’ secrets to any one, and least of all to the people

M i too aver

l

 

26

unable to tell what it is, I am afraid of him—
yes. afraid I”
The assertion was colored by a shiver, and

Acton was in a fever of in iignation. He could

r

not overlook such a step on Ciaxton's part, he ,

thought. if the detective was going to dog
Alicia, the sooner he, Acton, wasout of the game, *
the better it would be for his honor. ¢

“lam sure you need have no fear." he da- .
clared, " He would not dare to annoy you, and
if I see him—”

“ ()ill don’t tell him I mentionel this!" Alice
cried. i‘

“ Rest easy; I czin'get at it without betray-
ing anything. Iknow just how to deal with
such n. man, and I‘ll see to it he does not worry
you further.”

“ You are very kind. Mr. Vinton.”

“It is a pleasure to help you, Miss Hallo-
well."

“ You are always thoughtful of my welfare.
It does not seem as if We have been acquainted
such a short time, we havo got alon so well to-
gether. But then,” she archly a: dad, “you
came well recommended!” '

Acton felt the blood mounting to his face.

Yes, he had come well recommended—with ,

’false recommendations. ,

How he hated himself! How every hour in 9

that house wei bed upon him, and his duplicity i

grew more an more difficult to endure!
He did not want to tilk about the man

, ,who looked like a minister. and was glad that

Alice was willing to change the subject, but he .
had resolved to see Claxtoa at once, and put an ‘
end to so much underhand work. |

As soon as possible he left Alice, but his ,
resolution to leave the house at once was baffled.
He met Mrs. I-Iallowoll. and she had somethin
to say. She was vary much like Alice, change
by the passage of years, and was in all ways an
amiable and interestingla Iy. She retained the
slenderness of youth, and did not in any way
look her years.

For awhile Acton ‘conversed with her, and
then he had the opportunity to leave the house.

“ Why can’t these people see me as I am?" he
wondered, in despair. “ Wh can any one who
plays such a Judas role so va 1 his treachery! I
should think it would show in his face as the sun
shows at nooaday. Of all human beings a
hypocrite is the wont. and that is what I am.
And they do not see it! Well, they will see
later on, and then they will hate me as I now
hate myself!”

In this unhappy frame of mind the young
man pursued his way to Chief Claxton’s resi-
dence. Arriving there he rung the door-bell.

" Mr, Claxton in?" he asked. of the servant
who appeared.

“ No, sir; he ain’t.”

“ I, am sorry, for I wanted to see him par-
ticular] .” ‘

“ How is that?"

“Well he had important enga ements for

the gentle-

men he was to see are all broke up. They say it

is going to be a heavy loss to them if he don’t

come quick.” ‘

“ When was,he here last?"

“ He came in just before six o’clock, but did
not stay for dinner. He said he must hurry
thron h some other matters, as he would have
to be by nine o'clook. We are worried
about him. sir, for he never fails to keep an
enga ement.”

“ here did he go when he went awn f”

1 “”He mid something about being by t a river,
. r.

Acton began to be worried. too. He had not
forgotten the river thieves, and Cluxton’s cam-
paign against them.

It was impassible to learn more, for the detec-
tlve had neVer made a practice of telling his

who conducted the house.

Worry was increased. however, by the arri-
val of the men who were to meet Claxton. They
\oame with their minds all rent audexclted by
the situation. They were all men who knew
the detective well and not for a moment did
the think of blaming him for the delay. They‘
different view of the case.
“Some ing is wrong with him!” declared

one. .
“ What can it be?” asked Acton.
‘ “That I don’t know. He may be in seine

i something unusual on his mind.

 

vial trouble which he will surmount soon, or
it may be far more serious. You are aware that
Adetective in New York City takes his life in his
hands whenever he goes out in his professional'
work. I hOpe Clnxton has not lost his life!”
. 80 ran the conversation, and Edward grew l
i truly worried. Recollection of the river th eves I
did not die outof his mind and he determined .
togdown the line of the plers and see if Davies '
or n Wolf was visible. , ,
, He went, and soon found himself near the 9
’house of the Water Wolf". '

anon, the Wolf’s daughter. Mary chanced to
look out of the .window. The recognition was
mutual. and she made a
hit-toward the hon

   

n4

7.: I" ,  :4. I,

' . fla "ligand Ivanhoe within.  -.

~‘ 4
i. J;

‘_ He looked for the z
' 'latfsr, but saw no sign of him. He did ace. 1

quick gesture, calling , “

‘. .. I H p I...
I
J

Deteotive Claxton.

ed troubled and ill at ease, and she did not long
keep him uncertain as to the cause.

“ Mr. Acton, I want your advice l” she ex-
claimed.

“ I shall be glad to help you if I can," he re-

lied.

p ” And yen will regard the matter as secret?”

H ‘70“!

“ Then you shall hear all.
leaving this house.”

The announcement would not have surprised
E iward at any other time. His only wonder
was that she had been able to stay as long as she
had done under such circumstances. Now, how-
ever, he felt sure from her manner it was no or-
dinar cause which had led her to that decision.

“ l by are you going?" be inquired.

" You know what my father is?”

" S )mewnat.”

“ You can surmise that my existence has never
been one of pleasure, living as I do. You must
be aware, too, that Benjamin Wolf dOes not bear
a good name. He calls himself a 'lougsboreman,
but has never been known to work at the calling.
How does be live! [don‘t know, and no one else
scams to. Rumor has not been without associ-
ation with his reputation.”

“ And this is growing on you?"

“ It has given me much doubt, and much of
fear anil worry, but there is something new.”

Sho paused and shivered, as if recollection was
far from pleasant.

“ Last night,” she went on, resentl , “ my
father came in and sat down in is usua place,
in ins usual mood. I saw, however, that he had
I gave it no
heed until I chanced to see upon his clothing
fresh, red stains of some sort. I spoke without
due care, and exclaimed: ‘There is blood on
your coat!’ or something like that.”

“ You did?” cried Acton.

H Yes,”

“ And was there blood there?”

“I believe there was, though my father, after
falling into a rage and violently accusing me of
lying, declared it was onl red point. So he
said. but he hastened to 0 cause the garments
with great care. and regarded the with what I
thought we icions ill-will. Now, I do not kn0w
that the sta us were those of blood, and I don’t
know where it came from if it was such "—
Acton was beset with a fear that he did know—
“ but I am growing afraid of Benjamin Wolf.
He is not a gnod man; he is violent of temper
and, at the very best unscrupulous, and I am
afraid of him. now l”

Edward had listened raptly.

All this had deep meaning to him.

He had just been wonderin if Chief Claxton
had fallen into the hands of ver thieves, as re-
presented by Ben Wolf, and now came this story,
with its coloring of blood. -

He regarded it as help far more serious than
he darei tell to Mary.‘ as Claxton’s absence
explained? it was onl a suspicion, but it gave
him a Very uneasy fee lug.

Mary had ceased spea ing, but he was not
ready with his answer. What could he say of
Ben? What coulJ he think of Chief Claxtonf

—-——~

CHAP’TER XXXII.
run srcna'r sraaans.

Mas. MIRABEL HALLOWELL was surprised
when she was infOruied thnta rough man was
below who wished to see her, but as she was not
a victim to false pride she did not let the fact
that he was said to be rough of look and drcss
k'eep her from granting the interview be de-
3 red.

She went down.

Ben Wolf was there. but as she had not seen
him before. or heard of him, his face conveyed
no im ression to hcr mind except that it was
one w iich gave her an unpleasant feeling; that
it was that of a man whose nature was not hon-
orable or worthy.

He bowed and tried to be agreeable. His
smile was a failure, however, for smiles were
not frequent guests of his countenance. and he
simplv made a bad im ircssion.

“ I’ve come on bizl” e announced.

“ I shall be pleased to hear you,” Mrs. Hallo-
well responded. doubtfnlly.

“ It’s about you.”

“ About me I”

i‘ Yes, mum. This is a funny world 2”

She bowed, not k‘nowing,what else to do.

“ You‘re a woman. an' I’m a gentleman.” pur-
sued Ben, “ so I know how to feel for you.”

“ is there trouble-i” i

“ Nothin' new; it's an old trouble, an’ one you
ought ter hev known about long ago.”

“ Who should have told me?" 

“ Them who did you "roar."

“ You pussle me! Will you be so kind as to
come to the point,‘immcdlatelyi"

It was courteouslv asked. though she was los-
ing faith in the Water Wolf‘s ability to say
anything worth hearing. He had assumed an
air of mystery, but did not proceed to clear the
mystery n She began . to think there was
none but I e was soon undecoived.

do you pared fer iti" asked Bsu,_eveu

Iam thinking of

     

  

 

hat a hit nervously sill added.

a-

] The Wolf leaned forward and deeply i-jacu—
ated:

“ You ain’t yer husband’s wife!”

“ Sir?” cried Mr~. Hallowell, startled.

“ You ain’t, sure ez gum!”

“ And is this the object of your visit? Do
you come here to insult me in my own—”

“ Now, hold on; hold onl I’ll tell ye why.
You ain’t his wife because he has anothcr wife
livin‘, an’ she was his wife long before you was.‘
Sec?”

Mrs. Hallowell was indignant, and her first
impulse wasto ordwr the man from the house.
She had the utmost confidence in the judge,
who bud been a kind, if not an affectionate,
husband. Tnis impelled her to refuse to hear
the rough visitor tuither, but she conquered the
impulse and deiermined to let him speak to his
limit. Her voice “as Very calm as she replied,
for she did not believe there was any occasion
for excitement.

” No, sir; I do not see at all,” she answered”

Ben scratched his bushy head,

“ I thought I Was plain enough, but of I wa’n’t,
I’ll try tcr come more ter the point. You see,
afore you ever see Judge Hallowell be had mar-
ried another woman. She didn't die when he
thought she ought ter, so he went ter work an’
married you without regard ter the fact 0’ hi -
my. Ez she is livin’ now, you see yerclaima n’t
o’ the best.”

Mrs. Hallowell’s face flushed.

“ Of course you can prove this!" she returned,
skeptically. , ‘

“ I’d be a fool tar make the charge of I could—
n’t, mum. Yes, I kin prove it. an’ you kin hev .
all the evidence you want.”

The confidence of the assertion star: ered Mrs.
Hallowell. Evil as he looked, the W0 f did not
haw the air of a man tellin a lie.

“ You sav this wife is living?"

“Yes; an’ the son.”

“ What son?”

“Why, didn’t I say Hallow-ll had a son b
the first wife? Reckon I didn’t, really, but sec
is the case. Yen; there’s a son, but he’sa bad
egg, ar’ he’s now in the Tombeundcr dentence 0'
death fer mnrderin’ a man; the jed e’s son is.”

"You say you can prme all th sf”

" Certain.”

“ How i"

“ Wei, you kin go an’ see the wife. I dunno
whether you kin see the son or not, but he’s in
the Tombs, jest ez I say. Call there an’see him,
cf ya don't believe it. He’s got a mark on him
the ‘j ~dge won’t dare deny—a birthmark on his
arm, an’ a mate ter one the jedge has on his
arm.”

Mrs. Hallowell knew of the mark in the last
case, and she began to take more inti'rest in the
matter. Sue had been patient when the did not
think the charges worth noticing, because she
could not understand the visitor‘s audacity.
Now it seemed worth pursuing further.

“ hat is the name of this man-in the Tombs?”

“ Homer Curtis.”

