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Copyrighted 1894 Dv BEADLE AND Aunts. ENTERED A8 SECOND CLASS MATTER AT THE I‘hW YORK. N. Y.. You union. eptembe .

N 8 3 1 . Published Every geadle & fldams, Publishers, ran Gem 3001):. Vol 

85.00 I You.
“numb,- 98 WILLIAM STREET. NEW YORK.

 

 

 

 

 

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The London Detective;

Harvey Hawk’s Short-Stop.

V BY CAPT. HOWARD HOLMES,

AUTHOR OF “CAPTAIN COLDGRIP" NOVELS
“ PLUSH VELVET,” ETC.

CHAPTER I.
POPSY VANE’S CUSTOMER.

THERE were few persons who did not
know Popsy Vane, yet if the many had been
asked they would have confessed that, after
all, they did not know the old man. ‘ " 

He lived alone in a building which he was THE OLD MAN’S HAND I’USHED THE HALF-FINISHED LETTER UNDERNEATH A BLOTTER
said to own, within the verv shadow of ox THE DESK AND IIE TURNED ms FULL ATTENTION To HIS VISITOR.

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 curl

 3 1-3’
s, m. ,

a. J

Shadowing the .London Detective.

 

 

Trinity steeple, and no people went to him
save those who had important, business with
Old Popsy.

Indeed he had nailed a tin card to his door
in which he had traced this sentence:

“ No Business, No ADMITTANCE."

Popsy Vane was a living mystery, past
fifty, thin of face and beardiess, with sharp
eyes that seemed capable of looking into the
secret depths of one’s soul and long hands
that seemed eager to close on the almighty
ldelirium matter in what shape it came to

1m. '

I ' He was book-worm, astrologer, maker of
strange philters and what not, yet there were
none bold enough to say that he went be-
yond‘the law in his business.

Singular people climbed the stairs that led
{lo his place and transacted business with

no.

OldrPopsy was always at home and they

were not unrcwardcd for the weary climb.

No one knew an thing about the old man’s
history, and if he llad a past he kept it from
the public and from his patrons.

' , Broadway was swarming with its usual
crowd late one afternoon, in fact just as the
lights were being lighted, for darkness came
rather suddenly that day on account of threat-
ening weather and Popsy Vane sat alone in
his room.

He sat at his desk with an ink-stand in
front of him and his cadaverous face bent
over the oil cloth.

The old man expected no visitor at that
hour for he had no engagements, and when
the knob turned he looked up with a start.

Before him stood a tall, handsome fellow
of lgerhaps thirty. '

e looked quite dandiiied in his short coat
and broad-rimmed hat which set jauntil

upon a head well covered with a. mass of he. f

nut-brown hair.

s hands were white and scrupulously '

clean. .
, A heavy mustache hid his well-formed
_ mouth, but in his eyes which were dark Old
 Popsy could see the latent gleam of‘ sensual-
ity which might have been confirmed by the
lips but for the mustache. ,

This man on spying, Popsy shut the door
ve . carefully behin him,

be old man who had turned in his chair

~was looking athis visitor as if wondering

'  what had" broughthim up the narrow stair

case. i
“Popsy Vane?” said the caller, stopping
near the desk and leaning forward with mani-
fest curiosity. , -
The thin face'was bowed thus answering
the quer . ‘ .
‘ *.“By' ovei I’m lucky. Was fearing, you
know, that you might not be in just now.
Didn’t know when you shut up shop, you
see, and Isaid -.to myself as I came up:
. What if I find himout?’ "
” ." I’m seldom‘out,", said Popsy.
 “'Eh?. Nevergo out, but roost ’way up
‘here near the sky;’.’ ‘ _,
3 “ It’s not very high.” 'v '
 ';>',Not to you Why: legs I, are used to «the
climb; I'guess not; but to a chap like me—
,itfs diflerent, you see.” - ‘ , -
' ‘Whe old’man’s‘hand pushed the half finish-
,ed‘ letter underneath a blotter on the desk
“and turned hisiull attention to his visitor.
.~ .“You want’tto see me?” he said.
, 2.“ Jehui do, you think I would climb
up here justto look into this room? I’m
.here'on business, but you don’t care to have
your callempeamd.” '
v «Popsy '
smiled, showing a lot ot‘yellow teeth, and
alienqw’  his hand ‘toward a cushioned
chairmen: stranger. ' ,
 invitation, to be seated was ac,-
 " ‘.the next moment. the old man’s

Yow‘mtagood manyethings, Ihear. You
against: many litt knick-knacks not
, the profession.“ . , ,

, p ,_ inquired Old Popsy, leaning for-
. ard. startled a little by these words. '

. 'Beg pardon. I’mastrange duck; don’t
know half the time what I’m sayin . Al-
ways Was that'way and I guess I’l never

'9:
(l

.mn
no

et over it. You sell sfome’ things, I lien}:-
\.’l'hiere wasno si no a repy. rem be 0, '
gin the ,chair andlooked

He sat stall
keg taking him .i
q: em a suspici ,

I.

miss-

rttt. from:  to,

lwéy .

 never apologized; he merely/fth other, and if.

 

“ Well, let’s come to business,” suddenly
resumed the sport. “I can’t stay here all
day, and you don’t like to fool long over a
bar ain, and a devilish good one at that.”

I- e moved his chair a little closer to the as-
trologer, eying him all the time. Did Popsy
noticed the hands again and saw that they
were white, faultless and without a sign of
blood.

“ I want to get one of your quicters.”

Old Popsy started and for the first time
since the man’s entrance he showed some
animation.

He seemed to strai hten in his chair, and
his figure, long alrea y, appeared to get an-
other inch.

“ How?” he asked.

" You are obtuse, of course,” and the
speaker smiled. “ You are not supposed to
understand what I mean and I don’t blame
you. I am here to bargain for a quieter.”

Popsy Vane moved uneasily in his seat and
then shut one hand.

“ I don’t keep such things," he said, with-
out taking his 'eyes from the man before him.

“ Hang it all, old man, you can’t fool me.
I came here to pay for what we get anci——”

The closed hand opened and Old Popsy
leaned forward.

” I don’t make such things,” he answered
with some positiveness.

“ Pardon me again, but you do. It all
goes with your regular business. What
means the stream of people, men and women,
aye and young girls, who come up these
stairs? Do all of them come solely to let
you cast their horoscope and tell them what
you find out among the stars? Have all the
women some love affair on hand and all the
men some speculation which they want to
see oright? Do you think I believe such
stu ‘3 Uome, I’m in a hurry. 1 want one of
those secret quieters which Ihappen to know
you make.”

The old man in the chair at the desk was
about to put in another denial when the man
sprung up and came forward.

‘1 You,make ’em and I want one,” said he,
his (lace assuming suddenly a ferocious ex-
pression, while - he kept outwardly cool.
" You don't know me, old man, and you
don't know what I know.”

Popsy Vane’s eyes seemed about to fly
from his head.

“ Look here,” continued the stranger.
“ I’m no fool, as you will discover , to your
eternal sorrow if ou don’t deal fairl with
me. I can pla a and which will be your
everlasting un oing and I will play it as cer-
gain, as death if you don’t sell me what I come
or. ’ ’ v

" But I tell you—”

"‘ No lies, you miserable oldwretch. You
make “ quieters " and you sell them, too.
Refuse to sell me /one and ' I’ll see that you
don’t climb the stairs any more.” > _

“ Really, sir-’9" » I
. “Please don't ‘sir ’ me. You may call
me the Devil, but you needn’t put one. bit
of assumed politeness at this time. I may
be Mephistopheles or I may be pliiin John

' Jones. but never mind who'l am. 1 know

something about the fold court in Seville—~”
Popsy Vanenearlv leaped. from his chair,
and if his .hands‘thad not clutched the arms
thereof he would have, landed in the middle
of the room in the spasm of excitement.
“ You’ye heard of Seville, it seems,”
inned .the stranger. ‘.."I- thought so.
hat’s not ,thevonly arrow I carry in m
.quirer' and I can hit the bull's-eye wit
every one" New, I guess we understand
you refuse a moment
lo or to "sell me what I want, by heavens!
I'll make it hotter than'Tartarus forgyou.”

 ' The old astrologer seemed to

S“ ,.

1%; allow. parchmentklike fac‘e‘gad turn-
ed'wh te. His hands were quivering on the
edge of the desk, and his breath came in
sh t; horrid gasps as he stared at the merci-
le' customer barely three feet away.

“ Quicki I can’t stay hereallnight as I’ve
told you. You are merchant'and I, am cus-
tomgr. , Let’s to business. Fetch out. your

00 s.” ' i
3 On one side of the little room were several
closed cupboards whichlwere locked.

, Behind Old, Popsy Were two book-eases on
1 ' W

ere to be found a lot of Old >,
' ‘ that
I l fiin‘mlnd, hevwasa‘t‘nan

h se'hacks denoted
lted '

cupboards, and the strange man followed
his look.

“ Some one must have told you,” the old
man began when the listener impatiently in-
terrupted him.

“ Never mind that; it’s immaterial. I am
here and that is sufficient proof that I know.
I don’t care for your secret. I only want
one of the little blue papers, and, what is
more, Iam going to stay here till I get it."

He seemed to have :suddenly changed his
mind, for a few moments before he had said
that he could not remain there all night, and
as he recalled this declaration Popsy smiled.

“I can’t sell anything without a guaran-
tee—"

“ Pishl” and the handsome fellow struck
the desk with his hand on which Old Popsy
saw a splendid diamond ring. "I give no
guarantee. I’m no chump.”

“ No, of course not, but—”

“ The package or death! That’s it. I
might have kept it back, but you know
now, old man. The pa; er or death, and
you’re not ready to shuffle oiI. Men of
your stamp never are.”

With another glance at his cool caller, Old
Popsy arose and crossed the room.
 l-Iis step was a. little tottering, but it was
from fright,

He was followed eagerly by the Well-
drcsscd man whose eyes got a look of wick-
ed triumph when they saw the old man open
one of the little cupboards with green glass
on the door.

” That Seville business caught him,” he
said to himself. “It was a trump card and
I knew it would fetch him if anything could.
He may have a skin as tough as a rhinocrros,
but the little stiletto I used punctured it."

‘By this time the old 'man had taken a
small box from the cupboard and was com-
ing back to the desk with it in his skeleton
hand.

He was strangely himself again and smiled
as he held it up a moment before resuming
his chair.

” It's the old potion, eh ?” inquired the
stranger, as he bent forward as Popy open-
ed the box.

“ Why, to be sure. Do you think I would
deceive you?”

From the box was lifted a neatly-folded
blue paper which was placed upon the table
and Popsy Vane turned to his caller.

“ Is it to be used in this city?” ,

“ No questions, no lies,” was the sentenu I
tious re'oinder. “ Sell me the little package '
and loo no further.”

Popsy Vane saw that he was dealing with
ape‘rfectly cool head and finally desisted.

He wrapped the package up in a plain
piece of paper and passed it over to his visi-
tor. '

“ How much ‘1”, ,

“ You ought to know the price since you
know so much." -

One of the white hands vanished for A 1110'.
ment and when it came back Old‘Popsy’S
eyes fastened themselves upo it. , '

“ All right. Here’s your price. ”
obliged besides. Good-night, Popsy.

Something had fallen upon the desk at the
old ,man‘s hand; butit was not money.

What it was caused a pair of eyes to bulge
out like swelled peas, and while the stream,
get with a Satanic: chuckle moved toward .
the door, Popsy sat in a half stupor with his .
gaze fixed upon what had dropped before.

him. , -- ,, 5: .-

He could have heard his customer «trampa
in down-stairs for he made noise’enough.)

IBut he did not. No, he heard nothing,
not even the roar of the street; he saw noth-
ing but the one littleobject on the desk
three links of a gold bracelet with a blood
red ruby in one of them. '

"M 'God, I’ve dealt with Satan i” cried
Olid opsy and immediately fell back in a .
fa nt.~ .

\

CHAPTER II.
V THE MURDERED MILLIONAIRE. ‘

NEAR One of the many entrancesto Cen-
tral Park stands a house with a history. ‘

The most unobserving at a glance we
pronounce it the home of one to whom w 1,
had come, as indeed‘it had. .,

Payson Esty was a‘ millionaith

Almostsixty. frail of body 

 

no

 

M; 

Shadowing the London Detective.

3

 

 

had reared as a home for himself and two
rhildren—he had been a widower for years~
lie saw but little of the busy life of the city,
and the most the neighbors saw of him was
his angular figure in the Park at dusk, strid-
ing along the well-graveled walks or reclin—
ing on one. of the settees with a settled look
on his face.

Therefore it was a sensation when New
York awoke one morning to see in the news-
papers that murder had been done in the ele-
gant house on the avenue, and that Payson
Esty’s millions had not saved him from the
hand of the assassin.

Kill a poor devil on the docks, or find a
poorly dressed body in the harbor, and the
affair gets but a line in the newspaper; but
kill a man with his millions, and columns are
devoted to it.

It was so with the killing of Payson Esty.

Those who had never seen the man de-
voured the accounts with morbid eagerness,
and the few who really knew him read them
again and a ain.

“ Found ead in his bedroom!”

This was a favorite line in the mornin
journals, for the murder had been discovered
before eleven at night, and the reporter had
got hold of the particulars in time to dish up
the usual account for the morning meal.

Payson Esty had two childen, as‘ has been
said, one, and the eldest, a son named Harold,
a good-looking youth of twenty, and not in
good health, and the other, a daughter,
Mora, very pretty. sensible, and with her
mother’s eyes and her courage.

It was the son who made the terrible dis-
covery.

The millionaire had retired at ten, as was
his wont.

At twenty minutes of eleven Harold went
up to his father’s room to see if he wanted
anything—he had been complaining of late—-
and on- opening the door he saw his father
sitting in his chair, with a wild and deathly
stare in his eyes.

Instantly suspecting the worst, but not
for a moment thinking of murder, Harold
rushed in to throw back his parent's head, to
discover that he had been cut in the neck.

His shirt-front was crimsoned with his
own blood, and everything, even to the son’s
superficial glance, told that not only niur-
der, but robbery had been committed. ’

Harold, before giving the alarm, with
much nerve looked through the room.

He pried everywhere, even into the draw-
ers which had evidently been ransacked by
the murderer; he searched his father's pockets
and looked among his private papers which
he found in an old-fashioned desk alongside
the wall.

After he was through} I-Iarold gave the
alarm.

Mora, thrown into a faint by the awful tid.
ings, came back to life with more nerve than
the neighbors thought she possessed.

The social position occupied by the Estvs
lent an additional interest to the red-handéd
deed“ ‘

It put two’ detectives in the house within
an hour of the discovery, and they had given
the scene ofthe murder an inspection thorough
enou h to merit the approbation of 9. Scot-
land order.

The inmates of the house were questioned
again and again.

Harold and his sister Mora knew nothing.
and the servants declared that they had seen
no stranger in the house.

Perhaps it was suicide, owing to ill-health.
but the children of the millionaire scouted
such an idea, and averred that the hand that
had killed was not the hand of the dead man,

Harold Esty was a pale youth who did not
seem to have his complement of blood. He
had been away for his health, and at the

, time of the tragedy had not been three weeks

_ at home.

The young man had gone away, as many
knew, on not very good terms with his
father; he had fallen in love with a telephone
girl named Hetty I-litts, but called by many
“ Hetty Hello.”

.She was pretty, vivacious and indus-
trious and supported a. widowed mother
on her earnings at the ’phone, and it was
said that, owing to the girl‘s Want of wealth,
though the famil was good enough, the
elder Esty had ha words with the son.

It was the morning after the tragedy and
7 all Gotham had read of it in the newspapers

 

when the door-bell of the Esty mansion
run”.

Harold went to the door himself and saw
before him a man rather good looking and
about thirtyiivc.

He looked a little Englishfied, and very
genteel, and Harold holding the door half
way open waited for him to state his busi-
ness.

The stranger pulled out a card which be
extended and Harold Esty glanced at it to
read:

“ JACK NODDLES, DETECTIVE,
“London.”

“ I do not belong to the city force,” ex-
plained Mr. Noddlcs with a bland smile.
“ Indeed I am not an American, as you may
have guessed by my face. I belong to the
London detective force and have seen a good
deal of service in Scotland Yard.”

Harold made a reply which assured Mr.
Noddlcs that being an Englishman did not
disparage him in his eyes.

“ I am glad of that. Some of your
countrymen have prejudices and I am
glad you are not so bigoted I have been iii-
formed botli by the newspapers and by
one of my detective friends in the city, of
the terrible tragedy which has deprived you
of a father. Trained to hunting my fel-
low—men and wrong~doers from boyhood,
and loving my calling, I have called in
the interest of justice, and would like to
look over the ground if you have no objec-
tions."

"Let the gentleman come in, Harold,
dear,” said a gentle voice behind the youth,
and as Jack Noddles came inside he came
face to face with Mora.

“ My sister, Mr. Noddles,” said Harold.

Jack Noddles tipped his hat and passed
with the brother and sister into the parlor.

There they talked the matter over for some
time when Harold volunteered to show the
London detective upstairs.

“ You have had detectives here already?"
said Noddles after a brief survey of the death-
chamber.

“ We have.
discovery.”

"I thought so. Your detectives work
peculiarly and I can see that they have been
here. \Vould you mind letting me have the
second floor to myself a few moments?”

it was a strange request and Harold seemed
to hesitate.

.“ You shall not have anything placed in
your way since you seem to take an interest
in this terrible ailair,” he remarked. ” i will
go down, and you will find me in the right-
hand parlor when you descend again."

IIarold Esty went down and rejoined Mora
in the darkened room.

“Where is the Englishman?" asked the
girl.

Harold explained.

“ You did not fear to trust him up there,
Harold?” she said.

"Why should i, Mora? Everything of
value is under lock and key and some of the
most valuable things I have taken over
to my own room. 1 do not think Mr. Nod-
dles understands the ways of our detec-
tives; but I am willing to let him try his
hand in this matter which so interests us and
the law."

Mora made no reply, but went over to the
window the curtains of which she parted,
half burying her figure in them and then
looked out upon the street.

Harold waited nearly thirty minutes for
the man up-stairs. He watched the stair-
case very closely and at last saw the figure of
Mr. Jack Noddles upon it.

“ You are ver kind," said Noddles, com-
ing into the par 01'. “I have to thank you
for your kindness, and, if I can, rest assured
I Will contribute my mite toward making
clear that which just now is so dark."

Brother and sister followed the London
detective to the door and in another moment
Noddles was walking toward the Park with
rapid strides. He vanished among the early
shadows there almost before Harold closed
the door.

The afternoon editions had but little addi-
tional news about the murder of the Avenue.

Some facts concerning Payson Esty's life
were brought to the front, and with a few
speculations, such \as are generally indulged

They came up soon after my

 

in on the occasion of a mysterious crime,
were made, and the reader turned to SOlllC‘
thing else—the races or the recent fall in
stocks. .

Night seemed to fall earlier than couiiiion.

The body of the (lead millionaire, over
which a brief inquest had been held, lay in
the library near his books and the house it-
self seemed as dark as a dungeon.

The authorities had taken the whole matter
in hand and several detectives watched the
mansion.

At eight o'clock the front door opened and
a figure came out. It paused a moment on
the stoop, long enough for its owner to draw
on a pair of black gloves, after which it start-
ed ninibly off and turned the first corner.

One of the men on guard knew that this
person was IIarold Esty, the (lead man’s
son.

IIis slender figure was faultlessly clad as
it ever was, ani any person who had ever
seen him would have recognized him even
under the lamps of New York.

One of the men on guard followed the
youth.

Whether or not he was suspected of any-
thing, he was watched like a hawk, and IIar—
old, unaware of this espionage, kept on until
he took a car which bore him down-town.

The man at his heels followed into the next
car on the same train and kept him in sight.

Harold buried himself behind anewspiiper
which he opened as soon as he entered the
car, and after riding for half,an hour he fold-
ed the sheet, nlighted and started off again.

Unintentionally and unknowingly he lost

his tracker or rather the hunter lost his
(lilfli’l‘f’.
Doi ging in and out of the crowds that
covered the pavements, young Esty made
his way to a street in the near vicinity of
Broadway and run into an open hallway.

It was a strange place for a niillioiiaire’s
son to be in, but he had business there, for
be bounded up the stairs that presented itself
and rapped at a certain door in the dim light
of a corridor.

“ Haroldl” cried a girl who opened the
door and then fell back with his name re-
pcated on her lips.

He entered and turned upon her as she
shut the door.

“ I have come at last—at last, IIetty.
You have heard—"

He stopped as if he could not trust his
nerves further.

“I could not help it, Harold,” said she.
“It came to me like the bursting of a thun‘
derbolt. I was at the ’phone in the office
when Mr. Besant was called up, and the per-
son who called him, eager to tell him what
had happened, told the secret—it was a se-
cret then—to me. I never was so shocked in
my life. Your father?"

llarold Esty said nothing for a moment.
He looked beyond the telephone girl to the
door and then back again.

“They have put detectives on the trail,
haven’t they ‘2" asked IIetty.

“ Of course, but the whole thing is so
mysterious—so terribly involved in clouds.
You see there is no clue—none at all."

“ But they must find one," exclaimed
IIetty l-Iitts, laying her hand on the young
man’s knee.

“ Of course they will tr .”

“They must succeed, say. They must
not stop till they have the threads inntheir
hands. Who have they employed ?”

“ I don't know. They came from the city
force.”

” You had no choice, then?"

"None."

“Then, you shall have. Harold. There
is one man whom you must see. You may
know him. I do. You won‘t like him as a
man,but he is apower: he never fails. He is
a queer man—a living mystery,as deep as any
the detectives encounter. You must go to
this man—my friend; you must employ Or-
son ()wlet, the Detective. You must go to-
night."

CHAPTER III. ‘;
CHARGED WITH THE CRIME.

HAROLD Es'rv looked at IIetty like one
amazed.

Her words had been uttered in a tone of
command and he looked at the fair girl as if
to say: “You seem to think that I have

 

‘ 4:

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

no rights since you order thus.” But he
presently said:

“ When (lid you meet this man?"

“ It is a long story and I want you to see
him as soon as possible,” was the reply.

"Orson Owlet? I never heard of him.”

“That is not strange. What have you
done that you should meet detectives? You
have never had any use for them till now,
and now you need this very man."

“Where does he live?"

Hctty took a card from the drawer of her
little work-table and handed it to him.

“ Here is his address. You are familiar
with the city and won’t have any trouble
finding him.”

“ Why is he called the Detective, Hetty?"

“ He is supposed to know everything
about crime and go straight to the mark, as
if he possessed supernatural powers.”

“ Is he an old man 7”

“’Rather, but as active as a young tiger-
cat. ’

“ I will see him, Hetty."

“ It must be to-ni ht—now. You must
lose no time. The and that struck the
blow in the little bed-chamber of our home
must be tracked at once, and b first such a
tireless man as Orson Owlet. on may not
like him; he is very queer and strange. He
isn’t liked by any one, yet he becomes a
friend as true as steel. You may trust Orson
Owlet. You may tell him the very secrets
of your soul, knowing that they will be as
safe in his kee ing as in your own. Go to
him, Harold. I) will not keep you here a
moment longer."

Thus almost forced from his sweetheart‘s
presence, Harold Esty found himself once
more on the streets.

“ Orson Owlet?” he thought. " It’s a

queer name, and Hetty gives me to under-
stand that its owner is "ust as queer. I
never heard of him, thougii I have seen the
names of a good many men connected with
the detective police of New York. He may
not be so connected—a ferret on his own
hook—and this may account for my not
knowin anything about him."
_ He d d not have to glance at the card
a sin, for he had made a mental note of the
a dress, but he took a car and was landed in
a little side street near Broadway, down
which he made his way to a plain building.

The number was above the door which
stood 0 en in the hallway.

Haro d seemed to hesitate in the semi-
darkness, but when he recalled his promise
to “ Hetty Hello " he went up the stairs and
rapped at a door bearing the number 11.

“ Come in," said a voice, and Harold
opened the door, walking in with firm step,
and his curiosity on the alert.

” Shut the door, please, and lock it. You
will find the key in the lock.”

Somewhat startled, the dead millionaire‘s
son did so and turned to the center of the
room.

It was not a large room; the furniture was
scant, but still sufficient. A table stood near
the middle of the apartment, and there stood
-——not sat—the man who had told him to lock
the door.

“ This must be Orson Owlet,” thought
Harold, with a close look at the man.

He was confirmed in his opinion the next
moment by the man, who continued:

“ Sit down, Mr. Esty. I will be ready to
talk to you in a moment.”

A strange thrill passed over the young
man's nerves.

The tall, strange man with the smooth,
sallow face and deep-set eyes of jet black-
ness had called him by name.

However, Harold took the chair nearest
the table, while the other person crossed the
room and opened a little cupboard set in the
wall. With a small packet in his hand, he
came back to the table, walking over the
carpetless floor without noise, and a moment
later he was on the other side of the table,
looking across it into Harold’s face, speech-
less and breathless.

“ You have come to see me on business?"
Orson Owlet said at last.

Harold replied in‘ the affirmative and with
a monosyllable.

“You have come to consult me in regard
to what happened at your house last night.
I have been expecting you.”

“ Expecting me?” cried Harold, falling
back. “_Then, Hetty—"

 

He thought a smile came for a moment to
the detective’s lips, but it must have been a
delusion, for it did not remain there.

“ Really, I don’t see how you could be ex-
pecting me when I never made up my mind
to see you till a few minutes ago.”

“ Of course not, but I knew you were
coming. Now that you are here we will
talk. You locked the door of course? That
was all right. You have just come down-
town?"

Harold nodded.

Orson Owlet, who looked like aman a trifle
past fifty, though it was difficult to tell his
exact age on account of his dark face and
black hair, let one of his long hands rest on
the edge of the table while he seemed to get
ready to question Harold.

The dead man’s son expected a regular
catechism on the subject of the tragedy and
he had come prepared to tell 0 1d Owlet
much.