“ And the wifef—where is she!” ‘

“ ’Way ovcr on Sixteenth street.” \

“ Not a very elaborate quarter for, the wife of
a judge.”

“ It’s as good as she ever has had from him.
You see, he deserted her an’ all she could do
was ter settle down an’ take at quiet. That was.
many ears ago, mum.” .

“ y have you come in me with this tale!”

‘; I reckoned you might be willin’ tar pay fer

it.’ .

“ Why should I pay to know that there is an—
other w fe in my wa i”

“ Folks like ier l'inow facts, \ef they ain’t
pleasant once.” I '

Mrs. Hallowell was silent. She studied the
face of thcman before her. She noticed how
evd it was in all waysgnd blamed herself for
listening to him, but she was in a m00d topursue
the, uestion until the end was reached.

“ f you want pay, why don’t you go to Judge
H lhwell? Don t you see he Would be milling to
pay more to hide a secret than I would to cm
earth one?"

“Oh! the wife an’ her mother are workin’
gum; this is a side issue 0’ mine, where I come

n.’

*‘ (tan you tell me where this alleged wife is
that. on tell about?” .

" said the street was Sixteenth now Isay
the number is on that piece o‘Eaper. put at down
so there could beno mists P. All you hevter
do is tar go there. an‘ you kin see them—the
wifc an’ her meih r.”

“ Shall you be t ere?”

“ Wal, hardly: et wouldn’t be so very safe fer
me tor hang around at that particular writin'.
The women would be sostrong ogposcd ter my
not in tellln’ you that they woul be likely tor
claw my eyes out.”

, ” Are you a friend of theirs?”

“ I was‘ once, but we kinder fell out by the
wayside." . , '

Mrs. Hallowell had other questions to ask, but
the meat had been extracted from the kernel
already, and Ben dealt mostly in re ti-
tions when he answered. He was ’v_ uble
enough, but the story had been told. One thin
more he had to say, and he finally twirlad'

.,,..
i “’13

l\ - U ’ . .-»
in» , , rip .,

n35 ' I I:
'J‘ .as‘ luv. L‘ "3- ""7 v _" 1M 2‘. “A” 3

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'Ki

 

Q?

 

 

 

 

 

     
   

 

 

 

 

 

. i ,
)

Detective Claxton.

2'7

 

 

 

“ I’ve got ter go, now. Is there any more ter
“you

“ I know of nothing.”

“ I’ve told you somethin’ of importance.
a poor iiiun—”

“Enough! If I find your information true,
and you will give me your address you shall
not fail to reap your reward. I will pay you
for your warning."

It was a test question.
mend for immediate pry. which would have
aroused all her doubts, but Ben hnd decided it
was not to be expected she would be ready to
hand over anything until she knew more, and he
very cheerfully responded:

“ All right, mum; look it up, an’ then you kin
see me."

He. handed over another paper announcing
that it had his address,

“ Drop a line to that place. an’ I’ll come ter .
you any time. Now, I’m off. Sorry for you,
mum, but men will do sech things.”

The Water Wolf did not want to see the judge,
and he made haste to get out of the house.

Lef t alone, Mrs. Hallow-ll considerei the
matter for some time. She hud not been deeply
moved at any timegshe was not thus moved
now. It was all very annoying, but, despite
Ben’s readiness to defer money transactions, she
was not prepared to believe her husband had
any such chapter in his life, or sucha multi-
plicity of wives, and this faith momentarily in-
creased when she was alone.

“ It is merely a scheme to obtain blackmail,”
she loyally thought. “Of course it would be
very successful if it could be worked Well, but
I Would as soon doubt my own existence as Otis
Hullowell. I will go to him at once, and tell
him— But wh should I do such a foolish
thing? He won d think I doubted him. No;
I’ll not tell, and yet— This ought to be looked
into.” . ‘

She meditated long and carefully, and a plan
finally occurred to her. Her eyes beamed.

“Ill proceed and prove this false, and then
I'll go to Otis and let him know all. He shall
be told how my faith was unwavering in him l”

The noble woman was zealous over her plan,
and then eager to put it into execution.

She-determined to go to the Sixteenth street
house at once. She was too prudent to go alone,
but this she did not have to do. She had a
faithful man-servant who had been in her

Iam

A father’s family before she was married, and she

knew he was to be trusted. She would take him
as ]a guard and settle all this scheme immedi-
ate y. ,

She prepared for the journey, and then sent
for the servant. He came, and they left the
house together.

Contrary to her usual custom, she did not use
acarriago, but made the journev to Sixteenth
street by more humble ways. Before arriving
she duly cautioned her guard against ever men-
tioning the visit, and he readin gave the pledge.

When thev arrived at the Sixteenth street
house Mrs. Hallowell’s courage took a percepti-
ble drop, but she would not give up. She rung
the bell, and tie old woman of the house ap-
peared. It was not hard to make arrangements
with her for the admittance of the servant on
the condition that he should remain within call, l
but not enter the rooms of the Paines. for Mm.
Hallowell used the same persuasive means that
Chief Claxton had employed so effectually on a
former occasion—under the power of money the
guardian of the place was open to argument.

Then she went to see Deborah and Salome,
bearing no name, but simply stating that a lady
desired to see them.

She soon returned.

“ They want your name.”

“ Tell them it is Hallowell."

The woman disappunre'l once more.

Mrs. Hollowull waited anxiously. She had
come thus far, but would it be of avail? Was
she on the verge of success or failure!

CHAPTER XXXIII.
ms woman user. v

H]: essen rer returned.
SThg’ll sed’you,” she announced.
Mn. Hallowell breathed freer.
9' Thank you l‘.’ she impulsively exclaimed.
The woman re arded !her with curiosity.

" The don‘t ove you," she bluntly added.
“ Still, don’t, think they’ll dare to do ye any
harm. If they do, just yell out and I and your

man will give you a lift. They’re only women,
and we can do up a dozen of sech trash." v_

It was clear that Mrs. Hallowell’s money had
gone far doe r to the speaker’s heart than any
sympathy‘w th the Palace. of Which she had but
a small supply, if any; but the visitor did not
apprehend personal violence. She thought only
of geean them, and she now took her way up
the stairs to where she was directed.

Dghomh met her at the' door. The unim-
Paine looked at her with curiosity in which all
mange was not by any means concealed, but
mom. with a deem of Civility.

It Came  P“ tothe next mm. we can

    

 

.BOlVGd. The fear that Ben Wolf had made some

hour of trial.

and ugly of face did not make any impression, .
but when she saw Salome it was different. At
first sight there was nothing to tell of the wo- ’
man’s severe malady, and the visitor thought of

her only as a disagreeable factor in her life.
With the women before her the assertions of Ben
.Wolf became more life-like, and only a deter- ;

Mrs. Hallowfll obeyed. Deborah, tall. bony l

; mination to think of them as blackmailers kept §
She expected a de- \ i

her up. l
; She became the focus of their glances. Debo- '
rah looked with the power of virile life, while I
Salonie’s eyes stand out of her deathlike face 
quite as keenly, if not so naturally.

They wondered why she was there. That very '
morning they had received from Judge Hallo-
well the money he had promised as the price of ;
their silence, and they had thought the whole :‘
matter over. Now, the speedy coming of the
wife of his home was surprising, but their hearts I
burned with iiinlignant hatred, and they were
not disposed to deny themselves chance to exult
over her.

Nothing is more striking than a war of glances
between women who are fees by the unaltcrable
force of circumstances. This was exemplified in
the event of the moment, and the mutual curi-
osity and hostility surpassed the delineative
power of an artist.

The pause grew awkward, and Mrs. Hallowell
turned to the older of her companions.

“You are Deborah Paine?" she questioned.

“ I am.” was the grim reply.

“ And this—”

“ Is my daughter Salome.”

“ You received my name?"

“ We remind the name you claim!”

“Do you deny my right to it?"

" Why are you here?” brusquely demanded
Deborah.

“ Because I bavs seen a man named Benjamin
Wolf”—mother and daughter exchanged a quit-k
glance—“ and he has told me a story too wild
for credence. I have come here to prove or dis-
prove it."

“What is the story?”

“ He claims that your daughter is the wife of
Judge Otis Hallowell.”

“The feel had better have minded his own
businem. but he told the truth. My daughter,
who sits yonder, and who is named 8 demo, is
the only legal wife of Otis Hallowell. They
were married over twenty-three years ago.”

“Then why is she not in her rightful posi-
tion at the head of his household?"

“ Because he deserted her twenty years ago;
because during all that time she never knew
where he was until a few weeks ago. Madam,
you are the possessor of the judge’s tater efl’u-
sion of love, so called. See before you a woman
who has been brought to shame and sorrow by
him: who has been used with malignant abuse,
but who has kept her love through it all—”

Deborah was drawing on her imagination
strongly, and waxing eloquent, withal, but she
had gone too far for Saloine’s liking. The lat-
ter fiercely broke forth:

“ I don't love him! Love that brute? NeVer,
never! I hate him, and ”——her arm seemed to
get power suddenly, and she stretched it forth
with momentary activit —“ I hate you, too!”

One moment the aconsmg band pointed to Mrs.
Hallowell, but her strength went out and the
hand fell. ,

The visitor shivered before the malignant out-
break. but Deborah flashed a warning glance to-
ward the last speaker and hastened to say:

“ It may be her love has been ornahed out by
abuse, but sorrow still remains. a All else has
been crushel in her.”

_ Mrs. Hallowell tried to be calm and business-

ike.

“ What preof can you g've of your claim?”
she demanded. “ You say on were married to
Otis Hallowell. Where is your roof!"

Again Salome’s hand was 9: fted with tran-
sient power. It sought the bosom of her dress,
and after a treiiiulnus fumble there it came out,
holding a paper long and nan-OW.

“ Read 1” she directed. “ Read, and if you
are not convinced, bring the man herel—ay,
bring him here, if he dares come!”

She tried to threw the paper at Mrs. Hallo-
well like a missive of hatred and malevolence,
but her strength was not equal to the demands
of the occasion. The paper fell, and Deborah
picked it up and handed it to the visitor.

‘~‘ Read 2" she, too, directed. “ It will answer
for itself!" I

Mrs. Hallowell took the document.

By this time the Paines bad the situation well

serious blunder waslgnne, and they no longer
apprehended that the. judge himself had gone to
his second wife with the full story. _

She had come to them ignorant of nearlv all,
and they had her in their power.
venom rose, coupled with exultatinn that they
(fill? mock at! her in her hour of dismay and
8 9 . ,

: The paper was wh t pugxirted to be the mar-
riage-certificate of tie allowel! and Salome
Paine, and the reader was quite right inbo-
lieving it genuine. it was a severe blew. but
she was surprised at her own coinage lathe

 

  

And all their ,

  

  

Silently she passed it back to Deborah.

“it would interest me,” she confessed, “to
know why you did not continue as you began.
You hnwgivm an explanation in few words,
but there is a story with all things; there must
be one with this.”

“ There is!" cried Salome; “a story of man’s:
baseness and ingrstitude. \\ he ever kiww mun
to show any different quality than those 1 have
named?"

Deborah again warned her daughter with a
glance.

“ Let me tell the story,” she requested. “ I
am a disinterested observer, and can tell alt
without prejudice.

“ My daughter iiiet Otis Hallowell and married
him. He was just away frtm home, where he
had qunrreled with his family and left in dis--
gust, but he had private means, and money'
flowed freely. He met my" Salome, a girl poor'
in worldly goods, but rich in all else, and igno—
rant of the ways of the n ickeu world.”

If Deborah had expired to p08e as a humorist
she could never have excelled this ban mot.

“ They were married, and for a year or more
all went well. Then the patience of my poor
Salome began to be sorely tried. Her husband‘s
leve died, :nd be abused her vilely. Not to
dwell, I'll say that matters went from bad to»
Worse until the patient dove was deserted by
him and left. to brave the World alone, with a.
young child to care for—their son.

“She did the best she could, but made the
error of not coming to her mother—she was so
young, then.

“She put the child out to live with people she
thought honest. She fell ill. When she recovered:
the child was gone.”

Deborah had thought it best to draw the long
bow with a vengeance, and avoid all refvrenee
to the time when Salome confided the child, not;
to honest people, but to the tender mercies of a
raging river.

"She never found the child. Years passed.
Otis Hallows]! never came to her, and she was
too proud to go to him. A few weeks ago rho
learned that her son was then known as Homer
Curtis, and that he was on trial for his life, in.
this city, for murder. She came here.

“ The son is now doomed to death, and it was
his Own father, Judge Hellowell, who prw
nounced the fatal sentence!"

Mrs. Halli-well shivered. The horror of such
a state of affairs appealed to her even in her
OWN FOI'I'OW.

“See how matters are now,” resumed Deb-
orah, and the false melancholy in her voice.
gave place to triumph and joy. “The son has
been doomed by his father; the father is living
in luxury, while the wife is here, in the severth
poverty, and rfliicted with a spinal trouble-
which makes it impossible for her to walk a.
step. or even to feed herself l"

“ Yes- and this is the work of a man i” hissed
the invalid.

Miriibel Hallowell felt as if the weight of ice
was upon her heart. Gone now was her cour—

size. .

“Does Judge Ballowell know of this?" she
asked. “ Does he know of you, and of the son'
in prison?”

“ He does; and he declares I shall starvs and
my son hang!”

Again Deborah looked warningly at Salome,
fir the latter Seemed bound to go to sue:-
treme, but the visitor was not in ii mood to
sift these statements carefully. She was nearly
Overwhelmed; that sassll. -

“ Ens Judge Hallow-ell known of you all the
vihilei”

“ He has knewn where I was, but he took no
gains to know more of me,” promptly declared
‘ulome.

“ I find it hard to believe all this.”

“ Ask him i"

*- It was reckless sdvice,but so many lies had been».
told that Salome knew they would be exposed if
the 'ndge was consulted, and she was anxious to
9in t while she could.

Heriiving' eyes looked out of the, dead face 2

with more than usual brightness. How she en.
joyvd hcr triumph over the visitor!
“ But the son.
not have dens as you c im, knowingly.” 
“Go to the son and test my words.

has upon his arm a peculiar birthmerk. l have

not seen my son in many years, but he had their *

birthmark when he was 11, and it must be
there nova Go, and see for oiirself."

blirr. Hallowell was silent or some time, while
t s
“ What do you intendto do!" 7“
" Nothing!" -
“You say you are poor—"

“ Yes: and we shall remain I0.

condition.” - .
Deborah had given up trying to check tha-

flood of falsehoods, and perhaps it when well. ._
She hated the visitor as much as ,any one mid . 
ila scour!

gddwll not sorry to degrade her wli

one.
‘It was not hard. Clearly, every word was.
going home with force.

Surely; J edge. Ballowell would  ‘

If 'youu’ '
know Otis Believrell well you must beaware he "

I would not 
accept a dollar from Otis Hallowel! under any 

 

 

omen stared at her in their malignant way.  ; , y.
Fina lv she spoke again: i .. .

 

   
    

dDetectivé Claxton.

 

 

   

CHAPTER XXXIV. ,
'rnli HOME or ran WOLF.
Mas. HALLOWILL was anxious to st aw'ay.
She knew she had learned all she can d. and it
i was so much that she longed to be alone and
i .think—think if there was any way out of the

Li horrible trouble.

' ' She did not feel bitterly toward the judge.

' ‘This was sure proof that she did not yet believe
what she had heard. She saw the possibility

, _
' A of it all. but she could not, would not think ill
l. ' 10f Otis Hallowell until the truth, if such it was,
 , was forced home to her mind.
L3 .‘ Loyal to the last, she tried to reject all.
 She ruse. ‘
:3 . “ I will go home,” she observed, very quietly.
l“ = ' “ Yes, go!” Salome advised. “ Go, and when
 - you are there think of the woman whose place
 ‘ on have usurped—think of the jud e’s one
 - legal wife here; think of what you arel’
 , Mirabel’s face crimsoned.
Y. 1' “ Ham 1 injured you?" she asked.

-‘ " H Yes.”

“ How?”

“ By marrying himl”

“ Do you think I would have done it if I had
felt the least suspicIOn that he had another
wife?” '

Salome was silent under the power of such a
logical questiOn.

,-  I “Let us not deal in severe words,” advised
l: {a v , ' Deborah, hypocritically. “ We have all suffer-

 

ed through the work of this man; we suffer
 _' -' still. Let us not turn one against the other."
 ‘ “ At least,” added Salome, “I will not be
" , :friends with one who has robbed me of all,
1. _. whether it be done in innoeence or with malice.
 Mrs. Ballowell did not tr to stem this tide.
' " Indeed, she was glad to flu it in existence. If
. she had found a gentle woman, filled with
’ ' sorrow and patient in the face of trouble, she
would have found it a shock to her credulity,
but this violence was ground for some hope, she
thought.
V 813 moved toward the door.
\ “ hall we see you again?” Deborahxasked.
'v “ Why should you?”
' “ It is as you say.” ’
“ I may want to come—or I may want todiei”
. she added, with a sudden yielding to despair.
‘/ Salome’slivin e esflashed in her dead face.
A Was this not a g or one revengei She thought it

as.
“ Sufler on as we have done,” advised Deborah,

‘her evil eyes betrayin the malice of the words.

‘ . “ If you are not a lega wife you have, at least,
i; fix the sion of the judge’s home."
'3 irabel disdained toanswer the sneer. She
was at the door. She turned, said “ good-night!”
quietly, and then went down the stairs.
. Her servant was waiting, and they were econ
on the street. She longed, then, for the
- privacy of‘a carriage, and gained the seclusion
, y engaging a public conveyance. Thus
' equipped she was soon moving 'homeward.
What her thoughts were during the drive she
could not have will, herself. The struggle for
; V ‘falth was strong and loyal, and she would not
' yield while ho remained. Salome had gone
' too far when c aiming so much virtue fer her-
self and so many vices for the judge. W hat-
ever might be the case, she could not, would not
believe Hallowell had married her when aware
1,, .1 of the presence of a living wife.
" Believing him incapable of that, Mirabel
.found her consolatiOn right there.
She tried to plan with calmness and judgment.
_ "The story of the prisoner in the Tomes inter-
'\ osted her beyond expression. and she was pos-
 ‘. sis-ed of a strong desire to see the young man,
if, indeed, there was such a man there. -
 ’ The way was 0 n, she thought. \If Judge
' Hallowell had a ho d on the warden, so had she.
Before he ever achieved his present position
v. . she had done him a favor he never had forgot—
'\ ten, and it dwarfed he help lately rendered
9 him b the judge to rain his office. She had
' cured or his child when it fell ill and he was
1 p , in poverty and he knew it would have died but
a?  ipr her help.
 ’ The one favor touched his pocketbook; the
' A other, his heart.
5*  She thought she could manage all with the
' , warden’s aid.
,  V Arriving home she would have gone to her
’ ,~ room and ketp quiet for awhile, but Alice came
' ,her with an earnest face.
. “ Can I see you for a momenti” she asked.
 “Certainly, my dear."
_ ,“I want you to do something for a poor
7, girl. [have thought of ‘father in connection
’ with the matter. since he is rich and influential.
.‘ but I see, now, it is to you I should come. She
, is poor and in trouble. Can’t we do something
for her?” .

Mirabel Hellowell’s heart softened to the un-
known who was in trouble. A young woman, and
in trouble! Her sympathies arose at once. She
.was in trouble; she knew what it meant to have
the canker of grief gnawin at her heart, and
apple the life from her be g.

‘ 'me of herl" she requested.

“She lives down near the river on West
street, lives in a very goor, humble home—an
unhappy home, too—an her life is clouded over

' 4.

“ ' u- yours and mine never were, mother. She

 

 

_ ‘ . ‘ » M c' a). > .
1,  :1 ~ . a!» at. i - . ' i . g

was betrothed to a worthy young man but he
was falsely accused of crime—she says t e accu-
sation w 8 false, and I believe it, though it has
not bee proven; and now he is sentenced todie,
though he is innocent!"

In her enthusiasm Alice had become a good
deal mixed up, but she had said enough tosecure
rapt attention.

“ Who is this girl?" Mrs. Hallowell asked,
eagerly.

“ Her name is Mary Wolf—”

“ And her lover?”

“ His name is Homer Curtis, but, of course the
names don’t matter—”

Alice went on, but her mother heard nothing.
Mirabel Hellowel‘l thought names did matter
much in this case.

“ What do you know of them!” was the quick
question, presently.

“ I have seen them both—”

“ Seen the young man ‘i”

“ Yes; but don’t blame me; I Went with Mary,
and he is a gentleman in appearance and con-
duct. He was polite and Courteous-J

“What looked he like?” the mother demand-

ed.

“ I should have thought him m'ce had he been
elsewhere than in the prison cell," replied Alice
naively.

“ But his personal appearancei What is he
like? Does he look like any one you know?"

“I don’t think he does. He is of dark com-
plexion, and g00d looking. He is—"

“Recall Mr. Vinton’s ooks. Is the prisoner
like him i"

“ Not at all.”

“ Or young Mr. Bond?"
It  I
“ Then there is your father—”

Mirabel stopped and held her breath for the

reply.
“ don't see that he is like him."

Mrs. Hallowell asked other questions, but
Alice did not seem good at giving descriptions.
She had, however, interested her listener more
than she could have hoped for, and the result
was soon seen. Alice, returning to her original
subject, added:

“ Mary Wolf has a father who makes life most
unpleasant for her, and she is going to leave
there, but she has nowhere to go. Can‘t we find
a place for her?" ,

For a moment the mother was silent. Then
she made answerz‘

“ Prepare for the journey and we will go and
see the young v oman immediately!”

Alice was surprised, but she did not let the
chance slip. She agreed with pronxpiness, and
they wore soon ready” This time their own
carria e was called, and they rode to within
two b ocks of the house. Here their journey
was suspended, but resumed on foot and they
went on. '

They were soon with Mary.

Briny Ben was out, and nith a clear field they
evidently had nothing to trouble them. Mirabel
proceeded to scan Mary to her full wish.

The first glance did much. Mary’s face was
not one which could be misunderstood. The
stamp of true goodness was there, and it told its
own story. Mrs. Hiillowell could not have told
just why she had come, but she soon found her-
self interested.

At her rcqiwst Mary told the story of her life
and love, and it touched the listener.

From her Mrs. Hallow ll iought to get clue to
the character of the man in the Tombs, and she
realized that if it were true that like sought like,
L'r must be nnything but a ferocious murderer.

Mary stated that or preparations ior leaving
the house mire well under way. Her few sees—
sions were packed, and she was only waiting a
little before leaving to return no more.