But instead of the expected in uisition
came a question ~which made Harol smile:

“ Did young Mr. Bloodgood ever return
that loan ?"

Harold Esty gazed at Orson Owlet like a
man in a dream.

What had the question to do with the im-
portant one of Who killed the millionaire of
the Avenue?

Chuncy Bloodgood, a young swell, had
borrowed twenty dollars of him at a seaside
resort nearly three years before, and here
Old Owlet—Betty’s never failing detective—
was asking him about the almost forgotten
affair.

“ No, sir: he never thought of itafterward,
I uess,” said Harold. "I have quite lost
sig t of Chuncy Bloodgood and long ago
put that amount down in the loss column."

“I thought so. Well, you did right,
young man. Mr. Blood good will continue
to owe you; indeed, he was buried with
your account in his pocket.”

“ Buried ‘2" exclaimed Harold.

"Yes. Ithought you did not know it.
He changed his name. as he had too many
constables running after him, and he got out
of the world to get beyond their clutches.
But now We’ll proceed. You may tell your

sto ."

Harold saw Orson Owlet lean back in his
chair and partially close his dark, expressive
eyes.

“Begin at the beginning and tell me all.

I have the whole night for you. I don’t
know how much time you can devote to
me."
Hetty had spoken truly; this was a queer
man. Not on] this, but he had ways which
he (Harold, di not like. He did not believe
that he could ever wholly trust Orson
Owlet, however good a detective he might be.
He might find a clew where the best ferrets
had failed, but his dark face, so like a
a mummy’s his almost buried eyes and his
long, thin hands—those were the things
Harold did not, could not like.

Harold talked uninterruptedly for five min-
utes. In that time he went over the events
as he could narrate them. He told about the
finding of his father’s dead body in the arm-
chair; his fri ht thereat and his removal of
the most va uable documents to his owu
chamber where they then were safe from all
evil-minded persons.

01d Owlet listened without a word.

‘ “ Now about the quarrel?" said the detec~
t ve.

" The—the quarrel ?"

“ Yes, the tiff you had with your father
before on went off over the girl.”

Haro d flushed.

. “It wasn‘t much and 1 was forgiven on
my return. In fact I received a letter from
him asking me to come back.”

“ You have that letter, have you t”

“ I have.”

“ And the one you ot from the girl letting

ou know that your ather had a sick spei

n the Park the other night?”

“That letter—Hetty’s—more than any-
thing else hastened my return," said Harold.

Then before Old Owlet could speak again
the oung man asked:

“ 0 you know this man?" and be tossed
upon the table the card he had received from
Jack Noddles the London detective at the
door of his home.

One of the long, dark hands pounced up-

ml>v..-,;,‘ .v rvt_...'. H;

 

on it with the avidity of a vulture and it was:
lifted to the Sphinx-like face.

“ Was this presented in person?” came-
over the card.

“ Yes, that is, a person who called himself
Jack Noddles, gave it to me."

Orson Owlct's face seemed to change color
a little.

He looked at the card again and threw it
upon the table then arose and crossed the-
room to the little cupboard in the wall.

Harold watched him as he fumbled in it a
few seconds, at the end of which time he
withdrew his hand with a lot of scraps of
paper in his grasp.

Without Speaking to Harold, Owlet came
back to the table and silently went through
what he had captured in the wall cupboard.
He busied himself at this ten minutes, during:
which time a dead silence reigned in the
room, and even when he raised his head it
was not broken.

“ I wish you would help us,” said Harold.
“ I want you to hunt for the hand that slew
my father.”

“ Yes, yes.”

“ Hetty, to be honest, suggested that I
come to you. You know Betty ‘3”

“ The little girl who takes care of the
’phone?” the man’s face seemed to be illu-
mined with a sudden smile. “ Yes, I know-
Hetty. We are friends. She suggested it,
eh?"

“ She did.”

“ You would not have come here if she had!
not mentioned me?”

“ I did not know you—that is I did not
know where you were.”

Harold did not like to admit that he had)
never heard of Orson Owlet, the Detective.

“I will see that you lose nothing by your
work whether you succeed or not,” he went
on. “ I promise you that on shall be my
re resentative in all the p ases of this sad:
a air, and if you should not bring the guilty
to justice—for all acknowledge that it is a
very deep and dark mystery—why—”

The young man stopped and grew pale.
The eves of the old detective were fastened
upon him, and he may have gone too far.

“ There!
Est . You can 9:0 back now."

Ifirold arose without more ado and threw
a swift look toward the door.

“ You must put up with what comes.

whether good or bad,” continued Old Owlet. '

" You must take things as they come, I say.
Good-night. "

Was that all? Was this the way he had of
making bargains—of undertaking the great
criminal cases in which he had engaged so
often?

.Still holding the gathered scraps in one of
his hands, Orson Owlet conducted his visi-
tor to the door and unlocked it.

Their faces were very close together as
Harold crossed the threshold and it seemed:
to him that the deeply buried eyes pierced
him like an arrow.

“ I don’t believe Hetty knows anything
about this man," he said to himself midway
on the steps leading to the street. “ I
would like to know into whose hands I have

laced myself. He looks like a madman.

hat do the re ulardetectives think of him?
Do they reeogn ze him at all?"

He was on the sidewalk now and with
nothin more before him for the night, he
hurrie home.

To-morrow his father was to be buried
and after that—he dared not think of what
might follow.

He was on the step and the latch-key was
in his hand when a footstep sounded behind
him. He turned at once and saw a man
mount the steps.

“ You need not enter the house, Mr. Esty,"
said this man. “ We have a carriage just
around the corner. You are under arrest.
onu are, charged with taking your father’s
ll e.”

Harold staggered from the man who,
thinkin that he intended to open the door
and rus into the house. sprung after him
and his hand closed‘ on his arm. V

The young man with more strength than
he gave outward evidence of, shook him
loose and turned upon him with the suddenly
roused fury of a lion.

“ You don't know what you’ve said," he
cried.’ “ That's a bold charge and I resentit
now ’

m‘ t . .r,‘,-n.2 ‘. i‘ .‘lrv Hunts MHZ; .

I will see what can be done. Mr. '

 

 

 

 

Shadowing the London Detective. 5

 

 

The following moment there sprung out
from behind the nearest tree another man
who came up the steps at a single bound.

Harold was brought to bay against the
very door of his own home and the hands of
“the two men gripped his arms like a brace
of vises.

“ Come; don't give us trouble. It will
look bad, you know. It will prejudice peo-
ple against your case,” said one.

Harold Esty dropped his uplifted hands
at once.

At the same time he heard a suppressed
cry inside the house and then akey turned in
the door. ,

“Come,” said one of the officers to his
companion. “ It is the girl and we don’t
want a scene here. It can come later." and
Harold was escorted down the steps as Mora‘s
figure came into view.

Then he heard a loud cry, but did not turn
his head as he was marched toward the near—
est corner. __

CHAPTER IV.
THE SEALED SECRET.

THE mysterious death of the millionaire
occurred within seven days after Popsy
Vane’s interview with the strange man
who forced from him what he called a
“ uieter.”

‘he leathery-faced old man still occupied
the little room where he had lived for many
years, working his spells and making money
by the practice of what is known as the
“black art.”

It was his business to make money, and as
no one ever cared to look into his past, he
was left alone so far as the public and the
authorities were concerned.

More than once he had recalled the start-
lin scene between him and the cool visitor.

Who was he and, how did he know so
much?

Old Popsy had for proof that he had been
‘visited the three links of the bracelet with
ruby setting, and he now and then took
them from their hiding-place and looked at
them, but always behind locked doors.

Frightened somewhat by the visit of the
handsome cool-head, Popsy had done an-
other thing which he could put down on the
side of caution.

He removed the blue papers from the little
cupbard in the wall and alone in the room one
night, he destroyed every one, carefully rak-
in g together the ashes and burning them over
in the grate.

After this he fell to looking at the news-
papers, something he had never been guilty

‘of before.

He went over the death 'columns and
found out where the violent ones were re-
ported, and these he looked up with a great
deal of care.

Old Popsy was evidently trying to find
out if the “quieter ” had been put to work
and if so, upon whom?

He aiighted one morning on the murder of
Payson Esty. the millionaire, and read it
through, but seemingly with no great degree

of interest.

The night after the murder the old man
was alone in his room. His strange visitor
had not come back and he was hoping that
perhaps he had seen the last of him.

He remembered his fine face and dark eyes;
he recalled his admirable poise of figure as he
threatened him, and even seemed to hear the
tones in which he had mentioned the name of
the old Spanish city—Seville.

Popsy Vane heard a footstep in the cor-
ridor outside and it approached his door.
There it stopped and he looked toward the
portal as he waited for the knock.

By and by it came. a little nervous like——
three raps in succession.

The old' man opened the door in person.

The light of his lamp fell upon the figure
of a woman and Popsy Vane fell back with
a, puzzled countenance.

“You are alone?" said the female. enter
ing, with a veil over her face. “ I am glad
of that; have been lurking like a thief down-
stairs for l was almost sure I heard some one
up here."

“No one has been here, madam,” replied
Popsy, trying to get a look beneath the
veil which he could not do. “I have been
alone for an hour."

“No one came here awhile ago? That’s
queer."

“You may have heard some one in an-
other part of the building. I’m not the only
tenant.”

“Of course not. You’d have a great deal
of room if you were. He came bustling down
and put on his shoes at the foot of the stairs
—at least I thought he did.”

Old Popsy started.

"Put on his shoes?” he echoed.
was he like?”

“Short, but as quick as a cat, and you
may be sure that I didn’t let him see me—
not for the world.”

" It’s strange, dyet not so very strange,’”
answered the 01 man after a brief pause.
“ We have some odd characters in this
building, and I don’t iretend to know much
about any of them. 'ou have come to see
me, madam?”

“ Would I be here if I hadn‘t? I guess I’ll
remove this if you can assure me that we are
not observed."

The thin, dark hand of the old astrologer
was waved toward the door.

“Perfectly safe,” said he. “Sit down.”

The following moment the woman threw
back her vail, revealing a singular face mid-
way betwen good looks and homeliness. It
was the face of a woman past thirty, yet
still this side the fortieth mile-stone.

Her hands were gloved, yet Popsy could
see that the wrists were delicate and very
white.

“ Do you cast a horoscope if the person is
not present?” she asked.

“ I try to, madame.’ ’

“ I can give you the points. I have his
name, date of birth and so on.”

“ It'sa little better to have the subject
here, but if that is impossible, why, I pro-
ceed without him."

“ That’s good. In this instance it's ab-
solutely impossible to have the subject
here,” she smiled as she spoke. “Do you
want the data written out?"

“ You are going to wait for the horoscope,
are you?"

“Oh, yes. Will it take long?"

“An hour, perhaps.”

“ I'll wait, of course.”

She reached across the table and drew to-
ward her a writing pad; then she leaned
over it and began to write, Old Popsy look-
in on with a good deal of interest.

I-Ie waited for her to conclude her work,
after which he took possession of what she
had written and examined it in the light of
his shaded lamp.

“ You know this man?” he said, without
looking up.

“I want to know what is to become of
him and where he is just now.”

“ I’m no trailer, woman.”

“Then they lie on you," and the lips of
the speaker came together with emphasis.

“ That’s not strange. This man is not
your friend.”

She smiled again.

“ He is dangerous to you and you fear
him.”

No answer.

Old Popsy’s hand was running back and
forth over the lines which had been traced
on the sheet.

“You have a right to fear this man. So
has every evil door.”

Her lips fell apart in a slight gasp and her
,eyes became riveted upon the old man.

“ You can go on," she said, steadying her-
self by catching hold of the table. ” I am
prepared to hear anything."

Popsy Vane looked up, the first time he
had done so since taking possession of the
the paper.

“This man is very near you.”

“In New York?"

“ In New York."

"Who is he and what is he? Where is he
to be found. and does he live alone?”

Old Popsy seemed to retreat within him-
self like the head of a turtle.
> “ You and your friends don’t want to cross
this man’s path—not while the present planet
rules the earth. You must keep in the back-
ground."

“Then, you think hc knows—~"

She checked herself and seemed to fall
{ back from the table. Her loved hand left
the oilcloth, and she looke across it at the
old man on the other side. i

“ But where is he? Tell me this and I'll
do the rest. Show me where this man lives

“What

 

 

and I’ll see that he becomes less dangerous.
\Vhat is he now ‘2”

“You know what he has been.”

“ Yes, yes; I know.”

“Madame, there are secrets of the stars,
which cannot be revealed within these
walls,” answered ()ld l’opsy, solemnly " I
dare not break the compact I made with the
powers of the other world. You cannot
know what this compact ‘was, and I cannot
tell you.”

“ But the whereabouts of this man? You.
have not finished his horoscope, but on
have gone far enough in that direction.
You say that he is in this city, but you etc
there—right at the most important part. t
is cruel. I came here to find out something
about him, but you torture me.”

" You can avoid him.”

“ But I want to know how to do this. I
must be forearmed. You don’t want me to
run against him unawares?”

“No, but his name and what he is must
remain the secret of the stars."

Old Popsy’s visitor bit her lip till it red-
dened.

“If you cannot reveal the secret in this
room, seal it up for me,” she went on.
" Surely that would not be breaking the
compact." ‘

“You are ingenious,” smiled the old man.
“You are bound to wrest the secret from
me."

"I must have it!"

Popsy Vane opened a drawer and took out
a little envelope almost as thick as paste
board. From this, in turn, he drew a card,
upon which he wrote a moment, narrowly
watched by his caller.

“It shall be as you say. You will not
open this until you get home—J‘

“You shall be obeyed to the letter. It
shall not be opened till I am home.”

The envelope had been scaled and a drop
pf green wax glistened on the white sur-

ace.

“ Thanks. What do I owe you?"

Old Popsy leaned across the table, his
deep-set eyes fastened upon her.

“Not a dollar, madame. I don’t rob wo—
men like you.”

‘ Women like me?” she exclaimed half in-
dignantly. “ You don’t mean to insinu-
ate-”

“ Bless you, no,” put in Popsy Vane.
“ Last of all would I rob you, you see."

“ Very well," she did not seem to care to
press him for his reasons. “ You Will hear
from me again, perhaps. The secret is safe.
Not to be opened till I am at home? Con-
sider it safe, please."

She arose and opened the door, watched by
the old man with his serpent-like eyes.

In another moment she was gone and the
astrolo er was alone once more in the little
room. t was as still as death now and in the
silence he heard the pit-a-pat of his visitor's
feet on the stairs.

As for the woman, she reached the street
with the sealed secret in her bosom. She
looked carefully around her and started off.
No one had seen her, for which she was
thankful, and in a little while she wasa long
distance from the old man’s haunt.

“ I told him that I would be successful,"
she said half aloud to herself. “ I was sure
thatIcould get it out of him if he really
knew his art. It is our secret at last, and if
this man is in the city, as Popsy says, we
will find him!"

Ten minutes later 'she let herself into a
house with the aid of a latch-key, and pass-
ing through a hall she opened a door and
stood face to face with a man who had just
left a chair.

“ See! I have it!" she exclaimed, snatching
forth the sealed secret and holding it up to
his gaze. “l told you that 1 would wrest
it from the old man 1f he held it, and here it
is! ‘

" He has scaled it in one of his mystery
envelopes, has he ‘2”

“Yes; he would give it to me no other
way. Where is Jack?"

“He is out. "

" And Harvey?"

“Out, too; but break the seal and see
what the old humbug says."

It took a knife to open the thick envelope
and the woman with her eyes apparently on
fire unfolded the paper found inside.

The man, who was handsome, with_a full

.3)

., ,{l-j
t V:.,‘}

   

 I'm; ‘   btectve.:r ,1

   

 

 

    
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
    
  
   
 
   
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
   
  

black beard of silken softness, looked over
her shoulder.

“That man our man?" he cried with a
‘ glances “ Impossible!”

“Old Popsy Vane, the mysterious, says
so. If he is Dunbar Vivier and takes the
 trail all is lost!” and the two in silence read
 and re-read the name Old Popsy Vane had
" ‘ traced on the- magic paper:

. “ Onsou OWLET, Shadower,
“ 119 R——— street, City.”

“ I won’t believe it yet!” cried;the black-
bcarded man. -

CHAPTER V.
A new FROM THE BLUE.

THE arrest of Harold Esty spread like
wild-fire.

It was in the nature of a surprise to the
.city, and, comin as it did on the heels of
the tragedy of tie Avenue, it possessed a.
startlin interest for all who heard it.

Old wlet heard of it in an unexpected

’ .manner, for within an hour of its occurrence
he was startled to see Hetty Hitts the tele-
’ phone irl at his door.

Her ace was white and her eyes showed
traces of the excitement that controlled her.
She sprung into the room and to the table
I where the old ferret sat. .

"He saw you, didn’t he?" she cried. “ He
engaged you to work upon the dark case and
now they have arrested him!”

' “Mr. Harold Esty?" quietly asked Owlet.

«c ' “Harold! They have him' in the toils

T and it is an outrage! He was almost home

-—-in fact, was on the ste s—«when they

. . seized him. He sent me wor —it’s a wonder

, they let him do it—but he sent me word of
his arrest—"

‘3“ And told you to come to me, eh?"

“ No,” answered Hetty, somewhat quieter.
“ He knew I would do that anyhow.”
g - Orson Owlet sat unperturbed in his chair
and studied the pretty and intelligent face
' before him. .
.A  “ You don’t for a moment believe him
lty?" she cried, out. disturbed ,by his si-
nce. “ It is impossible!” ,
~ '1 *f What does he say?”

1“ I have heard nothing.”

"‘5 But he sent you a note?” and the dark
hand of the old ferret came across the table
for the letter.

“It was very brief,” responded Hetty,
1drawing a crumpled note from her pocket.
“ You see they must have cut off his time or
V he would have written more.”

’ Old Owlet took the note, straightened it
: out; and read:

1533's”:—
 flélhave been arrested for that dreadful
V crime. 'Don’t let it trouble you.

v ‘ , “HAROLD.”

"1".It'is brief, sure enough,” smiled the de-
looking up a ant. “In fact, it
A  be shorter. till, he might have

    
      
     

  

, “ That he was not guilty?” put in the girl
h ashudder. “No use for him to do
that when he never committed the c ime. I
mldn’tbelieve it, no matter what e might
have” Written. ” _ ' -
- "Who brought the note to you ‘2” r
'f A. messenger belonging to the detective
tome.” . ,, , .
- [The note was thrown back upon the table
' mdeetty picked it up. -
' “It’s a conspiracy!" she exclaimed. with
flasht‘iéfiaof her deep, dark eyes. “ He is
the. , thrown there by some one who
kamn'tstoruin [both of us. All this is plain

. 9  opinion Orson Owlet said nothing,
 his hand aeroes the table-
'fibth'imopthing out a wrinkle which Betty’s

Noyes had not seen.
, f‘ 911er my friend, Mr. Owlet?" said the

 V, You know that without ask.
I as 'Barold so, and, that is why he

 you. We are going to rely .on
 ‘ ‘ K 1 ' ' I §
' _e old man for a moment made no refply;
WW  byHetty'in alliance

  

  
  
  

  

 
 
 

i.

 
  

    

 
 
 
 
  
 

  
   
  

   
 
 

 

“ Girl, there must be some reason for this
arrest. Do you think they would take him
without suspicion?”

She started with a slight scream.

“ You can't mean that! No, you can’t
insinuate that they can have good grounds
for arresting Harold for the death of'his own
father."

“ There was a quarrel, Hetty.”

“Over me? 1 know that. He told me
all about it and showed me his father’s letter
in which he was asked to come home. Oh.
that little difficulty was settled before Harold
came back.”

“ But they may not know of the settles
meet.”

Hetty seemed to reflect a moment, then
her face brightened.

“ That is true——they may not have heard
of it. But if that is all Harold will clear
away the clouds in a little while for he has
his father’s letter. That would do it, you
see ”

Orson Owlet slightly inclined his head.

“I am sure of it,” continued Hetty,
chattiugly. ” Why, bless you, Mr. Owlet,
Harold will clear away every sign of sus-
picion and he will then turn on the villains
who have him in their net for the time being.
01' course you will take the trail as he has
engaged you, while he proves his complete
innocence at the preliminary hearing. When
will that take place?”

“ Probably today,” was the reply.

“It must. Harold shall not linger behind
the bars like a common criminal. I do not
feel like going on duty this morning, but I
will have to take my place at the ’phone
just as if nothing had happened.” ‘

“You have not seen Miss Mora, his sis-
ter?” ‘

“ No,” with a start.’ “ I will see her,

though, for she must be distressed over this
new trouble. Now, Mr. Owlet, We will look
to you for help. You teld me once—it was
after I had done the little favor, you know—
they found you on the street near my board-
ing-house—that Icould call on you at any
time for assistance? I have never needed
any till now and both Harold and I need it
very much." _ r-
“I shall keep that promise,” said Orson
Owlet, with some show of feeling which, as
a. rule, was foreign to his nature. “Your
employers should let you off to-day, but I
dare say theywill not.”

“I shall not ask them to," returned the
girl with a slight toss of her head as she
went to the door. “ We shall have good
news from Harold before night.” ’

“ 1 don’t know about that,” ejaculated Old

’Owlett as the door closed on Betty Hitts's

trim figure and he heard herbdots on the
stairs.

blue may be .lost entirely before the, storm
blows over.” ‘ ,

He went [back to his table while Hetty
Hello proceeded toward her station, passing
through. the sunlight of the city jostled here
and there by those who did not know, her.

“That’s the* girl,” whispered one of two
men who had seen Hetty emerge from the
hallway leading to Orson Owlet’s rooms.
“ You won’t lose her, Harvey ?”

“ Not for a moment,” was the re ly and
the next moment the man called, arvey
started after Hetty whom he kept in sight,
no matter how " many corners she turned nor

how fast she tripped along. I

“Hartey ” ‘was 'a ‘ man blessed with good
looks and a trim, neat ii are, well-clad in the
latest fashions. His ace was ruddy in

color and a black mustache Set jauntily un-.

demeath his nose, while his eyes seemed to
sparkle with eagerness as they took in every
thing alon the street. - ' '

.He trac ed “Hett Hello ” to -the little
ofllce in which she too care of the telephone,
answering all sorts of messages in the course
of the day 'andrsometimeswfor extra pay—far
into the night. ‘ ’ . "

Her employers were brokers- who did a
large business near Wall street and Hetty
knewas much about the rise and fall of
stocks, bulls- and bears._.puts and calls as'the
best informed broker in the‘cit' . , .
“Harvey,” curling his wel oilednaus-
tame. hudtdmedtack, from thevofl‘lce after
seeing Bettyis:ngure..throu h a window as

W‘ 3143 ha ‘  ‘

 

  

    
    
 
   

he. ,y‘ 3
finalist

 

“If I am not mistaken, this is but
one of the clouds now in the sky, and the‘

' office work will soon finish her, but perhaps

I in the

 

,  Wheel-oi"
9;?

expression, turned quickly and went back 
over the same ground. 
_ “ We know where she nests during the
day and that’s something," he remarked to
lmuself. “Now we can go to work and
play the other cards. I‘ll go ‘back and see
how the Captain‘s coming on and whether
Carmel has succeeded in doing anything.”

He half crossed the city to run up a num—
ber of steps and to enter a certain house with
a pass-key.

.-\s be entered a parlor he threw his hat:
'across the room and dropped upon a sofa
covered with crimson. plush.

“ So you’re back,” said a voice as the door
swung wide and a woman came in. “ You
weren’t here to hear my report.”

d “No. I’ve just come in. What did you
0?"

“ I found out something. Look at this!"

A card was flipped toward him and he
clutched it as it fell into his lap.

“ You don‘t mean to tell me that this is
the old bloodhound—the man we’ve lost?”
he cried, looking over the card at the woman;
who stood motionless in the middle of the
room.

“ That is the news I brought home.”

“ From the leather-faced man of mystery ‘6‘
It's a wonder he told you."

“But he did, for you hold in your hand?
the very card he gave me. Popsy Vane, the
old charlatan, gave me that name and. as-
sured me that the stars—” ‘ .

“ To Tartarus with such rigmarolel" put
in the cool sport. “ Idon't take much stock
in all this. But if he is in the city—if that
is the right man and he a detective—with all
his wits at work, why, the sooner we know
it the better. Carmel, eh?” '

“I told Boyd so.” j I

“ By the way, where is Boyd?” '

Harvey Hawk—such was the man’s name
—sent a swift glance round the room. .

"He may be in soon, or we may not see ,‘ .
him again till after dark. You have heard 
of the arrest ?”  ‘»

“ All New York knows that now. I saw ‘ ’
Jack besides and got it'fresh from him.” :

,‘iYes, from Jack.- He is as cool as ever
and plays his part well. There is onlyone
man capable of beating him at his game."

“Orson Owlet?” asked Harvefi, glancing
at the card which\he still held in is hand.

The imperious-looking woman nodded.

Harvey drew a chair up to the elegant
table in the middle of the room, lifted an or"
namented pipe from the mantel filled it and. -
be an to Smoke. . '

eelevated his heels upon the cloth and!
blew smoke-rings toward the ceiling, while
the woman, probably used to such actions,
turned away and left him to himself.