“ Of course my father does not know of this,”
she added. “I will confess I am afraid of Ben-
jamin Wolf. l know not how he would receive
the news of my departure—lie might be glad to
get rid of me—-liut I dare not have him know of
it. I shall go out quietly, and be seen no more
by him." -

“ We will find you an asylum 1" Mrs. Hallo.
well declared.

“ You are very kind, but I do ndt like to tres-
pass npon your goodness. have no claim—”

“ You have the same claim which one of God’s
children has upon another,” answered Mirabel,
with emotion. “I know of no more eloquent
claim than that of general humanity. Vie use
our friends with unswerving kindness for what
:he are to us. but the world’s family is large.
am it is a sacred duty imposed upon ustodo
good toall: to use all with the some kindness;
to help them when we can. Desert, indeed,
Wolllll'l‘i the world be but for the bond of good
wi .

The kindness of the answer was too much for
’Mary's unstrung nerves, and she burst into tears.
When she had grewn calmer she cauld not very
well take the offer in more than one we , and
she consented to accept her new friendspro—
posal without conditions.

Mrs. Heliowell did not think of taking her
to her own home. but she knew of a safe remrt
and to this it was arranged that the girl should

go‘atonos.
This decision had. just been reached when

 

 

heavy steps sounded in the hall below. Mary
knew that step. and she changed color.

“ Go to the next room 1” she exclaimed; “ it is
mfiiaiher. Gui He may not slay long.”

rs. Hallowell and Alice went, and none too
soon. The Water Wolf entered.

He seemed to be in his surliest mood. He said
nothing. but threw his but do wn and then took a
chair. Mary tried to appear at ease, but for a
long time her composure “as not tried. The
Wolf looked Only at the floor, and sconled
viciously, as if his thoughts ran on unpleasant
subjects. He was considering something of more
than usual moment, and, with the ladies in the
next room, Mary was thoroughly uneasy.

Anon he looked up and fixed his gaze on her.
She saw this, though she did not meet the regard
openly, and sl.e believed it was full of malice.
Something was coming. What?"

CHAPTER XXXV.
HUNIEI).

THE Water Wolf spoke:

“ So you’re uoin’ tei- leave me, gel?”

The abrupt question made Mary start ner-
VOusly. How did he know of it? Had he been
spying on her and her visitors before his steps
were heard in the hall? She made a great eifort
to answer quietly.

“ I seem to be here.
my leaving?”

“ I seen your clothes packed up.”

Mary breathed freer. Bad as the situation
was, it was better than to have him know the
Hallowele were in the house.

“ What does that indicate?” she returned, try-
ing to speak lightly.

“ Shows you re goin’ ter ikip out.”

“ That does not follow—”

“ Yes; et does. Don’t try ter gammon me
gal; et won’t work. Ben Wolf ain’t no fool, anl
don’t you pick him up for one.”

“ I have no such thought, but—”

3 gold up! Have I objected ter yer goin’i”

o.

“ Wal. I shall not. You kin go es soon (-2 you
please; I don’t keer a darn. See?"

Mary regarded him in wonder. There was no
perceptible maliCe in his voice, and this was such
a rarit as to be a surprise in itself.

What do you mean by

“Al I ask 0’ you is that you keep a still ,

tongue in her head. gal. You an’ me ain’t cut
out ter go along tergethel', an’ we are best
apart. ldunno 92 I hev only use fer a bime-
keeper, so ycu kin go of you’ i do me no Lei m."

“Certainly I would not harm my own
father—”

“ Gal. l’m no father 0’ yourni”

The Wolf made the surprising annourcement
abruptly. He did not seem to have any especial
feeling in the matter, but while Mary sat in
silent wonder he went on rapidly:

“You sn’ me ain’t always got along 0’ the
best, fer yin ua’n’t the Sort of a gel 1 took to,
but I do reckon you hev tried ler do shut the
right thing. As we are ter part now, I don’t
see why I shouldn‘t do ye a small favor by the
v-sy. Et’s about the only faxor I shall have tir
answer in when I cIOse up the books.

“No: you ain’t no child ’ mine. Et was the
old woman’s work ier adockit e, sn’I let her
my her own way, ye see. 9 took ye when
you wasn’t bigger nor a wocdchnck, an’ we
never let on but you was ours. Really, you
“as the child of a family named Baker, OVer
nigh Pursuit. .

“They vies so mighty poor they was glad in-
].tye go. E! you want ier see any o‘ur kin,
you go ter old Eldad Baker. of that teeth 11, an’
you kin convince him. He’s yer rsndieiher,
though he ain’t heerd from you in all these

9811‘.

“ You’re the image 0’ 'er n:oil;er,an’a llind
man oculd see it. Ef t at ain’t enough, hand
over the'm baby clothes 0’ john that the old
women always raved. You had them cn when
we got e."

The 'olf picked n his hat and rose.

“ I’m goin , new,” e remarked. “ I’ll see ye
in the mornin’.”

His sior had been rarely interesting, and
Mary won d have had many question to ask at
any other time, but, as it was. she was too glad
to get rid of him to check his departure. [as
wcnt, much to the relief of ii others concerni .

He did not come back t at night. He sent
along the line of the piers for two hours, his
course seeming vague and objectless, his face
always dark, sullen and thoughtful. It was
plain he was not at ease. When be tired of
tramping he found a 1:01: «a a pier, and, crawl-
ing into it, passed the night in that resort. He
had been afraid to return hcme,and did not
trust any one well enough to seek shelter else-
where. '

In the morning, if he thought of his promise
to see Mary, he did not kiep it. He went, in-
stead, to a place which had been a resort of his
for some years; a lair of men as disregardful of
the rights of property as himseli; and there he
staved u itil noon. . i

He might have sta ed further had it not been
for a discovery whic not only sent him away
but frightened him.

Looking out of the door of the shanty-like
structure be was in, he saw two men standing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

Detective Glendon.

29

 

 

only a few rods away. One was Duncan Davies;
the other—

The Wolf felt his blood chill. It was the per-
son he had known as Dan Murphy; the same
man he had stabbeclil on the picr——stabbed, as he
had su posed fats y.

For :moment he could hardly persuade him-
self he was looking at a living being, and, when
he realized that such was the fact, he was even
more alarmed. Dan Murphy, living, was worse
than Dan Murphy dead.

“An’ Davies is with himl" the Wolf hissed.
“ I always mistrusted that critter, an’ now I
have him ter rights. It’s wal I kep’ away from
home. Davies is tryiu’ ter guide him ter me.
They’ll come in here—yes, they’ll come, but they
won’t find me!”

The resort bad points which were not known
to every one. Davies hai been there before,
but he never had been admitted to the circle of
the favored few who knew there wasa secret
entrance.

Briny Ben spoke hurriedly to the few persons

resent, bidding them hide the fact that he had
been there at all, and then made for the sub-
eutrance. His retreat was successful, and he
was soon so far away as to feel safe for the time.

One thin was sure, howsver: there was no
real safety for him in New York.

It was plain that Davies had undertaken to
betray him, and he had wholesome fear of Dan
Murphy, whoever Dan might be.

“ I've got tar get out 0’ this town on the
'ump,” the Wolf decided “ but I won’t go until
l‘ve got my share 0’ the allowell money. Deb
au’ her daughter must have it by this time, an’
I’ll call on them immediate.”

It was not a long journey to Deborah’s house
and he was soon ringing the bell. He ha
no difficulty in gaining entrance, and he plung-
ed into the presence 0 the Paine combination
im .tuousl .

‘ I’ve come for money !" he declared.

Both Deborah and Salome looked at him
cooll .

“ Yyou’re too early,” the former announced.

“What?”

“ We have got none, yet.”

“ What! nothing from Jedge Hallowell?”

“Not ct.”

The olf’s eyes flamed to their limit.

“ I don’t believe it!” he cried.

.“ Well, it’s true, nevertheless.”

“ What in thunder hev you been doin’l"

. "Hallowell promised to have it here yester-
day, but he sent a note that it would notboread
until to-morrow.” -, '

Deborah expected to be able to defy the
waterman by the marrow, so she replied calm-

) .
yBen stood glaring at the woman in a use, sus-
picicn in every line of his face.

“ E! I thought you was decelvin’ ms l’d.—-”

" Be at peace; we are not doing anything of
the sort."

“ But I need money; I’m in the worst need of
it!” '

" So are we.”

“Can’t you give me a biti—can’t you hand
over a hundred dollarsl”

“ Impossible! We have only five dollars to
our name, and we need all of that."

“ But I’m in a bad way—”

“ Come when we have it and we will keep
our promise. There’s no love lost between us,
Ben Wolf," she candidly added, “ but you de-
serve a share of this money, and since chance
put you onto our game, welil divide with you as
agreed $011.” '

Ben olf thrust one grim finger into his
mouth and began to now at t like a enuine
wolf. He felt himsel about run down. e had
conceived a wholesome fear for Dan Murphy
since his reappearance from the dead as it were,
and he wanted to be gone from the city. But he

d not 0 without money.
collile stoot‘i and wed at his finger while the
women watched im curiously, and with some
ap rehension. The knew him well enough to
he (1 him in awe, b0 d thou h Deborah was, and
’feared the result if be cold learn of their
eacher . -
trYet, tgey were bound to carry oi! the money
which Salome had in her dress, if such a thing
was ible. '
Suddenl he raised his 01798. .
it Am: stood by ye in this?” he asked.
“ Yes ” Deborah admitted.
“ We , I deserve somethin’, don’t I?”
“ I said you did." . ,
“ E! I thought you was playin me for a
”

col-—

“ I tell you we have not got the money!”

“ Tuen I’m off?"

He turned toward the door and went out
without another word.

" He yielded easier than I tho ht he would.”

so spoke Deborah, and in so th nking she rea-
soned .without her usual shrerness. She should
have remembered that he had failed to say he
would be around on the morrow and get his
.bare of the money. This was a suspicious fact,
if thev had been sharp enough to think of it. It
indimited something, too, and that was that he
had another plan.

He did some quick work when he had a

, chance, and hurried on toward a more preten-

 

tious quarter of the city. It was that where
Juulge Hallowell lived. He was nearing the
house with long steps, and wondering if he
would be admitted, when he met with good luck
and Hallowell, himself, at one and the same
time. The latter was walking toward the end
of the block, and Ben hastened to accost him.

“ Excuse me, yer Honor, but I reckon you re-
member me.”

“ I reckon I do,” Hallowell agreed, none too
amiably.

“ i come about my daughter—”

“ Such was your excuse, I remember, but I
have gained light on you since then. 1 am told
by Deborah Paine that you are a sort of parasite
on them, and an aspirer to a share of lunder.”

“ That’s so, jedge,” Briny Ben hast ly agreed.
“ I be them things, an’ I want ter know when
y‘ou’ge ter be ready fer ter hand over the money.

“ What money?" Hallowell demanded, sharp-

y.

“ That your are ter give them, ye know.”

“ Ask them.” '

” I’ve jest come from there, an’ they say it
will be ready ter-morrer, but I need it powernt
had, now, an’-—"

“ they say they have not got it!”
It Yes.”

“ Then you are being fooled, man; the money
is in their hands according to agreement, and
has been for twenty-four hours. They are de-
ceiving you. Go to them if you want cash!”

With these words the judge walked on. Ben’s
face was a study. He did not think of doubting
the assertion he had heard. and all his anger
flashed up against Deborah and Salome.

“ I was afeerd they was foolin’ me an’ now, I
know it! How dared the ‘1 Yes: how dared
they? By the fiendsl ’11 have money or
revenge!"

CHAPTER XXXVI.
rain ARM or a nun.