“ The girl’s deuced pretty,” mused the:
smoker. “31 wonder where the young cha
picked her up. Get as trim a figure as ever .
saw and a step as light as a gazelle's. She
stands by him, no doubt. I belieVe she’s the
prettier of the two, but Great Caesar! sh‘eé‘ ~.
hasn’t got the money the other one has. That" v ,

 

m... ago-'2...“ “F51. ,

.. . ~40; gun—o “a; v

. mummy-n3,

 

 

 

 
     
      
    
       
     
       
   
       
       
         
    
          

the young man thought to take her out soon,
now that the old gentleman is out of the
way. I Jack says he said but little, but went.
with them as quiet as a lamb. ' Ah, give me ,
Jack for a game like that; now,'if this shadow : ' r
doesn’t interfere— By heavens! he shall not."
That will never do. Orson Owlet, oh ‘1‘ '
That's not the name he used to bear; neither I
is " Popsy Vane” the cognomen its present v
wearer used torejoicein.’ ‘ '* '. I ‘, s ‘
The handsome occupant of the garlor 1
laughed in almost boisterous tones an "that
when no one was near to him, and than, I“?
fell to smoking quietly and ‘in seeming medi- 1 ‘
tation. v " .
At almost the same hour in another part of
the city HettyHitts, thinking over thestart»
lin events 0 the last few'hours, h ard the ' '

cal on the telephone ‘and went over attend
that Barlo‘w & Barlow’s oflice?"
“ Not particulars It’s. ‘Stickney",that’of 
“' If you :please,’sir?”

to it.‘ r .  T
“ Hello?" came through the ’phone. ' “  p.
“Yes,” answered, the girl. , "'Do you ' I

want to see Mr. Barlow ?” ‘

talking,-'—at the Club. ' I have a bit of'newa

for him. ‘Is it his ’phOne girli’v’ l
“ All right. , There’s another-s

trams!“ ‘ T _

  
      

   
  
     
  
  
   

  

 

 
  
 
 
 

at!

 

Shadowing the Iiondon Detective. '7

 

 

lletty Hello held her breath.

“ I‘m listening,” she said atlast.

” Very well. Beg pardon; a friend want-
ed to talk to me a moment. The young man
—IIttl‘Olli Esty, who was arrested last night
for the crime—absolutely refuses to answer
two questions. lleadmits now that he quar—
reled with his father about a girl—not So.
cially his equal—but cannot produce the let-
ters which he says his father wrote him for-
giving him. Then, he utterly refuses to ex—
plain away—if he can—the presence of the
dagger which was [found in his room this
morning.”

Iletty Ilitts heard no more; she staggered
back from the instrument with a tei'rilicdery
and sunk limp and white into her chair.

The telephone message was like a bolt from
the blue.

 

CHAPTER VI.
OLD owmc'r’s nY-i-LAY.

TIIE startling telephone message was cor-
rect; Harold Esty had utterly refused to ex-
plain, if he could, the presence of a dagger
concealed in his room.

It had been discovered there since the mur-
der by a man who had searched the house,
and this was none other than Jack Noddles,
the London Detective.

The New York ferrets were somewhat
cliagrined over the Briton’s find though they
admitted that they had not given the young
man’s room a very thorough search.

The dagger had been found at the bottom
of a drawer in the bureau, deftly concealed
underneath a lot of linen on which several
minute blood-spots were to be seen.

The dagger and the stained linen had been
taken to the station where Jack N oddles
handed everything over to the authorities,
saying that, being in America and with some
time on his hands, he had become interested
in the Avenue crime and had undertaken to
see if aclew could be found.

Harold seemed dumfounded over the ter-
rible discovery, and when shown the dagger
on which were stains like dried gore lie re-
fused, as has been said, to even try to explain
how it came in the drawer.

Mora, thunderstruek by the find, declared
that she had never seen such a weapon in
her brother's possession, and went so far as
to say she did not believe that the blade be-
longed to Harold.

“You quarreled with your father over a
girl?” said the inspector to Harold.”

“ I did,” was the prompt confession.

“It was ashow of passion on each side,
wasn’t it?"

“ We had hot words; perhaps I said the
most.”

“ Well?”

“ Father wrote me to come home, saying
that we should not fall out over such things,
and I returned the day after receiving that
letter.”

.“ Which you have, no doubt?"

“ It is in my room under lock and key.”

Harold willingly furnished the key and an
ofilcer was sent after the letter.

An hour later the officer returned, saying
that he had opened the drawer said to con,
tain the communication and had searched it
thoroughly Without finding it.

Harold heard this news with a start.

He turned _pa]e a moment and then his
face flushed like a person about to resent
a wrong; but be said nothing.

“ The letter, as on have heard Mr. Mar-
tin say, cannot be ound. Is it possible that
your sister Mora has it ‘2”

“ It is impossible,” exclaimed Harold.
“ My sister does not look through my private
papers.”

“Are you sure that you placed it in the
drawer which Mr. Martin searched ‘2”

“ It was there the last time I saw it."

The ins eetor reflected a moment and then
turned to arold again.

‘f Do you deny that you owned the dag er
which was found in the bureau ‘2" he asked.

“ I refuse to answer such questions. I re-
fuse to pay the least attention to them.”

It was from this reply that the gentleman
who had called up Hetty Hitts, in the office
of Barlow & Barlow, sent over the line the
message which had felled the girl like the
blow of a clinched fist.

I Jack Noddles turned from the prisoner

 

and walked across the little room of the sta-
tion.

The London Detective seemed to have a
far-away look of satisfaction in his eye, and
he did not look around again until after
llarold had been led away.

“ Mr. Noddles," said the inspector, ‘you
are going to remain in the city till after the
conclusion of this investigation, aren't you?”

“ I feel it a duty to remain," replied Jack.
“I am wanted across the water, but I shall
not go as long as this matter is unsettled.
While I believe that I have struck the right
trail, I am aware that people have been the
victims of conspiracies; but the way this
thing looks, the young man yonder is in a
very bad box."

The inspector made no reply, and Noddles
walked out of the building.

He had barely reached the sidewalk when
a man who had been standing in the shadow
of the police station came into view and fol-
lowed him.

He was a person evidently about fifty.
with a short, grayish beard, a quick step and
a good eye.

If he had been waiting for Jack Noddles
to emerge from the station he did not reveal
it by his look. He seemed to have been
lounging in the neighborhood, waiting for a
job of some kind, and tracking genteel Jack
Noddles seemed to be just the thing.

Jack, whistling a low air, started off, and
was followed some distance by the man, who
kept him in sight all the time. He was a
good tracker, knew just how to avoid being
seen, and when Jack entered a quiet place
some six squares from Mulberry street he
was still watched.

The London Detective remained about ten
minutes in the building when he came out
in a different suit and walked off again,

He wasn‘t followed this time.

The man who had watched him came up
to the entrance of the building, and saw on
the inside of the hall, and just above the
foot of the staircase the sign: ” Lodgings for
Single lentleincn.”

Up the stairs he went and knocked at a
door upon which the sign was duplicated.

A middle aged woman with a cap on her
head stood in the doorway and the caller
said at once:

" You rent rooms to single gentlemen, I
see.”

“ That is when we have them to rent.
Sometimes, you understand, we are full and
can’t accommodate our callers.” ’

“Of course. How are you fixed now?”

“I have one empty i'0oin. It was vacated
day before yesterday. The gentleman who
had it has left the city and I have it for the
next renter."

“Can I see it?"

Certainly; Mrs. Larrigan would be too
glad to show the room, as it was one of the
best on the premises, and accordingly she
conducted her would-be patron to it.

It was a nice, light and airy room on the
next floor, and the price was not extorticnate.
The gentleman looked it ever, made a few
remarks about the neat condition, saying
that the last renter was not hard on pro-
perty, which the landlady graciously con-
firmed, and ended by taking the apartment.

He gave his name as Cyrus Delafield, and
said in an off-hand manner thathe was doing
business on Eighth avenue and that he want-
ed a room where he would not be disturbed
at night.

“When will you begin?" asked Mrs.
Larrigan.

“ To night.
hope.”

“ All are respectable people.”

“ No musical prodigies or anything of
that kind?”

“ No, sir. The gentleman beneath you is
an Englishman who sometimes plays the
flute, but in a low, meditative key which I
am sure will not disturb on."

“No, of course not. like music which
is not pitched in an ear-splitting key, and I
can play the flute a little myself.”

“That is good.”

“ The gentleman is English, I believe you
said?”

“ At least I think so. I came from the
South of England myself, though my name
would indicate that I have Irish blood in my
veins, which I confess to; and I think I can
pick out my countrymen every time. Mr.

I

You have all quiet lodgers, I

 

Costerman, I am quite sure, is an English-
man though I have never asked him. He
isn't here every night, as he explained he
would not be when he took the room. Some-
times he is out of the city for days at a time,
but he pays all the same and never asks for
a reduction on the ground of absence."

(‘yrus llelatield made no furl her inquiries
concerning the man on the lower floor but
bade Mrs. liarrigan good-by and wvnt outre-
peating the information that he would in all
probability take possession of the room that
night.

Mrs, liarrigan, delighted, returned to her
room and gave the new roomer credit for ten
dollars ofadvant-e rent while (,‘yrus llelnlield,
striding oVer the warm pavements of(lotliain,
plunged into another part of the city.

He landed in ()rson ()wlet‘s room where he
drew a chair up to the table after which he
quietly removed the heard he wore, return-
ing to his old face with its strange lines and
dark colors.

He made an entry in a little book which
he took from his pocket and then placed in a
small cupboard in the walk which he had
revealed by the simple task of touching a
button.

“Old Owlct, the Detective, was playing a
quiet hand all his own, and for some time he
sat looking out the window and down u on
the busy street like a man absorbed in re ec-
tion.

\Vas he waiting for night so as to go back
and carry out his promise with his new land-
lady? Was lie eager to enact still further
the rule of Cyrus Delatield‘l orwas he secret-
ly rejoicing over the success of the game he
had inaugurated that day?

His face revealed nothing: it never did; it
was the face of the Sphinx so far as reveal-
inent went, and this strange man whom few
knew and with whom no one was on inti-
mate terms, kept his secret with the greatest
care.

Perhaps he knew that Ilarold Esty had re-
fused to tell the story of the dagger; that the
letter which he had said had been placed in
the drawer could not be found; but whether
he knew oriiot, he gave forth no sign.

IIetty llitts, rendered nervous by the shock
of the message intended for her employer‘s
ears, did not come to see Orson Owlet again
that day.

If she had called she would have found
the old detective at home; but she went home
from the oilice soon after her faint and re-
mained there with her mother.

Mother and daughter had no secrets from
each other. Ilettvy told her all about the
message, adding that Harold was the victim
of a conspiracy, but immediately brightening
up as she added that ()rson Owlet would find
it out if any one could. ‘

“I would like to call on Mora, but I dare
not," said the girl. “ We have never met,
and you know, mother. that Iain, in part,
the innocent cause of llarold's misfortunes.
That quarrel between father and son, and all
on my account, has helped to place him
where he is and Mora may hold resentment
against me. Iwould like to go to hermnd
it really is my duty so to do; but I cannot——
not now at least.” - ‘

Night came, finding Hetty at the window
looking out abstractedly with her mother
covertly and sympathetically regarding her,
her only child.

All at once the telephone girl sprung up
and fell back from the window with a cry.

Mrs. Hitts rushed across the room, bc~
lieving that Hetty was about to faint, but
she steadied herself and even smiled as her
mother came up.

“ It was that man again i” said she.

“ What man, child ‘2"

” I did not tell you, did 1? Well, this
morning I saw a man looking up at me from.
the street. Something then seemed to tell

'-

me that he must have followed me to the ,

office and perhaps from the dctective’s
room. He is dressed exactly as he was this
morning, and when I saw him just now he
seemed to have singled me out again.”

“Where is he?" and Hetty's mother went
to the window and parted the curtains.

“ He may be gone now," said the girl.
“But he was looking straight at me like an
enemy. Such eyesi-l could see them even
by the light of the lamp out there. You.
don’t see him, mother?” ‘

“ No, child.”

 
   

8

no

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

lletty took a long breath of absolute relief
and went back to the window herself.

“ He is gone now. He was right out there.
Mother, that man means evil and he may be
against Harold and me."

“ You must he on the lookout when you
go back to the 'phone tomorrow."

The telephone girl shuddered as she drop-
ped the curtain and came back to her chair
near the table.

CHAPTER VII.
THE PEEP-HOLE lN 'rnn Fmoa.

IT was seven o’clock when Old Owlet as
Cyrus Delafield with a good sized grip ar~
rived at the residence of Mrs. Larriganhouse-
keeper. intending to take formal possession
of the room.

He thought best to go to the lady’s door
first and let her know that he had arrived on
the premises. and he found her all smiles as
she assured him that the room had been put
in apple-pie order and she was sure he would
like the new quarters.

Orson ()wlet made himself at home at once
by placing his grip in the wardrobe after
taking out a few necessary articles of useful-
ness, Mrs. Larrigan remained long enough
to note that he was an old roomer when she
bade him good-night and withdrew.

If the good lady had not been a widow
living alone, she might have told her hus-
band that the new roomer was a confirmed
bachelor, as she had seen them before; as it
was, she had to keep the secret all to her.
self which, being loquacious, she very much
regretted.

in a little while odors of tobacco came
into the hall from over the transom of Dela-
fleld‘s room, as if the new tenant was cele-
brating the event by a good smoke, and this
again confirmed Mrs. Larrigan's observa-
tions that he was both a bachelor and a nice
gentleman.

The housekeeper sniffed the smoke and
after awhile rapped lightly at the detective’s
door.

It was opened at once and she said, beg-
ging Old Owlet's pardon. that he would not
be treated to the concert that night."

“ The concert, did you say, madame?"

“ Yes, the flute, you know. I mentioned
the fact that the roomer under you was an
Englishman who sometimes played.”

“ So you did. I was hoping that perhaps
1 might hear him tonight. I shall be disap-
pointed 1 am sure."

” He dropped in a moment ago to say that
he was going out of town—he goes quite of-
ten—and that I needn‘t look after the room
till he returns. I dust it you know.”

Owlet repeated that he was sorry the con-
cert was not to materialize, but hoped to be
treated toit beforclong, whereupon Mrs. Lar<
rigan went back.

The house grew silent at last, even the
housekeeper seemed to have retired.

The nearest clock had just struck eleven
when the door of Old Owlet’s room opened.

There crept forth the man of secrets and
trails and moved toward Costcrman's cham-
ber. He went down-stairs without noise and
at the foot of the flight stopped and listened.

Not a sound reached his ears save those
that came in from the street, and after awhile
he crept toward the door, where he stopped
again.

The shadower must have suspected the
man who roomed there as Costerman for in a
short time he stood in the chamber with the
door shut softly but surely behind him.

He saw that the blinds were open a little
and that astreak of light came in from the
street; he noticed that the furniture was dis-
posod pretty much as it: was in his own room,
only two chairs instead of one were drawn
up to the table that stood in the middle of the
apartment, showing that Costerman at times
had a visitor.

The detective took in everything and ad-
vanced toward the table, which was a very
common affair, with an oil»cloth and two
drawers.

Not an article of wearing apparel greeted
his rovin eye and the excursion he made to
the war robe did not reward him very
much.

Costerman was not a man with many
changes of arments, for but parts of two
suits hung in the wardrobe, and into the

    

~ I

 

several pockets of these the long fingers of
Old Owlet searched.

He found in one of the drawers a flute of
such peculiar workmanship that he carried it
to the light and examined it closely.

It was a black flute, well polished and
worn, and tipped in several places with sil-
ver. showing that it had been at one time an
expensive instrument.

This was the instrument to which Mrs.
Larrigan had referred, and for a second the
leathery face of the veteran detective showed
a smile as he turned the flute over and over
in his hands.

“I shall have to drop in and hear my
neighbor,” thought ()wlet, replacing the
flute. “ He has a treasure in this flute and.
according to Mrs. Larrigan he knows how to
coax music from it.”

Nothing in the little room escaped the de-
tective s eye. He went over it with the skill
of the true ferret, handling many things
with care and replacing them with the
same pains. He picked up nothing'with»
out first noting how it was lying, and when
he had put it down not a single particle of
dust had been disturbed, thanks to his keen
eye and long silken fingers.

He returned to his own chamber at last.
If he had made any discoveries he did not
show it by his face; he simply quitted the
room with the same caution by which he
had invaded it, went up-stairs to his own
apartments and seemingly went to bed.

He wondered if it was Costerman’s cus-
tom to send word to Mrs. Larrigan that he
had been called out of town. This time,
however, he had come in person to say
that he would not be visible in the house
for several days; but according to the housc~
keeper he had gone away without looking
into his room.

It was long after midnight when Old
Owlet turned toward the door and listened.

Some one was in the room below. There
was no mistaking this, for he heard some
one moving about and a chair was set down
apparently in the middle of the room.

Pushing his own seat back, Old Owlet
got down upon all-fours and turned back
the carpet.

A light had been struck in the lower
room and a man occupied a chair at the
table.

Being almost directly above him, Owlet
could not get a very good View of his face,
but he saw that a dark mustache covered
the upper lip and that the hands that rested
on the oil-cloth were white and soft as if
they seldom felt the sun.

The man was quite alone.

One thing Owlet knew very well. This
was not the man he had tracked from Mul.
berry street; this was not the fellow whom
he had seen enter and emerge from the
house. He might be Costerman, but if so,
he did not tally with Mrs. Larrigan’s de-
scription of the Englishman.

The detective at the peephole in the floor
watched the man who took writing materials
from the drawer and applied himself to the
writing of a letter. With a glass Owlet
might have followed the pen across the
paper, making out the words as they fell in
black from the nib; but he had not provided
himself with one, therefore he could only
watch and wait. ‘

“Jack has a nice place here—a quiet little
nest,” suddenly said the man. as he settled
back in the chair with the finished letter be
fore him. “I wouldn’t want a nicer place,
and here he can play the game outin a royal
manner. By Jove! I've got a notion to turn
in here, only I don’t just know the rules of
the house, and the landlady might see me.

" This looks inviting.’ he stood at the bed
now and his hands rested on the coverlet.
“It’s as good as I’ve got and the Captain
himself can‘t have it better. But we'll have
it just as good by and by, and Jack will
have it better than this. Iwonder if the
landlady is suspicious Jack says not. I
guess he keeps her charmed with the flute,
ha, ha. He would make a fine Orpheus and
just now we’re after the Golden Fleece and
it may take some music to charm the dragons
that guard it."

He walked back and folded the letter
which he had left on the table.

“I wonder what Popsy thinks of me by
this time?" he suddeni went on with an-
other of his laughs. “ uess he thought he

I

5

l

J‘ ' .1 m:_,,‘.~..1‘.’. , r,..

   

 

.114. j‘. . 1,3.1'

    

 

         

was bargaining with Satan or one of his
imps, the old rascalt But he said nothing,
no, of course not. It was a cool game and I
had to let the old chap know that I knew
him. I’ve gota notion to go back and get
another paper. May want to use it some
day. The other worked well and we‘ve got
the ferrets completely fooled. Popsy of
Seville. you daren’t say a word, for we know,
and I can play a hand deadly and desperate
at a moment’s warning.”

He hid the letter in his bosom and dropped
into the chair again.

“The house is dreadfully quiet. Wonder
if it is so all the time. I might get a place
here myself. I would then be near Jack,
but Jack might object. Who is he now?
Oh, yes. Costerman, the Londoner, doing
New York on the quiet in the interest of a
newspaper. What role can't Jack play I
would like to know! Cool and collected,
ready for any emergency, he is the mainstay
of the game, and without him we couldn’t
rake in asingle pot. And the Captain and
Carmel? What would they do without Jack?
Boyd Coyningham, you would fail without
him. And you, Carmel, you would have to
give up your visions of riches if Jack should
drop out of the drama.”

He picked up his hat and lowered the light.
Old Owlet saw that he was tall and well
built, and that ho had a great breadth of chest
and keen roving black eyes, that he might be
a very dangerous man.

“ I got another look at the girl—the ‘phone
fairy,” he laughed. “She was home and she
saw me, but what of that? She’s liable to
see more of me. No wonder the boy fell in
to the snare of beauty. She‘s worth quarrel-
ing about. I Would have a word about her
myself even with the governor."

He opened the door and leaned out into
the ball, then, evidently seeing that the coast
was clear, he extinguished the light and van-
ished.

Old Owlet immediately rose and sprung
to his own door which he opened noiselessly
and listened. He heard the man on the
next landing, and sidling along the wall, he
caught a moment’s glimpse of him between
the last steps and the street.

Orson Owlet slipped down after the man.
He caught sight of him some distance from
the house and followed at once. He became
his shadow among shadows. and after follow-
ing him up one street and down another,
saw him at last enter a house by means of
a latch-key with the air of a lodger.

The old ferret turned back.

Once more he re-entered Mrs. Larrigan’s
establishment and, after another cigar, went
to bed.

“ So that man called on Popsy Vane, did
he?” he thought. "Called on the old fox
and played a hand which must remain a
secret unless I can get hold of it. We’ll
see,” and with this Orson Owlet fell asleep.

He was awakened the next morning by
strains of music that seemed to come up
from below. '

“ When did he come in?” he exclaimed,
leaning over the edge of the bed as he
listened. “ When did my flutist drop back ‘2”

The music went on with Owlet an atten-
tive listener, and as the morning light grew
stronger, he dropped out of bed and down
upon the floor.

He saw a man sitting bold upright in bed
playing the flute, and an expression of sur
prise fell from his lips as he got a good look
at him. . '

He might be Costerman, the Briton; but he
had seen that face before.

Go the stand at the side of the bed lay a
pair of side-whiskers and near by a hat which
was also familiar to him.

“ I‘ll confirm “what I more than half be-
lieve," said he, “or go without my break-
fast. The face! I saw it once under cir-
cumstances I shall never forget. There are
the same eyes and the singular puckering of
the lips when they go to play. The other
one was a flutist, and I once heard him
among the prisoners of Dartmoor; and he
wasn’t an Englishman either.”

Owlet watched and listened till the man
grew tired of his own music, when he threw
the instrument upon the foot of the bed and
put on the side-whiskers which at once com-
pletely altered his appearance.

” First the little book and the photograph,”
said Owlet. " Then Old Popsy in hi. den."

    

- Anna '

 

'r‘ '  is ’ .s-w‘. git. 

 

 

   

 

Shadowing t

The detective slipped from the room fully
dressed and returned to his old quarters.
He opened the secret treasure-house in the
wall and fished from its depths a little memo—
randum-book and a folding photograph
album.

He opened the latter at a certain picture
which he studied a moment, then turned to
the book, which he examined till his finger
stopped at the following:

“ I’. S.
126,999.
15.”

Orson Owlet said nothing, but his eyes

fairly shone.

____....

CHAPTER VIII.
FERRET AND CHARLA'TAN.

BACK to the photograph wandered the eye
of the veteran Vidoeq.

Orson Owlet, alone in his little den, seem-
ed to take great delight in studying the
rather handsome face before him. It was
the face of a man about thirty, with sharp
features and clear eyes which, from the color
of the hair in the picture, must have been
dark and piercing.

It was an ordinary photograph showing
wear, as if it had been handled a good many
times by some one studying the face as Old
Owlet was doing.

He gave no clue to the identity of that
face, but it was evident that the detective
connected the figures in the memorandum
with the picture.

At last he laid the photograph inside the
little book at the leaf which bore the figures
and replaced all in the wall cupboard.

Perhaps the look had given him renewed
hope, for he lit a cigar, and with his feet rests
ing on the edge of the table, ‘he blew smoke
rings ceilingward as he seemed to fall into
deep reflection—one of his favorite moods.

“ Now for Popsy Vane,” cried be, lower.
ing his feet and casting the very small rem-
nant of the cigar into the spittoon. “I have
n’t seen the old fellow in months and he may
not care to see me now, but I can’t help
that.”

He found the old astrologer at home as, in-
deed, he seldom left the place where he lived,
and when Owlet opened the door and paused
for a moment there Old Popsy leaned across
his table.

Their eyes met and the hands of Popsy
Vane came up and Were crossed on the table-
cloth.

“I thought you would drop in some time,”
he said with a ghastly smile that vanished
almost as soon as it appeared. “ Indeed,
I’ve been waiting for you, Orson."

"You’ve been waiting for me, eh?” an-
swered Owlet, crossing the room and taking
one of the skeleton hands that was lifted for
the greeting. ” Well, all you had to do was
to send for me. You know where I am,

Pops ."

“ (If course, but, you see, I knew you
would come."

Owlet sat down with the table between
them and for a moment they looked at one an-
other in a strange, half challenging way.

“ So you let a man beat on?” said the de-
tective. “ You let him p ay his hand and
rake in the stakes?”

Popsy Vane seemed to fall back. He ap.
peared to recoil as his face chan ed color
slightly and he shook before Ol Owlet’s
eyes.

" Do you know that? But pshawl you
know everythin . I let him beat me, but by
Jove! I don't be ieve he was human, Orson.”

“ You don’t carry your trade that far, eh,
Popsy? You don't believe that you have
been euchered b Satan or one of his agents.”

” I—I don’t now What to think. But
Elbere did you hear of it? Have you seen

In?!)

Owlet smiled and nodded.

?“ Where is he, and what did he do with
it I)

“He sa sit worked like a charm. He is
a good-loo ing dog, Popsy.”

“As handsome as Adonis! The moment
he came in and looked at me I knew that I
was dealing with a cool head.”

I“? 1’3ut you didn‘t go down without a strug-
g e

A "‘No,” Popsy brightened up. " But I

r’:\ 't'l‘y..’

 

\

couldn't help it. You don‘t know how that
man played his hand, and 1—1 can‘t tell you.
You must excuse me, Orson,"

()ld ()wlet let the face before him escape
his gaze for a second, but he had no idea of
giving up the struggle then and there, [[0
had not come to Popsy Vane's den to be baf-
iled in that manner.

“ The world don‘t know it all," he re-
marked, seeming to look away from Old
I’opsy, but in reality looking at him.
“That is, l’opsy, it doesn’t know all about
on.”

3 “ I hope not, Orson."

“ You have kept one or two chapters hid-
den. There is the trial—the one in Seville,
you know—"

” To pcrdition with that memory!”

“ Yes, yesAI have heard you say that be-
fore now. It was a narrow escape. It was
not proven, Popsy. and you got oil? remark-
ably well.”

There was no reply.

“You and I are the only persons in New
York who know about that episode.”

" I wish we were, but that man—if man
he was—knows as well.” '

“ Ah, was that the card he played? Did
he hold that club over your head, Popsy 1/”

The old astrologers chin fell upon his
breast and a groan escaped him.