NIGHT was again over the city.

Mrs. Hallowell donned her street garments
and left the house alone. She told a servant she
was going to see a friend who was ill. To her
husband and daughter she said nothing. Had
they known she was going to leave at such a late
hour, both would have protested warmly against
the rashness of such a step.

It was the period when they were thinking of
retiring, but she was going forth alone.

g’Vitltimwihat objecItl i i d d

he averycearpnrpcse nmn,an she
proceeded to carry it out. She had made ar-
rangements to have a public carriage, with a
trustworthy driver, waiting at a iven point,
and to this rendezvous she went. h was not
disappointed, and she was soon being conveyed
 I

When the carriage paused it was near the en-
trance to the Tombs. The driver alighted and
Went to ask if the warden was in. The reply
was in the affirmative, and he delivered his mes-

sa e.
. i lady wished to see the official.

There was not much delay and the visitor,
heavily vailsd, passed the grim doors of the
building and went to the warden’s room. There
she removed the vail. The warden sat dum-
founded. It was some time before he could
command his voice; then he broke forth ex-
plosively: -

“ Mrs. Hallowell! Great heavens!”

“ You seem sur rised, sir." ’

“ Surprised? by, I‘d as soon have thought
of seeing my grandmother’s ghost. Thnt is—I
am very glad to see you, but I didn‘t expect it,"
he added apologetically. -

“ Mr. arden, is your youngest child well?"
the lady asked, hweetly. '

It was the child which owed its life to her, in
the father's opinion, and she was shrewd enough
to remind him of the child, then.

“I am thankful to say she is quite well,
madam." , ‘

“ That is good news.”-

“She often speaks of you, Mrs. Hallowell.
We teach her to revere you next to things
heavenly, madam,” declared the grateful
warden. '

" Thank you, sir. I should be glad to s k
further of her, but I am here on important i-
ness. Can I ask a favor of you, sirl”"

“A thousand of them! Whatever you ask
shall be done."

“ Very well. I wish to go secretly to the cell
of a prisoner here whose nameis Homer Curtis!"

Widely opened the eyes of the listener. He
looked—he could do no more. She wished to see
Homer Curtis! What next?‘

“ I wish, not to see and talk with this young
man,” pursued the lady, “but to enter his cell
when he is asleep. If he is now awake, I will
wait until he is asleep. All I ask is to see him
as I have said.”

The warden moved his hands in a hel lea
way. Not for a moment did he think of en -
ing the request. He would, as he had said, 0
anything for her, and he intended to prove it at
once. ‘

 

He said as much, and went to see if the con-
damned man was already asleep. He went with
a dazed feeling.

“The whole family has been to see this
murderer. What nexti—what next? Why,
why should they feel an interest in him? Per-
l‘nns they know, but I’ll be hanged if I do!
What next?"

He soon returned to say that Curtis was
sound sleep, and that he would escort the visi-
tor to the call door, and then stand at a distance
and see that no one interrupted her.

Mrs. Hallowell felt her courage waver as she =

went. It had been no easy task to get herself
nerved up to undertake the venture, and, now
it was done, she trembled and realized the rash-
ness of her step.

At the cell door she was given a light and told
to enter.

She obeyed.

Once within she looked around and shivered-
The place was grim and gloomy beyond her
wildest dreama and she would have retreated
had not so much been at stake. But the die
was cast and she fought down the weakness.

Curtis lay in his 0 it. He was as oblivious of
all around him as when he had another visitor
at ni ht. One of his arms lay outside the covers,
and t e strong band seemed to beckon an invi-
tation to the hesitating woman to settle the
question in her mind at once. Yet, she gand
long before she stirred, and only moved when
she did because she suddenly remembered the
im rtance of utilizing every moment.

he went nearer. ~

First of all she studied the face before her.
Was there any likeness to Judge Hallowell!
Others had failed to seeit, but her eyes were
keener, or her imagination stronger. She be-
lieved she did see the resemblance—faint, but
perceptible. .

While she stood thus there was a stir in the
corridor: one so quiet as to leave no sound, but
one fraught with meaning. The warden had
loyally turned his back so as not to spy upon the
woman be admired so much. By sodoin he
saved one quarter from ible interru on,
but he forgot the other. e forgot, too, that a
certain man had entered the prison a short time
before, and was still there.

This man was Chief Claxtotu and he it was
who went to the cell door. He must have had
an inkling of what was being done, for he gave
n: evidence of surprise when he saw who was
t ere.

Instead, he simply stood and looked while Mrs.
Hallowell gazed at the prisoner‘s face.

.n‘d‘

The arm before her gave the opportunity she '

coveted. The loose sleeve of Curtis‘s ni lit-robe
was no impediment to her search. Care ally she
pushed the sleeve back. Then she became again
inactive, gain at what was revealed.

The lamp-lig t showed her color going and
coming; it showed that she was deeply moved.

The watcher at the door smiled s! ght‘lfi.

“ The proud judge’s wife has found a proof
of disgrace i” Detective Claxton murmured.

She had found the birthinsrk, certainly. She
saw the mark alleged to be there, and saw it was

the counterpart of that on her husband’s arm. ,_

Even nature spoke to prove all she had heard. i
There was no more to be done. One minute’s.

look was as good as ten, and she was cool enough, ‘

disturbed though she was, to remember the don.
ger of the prisoner’s awakening. Once more her
gm strs ed to his face. The resemblance she
thought s had seen before was now hightened

by her imagination, and the face of the judge '

seemed there repeated.

“ It must be true!” she whispered, bmkeligy.

Chief Claxton saw signs of her leaving, a he
retreated to the other end of the corridor as
quietly as he had come, unseen by any one there
—retrsated to go as quietly out of the Tombs,
half an hour later.

Mrs. Hallowell turned and and made her own.
exit as soon as possible. When once more in
the warden’s room she gave him a sum of money,
remarking: \

“ This is for your youngest child l”

_80 Otis Hallowell had said on the occasion of
his memorable visit, and the warden was al--
most too dared to reply. ~ “

Again in the privacy of her carriage Mrs.
Hallowell lost' her control. The full measure of:
the unhappy affair came over her. With all hope
gone she saw where she stood. Salome and thin
convicted son lived. What was she!

 

The following morning Jud
alone in his private room. M bel approached
the door. For a moment she hesitated‘to gain.
courage, and then, contrary to her usual cus-
tom, pushed Hie door open without knocking
and entered.

The judge sat at the tab] his face buried in
his hands. his whole air tha of deep deJection.

6 previous evening he had a in seen the
senior judge, but the result had u very un-
favorable and he saw no chance of another
trial for ileum Curtis.

go gurgbinking of thiglandiggf Mirab'ehu

e ea her steps, an ock u re a
haggard, pallid face p’ ,

Exerting all of her self-control she managed
to speak with a measure of column.

Hallowell was '

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“ Excuse me for intruding upon you, but
I wished to see you on matters of importance.”
Hallowell was always courteous, and he did
not forget the inbred way of his nature, then.

He rose and laced a chair for, her.
“I shall 0 pleased to hear you,” he an-
swered.

“I am afraid this will not be so. I wish to

' speak of very serious things, judge,” she re-
" .sponded.

His gaze wavered for a moment.

“ I trust nothing is wrong?”

“ I fear something is very wrong. To be plain,
and to lose no time, I will say I have lately come
into the possession of certain facts which appall
me. I refer to what concerns not only myself
but Salome and Homer Curtis!”

The judge drew a quick breath. He knew
then, that the secret was out. and ruin menaced
him. A mist swam before his eyes; be brushed
his hand across his face with a nervous air. He
stood and said nothing. It was not guilt; it was
helpless dismay.

“ I am told,” she went on, herself moved
so that her utterance was little more than
a sob, “ that you have a wife whose claim

_ to the name dates back-of the time I first saw

you."

Suddenly sharply cried the judge:

“ In the sight of man I may have; in the sight
of Divine Providence I have not!”

“ Yet. Salome lives.”

Judge Hallows-ll resumed his seat. His man-
ner was that of one who abandons hope for time
and eternity. Mirabel would have been blind

.not to read in his face how he suffered, yet,

when he spoke, his voice had hardly a tremor.

“ How dii you learn of this?" he asked.

“1 have seen both Salome and Curtis."

“ And you knew the storyl"

4| All!"

“ All? Then you know—"

“ That I have no right in your home.”

Mirabel named her hand to her heart. She
could hard y articulate. but in her manner there
was no accusation. Between the two at that
moment there was no anger; only deep sorrow

I and despair.

He put out his hand in quick deprecation.
“ You have all right; it is I who have none;

. it is I who should go hence and forever hide my

head. This is maddeninfi to me. Was it not
mg’gh I should enter! net you feel the curse,

She was silent.

“ Do you blame me utterly? Do you r ard
me as the vilest of men, or is there one gra n of
iorgiveness hie when you remember—4’

“ Think 0 Alice !” ‘

“ Just heaven!
you, until I am almost mad! Why should this
thing ever have‘occurredf Wh should others
be dra god to ruin and shame th me!"

“ D you think of that when we were married!
Did you— But I have one other question to ask
first. Did—did you know that Salome live
when we were married?” ‘

 

‘ - ' - CHAPTER xxxvu.

, swarms ovna r‘naia ranv.

‘ {Jonah HAmeuLL gazed in'sud'len horror.

“ They tell me you did know of this," Mirabel
went on, “but Icannot, will not believe it until

, your own lips confess the fact. I will not believe

you knew-tel! me you did not !”
She stretched out her hands imploringly, while

', the look of horror suddenly gave place on his
I

face to a flush of anger.
“ Who ,says I knew Salome lived?” he cried.

“‘ Who dares to utter such a vile calumnyl"

“ it was she.”

“ Oh! the viperl—the base rverter of truth—
But why do I rant? Mll‘lhe . I swear to you by
all my hopes of Heaven I did not know! swear
that thought her dead. and never doubted the
‘fact until a’few days ago. I, commit such a vile
deed? Just Heaven! where is your vengeance
when this tale goes unpunishedl"

The Vehemence of "his manner carried convic-
tion to Mirabel’s mind. There was one bright
gleam in the black record.

“ I told you i would not believe itl'V'she whis-

. “i bad faith in you.” .

“ And the —they-- But let me be calm! Al-
mighty Fat r. teach me to be calm! Flame,
an worldly lory. and transient success are as
nothing in t e balance opposed to honor and

00d repute. God of mercy, whatever my pun-

shment may be, do not let me be disgraced in

1 ’ the sight of the woman I love!"

The strong face trembled, the stron voice

' broke,-ind tears rolled down the face of t e iron

age—tears which were his most sscred./enno-
ling and manly contribution to a life of power

, and firm control.

If Mirabel had felt a doubt she felt it no
Whatever the past had been; whatsvsr
the future might be, he had not been guilty of
intentional wrong-doing. She believed it fully.

Again he struggled with himself; again com-

sure came'in a measure. » fl

“ Tell me all you know,” he requested,
hrokenly. \

She told the story in full. When it w s
done she heard what he had to say., Plain] ,

I have thought of her, and of -

 

l
truthfully each spoke, and all was made as
clear as they saw it. All the darkness was re-
vealed. One had as much insight to the case
as the other. ‘

Then they faced the situation. They talked of
past and future. They talked, and if it was
with shaking voices, there was no reproach, no
anger—only the deepest of sorrow. Seeing no
light for the days to come they tried toplan.
Hallowell had thought before. They must
separate, but how? Would it not be best for
her and Alice to go to Europe withadue ex-
cuse, and there live out the lives which seemed
so black and hopeless? Sohe had planned.