“See here, Popsy: did you let him have
one of your inferna philters?"

” I had to.”

“ You were frightened into it, were you?"

"Theold trial, Orson—the cha ter from
my life across the ocean. He news all
about it. ”

The confession, wrung from Popsy Vane’s
heart. made Owlet pity the old man.

“Did you know the man, Popsy?" he in-
quired.

“ I did not.”

“ But 'he knew you ?”

“Of course. He knew all about me. I
dared not deny that I had the stuff in the
house.”

“ I warned you months ago that it would
some day get on into trouble. New York
is not the Old Vorld. This is not the age of
the Borgins, Popsy."

“ I know, but I never intended .to let one
package get beyond my clutches. I thought
that some day, if misfortunes overtook me,
the philtcr would come handy. "

“ You intended to play coward, then?
You thought of shuttling off this mortal coil
with one of vourinfamous philters, the very
possession 0 which lays you amenable to
American law."

" What a fool I was to let him have it "

“ You have plenty of money. You have
made it hand over list from your dupes,
most of whom can pay liberally for the
horoscopes they get. This man paid you,
did he?"

“ He paid me." and Popsy Vane's face
seemed to become seared as if by a red-hot
iron.
Orson?”

“ In your own coin. no doubt."

, The old man unlocked a drawer under-
neath the table and drew out the broken
blrncelet and threw it down before the detec-
t ve.

“ That's the ‘ cash ’ I got for the philterl
You know whose it was. Orson?”

“ It belonged to her," said the ferret, pick-
ing up the links and eying them for a min!
ute.

“ It was hers, and he paid for the philter
in that terrible c.0in. It took my breath,
Orson. I fell like one dead from my chair
when the door had closed upon him.”

“ I don’t doubt it."

“ But what has happened? Who took the
philter?”

“ Perha s no one.”

“Ah, t at is relief,” and Popsy Vane
smiled once more. “ I have been in the
agonies of death almost ever since he went
off with the thing in his possession.”

“He may come back for another.”

Popsy laughed.

“This time I will circumvent him. All
the threats in this world, and a thousand
bracelets like the piece before you, Orson,
cannot force another one from me. I am
philterless.”

“ What have you done with them?"

The skeletm hand pointed toward the

grate.

, . '.-,.‘ ,. n.,a;‘ ,_ I , g, ‘ _. ,
“Li   t 1., 1.. n. v ,,  x,

 

“ What do you think he paid me in,

 

he London Detective. 9

 

“ You burnt them—all, l’opsy?"

“ Every one!"

“ Not one reserved for yourself?"

“ As. I live, not one. Let him come. I
am safe now!”

“ int look here, I want to know. The
accursed thing leaves behind a sign, doesn't
it?”

“ Did I ever tell you that it does?"

“ Long ago you told me so.”

“ It leaves behind a sign, but the shrewd-
est toxicologists in the world would not de-
tect it. “

“I believe you said so the night you told
me about your philter.

"It has bai‘lled the best of them in the
Old World. It has been the deadly agent
of the secret slayer in ducal times and
it came down to me-hut let that be the
one secret I shall keep even from you,
Owlet."

“ Keep it, Popsy." replied Owlet. “ That
is one thing which you need not share with
me. Now. the sign of the philter’s work.”

“ First the outside,” and Popsy Vane left
his chair and opened the door leading into
the hall.

IIe poked his head out and looked up and
down the corridor. No one was in sight.
Shutting the door, he turned the kc and
came back to his visitor. Instead of sittin
down, he rested his hands on the table an
leaned toward Orson Owlet.

The old man’s thin lips almost touched the
detective’s car.

He whispered there for the space of half a
minute. Owlet neither looked up or to one
side; his gaze seemed to be riveted upon the
window opposite.

“There, you know what I have never told
a living soul,” said Popsy. falling back. “ I
would not keep it from you. Orson; I dare
not, to tell the truth. Why should I lie to—-
to—you, old man?"

“Exactly,” smiled the detective. “The
sign will be looked after. You say that it
can be seen even six months after death?“

“Onl by those who know where to look
for it." breathed Popsy Vane.

“Thanks, old man. You need not fear;
the secret is safe With me."

“But who has taken the philter, or, in
other words, What did the handsome iiend
do with it?"

" Time shall answer that."

“ And get me into the toils anew?” cried
the aiIrightcd man. drawing back. “After

all, Orson, you are going to tighten the noose

1:

under my chin. -

“Not so had as that, Popsy. Iwill not
forget the sign.”

" Who was the victim, Orson?"

“ The presence of the sign will establish
that."

“ Keep it back, then. Don‘t tell me any
more. Did the fiend do it? Did he go
straight to his victim with the potion? You
must reach him, Orson. No one everrescnpcs
you. I know that. They all fall into
your drag-net. If I was in your road and
the clues pointed to me you would run me
down.”

“ I work], Po sy. You know that."

Owlet rose and) touched Popsy’s hand.

h “ Send me word if he comes again," said
e.

The old astrologer smiled diabolicallyu
he answered:

“ I will—if 1 don't kill the wretchl"

Old Owlet laughed as he looked at Pops]
and, smiling still, he went away.

 

CHAPTER IX.
'rma: BLACK-HANDLED manna.

Wrm her father laid away in the family
vault, Mora Esty went back to the house on
the Avenue and gave way to her great grief.

She was a firm beliver in her brother'sin- '

nocence, and could not think who could have
taken her father’s life. True the millionaire
kept his secrets from his children. and while
Mora had been very close to him, he had
never taken her very far into his confidence.

To think that he had been deliberame
murdered was a shock to her'which, but for
her determination to bear up under the ca-
lamity and live to see the guilty punished.
would have driven her to her'room and per-

lha s to the grave.

arold had been permitted to attende

 

r4~

   

Shadomng  London

Detectivefi 7  '

   

 

 

 

funeral, and he and Mom rode back to the
city with their hands ,clasped in their grief,
but talking .ittle.

Mora. Esty looked at her brother and took
compassion on his grief, but had not the
heart to bring up the subject nearest her
heart at that time—his arrest and imprison-
ment.

“ One moment—one word with him,”
cried the girl as she was about to alight in
front of the desolate home, for Harold was to
be driven back to his cell.

Harold said nothing. but took Mora’s
hand. The millionaire’s daughter leaned to-
ward him and her lips almost touched his

ear.
" All will be well, Harold.” said she. ” I
don’t believe this terrible charge. I will
see that the guilty is punished and that
the clouds pass away.”
He looked at her. his eyes filled with
gratitude, and pressed her hand.
“ Where is she—where is Hetty?" asked
Mora.
Harold started. It was the first time his
sister had ever spoken Hetty’s name in his
 presence.
r " The accused man gave her the girl’s ad-
‘ ‘. , dress and then said:
; “ You will not hate Hetty, More?”

’, “ No. I will s'ee her, though. I may

' ' need her in my quest. Good-by, Harold."

Thus they parted. and as Mora mounted

the ate 5 the cab turned and Harold was
whiske away.

 .1- Mora was met in the ball by the maid

/ who came forward with a troubled face

‘~ and said softly: ,

" I may have done wrong, Miss Mora,

{"but he insisted. He is in yonder,”’,and she
pointed toward the parlor on the right.

. ,Mora Esty went to the door and opened

. it softly. The room had been darkened; but

she caught sight of a form on the sofa

and in another moment she stood face to

face» with a stranger.

‘ The man rose when she entered and Mora
stopped suddenly and looked into his smooth
face, so dark and, to her, strangely sus-
' icious.

. “ I have been waiting. I did not think it
best to go away," said he. “ If your maid
Violated lorders let me be blamed for it, but I
thought” best to wait for you."

“ do not know you, and—”

r v“ Then Harold, your brother did not men-
..tion to you that he had seen me?"
i  ' “ He did not.” 
" " You may call me Orson Owlet,” was the
reply. " Irecall, putting this and that to-
ethor, that your brother must have been ar-
rested on his return home from, seeing me.”
' “. «t may be so." 1'
'Old Owlet stood looking down at Mora in
thesemtdarkened room; but he could see
tile’liaés of set resolution which had alreadv'
formed at her mouth and they seemed to tell.
him that 'she was a woman whom he could
trustdin every way. V
if Lam what some term a man-hunter.” '
‘flAuother‘I” cried the young irl with a
start. “' We have seen so much 0 such peo-
ple since the terrible crime that—~”~ ‘
.‘!.That you have grown tired of them and
atheir ways,” smilingly interrupted the de-

, , “ I do-not doubt it, miss; but I am
Monomer, and I am here to bother you,

      
  
    
 
  
   
    
  
 
 
 
   
    
  
    
   
   
  
   
  
  
    
     
      
      
    

  

  
  

  

    

 

  

  

   
  

 
 
 

Mora may have noticed the sli ht empha-
les which the detective utu n t elast four
, ds, but she waited or 0 d Owlet to pro:
1; , r , . J .
. Would you let me go‘over the ground '1’—
,that lgican I see the room, in fact, all the
mom: ou’the fatal floor?" ‘ ‘

“ You shall. see everything," was the re-
Since you tell me that Harold was to
odoubt to enlist you in, this, very

ything in this house is at your dise

  

   
   
 

   

detective simply bowed and Moraled
tremthe room. _ < -
1Fapex-wrath;fliliet't to
snag girl with e si
Ether s bed-chambe
salts; nod the door

. ‘ - mlet's face. .  .  
 culture notcome too latetefind

    

the second  and
gh conducted him to
r. ' *

 
  

   
 

'when she comes in,” thought Owlet.

m,  trust, in the interest of eternal jus. :

and. looked a}; to:

 

 133.1919 hays been.

a.
- here and all he gone
as» new i"

 

‘y

" In which room was the dag er found?”

“ Ah, that fatal discovery! cannot be
lieve that Harold ever owned such a thing,
but he refuses to explain. That is against
him, don't you think?"

“ It certainly prejudices the case against
him.” answered Owlet. “ It was not found
in this room?”

“ No, in his own. It is off yonder—the
first door to the right. The key is in the
door now, for Norma has been dusting the
furniture. She could not give up that duty
despite the fear that he may need it no
more."

After a. few more words Old Owlet found
himself alone on that floor, Mora having gone
to her own room.

He shut the door of Payson Esty's room
softly behind him. The curtains had been
drawn and but little light came in at the
windows. He changed all this by parting
the curtains and flooding the fatal chamber
with the garish light that shone in the
streets.

It was his first visit to the scene of the
mysterious crime. He ibad been preceded
by the best of ferrets, and Jack Noddles,
the man who had effected Harold‘s arrest,
had gone over the premises with his keen
scent.

Orson Owlet examined the room very
closely. He knew that he was a late bound
on the trail; he was aware that he was in the
game at the eleventh hour: but this fact did
not deter him. Nothing ever deterred this
prince of human sleuths.

From the scene of the murder be ad—
vanced to Harold’s room. There was one
other chamber between them, and a peep
into this showed him that the dead million—
aire might have used it at times for a
study room, for some books and number-
less papers lay on a table which had not
been dusted for days.

Harold’s room was light and airy It
had a high ceiling and was cheerful and
filled with bric~a‘brac such as a young man
with good taste and plenty of money would
naturally accumulate. .

Norma had dusted the room that very
day, for not a particle of dust was to be

seen. I

Owlet had not come to the mansion in
total ignorance of what had followed Harold
Esty’s arrest. He knew all that had passed at
the station-house; he knew what Jack N od-
dles had said and done; he could go straight
to the drawer in which the dagger had
been found, and knew the spot where Jack
said he had found it. V

But Old Owlet did not go at once to the
bureau. He made his wa across the room
and stopped at a mante, which was well
covered with articles of bric-a-brac.

Most of these were odd things, some of
which came from curio shops and were of
foreign manufacture, such as pipes,,knives
and ink-stands. .

The were not arranged with any re-
gard or order, but were strewn promiscu-
ousrly along the marble-top of the mantel
as arold had left them.

“ Norma moves some of these thiggs
H e
mantel without any res ect

dusts along the
's arrangement. I wonder w era

for Harol
Norma is." . ,
He was answered so suddenly that he
couldhardly repress a smile. for at that
very moment the door. opened and he stood
face to face with Norma herself.
Thegmaid. drew back with a start and
almost dropped the knob. , - .
“.I beg your ardon. . I. heard someone
in here and t or§ht it might be Miss
More,” stammered. arms. as she flushed and
grew back, but the hand of Owlet stopped
er. '

   
   
  

   
   

“One moment, if on leasef’xhe said.
“ Of course you are in orma, the/maid 7”
v ,‘fIfyouplease.,. Ibsve
maid. for three years.”

“ And you,,like her?”  ‘ f

“ Pray, why shouldn’t I?” exclaimed the
girl, who was a tall, handsome creature with
, esp brown eyes that were soft and ex-
pressive.  _ .-. . ; ‘ r ,
:.,“‘Y°u dmithismomtdonft rout”.  ..

"Onceada "' -- '  ‘ I,

“Y te‘ ‘ ‘2”

cry. recoiled again.

been Miss Norma’s _
I ' - ed up as the trail'grew

. . 'Esty’sdaushtef watched in

 

“ Do you move these things?" and Owlet’s k
hand designated the various things on the
marble.

“ I cannot help doing that, you must
know. Some of them get in the way of the
brush and they get moved. I did not know
that I was not to dust the mantel, sir.”

“ True on bad no orders to abstain. Now
tell me, orma, did you dust the morning
after the murder?”

“ I—I think I did.
did. sir. ”

“ You dusted so often that you must have
become familiar with the objects on the
mantel." ,

“I don’t know about that. I can’t say ’
that I ever took much notice of them. ”

“ On what part of the mantel did the
dagger lay?"

“The black-handled one?”

Owlet nodded.

The maid went toward the mantel, but
stopped suddenly as if she had blundered.

” Of course you mean the one which they ,
found in the drawer?“ she said, looking at g

1 am not quite sure I 2

 

Old Owlet. “ That is the one I used to see g

lying among the others.” I
“When did. you miss it, Norma?" 7.
“The morning after," answered the girl. i t

“ it was not on the mantel when you dust-
cd that morning?”

“ I did not see it there.” ‘

“ But the day before?" ‘

Norma’s gaze seemed to wander to the '
door.

, “Don’t do that!" she cried. “ Don’t mix \
me up in anything that may go against him.
You are the first of all of them who has ask-
ed me such questions. I cannot—I will not
say anything that may be used against
Mora’s brother, Harold.” , .

For a moment Orson Owlet seemed to re-
lent, then it looked as if he had carried his
point, for he glanced toward the mantel and
(Norma took occasion to slide toward the

cor.

She was there when she looked .back and
saw the figure of the detective near the
mantel and his thin hand had just lifted a
curious looking dag er from the collection.

The next instant orma had darted for-
ward. ’ ' .,

“That is the one I mean,” she cried.
“ See, it has a black handle. I must have
overlooked it. That is the black daggerI
referred ,to.” '

Old Owlet turned upon the girl. but said
nothing, and she, with a half-suppressed

 
  
 
      
         
     
 
        
   

“ Refresh your. memory,” said Orson.
“ Go back a little and recall what you have
'ust said about missing the black one, which

etective Noddles found in you drawer.”

Norma was speechless. _- ‘

" I was wrong. I did not know that one
was there. I am willing to swear that that is
the onlyblack dagger I ever saw on the
mantel." ‘ ‘ s  I w

“Black. did you sa ? Look at it» now ,
with the light on the hi t. It is grgyi’ 'r" ' '

The dagger hilt turned toward her he was
looking at the girl and she clasped her hands
as she exclaimed: . '

“Merciful heavens,‘what have I said?
But don't use it againsthim. Let me keep
the secret for his sake. The really blaek~
handled dagger I saw there the day before ,
the murder; but it was not there the  t
after. It was feund in his drawer, bl -'v
stained. ‘A_nd he quarreled with his father '
tgaflawful night—quarreled again about that; ‘
gr’ I  

 
    
    
       
      
     
      
   
     

 

       
        
 
            

u I I
.‘..

 

CHAPTER X.
SUDDEN‘ smear.

WHATEVER Orson Owlet em»: gram his ~
interviewzwith Norma ,the maidghe kept
well to himself. ' The contradicto state-
ments made by the girl might have amiab-
ed the old detective wigh a clue to be‘follow

_n interest, but Norma
was let 0 without apparent noticeitaltenxof.
her wor s, audit; 3 short time the. tenet;
went down to where Moranwai him. ‘
enter

Wit " '
a? ‘

I

  
  
   
   
    
  
   
 
    
 

   

oom’with. es ’hatwerc 111,
r " iwdeFdridmm‘sge 18d

a?

4-.__ V~_ ‘

Shadowing the London Detective.

11

 

 

“Harold always kept his room in good
order and was careful as to neatness. Norma,
as I have told you, has dusted the furniture
for years, and while she may have dis-
placed a few trinkets, such as those on the
mantel, she has not seriously interfered
with Harold’s arrangement of things in his
room."

“Norma is industrious and careful, is she
not?"

" I have always found her so. We think
we secured a good bargain in the girl."

“Did she live in the city when you en-
gaged her?”

“ She did. Father found her out and see-
ing in her, as he thought, just the maid I
would like, engaged her without consulting
me. ”

“ She seems to have been attached to vour
brother Harold.”

Mora smiled a. little.

“ Norma was always ready to serve him.
We have had her with us nearly three years
and not a disagreement have we had in all
that time. You can trust Norma in every
way, and if she knows anything about this
terrible crime which has darkened this house
she will not hesitate to reveal the secret.”

“She was with you that night?”

“She was out visiting a friend until eleven.
'We give Norma all the pleasure she wants
for she has deserved it and that night she
was out, as I have said.”

“ Was any part of the house open when
she came in ‘2"

“She found it looked as usual, but she
used her latch-key and entering, went
strai ht to bed."

“ thought," observed Old Owlet, slightly
lowering his voice, “that Harold made his
discovery shortly after ten."

“He did according to his time and ours.
But that night Norma had borrowed her
friend’s watch and it was fast, which made
it nearly eleven when she came in. She
could not have been in bed fifteen minutes
when Harold sounded the dreadful alarm."

“I believe you stated at the inquest that
your father had no enemies to your know-
ledge, Miss Mora.”

“ If he had one he kept from me the fact
of that foe’s existence; but a cruel, murder-
ous enemy he must have had.”

“ It would seem so.” remarked Owlet.
“ Was your father ever out of the city
much?”

“ Very little. I recall but one trip out
within three years and that was last summer
when he went South and remained two
weeks.”

“ What was the nature of that trip?”

“It was a business trip, He had pur-
chased at a venture some North Carolina
mica land and went thither to inspect his in-
vestment. He came back somewhat elated
over it. but I believe he afterward sold it at
a sacrifice."

“That was his last trip?”

“Yes, the last one.”

“ He had retired from the field of specu
lation also, I believe?”

“Entirely so. He offered his experience
to Harold, but, my brother not being of a
speculative turn of mind, did not care to go
into Wall street, which refusal rather pleased
father than otherwise. He told Harold that
we had enough of this world's goods and
that it was not necessary to risk one’s money

down there."

“Now, Miss Mora, I am going to ask a
question which on may not care to answer,”
said the detective. leaning forward in his
chair as he fixed his dark but now not pierc-
ing e es upon the fair girl seated before him.

“ on can proceed, sir. I am here to give
you all the information I can. Such I be—
ieve to be my duty.”

“ Have you ever had an offer of mar-
riage?”

It was a query that brought a smile to
More Esty’s lips, and it lingered there a full
second while she looked at the old ferret.

“ Of course I do not know what bearing
my answer will have upon this matter?"
said she, “ but you shall be answered truth-
fully. I had an offer of marriage in the
winter. But I did not think much of it—so
little, indeed, that I dismissed it in a mo-
ment."

” Young ladies, as a rule, seldom treat
such important things so lightly.”

“I know, but this one came from a man

 

with whom I had no previous acquaintance
—-a man who until the night the oiIer was
made I had never seen before—that I dis-
missed it as a foolish incident due perhaps to
a stranger's impudence."

” Who was the man?"

” I never thought enough of the incident
to inquire. It happened at a german, the
last one I have attended. It was a rather
promiscuous affair, though the people seemed
all right, and I went home in the family car-
riage, scarcely thinking of the offer.”

“ And you have not seen the man since?"

“But once, I believe, or, at least, I thought
I did, and strange to say it was early in the
evening of the fatal day.”

“ The day of the crime?”

“ The fatal 25th," answered Mora. “ I
had gone into the Park for a little air, and
all at once I found myself face to face with
that same man."

“ Was there any recognition ‘2”

u“l'le smiled and raised his hat, that was
a 'l'

“ No attempt to speak to you?”

“ None at all.”

" \Vere you alone in the Park?—that is,
was Norma with you.”

“Norma had already gone to make the
call I have referred to, and no one saw the
stranger but myself."

“What was this man like?"

“ He was tall and straight, and I should
judges man of forty-two or forty-five. He
wore a full beard, short and quite black; his
eyes Were soft and rather fascinating, if I
may so speak, and his clothes were gray and
new. I noticed all these things half uncon
sciously, never cxpecting to refer to them
again, much less dreaming that I was soon
to stand over my father’s corpse. He passed

from my sight, the strange one did, and I'

saw no more of him."

“ But the name he gave when he made
the sudden offer of marriage?" queried the
detective.

Mora Esty thought a moment.

“ He gave me a card at the time and I be-
lieve I can find it. Would you like to have
it?”

" If you please.”

The millionaire’s daughter left the room
and was absent some five minutes.

“ I found it after along hunt, or at least
what there is left of it. I remember tearing
it on my way home that night, and I can find
but one piece, the smallest one.”

She handed the detective a torn card which
was taken and carried to the light.

“It was a common card, but it had been
torn across the name and all that Old Owlet
saw was the fragment name:

“———usET.”

“Was the name Somerset?” he asked,
looking up.

“Really, I don’t remember, but the frag-
ment in your hand would indicate that it
was.”

“True. The offer of marriage seemed to
you to be an impulse?”

“It impressed me that way,” Smilcd the
girl. “Of course coming as it did during
an interval between dances and from a
stranger, it would not be likely to receive
much consideration. The romance of it even
passed out of my mind and I did not think
of it the day after.”

_ “Which caused you not to inquire after
the man through the lady who gave the
german?”

“I never asked her. In fact, she left the
citg the day after the event.”

ld Owlet seemed a little disappointed
over this last reply. but he put the torn card
in his pocket and soon after arose to de-

art.

p More followed him to the door.
“ You will do all you can for my brother,
won’t on ‘2” she anxiously inquired.

"Al 1 can, miss.”

“What do you think? It cannot be that
you deem him guilty of this crime? No,
that is out of the question, I care not what
the English detective found in his room.
Harold quarreled with his father over a
young girl with yvhom he has fallen in love,
but they never came to such terrible work as
was done in this house the night of the
twenty-fifth. That quarrel was satisfactorily
patched up between them and Harold was in
good spirits over the matter.”

I

 

“There was but one quarrel, Mora?"

The girl started slightly.

“Norma says there were two," she ad—
mitted as her face grew pale. “ Norma says
there was another the night of the crime. I
did not hear it, and Harold—I have no chance
to ask him, poor boy."

Old Owlet left the millionaire’s child
on the steps of the Avenue mansion and went
away.

Instead of going back to his den near
Broadway he turned up in Mrs. Larrigan’s
house as Cyrus Delafield, the roomer.

He went direct to his apartment to be
met by the landlady in the hall near the
door.

“Well, we have lost our flute-player," were
the words with which she greeted Owlet.

“ Lost him and just when I was hoping to
be regaled with some dulcct strains. Lost
him so soon, Mrs. Larrigan? It cannot be.”

“ He has moved out to be gone for good
this time, I regret to say. He called awhile
ago and informed me that the room was at
my disposal. If you care to get down on
the lower floor 1 can let you have his room,
as I believe you said when you came that a
lower apartment would have suited you
best."

“While 1 am sorry that you have lost a
good-paying roomer. I will take his room.”

“ I thought you would and I shall be de-
lighted to let you in at once.”

The change was made in a short time, and
Owlet, seated in Costerman’s room, looked at
the walls with a quizzical expression.

Perhaps he wondered what had occasioned
the flute-player’s sudden flight. He recalled
his last view of him seated in bed playing
the flute with the false whiskers on the little
stand alongside the couch, and how he had
hastened home and consulted a memorandum
and a photograph, as if be connected both
with Mrs. Larri an's roomer.

Truth is that id Owlet believed that Jack
Noddles, the detective, and Costerman were
one and the same person—that the so-callcd

English ferret had more than one name, and .

that he was playing adouble role for a pur-
pose.

But already the bird had flown. Had he
suspected anything? Had he discovered the
identit of the man overhead—the keen-
scente trailer who had watched him
through a peep-hole in the floor; or had he re-
mained his alloted time at Mrs. Larrigan’s
and was ready to go away?

Old Owlet searched the room which had
beed vacated by Costerman or Jack Nod-
dies.

Nothing escaped him this time and he was
not so careful as he had been on his former
visit.

But the London detective had carried off
everything belonging to him, and first of all
the wonderful flute had been taken; the ward-
robe had been stripped, and all that Owlet
found was a torn envelope lying on the floor
addressed to Burton Costerman.

He was turning to the table with the en-
velope in his hand when the door opened.

The handsome man with the black mus-
tache stood on the threshold, but seein
Owlet he drew back with a half-muttere
apology.

“ Mr. Costerman has given up the room
and another gentleman occupies it,” said the
shrill voice of Mrs. Larrigan from the hall;
and the next moment the door was shut and
with the closing vanished the face of the un-
known Adonis.

Old Owlet smiled to himself over this little
incident. '

CHAPTER XI.
THREE mans or A FEATHER.

THERE was one thing of which the Detec—
tive of Gotham was quite certain and this
was that Costerman, the flute-player, was
nobody other than Jack Noddles, the so-
called London Detective.