As for himself—-

He felt that it would be happiness to lie down
and die—(lie, and let his record be covered
with himself in the grave.

There were sounds in the ball. A knock came
at the door. At the bidding the door opened.
A servant was there.

“ Two women to see you, sir!” she announced.

She held out cards. Mechanically he took
them and read the names thereon. Then his
face flushed. They were those of Deborah Paine
and Salome. His first feeling was one of indig-
nation that they should dare to come there, but
something more practical followed. He held
the cards out quickly to Mirabel.

” l ii ill see them in the rlor ” he explained.
“Do you listen to all. think this is only a
slight parting flurry; they are to leave the
city, and they doubtless have come simply to
glent over me once more. Listen to all, an let
me convict them out of their own mouths of ly-
ing to you."

Mirabel caught at the plan and promised to do
as directed. Then the judge gave orders to have
the callers admitted.

They had come in their carriage with the
grandeur of newly-acquired wealth, Salome
being still in the chair, and in this she was
brought into the house and to the parlor.

Hallowell did not appearnntil they were well
settled. Then he entered with all his old calm-
ness.

“ To what am I indebted for the doubtful
honor of this call!” he coldly asked.

“We are about to leavs tre city, and we
thought it impolite to slight you,” sneeringiy
answered Deborah.

“ Would not the money I have given you
have soothed the wound to your feelin sl"

” Perhaps, but we are neighborly, you see.”

“ Too much so. ‘

“ Besides, we wanted to see your newest
wife.”

“ Mrs. Hallowell is ignorant of all these things,
and will remain so.” a

“ Are you sure of that?” cried Salome, with
sudden life.

“ I have not told her.”

“ But I have!”

“You agreed to go away quietlyif you had
the meney."

“We are going, but your darling called on
us, and I told her all.”

‘ Infamous!” cried the judge. ' “Why need
she ever know of it! This was an evil deed.
But she will not blame me. for I sinned blindly.
if it was sin. I married her under the belief
that you were dead; I thought you dead for
twenty years.”

“ You would have been enlightened if I had
known where you were.”

“ You willfully let me believe you dead.”

“I did, and I am glad of it. It healed you
to commit a step you cannot untake. I let you
think me dead because I hated you, but time
has shcwn me that I sowed better than I knew;
it brings me revenge, now!”

“ Be careful!” cautioned Deborah. “ You are
in the house where the other wife lives.”

“What of it! Let her know as much ores
little as she may. the fact remains that she can’t
step into my shoes as legal wife. My claim i~
proof against all." '

“ You speak idle words,” sternly observed
Hallowell. “I want you to leave this house.”

" Let’s see you make uni", mocked Salome.

“,Would ou resist?"

“ I won! tell mystery to all!”

“ Is there no end to your malignant hatred!”

“None!” .

“ You could command the respect of no one,
for you are governed only by the most ignohle
of sentiments. I have paid you to be silent,
but «on now you seek to wound and annoy me
by acting in a spirit of revenge, the worst of all
human crimes.”

“Scofl all you will; we no go to your proud
wife if you abuse Us. Av, we will see the im-
maeulate Mrs. Hallowell!” '

“ Mrs. Hallows]! is here!” ,

The words came in a new voice from near
thed r. and as all leoked that way they saw
Mira l, herself. She had entered quietly, and
nfw stood with unwavering face and resolute
a r.

“I am here,” she added, “ and all your threats
go for nothing. Your war of harm is .over.
and if the future is dar you can have no hand
in making it more so. I know the truth: I
knew how you havo lied to me, and that it was
through your fault that an honorable man did ax
deed which has brought borrow. Yes; I know

 

him to be honorable, and though we may have
to part 1 will ever honor and uphold him!’

She took her place by the judge’s side, and
her manner was firm and undannted. Before
that loyalt the plotters were abashcd, and

neither ha a retort ready, deeply as burned
their hatred.
“Enough!” pronounced Hallowell. “We

need Waste no more words. Will you go, vain-
pires, or shall I have you ejecteo?‘

“ Never!—-”

So began Salome, but more prudent Deborah
checked her. They had the money; they might
low it if they paused to seek for small revenge.

“Yes. we’ll go,” she agreed, “ but we know
we won’t leave you any great measure of happi-
ness.”

“ And we leave you the consolation of know-
ing that our legal wife holds the balance of
power an will keep it!” added Salome. “ Yes,
1’” keep it, and you may wish in vain for free-
dom. Come what may, I am the one legal
wife!”

“ It’s a lie!”

The words came in a hoarse voice from the
door, and again they turned. Another person
stood there“ a grim, burly figure; a figure new
bruised and blackened, while on the face of the
person was many a stain, asuf of blood im-
perfectly wiped away.

It was Briny Ben, at not the Water Wolf of

old.

As he stood before them he swayed to and
fro. and it was to be seen that some injury was
upon him; something which had sappvd his
strength and made him weak to an extreme.
But his eyes still gleamed brightly, and their re—
gard was turned upon Deborah and Salome with
anything but good-will.

“I’ve follered ye!" he added. hoarsely; “ I’ve
follered ye as I would a panther that had done
me ter .death. Yes, I’ve follered. fer I had
sworn ter he revenged on ye. I’Ve got my
death-wound, an’ I wouldn’t had it only ye re-
fused ter givo me my share 0’ the money, an’
kcp’ me in New York when I wanted ter git
away—kcp’ me here. for meet the man who give
me this hurt. I’m dyin’, aii’ et’s all your work;
but I’m alive yet, nn’ 3’!) hev revenge!”

The words were pcured forth in a wild strain,
with scarcely a punt-e, and no one could check
him. There was a sort of rude cliquence in it
all, and his evident condition of collapse made it
the more impressive. ,

Now Deborah found her tongue. Springing
to her feet she exclaimed:

“ Slop! Siopv and you shall have your stars
of the money!”

” Et’s too late!” the Wclf replied; “ the
money won't do me no good new. I’m goin’
on a road wher’ money ain’t of any use. an’
there's only one thing I do want. That its—re-
vengcl” .

“ Stop, and anything we can do for you—3’

“ You kin do nothing.”

Both Deborah and Salome were very much 9;:-
cited. Both tried to speak at once and neither
made any hesdusy against the Wolf. Weak he
“as in body, but his W!” was fixed.

Twice he turned and tried to speak .to the
Judge, and t“l(e the drowned his utterance,
but he peisevered. icing his voice high he
exclaimed: ‘

“That woman lies when she says she is, or
ever was, your wife! She was my wife, but
nevar yours!" I

Silence followed the assertion. The dismayed
plotters gave up, while Hallowcll could not ac~
cept the truth as yet. .

“ She was my wife,” Ben iersisted, “ but she
ain’t been fer twenty years. She got a divorce.
an‘ sent-e then she’s gone her way an’ I mine.
But our wife—that sheneher was! ’

“ don’t understand—” '

So the jnd e began but Ben interrn : ,

"You th nk she is the some Saome you
married, but she ain't. You was right in think-

- in’ that Salome was drov nded in the flood; she

was. She died exactly as you was led for be-
lieve at the time,“ but this woman “as not in the
flood. Don’t you see the point! This is Eliza
Paine, sister to Salome!”

 

' CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ran: Backus noun. .

Tun announcement fell with force upon all
there, but those to whom it was im rtant
could not realize the truth. Briny u had
ample time to go on. and he improved it,

“When you n-arried Salome lwal already
married ter .Eliza. but We an’ I was never
called upon ter visit yr. Yin was a big ketch
fer one o’ the Pai es. while Eliza wa’n t much
better. Old Deb en the importance 0’ keepin’
us out 0’ your night. so we wouldn’t disgust
ye with yer new family connections: an’ you
never in yer life heerd that Sulorre bad a sister.
She did; the sister was named Elisa, an’ was
my wife; nn’ there she is. now l” _

He leveled his pointing finger at the woman
who has figured in these pages as Salome, and
his revenge was well under way.

The plotters had nothin to say.

“ They don’t deny il l" n Cféfid. _

Deborah and Eliza did not re y. They knew

 

 

 

 

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the assertions of the Wolf would be proven if
any attempt was made.

“ I reckon you ketch on,” pursued Ben. “ Ez
long ez Salome was drowuded afore you ever
met the present Mrs. Hallowell, your marriage
ter the last-named was as legal as legal could be,
an’ she is yer only wife. See?” . .

They saw, 8t last, and there was tlianksgivmg

r in the hearts of Otis Hallowell and his wife. As
' Ben had said, Hallowell had never before heard
of a sister of Salome’s, and the resemblance of’

the two, together with the kilOwledge on his
part that time and illness bring m‘illy changes,
had kept him from suspecting that the woman
who claimed to be Salome was any one else.

Husband and wife looked at each other, and in
their eyes was pictured a ha piness such as words
c .uld not have expressed. he evil clouds which
had been on their lives rolled away, and the light
shone gloriously.

Deborah exchanged glances with Eliza.

“ I think we will go," she remarked.

“ I think you will not!" coolly retorted Hallo-
welL “You shall abide by the course you have
marked out. You will give up the money of
which you have blackmailed me, and if the law
can reach you—"

“ It kin!" cried Ben. “ They kep’ a thieves’
resort in Felarielfy. an’ was receivers of stolen
goods. The officers want them there.”

“ Yes, and the want you here,” angrily add-
ed Deborah. “ on have been a river thiefjn
New York."

“ He has been morel”

Once again an interruption came from an un-
seen speaker. Once again those present looked
toward the door. .

Chief Claxton was there.

He walked rapidly to Briny Ben’s side.

“ I arrest you for murdering Morris Strong!”
he declared. .

The Water Wolf put up his hands promptly.

“ Go ahead l” he directed. “ All you’ll get out
of it will be a dead man, for I’m about done.
You’ve got the right tack, though; I did do that
job. You kin let Homer Curtis out 0’ prison as
soon as you please, for he had no hand in it. I
don’t know ez I would admit this, but my gal,
Mary, is dead gone on the boy, an’ ez she’s the
only one who ever stood by me but my second
wife, I reckon I’ll do the gal a good turn afore
I go under. I did kill Morris Strong. Curtis is
inno<-entl”

Again Judge Hallowell was dumfounded with
surprise.

“ But,” added the Wolf, “ 1 don’t know haw
in thunder you got at it!’

“ Easy enough,” Claxton calmly ansWered.

"‘ When I was 'engaged tostart in for Curtis I
was bound to consider him innoce t. I asked
myself who could be guilty if he was not. The
reply in my mind was quick, and so simple I

wondered it had not been thought of before by i

the defense. Somebody had a motive for killing.
Who? I remembered that,to spite Curtis, Strong
had gone to the police and told that oods had
been purchased of thieves and sol in their
store. I asked myself who else could have so
much motive for killing him as the men he
thoughtlesd y gave away in order to be revenged
on Curtis.” . ' . ’

“Durned ef you didn't get it Jest rightl’ ex-
claimed Ben. E

"‘ I told of my theory to no one, but looked
for river thieves. I found you!”

“ You did, b thunder!"

“You foun me when we met on the pier,”
Chilton 0011mm “ You gave me a knife
wound I still carry. I fell into the water. but
was not unconscious. I swam to the support of
the pier, and there remained quiet until you
were gone away. I crawled out with difficult ,
and was then in such bad shape that I lay in e
house f a laborer who took me in, caring for
me we 1, u’ntil the next noon, ’when I partially

recovered.
“Ygu did, an’ too much. You was my

oath.

" Certain words once drop by your one-
time friend. Duncan Davies, ed me to believe,
not that he knew of your actln regard to Strong,
but that be we cted it. 1‘

“I went to im, worked upon him and got
him to confess his suspicion, and to give some
stron corroborative evidence. Then he set out

to flu you, but you had disappeared from your,

usual haunts and it was sl0w work.

“ Davies fdund you before I did. I am aware
thathe met you in a house on Seventh avenue.
and that a fight followed in which both of you
were severely used. He is under adoctor’s care.
Acting on information as to where you were
last seen I followed with zeal, and succeeded in
tracing you here.”

“You did too darned wal, but what does it
matter! The Wolf is shorn of his claws, and
he’s about'done." .

“ Tell me just how you killed Morris Strong.”

“ Wal, I heard be had gone ter the police an’
blowed, an’ it made me red-hot. .I went for
lock fer, him. Isee him with Curtis, an’ I just
hung around until Curtis went ofl. Then I met
Strong on the pier an’ went for him run h-shod
with my' tongue. He drawed a rave var-fit

. wnl Curtis’s an’ I s' S ong stole it—an’ as I
didn’t intend tor sh I wrested it away

‘ from him.

 

"Detective ciaxtea. '

I was too mad ter hear what I did,
aI’ turned the revolver on him an’ pulled the
trigger. The bullet went strai ht; he fell dead.
Then I run away. That’s all. e was a traitor,
au’ I’m glad I did it.”

Chief Claxton turned to Hallowell._

“ I think this clears young Curtis,” he re-
marked. . _

“ It does, indeed,” the judge replied, with
emotion. .

“ Then my work is about done.”

“ You don’t know how much i feel indebted to

.._"

“ I think I do,‘ exactly,” dryly answered Clax-l

ton.
“ But there are things unknown to you—"

“ Not many. While looking for the murderer
I have learned a good deal more. I know of
your recent trials, and I am prepared to add
corroboration to what Briny Ben has said of the
two women, yonder. I have heard them say
they were not what they pretended, and that the
younger one was never your wife. You I'ave
been the victim of a vile plot, but the truth is
out. You and Mrs. Hallowell are free from all
suspicion, and I think if you want to acknowledge
your son you will not feel ashamed totell the
story in public.” .

“ 'You are right. Nothing disgraceful attaches
to it now.”

Claxton looked at Mrs. Hallowell.

“ It will not be hard, I think, to found a hap-
py family, for the work has been progressing
more rapidly than any one of you know. You
had better compare notes and see how this is.
YeS' I guarantee you happiness.”

“ ay my curse go with them i" cried Eliza.

“ It will do no injury but you can think of it
in prison. Thanks to the hint given by Benja-
min, I’ll see that the Philadelphia authorities are
not cheated out of their prey.”

“ Judge Hallowell, I call upon you to save
us!” Eliza exclaimed.

“ Dnre you have all the past known?”

H A11!”

“ Think again.” ,

. “ I have thought already. 'I say you shall
taste the full measure of law. There is no crime
in my past, and as for my weaknesses, I can
bear the full penalty.”

“ Oh! if I had my strength! I would kill
you !-I would—”

“ Better omit it,” coolly advised Claxton.
“ You have played your game and lost. Accept
the result as amiahly as you can, for you are
helplessly in the toils. Judge Hallowell, I have
a batch of warrants in my hot. Shall I re-
lieve you of the Paine fami yi”

“Immediately, if you please,” the judge an-
swered. “ Mirabel, let us go. The past is over;
we will begin life anew l”

 

Before leaving the house Claxton undertook to
set Edward Acton right with the family. He
was wise enough to know that the time to secure
forgiveness “as when the HaIIOWells were so
deeply moved. He frankly explained all to the
judge. He had made no miscalculation. The
utter was surprised to learn he had so long had
a police agent in the family, but he took it
philOsophically. ,

Alice was called into the council and all made
plain; then Edward was sent for. He received
their forgiveness with gratitude, but could not
persuade himself that it was wholly sinceref

When Claxton did go of! with his risoners,
Alice was engaged in the task of conv nclng the
melancholy young man. The detective thought
she was making good progress.

 

The next stecps in the work can be imagined.
The senior ju ge could now, consider Homer
Curtis’s case without fear of doing himself in-
justice, and, as there was no longer any charge
against the prisoner, he was soon liberated in
due legal form. —

The public was not allowed to kn0w of the full
facts at once. Homer went to Europe for a
year. When he returned the cit had almOSt
forgotten the once-prisoner of the ombs, and by
raregood luck no one lead him as a pub-
lic character when he was introduced, on his
return. as Judge Hallowell's son.

He had mot gone abroad alone. Mary bal
gone as his wife, and, on their return, they en-
tered upon the new life with every prospect of
happiness. The old line of business was aban-
doned, but the judge found something better for
his son. and be has never regretted, that he took
him into the family. "

As in the past, so has the young man’s record
been honorable since. He and Mary enjoy the
ha piness they deserve. .
lico’s efforts to cure Acton’s melarchol
were successful that when they were married?
the 0 or day. no one saw any evidences of
down-hesrtedness in his manner.

Briny Ben died of his wound, but not until he
had made full confession in formal way. Da vies
was allowed to leave the city. Deborah went
to the State Prison in Pennsylvqnia. Eliza was
considered no snb'ect for such a lace, but a
sudden attack of l lucss ended her ii 9.

Judge Hallomill and his wife ard 1:

.Pi) -
neyer so happy before. Each

tional proof of the other’s worth, and their lives
! 7 ..

had seen a at.

 

3!.

are marked with a tenderness not manifested

of old. Now Hallowell gives not all his time 
to business cares, but remembers the light and '
love of the home-circle, and the rest and peace
which is his is a fit reward. if he is an iron
judge when on the bench, the iron is cast out
when he crosses the threshold of his home.

Chief Claxton was deemed to have once more
demonstrated his right to the title of the
“Record-Breaker,” and his latest case gained
him renown. He was credited with bavmg
saved a man from the very shadow of the gel-
lows, and, though much of the story was never
told, he was acCorded even higher rank among
the great detective experts of New York.

THE END.

 

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5m Big Bandy, the Brigadier of B mstone Butte.

688 Sandy Sandsythe Sharp from Sna City.

676 Silver-Ten ed Sid: or. Gri Sack rp's Sweep.
664 The Grip- ack Shar ; or he Seraphsoi Sodom.
555 Grip-Sack Sid. the maple Sport.
647 The Buried Detective; or, BMW Six Sensations.
641 Major Magnet, the Man of Nerve.

686 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator from Deed-Lift.
627 Dandy Andy. the Diamond Detective.

614 Gabe Gunn. the Grizzl from Ginseng.

604 Solemn Saul. the Sad an from San Saba.

496 Rattiepate Rob; or. The Roundhead‘s Reprisai.
488 The Thoro hbred Sport.

474 Dadd Des. -Eye. the Despot of Dew Drop.

466 Old ugh and Ready, the Sage of Sundown.
468 Dutch Dan. the Pilgrim from Spitzehberg.

460 The Rustler Detective.

443 A Cool Hand; or, Pistol Johnny's Picnic.

438 Oklahoma Nick.

433 Laughing‘Leo; or. Sam‘s Dandy Pard.

426 The Ghost Detective; or. The Secret Service Spy.
416 Monte Jim. the Black Sheep of Bismarck.

409 Rob Roy Ranch; or, The Imps oi Panfiandle.
408 The Nameless Sport.

896 Deadlv Aim. the Duke of Der-ringers.

887 Dark Dar-f. the Ishmael of the Hills.

879 Howling onath n, the Terror from Headwaters.

. 878 Cs tain Crisp. t a Man with a mm.

887 A a1 Flush: or. Dan Brown's Big Game.
860 Jumping Jerry. the Gamecock from Sundown.
866 Storm Steve. the Mad Athlete.

861 Nor‘ est Nick. the Border Detective.

.846 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective. .

889 Spread Eagle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
831 Chis Charley. the Gold Nugget Sport.

824 Old erked Lightnin'z. the Solitary.

817 Frank Lightioot. the Miner Detec in.

808 Faro Saul. the Handsome Hercules.

899 Make Homer, the Boss Roustabout.

986 Fatal Johnny; or. One Man in a Thousand.

983 Sleek Sam. the Devil of the Mines.

It? Death Tra Di ngs: or. A Man'Way Back.
249 Elephant em. 0 Durante.

loitiire Saul. King of the Bustiers.

l'he Old Boy of Tombstone.

’irate oi the Pincers; or. J in's Death Hunt.

197 Revolver Rob: or. The Belle 0 Nugget Camp.

18) Old ’49- or. The Amazon oi’ Arizona.

170 Sweet imam. the Trapper Detectives

166 Joaquin. the Terrible

164 Joaquin, the Saddle King.

141 uinox Tom. the BuiI of Red Rock.

197 80 Scott. the Masked iner.

:19 Alabama Joe: or. The Yazoo MamHunters.

106 Dan Brown of Denver: or. The Detective.

 

§§..
Adm

88 Big ; or. The Five Outlaw Brothers.
71 Captain iBiade: or. Mississippi Man Shark.
67 The Boy Jockey; or, Honesty vs. Crookedneas.

64 Double-Sight, the Death Shot.

ll ack Rabbit. the Prairie Sport.

47 ete. the Prince of the Revolver.

46 Old Bull's-E e, the Lightnin Shot.

0 long-Hal Pards; or. The arters of the Plain;
so Gospel George- or. Fiery Fred. the Outlaw.

a lngered Jack. the Road-Agent.

BUFFA LO BILL NOVELS.

By Colonel Prentiss lngrahana.
786 Buitaie Bilband His Merry Men.

761 Buitaio Bill I Beag es.
Buflale Bill's Body Guard.
. 73 Buflalo Biu on the War— th.
6 Bill‘s Scout wers.

71

710 Butan Bill Bailled.
697 Buaaio Bill's Buckskin Brotherhood.

691 Buflalo Bill's Blind Trail.

667 Buffalo Bill's Swoop' or, The King of the Mines.
646 Male Bill. Chief 0 Cowboys; or. Buck Taylor.
644 Bulale Bill's Bonanza.

I9 Bulale Bill’s ri ; or. Oath Bound to Custer.
fl Butaio Bill‘d0 ‘ e: or. The League of Three.
in Wild Bill's id Trail; Or. The Desperate Dozen.
176 Wild Bill‘s Trump Card; or. The lndian Heiress.
m WildBlll. the PistolDeadShOt.

'2 By numuo am.

689 The Gold Kiwi: or, Montebeiio. the ileent.

699 The Dead Sho Nine: or. My Pards of t e Plains.

414 Red Renard. the Indian Detective.

401 One-Arrived Pard; or. Borderland Retribution.

m The Wizard Brothers: or. White Beraver'a Trail.

894 White Beaver. the Exile of the Platte.

619 Wild Bill. the Whirlwind of the West.

114 Texas Jack. the Prairie Rattler.

948 The Pilgrim Sharp: or. The Soldier‘s Sweetheart.
. a) Gold Bullet Sport; or. Kn hts of the Overland.

69 Death-Trailer. the Chic! 0 Scouts.

. By Leona Lewis, Ned Bnntline, ete.