This was the man who had secured the
arrest of Harold Esty for the murder of his
father, and it was Jack’s hand that had found
the dagger in the bureau and which had
fastened around the young man a chain of
circumstances which threatened to send him
to the noose.

The reader will remember that Owlet when
he consulted his little memorandum in the

“a: L‘s-L‘s. a; 2;. f-n-ru _. —_.- W'mfim mgumm»

- mm;

A 

12

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

seclusion of his den came across and stopped
at the following cnigmatical entry:

“P. S.
26,999.
6...

This might apply to the London Detec-
tive, or it might mean something quite differ--
cut, but used in connection with the photo.
graph examined at the same time, it Was
quite likely to refer to the flute-player of
Mrs. Larrigan‘s establishment.

The letters and lirrures that constituted
this queer entry had) been written with a
pencil, but were still quite distinct. They
had been in Owlet’s possession some years
and had crossed the ocean with him.

The detective had not always confined his
chases to America; he had tracked men
throughout Europe, and in the capacity of
tracker he had visited some of the celebrated
prisons of the continent.

Dartmoor Prison had a system of dis
tinguishing its inmates which was told by
the entry in the memorandum. The “ I’. S."
meant “penal servitude,” the figures were
the number of the convict, while the 6, stand-
ing by itself indicated the length of time for
which the convict in question, No. 26,999,
had been sentenced—six years.

It was not Old Owlet’s intention to lose
sight of Jack Noddles in this summary man-
ner. When he had once scented a quarry
there was no quitting the trail, no matter
iwhat occurred, until he stood at the end of
t.

Noddles, as Costerman, had vanished like
a sunbeam. The very suddenness of his de-
parture suggested suspicion, for Mrs. Lar-
rigan informed Owlet that he had paid a
month’s rent in advance and she expected
him to keep the room indefinitely.

Then there was the handsome man who
had called too late to find Jack in—thc same
fellow whom Old Owlet had watched from
the peep-hole, and whom hehad heard talk
aloud and to himself about gettin the best
of Popsy Vane b securing one 0 his cele-
brated but very angerous philters.

The London Detective was associated in
Owlet’s mind with the memorandum and the
photo raph which happened to be aprison
one. t had been taken at Dartmoor during
No. 26.999‘s confinement there, and had
fallen into the old ferret/s hands in a man-
ner not necessary to mention here.

If Jack had scented the game—if he sus-
icioned Old Owlet—he would play a sly
and, and would not hesitate to become the

most dangerous enemy a ferret ever had;but
did he really suspect?

He had secured much notoriety by the
arrest of Harold Esty about whom the coils
had been startlingly wound, for it was ad—
mitted that with what the Englishman had
discovered there was little hope for the
young man.

Costerman had probabl vanished and
Jack would now take his p ace in the drama.

Old Owlet believed this.

Still keeping his rooms at Mrs. Larrigan’s
as Cyrus Delafield, he began his hunt for
the missing clue.

The man who had called on Jack to find
the detective occupying his room went off
with a startled face.

" Gone, eh. and without letting me know
anythin about the flight!” he growled when
he foun himself on the street. “He let me
poke my nose into another's room and who-
ever that man was, he got a good look at
me. It was a mean trick on J ack’s part and
I shall tell him as much when I find him.”

He seemed to know where to look for
Noddles, did this man whom Popsy Vane
had called an Adonis, for half an hour later
he opened a certain door and came suddenl
upon the London Detective stretched at full
.ength on a sofa in a well-furnished room.

“ So you’ve sloped from the little nest and
without so much as iving me a hint of your
going?" said the goo -looker as he shut the

oor and came forward. “Do you know
you nearly got me into trouble?”

“ How ‘2” asked Jack, taking the cigar from
between his lips and looking half amazed at
the speaker.

“Wh , I ran into the man who now oc-
cupies t e room you vacated. I opened the
door thinking to find you there, and I stood

 

face to face with him.”
“ The deuce you did i”

'i n ,~,,._w. .~,.;'w

" That's just what happened and he gave
me a look that seemed to pierce me through.
Your landlady told me that you were gone
and I sloped without a word of apology."

“ What sort of looking man is he?”
queried Jack

“Did not look at him very sharp, but I
saw a beard and a pair of dark eyes capable
of doing some sharp work. He was taking
his case in your chair and looked like a
monarch of all he surveyed. What made
you pull out so unceremdniously?"

A smile for a moment overspread Jack
Noddles's face, but all at once it grew serious.

” I guess I know when I‘ve occupied one
nest long enough,” he exclaimed. “I saw
that the time had come to go back to my old
plumage. and that’s why I‘m here.”

“ \Vhat has happened ‘2”

“ I didn’t quite like the place.”

“It was quiet."

“Yes "

“And the landlady didn’t seem over in-
quisitivc. "

“I can't say that she did. But you see
she took a new roomer while I was out."

“ The one I saw, eh?”

“ That man. He was just over me when
I discovered that he had taken a room and
then I made up my mind.”

“You saw him, then?”

“ I saw him,” and there came to Jack
Noddles's face a very singular expression.
“Look here, Harvey; 1 know when to pull
up stakes and when to quit a place Where
there is some danger."

“ Who is that man?”

Jack took a cigar from the open box on
the table and raised himself on the sofa.

“ You don't know him?”

” Not In that heard at any rate.”

“ You remember the card Carmel received
from Popsy Vane, the old charlatan ‘2"

“ Yes, I saw it.”

“ Then you know who the last roomer
was."

The sport’s face seemed to lose some of
its ruddy color. He started visibly and
then looked at Jack whose face at the mo-
ment was nearly hidden by tobacco smoke.

“ You don’t mean to say that he is Dun—
bar Vivier, or, in other words, Orson Owlet,
the ferret?” he cried.

“Such is the true identity of that man,
my dear Hawk. Carmel got something at
Popsy’s and I have confirmed the news."

“And Boyd? Does he know."

“ Of course. He would be the first to hear
it.”

“ What does he say?”

Jack leaned toward the floor and drew an
imaginary circle there with his right band.

“Yes. if you are right,” said Harvey
Hawk. “ If that man is really Orson Owlet
the circle shall play its part."

“Look at things as they are," was the
reply. “That man is as surely Dunbar
Vivier, though known to New York as
Orson Owlet as I am "—he lowered, his voice,
“ as 1 am 26,999.”

“ It‘s a bad outlook.
must go to work at
Carmel?"

“ Up-stairs.”

" Call her down.”

Harve Hawk went toward the door, but
the Lou on Detective called him back.

“ Carmel is not very well this morning,"
said he. “ Don’t disturb her. She will
be down in a few minutes. The Captain
must be in, too, before long and then all four
of us will have a confab.”

Hawk came back to the chair and dropped
into its softness with a look at N oddles.

“If this man should suspect you—if Or-
son Owlet has discovered that you are No.
26,999 and not Jack Noddles the Scotland
Yarder—"

“ I believe he knows that now."

“ The deuce you do! It seems to me you
are taking it very cool?”

“Why not?" smiled Jack, as he knocked
the ashes from his cigar. “ How else
should the belief be taken? I should like to
know.”

“ Of course nerve plays the game from
now on."

“ Nerve has played it up till now, and we
must not lose our nerve for'a single-mo-
meat."

I mean that we
once. Where is

Just then footsteps were heard in the hall .

beyond the door and 'a rattle of garments

-
~ :11. . », r ".. . ’. -
.I i. vi - i w. I‘w’ i 4241*, ‘4 alvr .’ u -‘

 

followed the opening of the portal. Carmel
stood before the two men.

" So you are back ?" she said, with a look
at Hawk. “ You might have called me.”

“ Jack said not. as you were indisposed.”

The woman smiled, showing two rows of'
white teeth even and beautiful.

"She grows in beauty.” thought Hawk,
while he looked at Carmel. “But after all
I can’t say that she outshines the 'phone
fairy, though Carmel has more years with.
her and knows the world better."

Carmel came forward and took a. seat as
she turned again to Harvey.

” Jack has told you, has he?” she said.

“ About his sudden flight and discovery?"

“ Yes."

“He has run into a hornets‘ nest, seems
to me, and we must do something to repair
the break.”

“ It was no break," put in Noddles, with
some resentment. “It was accursed for-
tune, that was all. How could I know that
that keen man was to come into the house
as Cyrus Delafield? If I had known that I
might tell another story now. It was the
unexpected that happened, and Imust not
be held responsible for it.”

“Of course not,” said :Carmel, with a.
glance at Harvey Hawk. ” No one accuses.
you of making a bad play. This man is
liable to turn up any time and at any place.
That is his business. You must look at once
to the girl.”

She addressed her last words to Hawk and
that individual understood at once.

“ She is going off to—morrow.”

“ To-morrow?” cried Carmel. “ That.
may be too late. You don’t know the wiles
nor the power of this one ferret. You.
haven’t seen him at work as Jack and I
have. You must send her off to-night.
Bring her here."

“ Yes,” said the London Detective, “ bring
her to this house to-night. She will come
with on, Harvey?" :

“I I say so.”

“ Then bring her hither before morning."

“ It shall be done."

“After that the next play comes; then
you can renew your suit. Harvey.

There was no re ly.

“ You understan the game thoroughly,"
continued Carmel, going over to Harvey»
Hawk and laying a hand upon his arm.
“You must know that it lies in our hands.
now and that all we have to do to win the.
stakes is to play coolly and without any
show of fear. Jack’s kecnness has armed us.
all. We know that our enemy is Dunbar-
Vivier, called Old Owlet, and this man with
all his acumen is on the trail. But with Jack
to play against him clues will be as scarce
as snow in Egypt. When the time comes—
and it will not be delayed very long—this.
ferret will feel a blow. not knowing who»
struck it nor from whence it camel”

The eyes of Carmel fairl flashed, and she-
went back to her chair an reseated herself
with the dignity of a queen.

 

CHAPTER XII.
run MAID wrro VANISHED. ‘

CARMEL was a character.

This beautiful and cool-headed creature
who could utter the words she did had a.
figure which was sylph~like grace itself.

Whatever her past may have been, and it
seemed to be known only by the men who
were her companions, it had not spoiled her-
good looks nor diminished her courage.

Carmel was American, though some would
have called her Spanish because of her aloe»
black eyes.

Jack Noddles, though playing English de-
tective, was American also, though he knew
London like an open book and could affect
the English style to perfection.

The on] person in the room who gave
evidence 0 havin foreign blood in his veins
was Harvey Haw , yet he would have de-
ceived the most knowing ethnologist,

Fate, perhaps fortune. had brought these-
people together, but there was another—-
Boyd Coynin ham.

Jack calle him "Captain Boyd ” and it.
was noticed that he always spoke of him
with deference, as if he was a superior per-
son, while Carmel referred to him with more-
freeness of spirit,

 

a}

 

Shadowing the London Detective. 13

A
I

 

It was the morning after the interview
which concludes our last chapter when Old
«Owlet found on his return to his old quarters
.a letter which had come through the post.

The superscription was strange to him, but
a glance at the signature told him that his
correspondent was Mora listy.

The body of the letter was brief, but a
little startling.

It informed the ferret that Norma, the
maid, had decamped—that she had run
:away, leaving behind her evidences of flight
showing that she did not intend to return
any more.

More. had made the discovery the night be-
:fore, and had posted the letter in the nearest
Llhetter-box to the address Old Owlet had given
‘ er.

” So the maid who knew where the black-
handied dagger was kept has vanished?"
said he to himself. “ So Norma takes it into
her head to disappear, and just when we may
want her.”

He did not bother himself about quitting
the room. He read the letter carefully and
then went to the Esty mansion.

Mora, anxious and a little excited, waited
for him in the parlor.

“ I am glad you have come,” said the mil-
lionaire's aughter. “I have left the girl's
room quite undisturbed. Not a thing has
been moved, and the letter she left on the
table is there yet.”

“ Oh, she left a letter. did she?"

“ A note, in fact. But let us go up and
:see.” I

Mora led Old Owlet to the maid’s room.

It was in confusion. Here and there were
:articles of female wear, and everywhere in
the chamber were to be seen evidences of
:abrupt flight.

Owlet picked up the scribbled sheet which
Mora had already found lying on the dresser
:and read it.

In it Norma begged her mistress’s pardon
for her hasty flight, and justified it by saying
that she feared they might want to use her
against Harold, and she really knew much
criminating, which. if she were forced to
tell it, would only darken the case against
him.

“I do not believe she knows anything
against him," said Mora, who did not speak
:till the detective looked up from the note.
“She has invented that story. Norma has
been tampered with. She has gone 03 for
cause.

Old Owlet did not confirm the girl’s words,
though he looked at her and seemed to smile
faintly.

“ She has taken but a few things with
her," continued Mora. “She has left some
«of her best garments, but she took along all
her letters, and the little work-case I gave
her last Christmas. ”

“ When did you discover her fli ht?"

“ At ten last night. She genera ly attends
me at that hour, but I waited in my room
for her, and, tired of waiting, went to see
what detained her. Then I made the dis-
-covery that she had taken French leave, and
the room was just as you see it now. While
the iii ht must have been the result of a
hasty ecision, she went with some delibera~
tion, as I can see by the things she selected.
She went out through the rear entrance.”

“ What makes you believe this?”

“The rear door down stairs stood ajar,
something pnusual. I could have heard the
front door if she had used it. She did not go
that way."

“ Do you think Norma was helped off?"

"lam almost sure she was in a certain
sense. She had had advice.”

“What proof have you of this?”

Mora seemed to reflect a moment, then
she answered with some show of positive-
ness.

“I am almost prepared to say that she
knew this man Noddles, the detective, before
he presented himself at the house after the
tragedy.”

“ Do you think so?"

“Norma came upon him suddenly while
we were talking about the crime in the parlor,
andl thought I detected a swift glance of
recognition between the two."

“ She went out often, did she?"

“We were not severe with Norma,” said
Mora. “ She had all the freedom she asked
'for. One night three weeks ago she fell
.at the foot of the stairs and Ihelped her

 

to her room.
ed."

“ The girl was?"

“ Yes, sir. It was our secret as I accepted
her promise to do better and promised not
to tell father.”

“It was the last time for Norma, was
it?"

“The last so far as I know."

“But she went out as often as before?"

“ I saw no difference."

Orson ()wlct again read Norma's letter
through and folded it for his pocket.

“ If Norma knows anything against Har-
old why should she run away with the
secret? The other side would not suspect
her guilty knowledge, and we would never
call her forward with the statements."

“I have thought of that," replied Mora.
“This irl is more than wayward. She is
in the p 0t!"

It was not news to Owlet that Mora be-
lieved that her father had fallen victim to a
gang of coldblooded conspirators, but what
was the motif?

Why had some one come to the million
aire's mansion at the dead of night and
plunged a dagger into his neck, taking his
life in cold blood?

" Have you examined the private papers
belonging to your father since his death ?" he
asked Mora.

“I have gone throu h some of them,
others I have not touc ed. as theyare pee
culiarly sealed and seem too sacred for my
curiosity.”

“ Are they in the safe in the room be-
low?”

“ No, in the hidden sale in the room where
he died."

“ The hidden safe, you say 7"

“ Yes.”

r .Mora saw that the old ferret's look was
one of interrogation and astonishment, and
she at once led the way to the death cham-
ber.

Orson Owlet looked around the room,
but could see no si us of a safe.

“It is here an the secret is about the
only real one father ever shared with me,"
remarked Mora, crossing the room and stop-
ping at one of the walls.

She laid her hand on the wall and seemed
to press it with some force at a certain
spot.

A part of the wooden wall slid to one
side and Owlet saw set in the wall the
door of a small steel safe.

“Father had the safe put in here imme-
diately after his return from North Caro-
lina." she said as she looked up at the
shadow. " I don‘t believe that Harold
knew of its existence, for he was away
from home at the time and. instead of
placing the private papers found in the
desk in the safe, he carried them for safety
to his own room. The panel so deftly
conceals the safe that father did not con-
sider a combination lock necessary and
therefore I can open it.”

She did so and swung back the door.

The interior of the safe as revealed to
Old Owlet was filled with papers, and
Mora drew forth a package which was tied
with a common cord.

“These I have looked at,” she said.
“They consist of data concerning the
mica mines and also the contract with his
workmen and overseer. These—you see
there is an inner packet—these are the ac-
counts of the mines, not of much interest
to you, perhaps. Here are the sealed
packages,” and she displayed another lot of
papers which had been carefully tied up and
heavily sealed.

“ Have you found a will in your investiga-
tion ‘2”asked Owlet.

“Not yet. We may find it yet; it. may
even be in this safe which has not been
thoroughly explored. This sealed pack-
a e_!,

gMora stopped and looked at the package
she held in her band.

Her face lost color and Owlet sawa tremor
sweep over her frame.

“ My God! this is not the same package,"
she exclaimed as she tottered to a chair and
sunk thereon. “ It looks like the same, but
the wax is not the same color as I can see
now. The original package has vanished!"

“ Since when?" _

“ Since yesterday," answered Mora, star-

She was slightly intoxicat-

‘, v I , I,
..:\ ".. ~r.‘ tundra

 

4‘ It”, H. ,..

ing lirst at what she held in her hand and
then looking at the detective. “Someone
besides me knows the secret of the safe in
the wall.”

She handed the packet to Orson Owlet
who took it and held it in the strong light.

“ You will see that the wax is not so very
red. The one I took out of the safe yester-
day was very red."

()ld ()wlet broke the seal without ado and
let the papci's thus secured fall out upon the
table.

Mora uttered another cry of astonishment
and then fell back again in the chair.

“ Father would never have scaled up such
things with such care,” she exclaimed, point.
ing at what lay on the cloth. ” You see
that for the most part they are worthless bits
of paper, not worth scaling up. The origi-
nal package was valuable, and across it was
written: ‘To be opened at my last child's
death.".

“ Let us look through the safe," remarked
the detective. “ You may have mislaid
them.”

“ No, nol I know where I laced the
sealed package. as if done but an our ago.”

Still Mora, with suddenly assumed calm-
ness, came forward and assisted in looking
through the safe.

" It is terribly truel This house has been
visited by a robber within the last few hours,"
she said. “ That person must have known
the value of what has been taken. Orson
Owlet, you must find Normal"

The fair girl had s rung up and was
clutching the old detect ve’s arm. Her man-
ner was excitement itself.

“ Do you charge the maid with this theft?"

“ Who else would know anything about
the safe in the wall?”

“ But the value of those papers‘l—how
would Norma get at that?"

“ Ask me not that. I believe she knew.
Here yesterday, gone to day! The girl has
vanished. She ma or may not have recog-
nized the English etective. I thought she
did. You must find Normal"

Orson Owlet stood on the pavement ten
minutes after this scene.

The sun was beating down upon the stones
and the busy life of Gotham roared around
him.

Mora, standing among, the curtains of one
of the deep front windows was watching him
with eager eyes and he saw her not.

“ I don‘t know what to an about him,"
thought she. “Harold is at ll in the toils
and this man has not found a single clue
that promises to yield him anything. What
is he, a true friend, or a plotter a so? Can
I trust him? I have told him so much. His
eyes look me through at one moment and
the next they are cxpressionless. I don't be-
lieve he is the man we want on the trail,"
and the curtains fell as Owlet walked away.

Mora went over to the table and sat down.

“ I will try him a little longer. then, if he
finds no links, I will employ one whose fame
is world-wide. This mystery must be solved
isven if Harold reaps the whirlwind of its so-

ution."

 

CHAPTER XIII.
rorsv 'rmas TO KEEP ms worm.

Wr'ru the eagerness of a beast of the jun-
gle Popsy Vane waited for the comin of the
man who had robbed him of the den ly p0-
tion.

He seemed to be hoping against hope, for
man hours passed and no one came to his
den ut those who wanted their horoscopes
cast and who had been his dupes for months.

The old man with the dark past—the one
called up by the broken bracelet with its
ruby setting—seemed to grow thinner while
he waited for the handsome man.

Orson Owlet had told him that he had seen
this same man, but had not told him where.

If hchad given him this bit of informa-
tion the secluded tiger might have left his
lair long enough to hunt the man up and
show him that he had robbed the wrong per-
son.

So Popsy waited on, saw day give way to.
night and night, returning, throw her somber
pull over the city.

If he came when would it be? Would he
show himself by day or put off his visit till
night when, like the robber he was, he ex-
pected to plunder nim (Popsy) again.

l

 

y
l

l
4
i

 

 

  

Thar.” H”. I g   ;'.,...

14

' r); i. 3
an,“ :- Ls" I

Shadowing t

he" ' London Detective.

 

Hetty in the mean time had called to say
that the police had, as yet, found no clue to
the crime of the Avenue.

The telephone girl had patronized Old
Popsy, and he had taken a singular fancy to
; her, going so far as to tell her that his lore
'l‘j '. had no claims upon her purse.

;’1" r Night had come again—the night that
fix witnessed Harvey Hawk's interview with
3"] » Carmel and Jack Noddles (alias Costerman—
‘30 ,and Popsy Vane, with a visitor still on the
it” . ' stairs. was waiting for his man.

' -‘ “ Orson said he was coming back—ocoming

"for something he will never get,” mused the
, old man. “He said that he was coming,r to

repeat his brigandish act in this room. Well,

I‘d ive half I’m worth to see him here."
ould you Popsy? Would you give even
a pe y to bring that cool head to your door?

A1 at once the knob turned and the door
opened.

v If a dead enemy had risen from the grave
in front of him the old charlatan would not
have started more than he did then.

He fell back in his chair with a gasp. His
2 V under jaw dropped and his bulging eyes

- looked like walnuts over his colorless checks.

The man had come. The demon had re-
turned. .

Po sy Vane did not recover his breath for
am e while. , He looked like one frightened
' out of it for cod as he stared at the man

' who still hol ng the knob leaned into the
room and regarded him with a fiendish grin.
' Be shut the door carefully behind him and
 came in. [There was no sound to his foot-
‘ - steps; he might have had cork soles for all

Pogsy knew.
'r ti 1. eying him he advanced to the table
I" and leaned over it as he rested his gloved
hands on the frayed oil-cloth. ‘
" Good-evening, Popsy,” said ;he, his lips
. » scarcely moving. , '
. Popsy said something that sounded more
like a growl than a salutation and then he
‘ fell to looking at the villain again.
' " I hope you’ve enjoyed good health since
I went away.” continued the Unknown.
"You look well; you’re getting fatter!“
Thisku sarcasm of the bitterest sort, but

Popsy was not in the proper mood to enjoy
t

   
   
    
  
 
   
  
  
   
   
   
    
  
   
   
 
  
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
    
 
  
    
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
    
 

’ This time the caller did not sit down,
,,though a chair was at his service. He threw
one leg upon the table and half-mounted it
as he 'roceeded: ,
9 “ cw’s business, old man?”
"Pretty good," said Popsy, feeling his
“(gut-Inge coming back as he caught second
n .

.-you used to have in—say, in Seville?”
The old man recoiled. '
Aillon’t you know—” he began, but sud-
nly checked himself. . 1
“"‘,.Oh, yes, Iknow. I wouldn’t be here if
didn’t, on see. You can bank on that,
. : hat thing you gave me the other
hxt was .a failure. You trifled with me.”
“ You did, sir; you trifled with me in cold
blood!” a l '
."',I neVer trifle with any one, especially
with my patrons.”
 1“ That's  You qualify things as you
gogalong‘, see. But it was no good. I
ant the genuine article.”
if'You got it when on were here before.”
,“Comel I know w at's good and what’s
false. . It wasn’t worth the paper it was
" upped in. You keep such stat! to do
heirs ,folks. It wouldn’t have put a rabbit
asleep." .
_.",.,,But you accepted it and even paid for

,. so I did—paid for it pretty well too, eh,
I? ' 1 Did you take the ruby to a shop
, :reaiiz‘s on it? , No, I guess not. That

_, c has ahistory not very dear to you. and
,. iigu. wouldn’t part with it for the-

v m}: shoolghis head. ' ,.

;t is time he felt his old resolution re-
. He remembered his last words
,pgrson Owlet about this very cool head.
ahad told the detective that he Would
lift: of the visit provided he did not

Bunglgjithe rascal.

  
 
 

    

  

   

 
  

  

 
 

  

 and continued to look]

 

in You have 9, good trade?—better,than=

.nknown mnlhis hand through the.

with a gesture toward the cupboard set in
the wall. '

“ Not a single paper. ”

“ You don’t hoodwink me that way. You
had ’em when I was here before and you’ve
got some yet. I want airolher philter."

“ You played havoc with the first one."

" Do you think so, old Mcphistopheles?
Do you think i killed some one with your
famous potion? That’s what it was made
for, eh?"

Popsy made no reply, but looked at the
man.

"Come, I can't stay all night.
business elsewhere.”

“ I can't help that.
you now.”

“ By heavens! I’ll see for myself,” and
the man 'sprung from the table and started
across the room.

“Just as you please,” cried Popsy in an
independent way. “ You can see for your-
self if you care to.”

The old man’s caller stopped midway be-
tween wall and table. He seemed to think
that, after all, Popsy might have told the
truth.

" You know where the little cupboard is,
for you saw me open it once.”

“ Hang it all, you’ve got some infernal
thing in there to turn the tables on those you
don’t like. You’re an old scamp, Popsy
Vane—as full of devilment now as when you
escaped with your neck in Seville through a
flaw in the web of justice. ” . ‘

Popsy was watching every movement of
the man in the room. He regarded him with
the air of a crouching tiger that waits for the
gazelle to approach within reach of his
claws.

"‘ I’m not here to play like a child,” sud-
denly cried the handsome Unknown. “'1
want another philter. Get up 'and open the
cugboard yourself."

opsy seemed to rise with an effort.

His legs seemed uncommonly stiff, and he
groaned as he came around the table.

" You’re getting old, sure enough,” smiled
the fellow. “ I have seen you very supple;
witness the night on the ship when you ran
down the deck and leaped into the sea.“

“Ha, be, what a jump that was,” laughed
the old man. “I was supple then. You are
right."