$9 Buflalo Bill‘s Secret Service Trail.
69 Buffalo Bill’s Daring Role; or. Daredeatb Dick.
617 Buflaic Bill‘s First Trail.
1w Bnmalo Bill, Chief of Scouts.
117 But!an Bill‘sIStrsnge Pard.
99 Buflalo Bill. the Buckskin King.

 

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM.

704 invisible ivan, the Wizard Detective.

686 The Red-skin Sea Rover.

679 Revello, the Pirate Cruiser; or. The'Rival Rovers

M2 The Red Rapier; or, The Sea Rover’s Bride.

662 The Jew Detective; or, The Beautiful Convict.

668 The Cowboy Clan; or, The 'i'i ress of Texas.

663 The Lasso King’s League. companion Story
to “ Buck Ta vior. the Saddle King.’

640 The Rev 'r's Ret ibution.

635 The Ex Buccaneer; or, The Stigma of Sin.

630 The Sea Thief

626 Red Wings; or, The Gold Seekers of the Bahamas.

616 The Tim-e nuccnneers.

610 The Red Flag Rover; or.White Wings of the Deep.

606 The Shadow Silver Ship.

600 The Silver Ship: or, The Sea Scouts of '76.

698 The Sea Rebel: or. Red Rovers of the Revolution. :
l
i

687 Conrad, the Sailor Spy; or. True Hearts of ‘76.
681 The Ontlawed Ski per; or, The Gantlet Runner.
660 The Man from it exico.
663 Mark Monte. the Mutineer; or. The Branded Brig.
616 The Doomed Whaler: or. The Life Wreck.
640 The Fleet Scourge; or. The Sea Wings of Salem.
680 The Sava s of the Sea.
624 The Sea haser; or. The Pirate Noble.
616 Chatard. the Dead-Shot Duelist.
610 El Moro. the Corsair Commodom.
493 The Scouts of the Sea.
489 The Pirate Hunter; or. The Ocean Rivals.
482 Ocean Tramps ' or, The Desperadoes of the Deep.
476 Bob Brent. the uccaneer; or. the Bud Sea Raider.
469 The Lieutenant Detective: or. the Fugitive Sailor.
467 The Sea Insurgent: or. The Conspirator Son.
446 Ocean Ogre. the Outcast Corsair.
436 The One-Armed Buccaneer.
480 The Fatal Fri ate; or. Rivals in Love and War.
425 The Sea Swo ; or. The Ocean Rivals.
418 The Sea Siren: or. The Fugitive Privateer.
899 The New Monte Cristo.
893 The Convict Captian.
888 The Giant Buccaneer; or. The Wrecker Witch.
877 Afloat and Ashore: or. The Corsair Conspirator.
873 Sailor of Fortune: or. The Barnegat Buccaneer.
869 The Coast Corsair: or. The Siren of the Sea.
864 The Sea Fugitive; or. The Queen of the Coast.
846 Ocean Guernllas; or, Phantom Midshipman.
841 The Sea Desperado.
886 The Magic Snip- or. Sandy Hook Freebooters.
3% The Gentleman Pirate; or. The Casco Hermite.
818 The Indian Buccaneer; or. The Rovers.
307 The Phantom Pirate; or, The Water Wolves.
981 TheSea Owi' or. The Lady Captain of the Gulf.
£59 Cutlass and Cross; or. the Ghouls of the Sea.
266 The Pirate Priest; or. The Gambler's Da htor.
946 neon Helen. the Amazon of the Overian .
286 htning the Man of Chance.
981 The Kid Glove Miner: or. The Magic Doctor.
9124 Black Beard. the Buccaneer.
an The ggeotar Yacht; or, A Brother's Crime.
216 The rsair Planter; or. Driven to Doom.
910 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness oi the Sea.
$6 The Gambler Pirate; or. Lady of the Lagoon.
we The Skeleton Schooner; or The Skimmer.
184 the Ocean Vampire; or, The Castle Heiress.
181 The Scarlet Schoener: or. The Sea Nemesis.
177 Don Diablo, the Planter-Corsair.
172 Black Pirate; or. The Golden Fetters M stery.
162 The Mad Mariner: or. Dishonored and isowned
166 The Corsair Queen: or, The Gypsies of the Sea.
147 Gold Spur. the Gentleman from Texas.
139 Fire Eye” or. The Bride of a Buccaneer.
184 arke Dan, the Colored Detective.
181 ucks n Sam. the Texas Trailer.
128 The Chevalier Corsair; or. The Heritage.
191 The Sea Cadet; or The Rover of the Rigoietts.
116 Black Plume; or. The Sorceress of Hell Gate.
109 Captain Kyd. the Kin of the Black Flag.
104 Montezuma. the Merc less.
108 Merle, the Mutineer; or. The RedAnchor Brand.
94 Freelance. the Buccaneer.
Queen of the Isle.

so The Pirate Prince; or. The
86 The Cretan Rover; or. Zuleikah the Beautiful.
9 The Dare Devil; or, The Winged Sea Witch.

BY J. C. COWDRICK.

6” Ducau Dion, the Nabob Sport Detective.

612 Sherii! Stillwood, the Regulator of Raapiierry.
698 The Dominic Detective.

691 Duke Daniels. the Society Detective.

680 Shadowing a Shadow.

666 Prince Paul. the Postman Detective.

667 The Mountain Graybeards' or. Riddles‘ Biddle.
619 Old Riddles. . the Rockgo er

499 Twilight Charlie, the ad port.

478 Gilbert of Gotham. the Steel-arm Detective.

462 Rainbow Bob. the Tulip from Texas.

486 Kentucky Jean, the S rt from Y ow Plus.
422 Blue Grass Burt. the old Star De tive.
890 The Giant Cupid; or Ci uta John‘s Jubilee.

/
BY MAJOR DANGEBFIEIJD BUBB.

448 Hark Kenton. the Traitor.

188 The Phantom Mazeppa; or. The Hyena.

166 Velvet Face, the Border Bravo.

149 Captain Crimson, the Man of the iron Face.

117 Dashing Dandy; or. The I-Iotspur of the Hills.
99 Bunalo Bill. the Buckskin King. .

BY LIEUT. A. K. SIMI-

788 Teamster Tom, the Boomer Detective.

709 Lodestone Lem, the Champion of Chestnut Burr.
696 Singer Sam. the Pilgrim Detective. ‘
688 The River Bustiers.

676 Stuttering Sam, the Whitest Sport 0! Santa Fe.
666 Old Adamant, the Man otRock. '

'616 Baasas Kari, the Detective King.

669 Prince Primrose. the 1"lower of the Flock.

 

60 Huckleberry. the Foot-Hills Detective.

 

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

729 Dick Taibot’s Clean-Out.

723 Dick Talbot in No Man‘s Camp.

717 Captain Pat McGowen. the Greencoat Detective.
708 Joe Phenix‘s Siren.

700 Joe Phenlx's Unknown.

681 Joe Phenix’s Specials.

674 Uncle Sun Up. the Born Detective. ,
670 The Lightweight Detective.

665 The Frisco Detective; or. The Golden Gate M
660 The Fresh in Montana.

652 Jact- son Blake the Bouncer Detective.

647 The Fresh or Frisco at Santa Fe.

6'37 Joe Phenix in Crazy Camp.

632 Joe Phenix’s Master Search.

628 Joe Phenix‘s Combine.

620 Joe Phenix‘s Silent Six.

613 Keen Billy, the Sport.

607 Old Benzine. the “ Hard Case " Detective.

601 Joe Phenix‘s Shadow.

694 Fire Face. the Silver King's Fee.

686 The Silver Sharp Detective.

677 Tom of California.

670 The Actress Detective; or. The Invisible Hand.
662 Lone Hand. the Shadow.

666 Fresh. the Sport-Chevalier.

587 Blake. the Mountain Lion.

629 The Fresh in New York.

620 The Lone Hand on the Caddo.

497 The Fresh in Texas.

‘ 490 The Lone Hand in Texas.

476 Chin Chin. the Chinese Detective.

466 The Actor Detective.

461 The Fresh on the Rio Grande.

440 The High Horn of the Pacific.

425 The Lone Hand; or, The Red River Rscreants.
419 The Bat 01 the Battery; or. Joe Phenix. Detective.
408 Doc Grin. the Vendetta of Death.

891 Kate Scott, the Decoy Detective.

t 884 injun Dick. Detective: or. Tracked 70 New York.

881 The Gypsy Gentleman; or. Nick Fox. Detective.
876 Black Beards: or. The Rio Grande High Horse.
870 The Dusky Detective: or. Pursued to the End.
863 Crowningshield. the Detective '
864 Red Richard: or The Crimson Cross Brand.
349 Iron-Hearted Dirk. the Gentleman Road-Agent.
320 The Genteel Spotter; or The N. Y. Night Hawk.
262 The Wall Street Blood; or. The Telegraph Girl.
203 The Double Detective; or.‘l'he Midnight Mystery.
196 La Marmoset. the Detective Queen. ’
173 California John. the Pacific Thoroughbred.
161 The Wolves of New York; or. Joe Phenix's Hunt.
180 Captain Volcano or. The Man of Bed Revolvers.
112 Joe Ph’enix. Private Detective.
107 Richard Talbot. 01 Cinnabar.
101 The Man from New York.
97 Bronze Jack. the California Thoroughbred.
98 Captain Dick Talbot. Kill: of the Road.
91 The Winning Car: or. The Innkeeper's Daughter
84 Hunted Down: or. The league of Three.
81 The Human Tiger: or. A Heart of Fire.
79 Joe Phenix. the Police Spy.
77 The Fresh oi Frisco; or. The Heirem.
76 Gentleman George: or. Parlor. Prison and Street.
7:! The Phantom Handz. or. The 6th Avenue Heiress.
63 The Winged Whale: or. The Red Rupert at Gulf.
69 The Man from Texas; or. The Arkansas Outlaw.
66 The Indian Mazeppa: or. Madman ot the Plains.
49 The Wolf Demon; or. The Kanawha Queen.
42 The California Detective; or, The Witches oi N.Y.
41 Gold Dan: or, The White Savage of Salt Lake.
8 Velvet Hand; or. Injun Dick‘s Iron Grip.
86 Injun Dick; or. The Death-Shot of Shasta.
86 Kentuck. the Sport: or. Dick Talbot of the Minna.
84 Rocky Mountain Bob. the California Outlaw.
83 Overland Kit; or, The idyi of White Pine.
81 The New York Sharp; or. The Flash of Lightning-
67 The Spotter Detective: or. Girls of New York.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.
Dick Talbot. the Ranch King- or The Double
788 Foe. By Albert w. Aiken. ' '
764 Detective Burr’a'Foil- or. A Opening Woman's c
Strategy. By Harold ayne.
786 B Rain Bill and His Merry Men' or The Robin
330d Rivals. By Col Prentiss ldgra'ham.
786 The Never-Fail Detective. By Captain Howard
Holmes.
787 Talbot in Apache Land. By Albert W. Aiken.
788 Detective Clutch, the Record Breaker. 3)"
Wm. H. Manning.
789 Buffalo Bill’s Blind. By 001. P. Ingraham.
740 Captain Clew, the Fighting Detective. By
Jackson ,Knox. ' ‘ y I
to Dick Talbot's Close din. By A. w. Aiken.
Ready January 4.
.4 um um every Wednesday.
Beadie’s Dime Library is for sale by’alii
Newsdealers. ten cents per copy. or sent by mailer
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLI & ADAMS.
Publishers. 98 William street. New York.

 

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