At the same time Old Popsy held out his
arm. ‘

“There was muscle there once," said he.
" Feel it now."

The man with a curious smile ventured to
do so, but the moment he touched Popsy's

I’ve got

I have nothing for

hand was. launched forth and the Adouis-
faced went toward ,the wall. ,

All this was the work of an instant, and
before the struck one could rig t himself he
was pounced upon by Popsy ane with all
the fury of a lion. ‘

" You want another philter. do
almost shrieked as he pulled his_v1ctim up
and then jammed him mercilessly against the
wall. ' “You shall have it an to your lik-
ingl I told him I would kill you if you ever
came back, and here you are for death."

Not a word said the man in Popsy's grasp.

He was dragged across the floor 'and
forced half dead ,as ‘it seemed into the old
astrologer’s chair. I '

“ Now, who are you?" demanded-Popsy.

The answer was a look of cool defiance.
The stranger seemed determined to keep in-
violate his identiti. ,

“ Yousny you new me in Seville?” .

“ I did." \. .

“‘ You have referred to my moonlight leap
into the sea?” ’

“ I saw you take it." I

“ Were you on the vessel at the, time i”

" I was there i” ' ‘

Popsy leaned closer still to his rey.

“What did you do with the other paper?”
he asked. I . .r

" I have told you that it was worthless.“

' ‘f Then why want another when all are
alike?’,‘, , l  ,
" You say you intend to murder me. ‘I,
don’t doubt it. It, wouldn't be your first

   
 
 

  

     

 

arm it went back like an arrow fittedtoai
‘bowstrlng, and the next moment a dark:

on i" he“ '

 

have tiger blood in my veins now as I had‘

lonlglago.”
0 man in the chair told by his look that,
he (lid not doubt it.

He had seen enough of Popsy to believe
it.

‘ Now you are to remain here while I go-
out," suddenly continued the astrologer.

He seemed to throw himself upon the
handsome Unknown; he bore him back into
the chair though the prisoner exerted all his
strength, and in a jiily he hilli cords fastened
to the man’s wrists and one which held his.
head back till it was immovable. '

“ I told Orson what I would do with you
if you came back!" he hissed. “Why did
you come back, fool?"

The man could not speak from the cruel
cord. and Popsy crossed the room to the
cupboard.

He took therefrom a long green bottle
with which he approached the table.

Drawing the cork, he poured a lot of the
contents of the bottle upon the cloth and.
wherever it touched it left a dark red stain.

The citgr Adonis watched these proceed“-
ings with breathless interest.

Popsy took good care not to get any of
the liquid on his hands nor upon the-
garments of his victim. He strung it along
the edge of the table ‘ making miniature
rivers there till he had nearly exhausted the
fluid.

After this he replaced the bottle in the cup-
board and came back once more...

“ Who are you, anyhow ‘l” he eagerly
questioned as he bent over the doomed.
man.

" That is one of the secrets I can die with,”
was the stubborn reply. ,

“ it is. eh? Uurse you! you shall perish.
with it then.
yet you have partially assure me that you.

ave seen me in other lands and under other”
suns, See! I light a match. Alli have to»
do is to throw the match upon the table.
Magic and fate will do the rest.”

The little thing was burning in Popsy's-
hand and he held it over the red rivulet on.
the oilcloth. '

“ For the last time“ who are you and what.
did you want with the philter '2" asked the old.
man.

A low, devilish laugh parted the lips of his
victim.

" Go ahead and do your worst. The coil.
is tightening‘and the match secures it!”

The old man started, but he threw the
match upon the table. A foul smoke arose

Vat once, and while it hid the handsome face

and almost choked Popsy ,himself, he felt
back from the table and flinging open the.
door, left the Unknown to his terrible fate.

 

1

CHAPTER XIV. ‘
‘THE MAGIC or A NAME. /

OLD Popsy Vane stood on the sidewalk: a
moment and looked up at the windows of his.
den

He could imagine the mania the chair suf-
ferin in the terrible fumes of the li uid; be

cool see him in his mind’s eye peris ng by ,

inches in the old place, and all at once, ca
to get am. from the spot, he fied as if

gion of po ice were at his heels.

1'.
skimmed over the pavement, but continued

dropped half dead upon abench-ln a seclud-
ed corner. '

There for the first time since his flight he i
took a long breath. There in the shadow, of‘ ,~
» the trees and away from the glittering lam s.

be bid himself from mortal man and thong
of what he had done. '
There would he no
knew that. \
The man would simply die of sufloca‘ti
and as he‘ and locked the door. when he went

back he would find the villain dead and. done ‘~

for‘for good.
No more
Hamid he 1talk  thsl‘ Seville secret not or
,o s 's), ,. me soon. "  I”
«0p  settled his coconuts in
. m ,

  
 
   

You Will keep (your identity,. .

a 5-, a
Not once again did he look. back' as he? ‘
on until at last he entered a littlefiPark and. 5

fire} in his  Popsy :_'

would he hold over his head 
threat that had paled his cheeks; no mi?"

 

' “as 3W. 7

 

 

 

    
     
 
   
 
     
      
       
    
    
     
     
      
     
 
      
  

   
     
    
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 

    
  
 
  
  

  

Shadowing the London Detective.

15

 

 

Now and then some one flitted past and
left him unobserved.

“ Ha, I told Orson that if the wretch came
back I would likely do him up,” grinned the
old man on the bench. “ I have kept my
word and by this time he is done for. "

Then he thought of another thing and
started.

\Vhat should he do with the body?

\Vhat if it should be found by some one
else and the deed fixed upon him?

That would be a catastrophe which Would
give him additional trouble and give him a
notoriety which would not be enviable.

Popsy Vane started up at last.

He had been longer away from his dcn than
for months before.

The Park seemed to be losing interest for
the people, for fewer came his way, and it
was only now and then that he heard any one
on the graveled walks or caught sight of a
human figure.

He resolved to go back.

It was all over by this time: the liquid had
done its work and he knew what would
greet him when he opened his door.

Back over the same ground went the astro-
loger; he dodged in and out among the
shadows and at last stood at, the foot of his
stairs.

" Come, Popsy,’ old boy,” said he to him-
self. “ You should show more nerve than
this. Don’t play coward now that you
have just played hero. Go up and do the

. rest. "

He mounted the steps and paused at the
door. All was still within.

He did not try the door to see if it had
been opened since his departure but insert
ed a key and heard the bolt click as it went
back.

Something at this moment seemed to tell
Popsy that all was not right in the room be-
yond.

He hesitatedl at the door, but at last he
pushed it open. A foul odor came from the
room.

With bulging eyeballs the old man look-
ed into his den, but saw no one at the table.

“ Heavensl the rascal’s got away," and
he tottered across the floor to stop at the
chair where he had left his victim, but he
was not there.

For a moment Popsy Vane could not
realize that the rat had got out of the trap,
nor could he imagine how he had escaped.

There was a dark red stain on the oil-
cloth where the infernal fluid had run, but
the chair was empty enough.

The cords with which he had fastened
the man in the chair were severed, but he
could not tell by what means.

The Unknown was gone!

Old Popsy sat down with a groan.

" He seemed to see in that man‘s escape the
ruin of all his hopes and the overthrow of
his cherished laus.

,. What woulc not that villain do now?

What would be his next play when he
should turn on him (Popsy) with all the fury
of a tiger?

When the bolt would fall he knew not
nor from what part of the sky it would
come.

“What if he ransacked the place,” sud-
denly thought the old man. “He did this,
no doubt, but he may not have found the
secret places in my den.” ‘

During. the next few moments Popsy
Vane busled himself in finding out what
had followed the victim’s release. He search-
ed the place, opening here and there secret
compartments ingeniously set in the wall,
and peered eaverly into each to see if the
hunting hand had rifled them.

At each one he took hope.

The handsome Unknown knew nothing of
the secret niches; he did not know where to
look for them even if he had remained in
the den after his release and Popsy continued
to take hope.

“ But I can’t stay here with that man at
large," said he. “He will play a hand des«
tined to get the best of me and he will come
back some day so armed that I will not be
able to withstand him. No, I must go. I
must give up everything here and become a
fugitive once more. I must go away. "

Once more he made ready for flight, but
this time with more deliberation. He
realized that henceforth he would become a
fugitive, fleeing from an avenging hand and

I.

 

one that would strike and spare not, for he
had tried to kill its owner.

Popsy got a few things together and hid
them in his bosom or otherwiseabout his per-
son.

The rest he would destroy and in a manner
which would not give his enemies any clue
to what their secret had been.

These articles he collected on the stained
table He poured over them a reddish liquid
and threw a blazing match upon the heap.

lie stood at the door till he had seen a
bluish [lame eat up one half of the pile: he
saw it dwindle away until the destruction of
the whole was assured.

Not until then did he turn away. He shut
the door behind him and locked it, and with
the key in his pocket he went downstairs
and out into the night once more, but not
this time to turn his steps toward the Park.

But this time Popsy Vane was followed.

A figure half hidden near the entrance to
the Charlatans den saw him come out and
when he moved off he had a man at his
heels.

The tracker did not much resemble the
person he had lashed to the chair. though he
was of the same size. He had the some
quick and noiseless tread. and as he moved
along, with his eyes fastened upon his prey,
Popsy though he looked back saw nothing
of him.

{The old man crossed the city to the other
Sit e.

The river was near by and he would soon
stand on the pier.

Suicide was the last thing in Pops V’s mind;
he had not reached that moment 0 despair
and when he came in sight of the river he
stopped and thrust his hand into his bosom.

The little packet that was withdrawn when
the skeleton hand emerged was firmly clutch.
ed, and with a springy step the old man ap-
proached the water.

Far out into the stream he threw that
which he clutched and saw it strike the
waves to vanish instanter.

“Well, they wont find that," said Popsy.
“ That’s one of the secrets the river will keep
and all the rascals this side of perdition can't
brinc it up again to frighten me So far so
igofo . Now I can seek the one friend I have
e t."

Once more he turned back and flitted again
through shadow and lainplight with the
gliding figure after him. -

“ Orson will be surprised to see me and he
won't believe all my story," he thought
aloud. “ I will tell ()rson about some things.
but I guess I had best keep to myself my
adventure with that good looking demon."

Half an hour later Old Popsy ran up a
flight of steps in another part of the city and
rapped at a door.

There was no response and he repeated his
ra s.

R Not at home, eh ?” he said. “ Maybe he
will come before long and I have no other
place to go just now.”

He found the hall which ran past Owlet's
door deserted and quite dark, and sneaking
down it to the end he hugged the wall and
waited for the detective.

An hour passed, but no one came.

“It may be an all night job," thought
Popsy, “ but I am in for it. Orson will give
me shelter and the man who escaped me
won‘t think of looking for me here."

Perhaps not.

At last some one came up the steps and
stopped in the hallway.

Popsy’s keen eyes caught sight of the
figure and with the name of Owlet on his
lips he went forward.

d The man he had seen was at the detective's
oor.

- Old Popsy was about to make his pres-

ence known when a cold chill rushed over

him and he fell back with a halfsmothered

cry on his lips.

The man was not Old Owlet for he was
listening like an assassin at the door.

Popsy Vane stopped within a few feet of
the portal and watched the lone man.

He fancied that he could see an eager face
31111 a pair of glittering eyes close to the

oc ’.

Eagerly itched the old man’s long fingers;
he trembled with subdued excitement, but
held back as his breath came and went in
short gasps. ‘

At length the one at the door rose and

 

stood erect. Popsy made a silent note of
the figure, all-the time expecting to be dis-
covered himself and only wondered why this
was not so.

Suddenly the stranger turned.

“Ile can‘t be in,’ Popsy heard him say.
“ He can't have come home yet.so there s no
use tryingr to get to him. Another time will
do; yes, another time. '

The speaker had turned away when Popsy
moved.

This movement. involuntary on the old
man’s part, betrayed him, for in an instant
the strange man turned.

“ Who are you?" he hissed comingtoward
Popsy with the suddcnness of a leopard’s
leap. “ Are you a spy on me?"

The man of philters stepped into the mid-
dle of the hall and threw up his hands.

“I am no spy, but you are one!” he cried.
“You have been sneaking about that door
and you mean evil. ”

“ That's all right and what mean you here,
I would like to know ‘I"

l’opsy thought he caught sight of some-
thing iu the man’s hand as he spoke, but he
was not sure; it seemed to glitter, but he (lid
not wait for the assault.

With the sudden spring of an animal he
went toward the unknown, caught the up.
lifted hand and then thrust its owner against
the wall.

Desperation lent the old man unnatural
strength. He seemed to possess the powers
ofa fiend incarnate for he held his enemy
against the wall and choked him till some-
thing feli from his hand to the floor and re-
mained sticking there at Popsy's feet.

"I’ll show you how to play spy!" cried
Popsy. “ I am more than an old man with
horoscopes, but I‘ll cast yours to-night with
in hands at your threat for dead men tell no
ta es!”

The other struggled; he tried to break
loose from the desperate grip of the old as-
trologer, but Popsy prevented him, and all
at once he tore him from the wall and bore
him headlong to the steps.

“ Down on go with a‘broken neckl"
hi3sed the o d charlatan. “They'll find you
dead on the sidewalk and the Morgue will
get another tenant. Good by, spy l"

The man, somewhat smaller than Popsy,
was in midair and the design of the astrologer
could not be mistaken.

“ Do your worst, but if you do it remem-
ber that you will never see Tinal I will die
with the secret untold.”

()ld Popsy fell back and the man dropped
from his fleshless fingers in the twinkling of
an eye.

In another moment he had sprung to the
stairs and with a laugh vanished down the
steps toward the pavement.

CHAPTER XV.
nn'rrr AND MORA.

Bannow & Bannow. brokers, were enjoy-
ing a little sensation, for Hetty Hitts, their
telephone girl, had resigned her position,
and they had also discovered that she was
the person connected with Harold’s quarrel
with his father.

The firm had received a neat note from
Hetty resigning and saying briefly that she
preferred to remain with her mother whose
health was none of the best; but the gentle
man whose startling message had thrown
the girl into a faint came forward with the
information that she was the remote cause of
the murder.

Barlow & Barlow accepted the resignation.
but with regrets, and Betty held their letter
in her hand as she looked over at her mother
to whom she had just read it.

” Well. I am out of that place," said she
with a faint smile. “ I shall not be annoyed
any more and I can now devote more of my
time to you."

“ Another thing, you will not he followed
again by the stranger whom you have seen
several times of late watching you, and that
will be a relief."

Hetty was about to reply when she was
summoned to the door by a light rapping
and she opened it to see a vailed woman.
there.

In another moment Hetty gave vent to a
slight exclamation of surprise when the veil
was raised and she looked into the pale but
beautifin face of Mora.

 

'

 

 

 

grim“ I} 

16

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

Mora Esty had called on her brother's
sweetheart for a double purpose, and Iletty
smiled as she thought of this.

She conducted Mora to her mother and in-
troduced her, after which, feeling that the
two desired to be alone, she withdrew.

Mora looked for a moment into IIetty's
eyes and seemed to read the feelings of her

1 heart, for she suddenly, as if inspired by a
good impulse, put out her hand and took

HCtLIV'S.

“ know everything," said she, “ but I do
not come to you with any feelings of resent-
ment. We should be friends, no matter
what has happened, and Harold shall know
that we intend to do all we can for him in
this his hour of darkness and danger. "

Hetty felt the sincerity of these words;
she saw beaming from Mora Esty‘s eyes love
and sympath , and she resolved at that mo-
ment to stan by Harold‘s sister through all
her sorrows and griefs.

They could grieve together; they could
feel the same sorrows and work in the same
cause. While -their natures might not be
congenial in all respects, they need not let
little things separate them, and Iletty, reared
in poverty, believed that love would burn
away the barriers between them, and that in
the end the would stand on'an equal foot-
ing/i and flu in each other a friend in need.

ora informed Hetty Hitts of Norma‘s
flight, and mentioned the detective’s visit.

“Then you have seen him?” exclaimed
the telephone girl, with a start of pleasure.
“ You have mentally measured Orson Owlet.
the man of trails. What do you think of
him?"

“I hardly know. At one time I was will-
ing to trust him, but to me he seems one of
these human mysteries which may not be
for our good. I almost distrust this man.”

“But I do not,” cried Hetty, frankly. ” I
believe that Harold's welfare can be in no
better hands than his, Owlet I know, and
he is a strange man. He is an ideal ferret,
one of the very best, and he has tracked men
all over the world. In short, he must be a
born detective, and he keeps his secrets like
a Sphinx.”

“I can see that,” answered Mora. “He
seems to look into one‘s very heart and his
eyes, so piercing yet not expressive—they
seem almost dead at times—must have set
me a ainst him.”

" e have no one else to trust," replied
Hetty, quickly. “ We must rely on this
strange man who has never failed to find the
right clue, though it may take him some
time."

"The other man whom I hate—I cannot
help that, you know—is more a ile. He is
a detective by training, but he s a terrible
one, for look what he has done.”

“ Yes, the Englishman,” was the exclama-
tion. “He is the man who says he found
the dagger in Harold’s drawer. This man—
this Briton, Jack Noddles~did it ever occur
to you, Mom, that he may be an impostor?”

“ I have thought of that.”

“He may be what he represents himself,
but at the same time he may be a villain of
the deepest dye."

“ Would not a cablegmm to London settle
that matter? He says he belongs to the de-
tective force there—that he is a member of
the celebrated Scotland Yard band. I almost
made up my mind this morning without any
advice to send a dispatch to London asking
if one Jack Noddles is a detective.”

“ The detectives of New York who are cha<
grined over what he has done may have
thou ht of this. Owlet suspects the man.”

“ hen, let Owlet send the cablegram,”
said Mora.

“ That will do. He shall do this, if it has
not been done already. I will see Owlet.”

’ Mom was silent a moment.

“ I believe that he has turned his attention
to Norma. my maid,” said r:he. " The sud-

den flight of the girl and the robbery of the

secret safe seems to turn suspicion against
her, and while Owlet did not disclose his
thoughts while he stood before the open safe,
I am sure he will look for Norma.”

” And she will be a good one if she escapes
him!" exclaimed Hetty with enthusiasm.

The interview between the two women
came to an end an hour later. They stood
together at Hetty's door with their hands
clasped and their faces near each other.

“ For Harold we must work," said Mora.

 

 "-5 AAA}:
wad.— 

“IVc must know nothing from now but his
rescue from the fate that impends. “'e
must stand by him through thick and thin."

“Forever!” echoed Hetty. “ Harold shall
escape the snares of the conspirators. He
shall come out of the shadows free and
proven guiltless. You and l. Mora, will not
cease our efforts a moment till that end has
been reached, No doubting his innocence
for an instant and no turning from Orson
Owlet, the man of trails and clues—the firm
friend of the innocent and the avenger of
crime.”

“ It shall be as you say as to Owlet. I
will doubt him no longer,” returned Mora
Esty. “ You would not trust in an incom-
petent in a thing like this. I feel that I
already know you too well tor that. I will
never again doubt the honesty of this de-
tective."

They parted at the door and I‘Ietty’s cheek
glowed for severa moments under the touch
of Mora’s lips.

Wealth and social position had proved no
barrier between their hearts, and though one
had a million and the other but a few dollars,
they were friends and engaged in the aveng-
ing of the same man's murder.

Half an hour later Hetty Hitts found her-
self on the streets of New York.

She knew that Barlow & Barlow must
have heard of her indirect connection with
what had already been termed " the Esty
Affair” for her name had appeared in the
newspapers as if no one can escape the work
of the prying reporters.

She made her way down the street con-
scious that some who seldom took notice of
her now eyed her with curiosity for she had
become something in the public eye.

Hetty’s present mission was to Owlet’s
room, and in ashort time she reached the
door to find it not only closed and locked but
to see a bit of paper tacked thereon.

Leaning forward the ’phonc girl read that
the detective had vacated the old room.

She fell back with a half suppressed cry.

“ Gone! Vacated the room?“ she exclaim-
ed. “There must be some motive for this.
He gave me no hint of this. He keeps his
secrets, I know, but he said that whenever I
wanted anything of him to come to this
place."

But there was the little paper informing
her that the room was not only vacant, but
for rent.

For half a minute Hetty Hitts stood before
the door uncousicously reading the placard
again and again and at last, with the mys-
tery as deep as ever, she moved away.

She went to a building in the immediate
neighborhood and entered a small office
where a dudish-looking clerk waited for her
to speak.

“ When did Mr. Owlet vacate?” asked
Hetty.

The young man looked over his gold-
rimmed glasses and smiled.

“Want his services, eh?”

Miss Hitts’s eyes instantly brightened with
indignation. '

“I asked when he vacated,” she answered.
" The other matter cannot interest you.”

“ Ah, I did not know. Most of those who
seek a detective have business with him. By
the way,” he picked up a newspaper on the
desk and glanced at it. “ See, they’ve made
a pretty fair picture of you.”

He held the sheet forward and Betty saw
with a blush and a start her own portrait in
in one of the columns, and above it several
headlines that referred to “ new develop.
merits ” in the Esty Affair. "

She waved the newspaper aside and looked
at the clerk.

"You have not answered me,” she said.
“ When did Mr. Owlet vacate?"

“ Today, I believe. Is he working up the
case?"

The young man's impudence was too much
for Hetty Hitts. She rose and walked to-
ward the oflice door.

“ That, sir, is for those who are really in-
terested. ldon’t see how anything, even a
murder, could interest one of your caliber,”
and with this Parthian shot the tele hone
girl departed, leaving the clerk to he (1 the
fort alone.

Old Owlet gone.

Hetty stopped to reflect over the new turn
of affairs.

She felt that his vacating the room was

i
‘ l

I  ‘ r ’ ,J ' .
~ A:s:#'nfid~\"»7~‘3‘-Hl aw.

 

s muth .. H:

but a play of his in the great game of mys~
tery which had opened in Payton Esty's
room.

Owlet was one who would play some
strange hands: he would keep his own se—
crets and those not in them would never
know what he was doing till the work had
been done. -

Iietty wanted to see Owlet.

She wanted to tell him of Mora’s visit and
to suggest the sending ofacablegl‘am to Lon-
don to establish Jack Noddles’s connection
with the Scotland Yard detectives or to prove
that statement false.

There seemed nothing left her but to go
back home. She had failed to find Orson
Owlet and she did not care to remain on the
street since her portrait had given her addi-
tional notoriety, and she was likely to be
pointed out everywhere as “ the woman in
the case." I

It was a very unpleasant fame for Hetty
IIitts and after quitting the real estate office
she turned her steps homcward.

On her way she came to a little eating and
lunch house which she had patronized before
and feeling somewhat faint she resolved to
enter and indulge in a cup of coffee.

In another moment she was seated at a
table in a modest corner waiting for her or-
der and while she waited she picked up a
newspaper lying on the table.

That picture of herself was the first thing
she saw and with a smile she began to read.

“The woman in the case " read on until her
cofl’ec came when she laid the newspaper
aside and began to sip.

All at once some one dropped into a chair
at the nearest table and, with a glance at
Hetty, reached over and picked up the relin-
quished journal.

Hetty saw that he was a good-looking man,
but she saw more than this.

He was the same person who had followed
her and whose face she had seen last in the
street from the window of her home.

The spoon almost fell from the girl’s hand
as their eyes met, and while she held her
breath, the man, leaning forward, said in low
eager tones:

“ Don’t let me cause you any fright. miss.
I merely dro ed in here unaware of your
presence. on are Miss Hitts—the lady
rather profusl referred toin the newspapers
just now. hey can’t print your face as
pretty as it is—that is impossible.”

Hetty pushed back her chair indignant,
but the man with a grin continued as he
clutched her wrist:

" Don’t get elicky now, irl. You don't
know me and it may be we] that you don‘t.
I can tighten the noose around his neck. but
you can save him if you listen to me, that’s
what you can!”

CHAPTER XVI. 
A WOMAN or srmrr.

HELD in the grip of the strange man,
Hetty Hitts stared at him wondering at
times if it was not all a dream; but he
was lookin into her face with a pair of
eager and ashing eyes, and she realized
that it was really an encounter in real life.

" I don't care to save him through you,"
she said, her indignation still uppermost.

.‘iYou don’t, eh? Well, you’re a strange
glr .ll

“ Strange or not; it is true—I don't care to
see him go scot free if you are to be his
rescuer."

She felt that this man had something re-
pulsive in his make-up though he was hand-
some and sleek. He resumed at onch

“ We are not alone, but no one will hear
us,” be lowered his voice a bar. “ You have
heard what I said awhile ago. You can
save him if you are not‘too stubborn. You’ve

at your name in the newspapers; but you

out seem to like the notoriety.”

“ It is annoying,” said Hetty.

“ To be sure it is. I wouldn’t like it
myself.” '

“Of course you wouldn’t, but a man
could put up with it better than a woman.”

“Do you think so? Well, I don't know.
But let’s come to the matter in hand, You’re
pretty; but I’ve already told you that.”

Hetty made no reply.

“This thing has driven

our job, but no matter.

etter.-”

 

an away from
on can get a

 

at?"

K

i;

|
i

Shadowing the London Detective.

17

 

 

“I don‘t want another. I am satisfied
with the needed rest ”

“ You are? Well, he is in the toilsw—
captured as slyly as ever a man was caught."

“ But he is innocent."

” You think so That's all right, He’s in
a bad box all the same. You can't get him
out of it unaided,”

“ You don't know.‘

“I do know," and he leaned back and
laughed a low, irritating laugh. " I would
like to know how you would prooced un—
aided. It can‘t be done, girl. He’s in for
it. But see here.”

Hetty felt that others Were looking on, but
:she could not move.

“As I have said, I can help him, but only
on a promise from you. We won’t carry
out the bargain here. It’s not the place for
bargains. It’s too public. I am going out.
You will follow me.”

He released her hand and IIetty breathed
free once more. But she made no reply to
.his last words.

“You understand me," said he. “You
'can’t escape me, no matter what you do. I
hold him in my hands. His welfare and

ours belong to me, Miss Hetty. Gods!
. ow pretty you are."

Hetty fell back again indignant; this was
too much.

“ I refuse to listen!“ she cried, the flush
mounting to her temples. “ I will not have
anything to do with a bargain of the kind
,you hint at.”

She pushed her chair back and got up.
He did not move, but transfixed her with his
keen eyes and seemed to smile derisively.

“ You can‘t help it, I tell you,” he whis—
pered.
he shall stretch hemp no matter if he has a
thousand Owlets on the trail.”

Who was this man?

Iletty looked now at the handsome, cool
head, knowing nothing of Popsy Vane’s
visitor, else she might have answered her
mental question.

“ You‘re going, eh ‘2” continued the
stranger. “ We‘ll meet again and when we
do ou'll be willing to come to terms. I
he] his fate and yours in my hands.”

“ You may think you do. but you are
powerless to rescue him.”

“ Beware! You don't know me, as I have
:said. You may feel my hand before
long."

“You intimate that you know who the
guilty party is. You seem to say, though
you haven’t mentioned a name, that you

now who killed Payson Esty.”

He merely laughed a little.

“ Maybe you‘re the one,” Hetty went on.

“ Do I look like a murderer?" and he
leaned back in the chair and swelled up like
a toad as he looked up at Hetty Hello.

The telephone girl said no more, but with
another look walked away.

The air of the little restaurant seemed
very close to her. Her heart was beating
fast and she wanted to get out into the purer
atmosphere.

She did not look back to see what had be-
come of her persecutor. He might still be
in his seat, or he might be at her heels—she
did not know; she wanted to be out of the
place.

Hetty reached the side-walk. but not until
she had run the gantlet of prying eyes, all
of which seemed to recognize her as the
sweetheart who was being held responsible
for Payson Esty’s murder, and when she
started off with her face turned toward home
she felt relieved.

As for the man who had come before her

v

’ so suddenly, he remained at the table until

Hetty had gained the sidewalk when he
came forward.

His dark eyes had a mischievous twinkle
.and a smile appeared for a moment at the
corners of his mouth.

“Maybe I acted a little too fast,” said he
to himself, “but I couldn’t help it. She’s
prettier than the other, if she hasn't got her
money, and as for Carmel—she’s too ancient
for me, yes, decidedly too ancient."

Hetty near the entrance to the little place
passed a face she did not know, but when
the man came out the owner of this same face
stopped him.

“ Carmel?" he exclaimed.

“Yes,” said the woman, whose eyes sud-
denly glowed with a brilliant light. “I

“ You can’t get out of the toils and‘

 

want you. (ionic, the cab is over yonder,
and I will talk while we ride."

IIe hesitated, Sending after IIctty’s van—
ishing iigure an eager glance. but the hand
of (‘anuel kept his arm in thrnll.

“This is not altogether luck,” she went
on. “ I saw you in this street awhile ago,
and I thought I’d wait for you. You know
what has happened ‘3” .

lie, looked at her but made no reply.

" “’ait till we’re in the carriage.” Carmel
resumed. “ It is something important.”

She conducted him to a cab which stood in
the gutter a few feet away, and they stepped
inside.

Carmel pulled the door shut and gave an
order to the man on the box.

Away went the vehicle, and the woman
bent suddenly tOWard the dark mustache
and said. hoarsely:

" Boyd’s left the game!"

His reception of this information was a
violent start, and he looked increduloust at
Carmel, like one in a maze.

“ You don’t mean to tell me this?" he cx-
claimed. “ What, left the game?”

” That he has.”

“ What for ?"

" What do you think?”

The man seemed to reflect.

In another moment he shook his head, all
the time looking straight into Carmel’s eyes.

“ Boyd's heart is cowardly. That man
has shown the White feather just when we
are about to grasp the stakes.”

” Did you tell him so?”

“ I didn’t get the chance. He gave me
the slip.”

“ You don't mean to say that he has
sloped ?"

“ Boyd is gone." I

“ Run off?”

"Yes."

“When did he go?”

“Last night.”

“ At what hour?"

“ Between eleven and daybreak.”

“Which wa did he go?”

Question an answer came fast as the cab
rattled over the stones of Gotham.

“I don't know that, but we might find
out.”

“Does Jack know this?"

“ Jack knows.”

“ Well ‘2"

' Jack has his hands full new, you know.
He is wanted right here where so much de-
pends on his coolness."

“ Yes, yes; you are ri ht, Carmel.”

A moment's silence fol owed the last words,
Carmel looking out in the interval.

“Now you can guess why I wanted to see
you?” she went on. “ You must know now
that I had to find you, Harvey."

He nodded. but did not speak.

“ You must find Boyd and the girl.”

He started up and seemed to bend sudden-
ly toward the woman on the opposite seat.

“ What girl?" he cried.

“ The maid.”

"Norma?"

“ Yes."

“Oh, I see,” and he fell back again. “I
see now. He took Norma with him, eh?"

“ He did, the villain!"

Carmel‘s answer seemed to come through
clinched teeth,

“ I want you to follow them.
how to track people. Harvey.”

There was no reply. \

“ You don‘t fear Captain Coyningham ?”
asked Carmel.

“ No."

“ I thought not,” she cried, well pleased.
“If 1 had thought so I would not have hunt-
ed you up. You haven‘t a vestige of fear
about you—no cowardice in your blood.
You can start at once. I think I can put
you on their trail. But We will talk of that
at the house.”

“\Vhy not let them go?"

Instantly Carmel‘s eyes blazed.

“Let them get away with the secret?" she
exclaimed. “ Why. man. don’t you think of
the future? Have you no feelings of safety?
Let them go? He would sell us out and per-
haps to the detectives.”

“ I don't think CaptairflCoyningham would
do that."

“I know him. Then. he has broken the
oath of the Red Circle. He has deliberately
deserted us and just when we needed most

You know

.. r . l,   .vxti.

 

to stand together~—hc runs away like a cow»
ard and takes with him a girl who will play
false at his bidding.”

liy this time the cab had reached a certain
house and Carmel opened the door. She
sprung out and Harvey llawk followed her
up the steps and into the place.

They entered the parlor where we have
seen them before and there she turned on him
with the quickness of a cat.

“Iierc, read this letter. This may be a
clue,” and she placed in his hands a letter
which she took from her desk. “ You will
find them in Philadelphia if you look right.
They won‘t hide there long; of course not,
but long enough for you to play out your
hand—to make it hot for the traitor and his

artner. G0 at once. I won’t detain you.

on know what the reward will be. All
my love has turned to hatred and I can turn
from Captain Coyningham and give my
heart to the man who avenges me.”

She almost pushed llnrvey Hawk toward
the door, her eyes fairly flashing, and he

looked at her like a man suddenly awakened '

from a sleep.

“He must have been preparing for this
flight. He lost this letter yesterday and I
picked it up. No.— Race street, Phila-
delphia; you can find the place, Harvey.
They are there. Go and carry out the ven-
geance of the Red Circle. Go now."

The handsome man was in the ball when
he said:

“You know what I have lately passed
through. I am not over that yet. I had a
narrow escape from Popsy Vane’s diabolism.
I’ve been within the fringes of hades; but—”

" Tell me about it when you come back.
Go, go! Find the pair and slay the traitor;
silence the girl. too. You must do that to
triumph. I will reward you when you come
back. Go.”

Carmel shut the door on him and he was
alone.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
om owner’s NEW LINK.

Mona Es'rr was right when she told Hetty
that she believed that Owlet intended to pay
some attention to Norma her maid.

The maid’s flight and the robbery of the
secret safe in the wall seemed connected in
Orson Owlet's mind.

But there was another thing to look after
and he felt that it should be neglected no
longer.

The body of Payson Estv, the murdered
millionaire, had been deposited in the family
vault, a fine affair into which the dead man
had put a good deal of money.

Old Popsy Vane had told him that the
deadly philter left behind a sign which the
shrewdest loxicologists could not detect un-
less they were in the secret.

But if the millionaire had been stabbed to
death—and the coroner’s jur had said he
had—why look for the marks of a secret
poison?

Orson Ovilet not long after his last inter-
view with Popsy might have been noticed
on his way to Greenwood.

lie was armed with a permit which would
open the casket that contained the corpse of
Pnyson Esty and in due time he entered the
cemetery.

Driven to the vault, the iron door opened
to him and he and an attendant stood in the
gloom that prevailed there.

There was one other cofiin in the place—
that which contained the body of the million-
aire’s wife, long since crumbled to duet—and
the newest one was approached.

The light that burned threw a weird light

over the scene, and Owlet stood silent beside!

the casket while the lid was being removed.

Impassive at all times, he showud now no
signs of excitement, but waited in patience
till the last screw should have been removed.

“ I'm done, sir," said the man who worked
at the coffin.

“ Remove the upper lid and step outside,
please,” replied Old Owlet.

The attendant did so and Owlet waited till
the man was gone.

Then he lifted the lantern and stepped to
the side of the casket. -

He bent over it as he held the li ht in such
a position that it fell upon the w itc face of
the murdered mm.

W.
.

“fifties 125.:-

 

         

*‘rh\;". ,

18

Shadowing the V'LondOn Detective].

V- m.» v . . WV .. 

 

 

     
   
  
   
   
   
 
  
     
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
    
  
   
    
   
  
       
  
   
     
  
   
 

Old Owlet put his hand into the coilin and
turned the head a little.

It was a smooth face, but ghastly in every
feature and outline.

He held the light almost into the coilin.

“It is there. I see it!" he said half aloud.
“The Sign is here as plainly as if it was
marked in red.”

He touched the dead man’s ('lICCk with
his finger, tracing out as it were an imagi-
nary line half-way across it toward the
car.

“ No decay here for months." he went on.
“The sign will remain. Old Popsy some
day shall make all clear and the guilty will
be punished."

Again he held the lantern lower and
studied the face for several. minutes longer.

Standing in a certain position he saw noth-
in ; but again in another the sign of the
plfilter was to be seen.

_ It and not the stab in the throat was the
, sign of murder. ,
'. "This man was dead when the dag rer

struck him," muttered Orson Owlet. “ e
wasthe victim of the potion. not the prey
of the dagger. I have to prove this. If I
fail Harold Esty reaches the noose. If I
succeed some one else will. I will not
fail!”

He spoke with an .emphasis that came
,back to him in an echo of the enamel-house,
and ate plug to the door of the vault he
s! nalecl1 the man outside.
 ve minutes later the coffin had been
' closed again, and the detective was‘» riding

~,hack to the city. '

He went bac to Mrs. Larrigan‘s as Cyrus

Delafield, found that querulous dame at
home and told her that he was called outof
{the city for a day or two and might not be
hank even then; on the other hand he might
not go at all—it was even chances anyhow—
nnd then he asked her if she had seen any-
thing more of Costermnn, the flute-player.
Mrs. Larrigan had not seen him, and she
, mented his departure; saying that she
.xeally missed his playing as it seemed to rid
house’ of rats.

._Old Owlet went down the stairs with a
eflective face.

' ,‘Now a little chase after Norma,” he said
Ito himself. “The girl wholgave Mora the
iii lately ought to be looked after. ”

u the first place he went down to look

Popsy Vane, but did not find that
‘ rthy at home. In fact, everything looked
$0 him as iflthe, old man’s den had been sud-
‘ ly abandoned, and Owlet turned back.
‘He turned up some hours later in the little
room in Mrs. Larrigan‘s house, not having
ruck the trail sought. Norma had van-
‘ hedsure enough; but there was yet another

  

  

 
 

  
  

.. gee went upté the Esty mansion and met
“More. againu ,

‘flfhe ,ead millionaire‘s daughter mentioned
a once her idea of telegraphing to London
lib see if ‘ Jack Noddles really belonged to

    

 Yard.
,wi‘et seemed to smile at the girl’svfore-

. ht. .

alloufion't you think it would be a good
are?" asked Mora anxiously. . ‘

, gilt be tried, miss, but a cablegram
, reuse the fellow’s suspicions, especial-
}hould have any, friends in Scotland

  

"rd-av .- ,
‘I :se'e, I see." interrupted Mora with a
.Wig laugh. “It would not do at all. Let

. did. ‘

,ith villain did your maid correspond?"
flakedfthe detective. '

' ' " th precious few people," was the re-
‘She never cared for letter writing.
't‘kn‘ow that she wrote, a dozen letters
1 car. ' And what is stranger still, she

we wrote herself. She used to get a.
” to write for her."
tit she could write?”
h, yes; Norma could write well, as far
graphy was, concerned; but the man-
not etter writing she never encour-

 this friend who did that for
, ,

 
 

   
 

 

  

  

  
  
  
 
 
 

. I
oung girl'someWhere on' the next
 believe)! ' . . l l , A
t . eyonjknow bar name i” “
‘ I “never



: its “‘1

 

“ Well?"

“ Her name is Hester Lacroix. and I think
she is French. ”

I “ Lacroix is French enough,” said Old
Owlet. “ Have you the number?”

“Hester is but a maid like Norma, and
her name would notappear in the Directory.”

“ Then you do not know the number."

“ Unfortunately I do not."

“ Hester Lacroix?" muttered Owlet to
himself. “ That is something to start with.“

“ You don’t think that she shares Norma’s
secret?” cried Mora.

“ I cannot say as to that. It is not likely
that she does; but I shall hunt Hester up.”

It turned out to be a short hunt. for at a
small grocery on the next street Old Owlet
by shrewd inquiries found out that Hester
Lacroix was a maid in a wealthy family; not
only this, but tllat she was to be seen in the
Park every evening, for she was vivacious
and proud of her petite figure and good
looks.

It was near sundown when Old Owlet
strolled into the Park and began to walk
slowly up and down the broad walk near the
entrance.

“ Here she comes," he exclaimed as a girl
came forward and seated herself on one of the
settees.

“ She was young and exceedingly pretty,
Frenchifled in dress and manners, and while
the detective watched her. she took a ball of
work from her pocket and began to crochet,

all the time watching those who entered the

Park.

' Old Owlet watched her a few moments
and then walked forward and took the other
end of the settee. ,l ,

Hester looked up, noticed him and return-
ed to her double occupation.

“ I be your pardon, miss,” said the detec-
tive. “I come from your friend, Miss Nor-
ma—ah, you know her?”

Hester assumed a look of astonishment and
stopped knitting.

“ Indeed, sir, you quite mystify me,” she
replied. “ Miss Norma to be surel I know
no Miss Norma .”

, “ What, not know the maid on the other
street—the one who“ lived in the family of
the man who was killed the other day?”

“ I don't know her.” ,

Hester Lacroix's lips closed with an empha-
sis that was intended to be final.

" That’s strange. ' You are Miss Lacroix,
aren’t you ?" '

“‘I am Hester Lacroix.”

" I was told that you would probabl deny
a few things. That’s all right. Miss {Iorma
sent me to say that she has gone off. ’ Went
last night, you know. l Was sorry to have to
go wit out seeing you; but it couldn’t be

- helped. You used to write letters for her and

I happen to know that you wrote them well.
She may not come back for some time.
Thereforevyou won't get to wield the pen for
her soon. " y ‘ .

“ Where has she gone?” asked Hester,
without thinking.

Owlet smiled: the girl had:tripped herself.

‘f I think she has gone to her friends—the
ones to whom you wrote, on know.” v

” Perhaps—the Philade hia ones. I nose
that must be so. She paidp me well for t ose
letters and I made some extra pin money
that way. ” '

“And you made it honestly certainly,

Norma forgot to tell me they address of her
Quaker City friends before she went away
and I may want to write her, you see. "

“ 0h,” said Hester, “ lean supply their
address from memory. I wrote ‘it so often,
you know." . ‘ '

1 “That’s what I thought."

"Would you like it"

“It you please."

Hester drew a little card from her pocket

"and with a fairy pencil traced thereon:

“Mrs. Boutelle, No. ~———-, Race St, Phila?

delphia,” and handed the same to the detecv

tive..

“You are very clever,” said Owlet. ‘?I
shall try not toforget this favor. " Norma
would be very apt to go there."

“51 think so. She told me that Mrs. Bou-
tells wasa lady of refinement. Of course
you‘ knew‘ that Home (was a
mains swam

seem believe.

 

  
    

waif—~picked.
and brought "
._ ‘b ' u-

 

IIester Lacroix shrugged her shapely
shoulders just a little.

“ I can’t say that I really liked her," was
her reply. “ She was a strange girl. Had
queer ways: could be as nice as you please
and as sullen {ls—I don‘t know what. Still,
for all this, slle was companionablc. She
could write though. "

“But you did that fpr her.”

“ Yes. She would never Write a letter
herself. She seemed to have a fear of let—
ting any of her writing get abroad. It ma
have been a wlliul—l don’t know. Still it
was strange.“

“ The murder affected her a great deal.”

" I haven‘t seen her since,” was the reply.
l “ It was a bad pace of business, that mur~
L or. "

The little French girl sllllddcrcd.

“ it was terrible. Mun. (New I to think that
they have the youngr man arrested for the
crime. It looks bad for him, Iam told. I
have been watching ever since for Norma,
and now‘yon tell me that slle has gone away.
Well, she will come back. maybe.”

Owlet again thanked Hester Lacroix for
her kindness, after which he left her on the
settee with her work, while he strolled off to
quit the Park as soon as possible, with the
pointd scored for which he had deftly
pla e .

“yl’ll be keeping my word with Mrs. Lars
rigan if I go to Philadelphia,” he thought..
“ Thanks to the little French maid. I’ll run'
over to the Quaker City. The trail seems to
lead in that direction.”

It might be a futile chase: but Old Owlet
seemed to think that Hester Lacroix had
given him an important link in the Esty
mystery. .

CHAPTER XVIII:

BROTHER AND SISTER.

MR. JACK NODDLES, the so-called London
Detective, had become for the time being a
noted man.

His discoveries made at the home of Pay-

 

son Esty, the murdered millionaire, had-

secured for him a notoriety that reached be-
yond the limits of Gotham, and heralded his
fame in other parts of the countriy.

A good many people began to nquire who
this shadower was, and what crimes he had
brought to light inxthe Old World.

No one doubted his identity.

Those who read of his prowess watched
for him and stared at him when he appeared
at the preliminary examination of Harold
Esty, and gave in his testimony in acool,
straightforward manner. ' ‘

He did not care to see a promising young
man like arold get into a terrible redica-
ment like the one into which he ha fallen;
but it was his duty to tell the truth, and his
duty, too, as a man-hunter to bring .the
guilty to 'ustice. '

Jack
and was correspondingly hated - by the New
York ferrets. ‘ ' 3 v 

No one but Old Owlet had discovered that
he and Costcrman', the flute-pin lag roomer
at Mrs. Larrigan's was one and t a same per-
son.

Perhaps no one suspected anything against
the , Briton, and therefore he had escaped
very well. '

Jack Noddles was having it all his own

wa . ~ I
(In the evening of Owlet's interview with

Hester» roix in the Park Jack entered a

house in a respectable part of [the ‘city

and took a seat in a room to the left of the ~'

' hall. .
He might have been keepin an up . int-
mentpfor the man was wel dresse and

looked as sleek as a dude. . ‘ .
He was not permitted to remain alone very

long in the room for he was "soon Joined by a, 1 .
q .

woman who smiled to see him I
This' ersonage was older, than Jack Nod-

dles an vher'eyes had a pecu‘liar .1001; which ,

a suspicious man might have mistruste’d.

“ I heard you were in the eity,',',» said, .
Jack, looking at the woman who was-past
forty and tall and well rounded. . “ You see 
I have been busy and have called at’lny first: '

  

Opportunity."“ . .
, 4'1 b heard,” was litheglre) ‘- on

  

oddles( was the lieu of the hour, '

 

 

    
      
     
         
      
     
     
   
       
      
       
     
    
 
       
     
     
       
      
       
     
        
      
      
       
        
       
     
       
   
         
  
 
 
  

 
 

 

 

 

- is being play

i > who helped to put

 ‘once more.
. plays of the old past?”

Shaddwing the London Detecitfie.

 

 

,—.\«

 

 

 

 

manner. “ It is quite true that I am not in
my old business, but after the experience I’ve
had I don‘t care to follow it here. What 1
am at is paying me."

“No doubt of that. It is paying you bet-
ter than the old business'did I hope.”

Jack seemed to start a little and the woman
removed her eyes from him a moment.

"' When did you come here?" he asked.

“ I have been three months in the cit ."

“ You have?" with a sudden start. “X’Vhy
didn't you let me know ?”

“I waited for you to find me out.”

“' That was hardly right, Sophy."

“‘Sophy?” smiled the woman. “ That’s
not my name now. You needn’t go back to
old times when you speak to me. Sophy in-
deed! I’m Natalie, remember.”

The London detective gave a surprised
whistle.

“ Oh, I see. You’ve buried the past so
far as on can and you've taken another
tack in ife."

“Who had a better right to, tell me,”
was the reply. “But let’s get away from
this subject. You've scored a success, I
hear.”

“ I am on the top wave.”

“ And the young man in the toils didn’t
do it at all, eh ‘2”

“ Of course he did,” cried Jack. “ Do
you think I would go so far as to play the
bold hand you hint at? I’m not the man to
do that, no matter if I have been pretty bad
in In time.”

‘; beg pardon. Then you have reform-

There was sarcasm in the voice and another
smile came to the lips of the woman who had
called herself Sophy.

“I have news for you,” she went on, lean-
ing toward Jack Noddles. “ I have a bit of

. intelligence that may astonish you.”

“ Out with it."

“ In a moment. Tell me first what has
become of the others."

“ What others ‘2',’

“ Cruel Coyningham, Harvey Hawk, as he
is now called, and Carmel.”

“ They're not so far oh, I guess."

' “ Are all in New York?!’ '

“ Perhaps. ”

“ And in the game with you?”

“,In what game?”

“ Come, you cannot [hoodwink Sophy,
once your friend across the water when the
Stars and Stripes couldn't save you from
Baétmoor and the mark of the prison

a '1’

" You’re inclined to be severe.”

“ But truthful all the same," _

“ I’ll admit that if it will do you any good.
They're all in New York. Now goon. '

“ So Carmel is here!” cried Natalie. “ So
she is still livirég and deep into the amc that

. Is she as 0001- ended as
ever?"

“I guess she is." .

“And Cruel Coyningharn? Did he eve
marr her?"

” But she loves him still, eh?”

‘9Perhaps she does. " . ‘

Natalie was silent for a moment.

‘2” You said you had something to tell

e

“So I have. You remember the man
you first in irons and
then in the cell—tho man who gave your.
prison number—what was it, 26.999—‘ .
“:l‘here were several engaged in that
“ Yes, but the American ferret. The man
who Went over to Manchester and threw the
coils around you.” ,
“ Of course I haven’t for otten him."
‘.‘]He is here in New Yor ."
Jack fell back in the chair and laughed.
~ “I thought you, were to tell me some.

. thing surprising." hechuckled. V l‘

Natalie looked chagrined.

-“ "You knew it. then i" said she.

“ Of course." . / 
"And you let him remain alive to beat you
Is that the Way. youreturn the

, I“ You don’t know what I am doing",

. "That is true.” ’ l, , ' ~
“You don’t know what I have been at all
his time course I/know that 1311qu

’ thew

 

“ No. He sails under another name. He
is now called Orson Owlet, the detective."

“ And he is mixed up in this same case.”

“I know that also." replied Jack. ” I
am aware that Orson ()wlet has put his hand
into the pudding in search of plums.”

The woman seemed to draw back and look
at Jack.

“ I presume you intend to let him play his
hand out," she exclaimed.

“ I don't intend to do anything of the
kind. Have you seen this man?”

“ I’ve seen him."

“ He might like to see you, too. You rev
member once in Piccadilly, the morning be-
foreI was brought over from Manchester,
that he ran afoul of you and whispered in
your ear. ”

“ Just as if I forget such thingsl" cried
Natalie. “ I can hear him whenever Ilisten.
What did he say that time? ‘ I spare you
for this time, Sophy, for your mother’s sake;
but never cross my path again in any land.”’

“ He said that, did he, and you are here in
New York where he is."

" I am here, but, as you see, I am not run-
ing into his nooses."

ack seemed to look at the woman with a
strange expression of face. 4

She was rather pretty, but showed some
signs of adissipated life, and her long and
shapely hands were very white.

” No," she went on. “ I am not running
Snylliesd into this man’s dragnet, but you are,

M .1,

“ Do you really think so?”

f " I know it. You are getting there pretty
ast-H .

“ Just as if I am not able to také care of
myself!”

” You thought so years ago, but they came
down on you with the darbies and you saw
the inside of Dartmoor for six long years."

The man winced.

'f It was Tartarus,” he said.

,“I know it must have been: this time it
may be still worse than that. This is America
your native land, but they won't spare you
on that account.”

“ Natalie—by J ovel I'd like to call you
Sophy if you’d let me—it’s like old times—
I’m glad to see you, but you persist in mak.
ing me shiver.”

“ There’s one way out of the pit and only
one, Jack.” .

” Point it out,” ‘

“ Your" own judgment ought to show
you the way. That man stands in it, boy,
and you can’t get around him. You must
walk over Orson Owlet to immunity."

“ There it is again," rejoined J ack Noddles.

“How do you know that he has found me}

’I‘

out?
“‘That’sapointed question and youshall
have a pointed‘answer. You have been

playing a rob which you hoped no one could

see through. Just why you've layed it I

do not know, but you ave been r. Caster-

anan. and, then, you have been playing your
ute."

" Oh I‘ couldnfit let up on that very long,

Sophly.” , , l ,

" ou’ll play yourself into the net sure."
was the reply. “Well, about Orson Owlet
and yourself.” ‘ ‘

’She stopped and went over to a shelf in

the room. Taking‘something from,“ she
came back to Jacl . ' ' ‘

"By the merest accident I discovered
Dunbar Vivier on the street. Those eyesof
his never change and the have the some
light now as when that ay in Piccadilly

Circus he stopped me and spoke the terrible

warning. I say I have seen him and- I have
follOWed him to Mrs. Lari-lagan’s only to dis
cover that you were hcus there as Coster-
man. and that the accursed flute was giving
you away all the time." ’

The listener smiled. _

“ He is there yet. Orson Owlet,‘ as ydu

call him, is still under: Mrs. Larrigan’s roof , '

and he is there for a purpose." _ ‘
.‘i But Ivam there no longer as you see,
1r .” - , , ' ‘ ,
f‘N . but now ‘ is our chance. Now-"is
the time to’st‘rike a blow which sha‘llrid you
forever 01 this enemy who once sent yduto

Dartmoor with its infamous memories. , e

       

   

mgst got pfizt oflithat gig: ”  .
‘ ac  ~ or " m ' -
but.»  . ’ .

,” I don’t say anything about the young man ' ‘,

whither his had been taken charged,-

 

“ hls'li', but
“ .

 
   
    
   
  
    
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
   
  
    
    
  
   
   
  
  
  
    
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
    
   
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
 
   
 
 
 
  
    
   
   
   
  
    
 
  
 
 
   
      
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
  
       
     
     
      
   
     
            
 
    
  
      
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
 

“We are near and dear to one another,
Jack. We are brother and sister. I have.
crossed the ocean in search of you and I have
found you at last. You are still in the hands
of those people. You are still‘ in the old
gang headed by Cruel Coyningham and.
seconded by Harvey Hawk and Carmel.
And what is worse still, you are suspected, '
by Dunbar Vivier. now ()rson Owlet thofl
acknowledged prince of detectives and a man
who never fails.”

“ He will score his first one soon." ,‘

“If you lie there inactive, no; if you a.
rouse and strike like a lion, yes!”

Her 0 es fairly flashed. ‘

“ It a 1 lies with you, Jack," she Went on. '

around whom you seem to have pthrown a?"
net of evidence. I know nothing about the!»
merits of this great murder which has con-
vulsed New York. You know more than.
an one perhaps. But I am here toss that:
no 085 the blow is struck at once the onto;
you have reared in this country will crum-"
lc beneath the hands of Orson Owlet,.
know also that Popsy Vane, so called, bian‘
old acquaintance: but 1 don’t fear him. .We.
have a club which will silence that mum
bling old wreteh at any time; but the ferret.
is the dangerous man. He is the only one

to be feared." \ . _ 1
Jack seemed to rouse himself, for he tinfve

the ci ar away and stood erect. ’
“I clieve what you say, Soph ,”ho"

claimed. "I feel that this man s danger»
ous." ' ‘
" The sooner he is silenced the better. Yo
are known as the .London Detective. ’m
man may in mm into such a claim.”
“I have t ought of that." ".
“The more reason why we should stan
together and make way with him. I unmet“
too old for work, Jack, though a good-W
years your senior. We never lose our ti,ch

load, at least I never do. Come, we know‘
where the enemy is. I have told you the he
is one of li'Irstarrignn’s roomers.‘ "
more need I say?"

Natalie turned toward the window: 

looked out into the street. .
Jack watched hero few moments.

lence. \ ,
They were brother‘and sister and “he

not seen her for'years. Their greeting‘fltgi‘“

not been profuse; it was not Sophy'sg

ner. She was cold. but crafty, cool and

ciless. and he thought of their chi

while he looked at her. . ’ 
“ Well?" she said, turning “sud .

‘f What'are you going todo?" ' ~ '
” We will attend to the man in on! wax,
Her lips curled with triumph. -" ' f”
“That seals Dunbar Vivier’s doom,’ A .

all she said, and then she looked swayagsig,

 

 

CHAPTER XIX. 1
WHAT us’r’rr usLLo SAW. . '

' MEANTIME Betty Hitts had been  i, .
an interview wit Harold in the. '1‘

coroner's jury. ‘with murder ;in th
de ree. l , I ,
he telephone girl had much tosay ,.
the authorities, touched by her devotioh.’ =
left the two alone in Harold’s cell. _ ‘ '
It was the girl's first visit sincehis,
aeration and the young man was. glad

her. 1'
He asked after Mora who had been
him once to asure him thatall thinks
and love could do to solve the mystery
bfiing done and Betty hastened (to z --
t s. ' l .  ...
But there was one thing near her heart
she came to it at once. ' _"
“Harold, that dagger is the Worst,
against you," said she. ' "

  
  

 

  

  

 
  
 

 

room says also thutit‘was hidden
bureau and that'thc linen over it he

 
 

 

  
   
     

dark stains." ' v - '
Instead of answering her Harold see a

turn his face:away..
“ Was .it
He look

 

   
    
 
 
 
   
 

   

our dagger, Harold?"
at her and" for, a 

lat once he said: ‘ “
stamina“ '* > V'

         
    
 
  

  
 

20

.-

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

Hetty IIello lost color now.

“ But you—"

She stopped and caught herself.

“ It can’t be possible, Ilarold—”

She stopped again, but suddenly caught
his arm and leaned toward him with a look
of agony in her eyes.

u “ Did you have words with him that night?
‘ Did you and your father have an altercation
that fatal time?"

‘: We had words, but they were not
serious.”

” It was about me again was it not?”

Harold bowed his head and was silent.

“I am to be your destruction,” cried the

irl. “ I am to send you to your doom,

arold. Why did I ever see the light of
day?”

“ I am to blame as much as any one," was
the reply. “ I might have acted differently;
I see it now, but what’s done is done and we
must put up with it."

“But that dagger and the missing letter
which the officer could not find when he went
ato get it? Surely you can give some solution
'to these things.”

“ To the letter I have no solution. It was
in the drawer when I saw it last; but the
dagger —- don’t question me about that,
.Hetty.”

Hetty Hitts seemed to draw back with a
shudder and Harold turned his head away
and trembled.

Was he guilty after all?

Had he committed that heinous crime
.and was the English ferret right in his ar-
.rest?

No wonder Hetty Hello shook when she
looked at him.

” The dagger will finish you if you don’t
explain," she said. “It is the great point
against you and you and you alone can clear
.I u .’l

e made no reply, and she came back to
the same point with renewed courage.

"The matter has been placed in the hands
of the best ferret in this or any other land,”
said she. “ Orson Owlet to whom I sent
you the very night of your arrest is on the

‘ trail and nothing escapes his drag-net. He
is a man who gets what he goes after, and
he has never failed, no matter how dark the
mystery is.”

“I have heard that.”

“ Don‘t you know that you can throw
'light into the darkest spot, Harold? Come
out and tell all you know and Owlet’s trail
will not be so dark."

“ Not now, Hetty.”

“ When, then ‘2” eagerly asked the girl.

‘The prisoner shook his head.

“ You don't know, or at least you won’t
say."

“ I cannot speak.”

“ Mom is at work in her way,” continued
Hetty. “ She will give herself no rest till
the myster has been solved."

“ She to d me as much when she was here.
I am sorry for Mora.”

Hetty groaned.

“ Mora must not be held responsible. You

i .ask me to explain about the dagger and

the stained linen. The blade belonged to me.
It was found in my drawer, but— Let me
.stop here, Betty.”

“ Why not tell me all, Harold?”

“ I prefer to keep that secret.”

“ And perish with it untold?"

“ Perhaps.”

The girl seemed to have reached the end
‘of her efforts. She rose and looked down at
Harold,

“ But you wili tell me one thing, won’t
you?" she suddenly exclaimed. “ You will
'not keep that back from me, Harold. Did
'you commit the great crime?"

He sprung up and caught her hands and

“ Do you think I (lld, Hetty?”

, “ I never thought so,” was her reply.
“ 1 never will believe it, no matter what they
prove.”

Eye met eye while they stood face to face
'in the little cell, and Harold with a sudden
impulse drew her toward him and imprinted
a kiss on her forehead.

" You have my answer,” said he as he
released her. “ Through thick and thin
.stand by me, Hetty. Let that detective work
out the mystery if he can. I cannot spea ."

It was with strange feelings that the tele-
phone girl left the prison,

‘ looking her in the eye he said:

 

The mystery was as great as ever; yea. it
seemed darker than before. for Harold had
confessed to the ownership of the dagger,
but had refused to tell any more.

And there had been a second quarrel. This
was news to Betty, and ithad taken place on
the night of the murder.

She went back home cast down and weak
cued by her visit to the man in the shadow.

The shadows were gathering round Gotham
and after a brief rest Hetty went out
again.

“ I must see Owlet," said she. “ I must
keep looking for this man until I find him.
He seems to have vanished, but I must not
let him get far away. He must hear what
Harold has said. The dagger was his; it was
found in his drawer by the Englishman.
Why didn’t he hide it elsewhere?"

She made her way to Orson Owlet‘s well-
known den, but the man had not retaken
the place.

The sign “ To Let ” still hung on the door
and Betty had to turn away.

She resolved to turn her face toward
Mora’s home and in a short time she arrived
there.

The mansion which had of late obtained
such startling notoriety was almost dark,
but Hetty rung the bell.

The door was opened by a new servant
who had already taken Norma’s place, and
the telephone girl slipped inside.

She was told that Mora was up-stairs and
Hetty said she would run up and see her
there.

She soon found herself on the landing
above and turned toward Mora’s room.

All at once, however, she stopped and
fell back against the wall for Mora was
seen approaching with stealthy tread and
white face.

The hour was not late, but the girl must
have retired, for she was clad in a long
ni ht robe which was as white as her own
fa r face.

"She will see me in a moment,” thou ht
Mora, as she held her breath, stand ng
against the wall watching Mora all the time.
“ She will actually run against me.

As Mora came near Hetty observed a
strange cast of countenance and the odd look
in the half-closed eyes.

Mora was a sleep-walker and Hetty while
she watched her felt an uncanny feeling take
possession of her soul.

On, on she came, seemingly in possession
of all her senses and the watching girl saw'
her advance to the door of her father’s
room.

“ But once have I crossed the threshold of
that room and then Mora took me thither
and told me there the story of the crime as
she knew it,” said Hetty to herself. ” And
now, Mora, asleep, is enterng that chamber
and she may give me a link for Orson Owlet’s
chain."

It was a strange thought to enter Hetty
Hello’s head, but it came unbidden and she
could not root it out.

The door was shut behind the somnam-
bulist. but not locked, for Hetty listened to
hear the key click and failed to hear it.

She sprung down the carpeted corridor
and reached the door. In another instant
she had opened it and was looking into the
room.

The next instant she fell back with a poor-
ly-suppressed cry, for Mora was movie to-
ward the threshold and as Hetty hugge the
opposite wall again she saw the millionaire’s
child come out.

In one hand which was quite bloodless
Hetty saw that she carried a knife.

The girl’s fingers were wound closely
about the handle which was dark, and the
blade lay along her whitened sleeve like the
dirk of an assassin.

Back toward her own room went Mora,
but all at once she turned toward Harold’s.

She stopped and looked back, but did not
see the breathless Hetty creeping at her
heels, though for a moment the telephone
girl thought she had been discovered and
was in danger of the blade.

Mora opened the door of Harold’s room and
entered.

Hetty slipped after her. She came to the
door and pushed it njar, and the next mo-
ment she was watching Mora Esty as she
o shed the lower drawer of the bureau and
h d the dagger therein!

 

This act took all that remained of Hetty
Ilitts's breath.

She seemed to have reached the solution of
Harold‘s silence.

llc must have witnessed a similar scene
and more.

He must have seen what she had just seen
and something more terrible still.

No wonder he refused to tell how the dag-
ger came to be found in his drawer.

Iletty felt like sinking to the floor in a
faint, but her nerve kept her up.

She drew back from the door and watched
it a moment, but More did not emerge.

By and by she crept to the head of the
stairs and waited there. She saw the girl
come forth at last; she watched her as she
turned toward her own chamber, and beyond
its portals she vanished.

Hetty was now seized with an impulse to
enter Harold’s room, but something seemed
to hold her back.

She had seen Mora deposit the dagger in
the drawer; she guessed that she had placed
another there, and with this thought in her
mind she went down-stairs.

Surely she had Harold’s secret now.

What should she do?"

In the hall below she stopped until she
caught her breath. The parlor was well-
lighted. Should she enter and wait for
Mora? No, better go home with the secret
dread and terrible in her keeping.

She resolved to do so.

Pressed down by what she had witnessed,
Hetty Hitts went back to the streets again.
She glided hither and thither under the
lamps of Gotham and at last found herself in
her own little room.

Harold was innocent; but Mora?

She had not seen the pantomime which
must have been enacted by the somnambulist
in the death-room, but she could uess what
it was like. She had seen enoug : she had
witnessed more than she cared towitness,
and again she wished she had never been
born.

And Orson Owlet? Would he ferret out
the truth? Would this man find the link she
was confident she had secured, and would he
play out the hand he was fast girtherin ?

But she knew that Owlet elleve that
Harold was innocent, and that Mora—Mora,
the sleep-walker—knew no crime.

 

CHAPTER XX.
IN THE QUAKER crrr.

HARVEY HAWK set out for Philadelphia
with a good deal of unwillin ness.

He had been driven to t e chase by Car-
mel who, seeking reven e against the man
called Captain Coyning am, had sent him
(Hawk) after the fleeing couple.

The handsome man who had played his
part with Popsy Vane in robbing the old
man of the philter to return and be left
bound in a chair from which he had effected
a miraculous escape in time to save his own
life, was both cool and as cunning as cool.

Harvey Hawk who knew the ways of the
man he had been sent not only to watch but
to slay left the city at a late hour on his way
to Philadelphia.

He had nothing to guide him but the letter
which Carmel had found in Coyningham's
room and this nestled in his pocket.

It was not a very sure clue, but in Car-
mel’s eyes it was enough.

Harvey would have preferred remaining in
New York after his adventure with Betty in
the restaurant and while the time sped on he
fell back in his seat and took his case.

He would come back and succeed et; he
cared but little for Carmel’s smiles; e pre
ferred the dark eyes of Hetty Hitts, and it
pleased him to know that the girl's lover
even then repined in a felon’s cell and only
waited to be taken to the noose.

“Why not give them time to clear out
entirely?” thought Harvey Hawk. “ They
won’t stay long in the Quaker City, and if
they are stopping on Race street it is only
for a while. Why not watch the house till
they go away and then go back with a con-
cocted story for the woman ?"

The more he thought of this plan the more
he liked it. and by the time he reached the
outskirts of Philadelphia he had settled upon

1t.
Harvey Hawk did not go very direct to

 

Shadowing the London Detective.

21

 

 

the right spot, but was taken to a first-class
hotel where he paraded himself a few min-
utes and then vanished

Philadelphia did not seem to be a strange
place to him. Ile appeared to know just
where Race street ran, for after dinner,
pretty well disguised, he sauntered in that
direction and caught the number of the
house.

It was a plain two story brick with closed
shutters and with nothing about it to indi-
cate that it was more famous than its neigh
bors.

“ So they’re supposed to be in there, eh?”
muttered the spy. “Well, I‘m not caring
very much. The captain grew tired of Car-
mel, I suppose, and the good looks of Nor-
ma struck him favorably.”

Ile drew off a little distance and began an
espionage of the house which lasted till late
in the day before he saw anything.

Then the door opened and a man came
out.

“ It’s the Captain, yet it’s not him," mur-
mured Hawk. “ He has lost much of his
fine beard and that means concealment or
flight. Carmel may be right. This man
may intend to betray the Circle. That will
never do.”

Hawk became more and more interested in
his man-hunt and he followed Coyningham
past the post-office and up one street and
down another till he found him seated under
the trees in Independence Park.

Cruel Coyningham, as Natalie, or Sophy,
had called him, was alone, and he enjoyed a.
cigar while Harvey watched him.

A pleasant breeze stirred the leaves over-
head and birds flitted hither and thither, but
were not noticed by the man on the bench.

By and by Coyningham was approached
By da boy who placed something in his

an .

The disguised man opened the letter and
bent forward to read it.

Havin done this he crumpled it in his
hand an threw a cautious look around.

“It startled him," said Hawk. “ Captain
Boyd has received a letter from an unexpect-
ed source. What will he do now ?"

Coynin ham rose a moment later and
walked 0 followed b the spy from New
York. He left the Par , ssuntered down the
infect in front of the Hall and turned to the
e t.

“ He's going back to Norma,” thought
Haw'k. “ What trouble this fellow’s giving

But Cruel Coyningham did not go back to
Race street.

He stopped in front of a house seine dis-
tance from the thorou hfare and rung a bell.

Hawk could not fol ow him beyond that
door. He had to draw off chagrined and
wait.

He waited nearly an hour, or until the
lamps were being lighted, and then the door
was flung open and a little boy ran out.

“ Where is the police?" cried the lad.
“ There’s a dead man in the house on the
second floor to the right."

Harvey Hawk sprun out from behind the
sheltering tree and ma e for the door to the
boy’s astonishment and the next moment he
was inside.

He went up the stairs two steps at a bound

- and burst into the right room at a venture.

The sight that met his gaze was appall-

in .

%aptain Coyningham sat in a chair near
the table. His arms hung over the sides and
one of the hands was bloody.

There was blood on his shirt front, blood
on the chair, the table and the floor.

Not only this, but in the left hand was
cljutched a knife with a long blade and a keen
e e.

Harvey Hawk with his heart in his throat
stood in the middlelof the chamber. He knew
that the dead man before him was Cruel
Co nin ham.

n a ew minutes some one would come in.
The boy might come back accompanied by a
policeman and then he would not have a
chance to search the body.

He sprung forward and began to ransack
the captain’s pockets. He went through
them with a swiftness almost amazing, and
in one he found a lot of papers which he ap-

ropriated at a venture and in another a few
bits of jewelry.

He left the utter as i: was not wanted by

 

him, but the papers he hid on his own
person. (

He did not finish t is work a moment too
soon. Steps came up the stairs and an
oilicer followed by the boy rushed into the
room.

“There he is!" cried the latter.
I found him—"

“And just as he was when I came in,”
finished Harvey bowing to the policeman.
“ It seems to be a case. for the coroner.”

Ten minutes later Harvey llmvksat in a
little apartment in his hotel with the papers
found on Captain (Joynlnglnun's person
spread out before him.

There was a letter which was evidently the
one handed the dead man in the Park, and
he turned to it first.

It ran as follows:

“Just as

“ You ought to know that you cannot
escape, no matter where you go. You are
marked as surely as if the brand of (lain was
on your brow. All of the band will fall by
the hand of vengeance and you the first of
the nice lot. Why don’t you try to go back
to England though you don't belong there.
Better Dartmoor than death in this country,
don't you think? That last game sealed the
doom of all. You and Carmel, Harvey
Hawk, Jack Noddles, so called, and the
other one, if she still lives, all are doomed to
perish one by one. Don t think that you can
escape my hand. I knew you the moment

on set foot in Philadelphia. You can go to
{to — Arch and find a room for the present.
They will ask no questions. I will come
soon and will talk to you. Don't think you
can escape for none of you can.

“ Tun HAND."

Harvey Hawk read this letter twice before
he laid it dowu.

This was what had driven Cruel Coyning-
ham to suicide. This was the death-blow
delivered as certain] as a knife could have
done in the hands 0 an enemy.

He turned to the other papers and went
through them also.

Perhaps if he had waited in Arch street he
might have seen the writer of that letter.

But it was too late now.

Norma had been left alone by the death of
Cruel Coyninghnm.

Should he hunt the girl up and tell her?
He thought of that, but hesitated. Why
should he do so?

Keeping the papers. he went down ,upon
the street.

Everywhere the lamps had been lighted
and he stood underneath one, smoking
quietly.

“ Could I see you a moment?" said a voice
at his elbow.

Harvey did not turn. Perhaps the ques-
tion had not been addressed to him; he would
wait and see.

“Just a moment, beg your pardon,” said
the same voice, and this time his arm was
touched.

The cool»headed sport turned and looked
into a face he did not recognize.

“ Is this your hotel ?" said the stranger.
“ Which room do you occupy?”

“ Come with me," said Harvey Hawk. " I
am on the third floor. Yes, you can see me,
but let us go to my room.”

They went up together in the elevator,
standing side by side, and Harvey opened
his door. He ushered the stranger into the
apartment and shut the door, carefully look
ing it magically as he did so.

The next moment he step ed forward and
faced the man with a pair 0 keen eyes.

" Your man killed himself an hour ago,"
said he. '

“ You know that, then? You have seen
him?”

“ I do not say that.
dead.”

“ Then, if you please, I will take the docu-
ments he had on his person.”

As terrible as the explosion of a bomb in
his presence was this cool demand.

Harvey Hawk seemed to fall back, all the
time looking into the face before him. This
man would take those important papers.
He guessed not.

For a moment he did not speak, but he
saw that the man before him was not to be
frightened off in that manner. I

" I took no papers from the dead man,”

I only say that he is

,_ ,.\
.-m,1j,.,'_‘ .2, l,»,w,

I

 

said Hawk. “ Tell me why I should plunder‘
the dead."

“ Because dead men thusarmed teh tales,”
was the reply. “This man could talk,
though dead, and you know it by the»
papers."

Harvey seemed to measure. the distance
between them. it was a small space, but it
might be dangerous to attempt to cover it.
He would have to be as quick as a cat.

Suddenly the stranger flushed in Harvey "
Hawk‘s face something from which he fe 1
back wilh a start.

It was a cocked sixeshootcr, and behind it
glenmed the cool cyesof a man of undoubted
nerve

He had been brought to buy.

The menace of the l‘t‘VHIVt-r, without the
threat of the eyes behind il. was enough. It.
was quite enough to tell the good-looking
fellow-the Satan of Old l’opsy's experience
—~that he must not trille with the hand at
the trigger.

“ The papers, if you please," said the
stranger. “ I am not here to play with you,
Mr. Hawk, You know why 1 am here,
though 1 have not mentioned my name."

Harvey bit his lip underneath the raven,
mustache. He hit it till the blood came,
and all at once he threw into the man's lap.
the same documents be had taken from the‘
dead.

But once the victor glanced down at the
papers and seemed to count them mentally
and in a second.

” That's wise," said he, still looking into
Harvey‘s face. “ You are a gentleman of.’
discretion. Now you can go."

What, free? He could not believe it..
Then he was not to be taken and locked up?‘
That was something, and it sent his blood
fast through his veins once more.

He looked toward the door but did not.
rise.

After all he might recover those documents.
It was worth trying.

He saw the revolver lowered as the hand of.'
the man picked up the papers.

Harvey Hawk felt that his time had come;

He went at the robberlike an arrow thrown.-
from a catapult.

He covered the space between them and
caught him by his lengthy stretch of throat.
The went at it across the carpet, the hands
of .arvey Hawk sinking into his antago-
nist’s windpipe, as it seemed, and the stran-
ger tr ing to tear them loose.

At ast Harvey fell against the table and it
turned with him. In another second he lost
his man,andwhen he looked again be dis-
covered that he was the sole occupant of the .
room.

 

:‘w‘

o I).
I3.
\

CHAPTER XXI.
owma'r FINDS 'rna BUNAWAY..

“ THAT man was Orson Owletl” criéd‘Hért

ve§Hawk when he caught his breath.

ot a sign of his antagonist could he see.
The overturned table and a broken chair
were evidences of the battle for the mastery
in the room, but not a drop of blood.

Perhaps the handsome man wondered why
he had no manacles at his wrists, but none».
he had.

He had escaped, but he had been robbed.

After awhile he ventured downstairs and .
once more made his way to the street.

“ He knew that Coyningham is dead;.
therefore he must know where Norma:is,""
thought Harvey. “ What would Carmel say,-
to all this ?”

He smiled when he thought of the woman
left in New York, and as he walked off,
gnawing an unlit cigar, his thoughts went.
back to the tussle in the room.

“He has the same powers now as when he .
was Dunbar Vivier. He has lots of nerve-‘
and plenty of coolness. With all the cool-
ness imaginable he looked into my face and
demanded those apers. He knew I had
them, that detect ve did. He knew the ’
nestled in my pocket and he knows the '
value.

Meanwhile the man who had confronted“
the cigy Adonis at the hotel had gone awa .

If arvey could have followed him a i
would have traced him to Race street and
to a door which bore the family name of
Boutelle.

He rung gently and then waited with a .
face calm and seamed with patience.

l

29

22

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

The door was opened in a few seconds
and an elderly woman made her appear-
ance.

" I have a message for Norma,” said he.
“ Her friend is injured and would like
t0_’)

"You are a minute too late," was the in-
terruption. “ Norma has gone away."

“But she was here?"

“ Oh, es. She bade me good-by just
now and as gone."

“ Without knowing that her companion is
seriously injured ‘2”

“I cannot say. Am sorry, indeed.”

“You are Mrs. Boutelle?"

“ I am Mary Boutelle. ”

The man came into the hall and she shut
the door.

“ You raised the girl, I believe?”

“What is that to you?” was the answer,
and the woman drew herself up haughtily
and looked into the face in the light.

“ I was asking the question, that is all."

“ You are an officer. You are a detec~
five. I will have nothing to do with you.”

All hopes of information seemed to end
there and then.

The face of Mrs. Boutelle grew ashen and
she leaned against the wall with her arms
folded in a very determined manner.

“ I am whatever you choose to call me—no
matter what that may be,” he replied.
“ The girl who came hither from New York
is in a bad box and unless she comes forward
very soon and surrenders herself she must
take the consequences.”

The next instant a cry was heard and
Mrs. Boutelle, with flashing eyes, looked up-
stairs.

She had been caught in"a lie, for the cry
had come from one of the. upper rooms,
and her face showed her indignation as she

looked up the steps.

“Norma is in the house,” said the man in
the hall. “ Don’t you think it would be a
good idea to produce her?”

“You shall have her, sir, since she has
betrayed herself. Norma, come down here.”

The command was almost instantly obey-
ed and the following moment a flutter'of a
dress was heard and Norma. the runaway
maid, showed herself on the stairs.

The man—it was Orson Owlet—watched
her with much curiosity while she came
down and on the lowest step she stopped and
looked at him quizzically.

.‘A Well, Norma, I am glad to see you,” he
sal .

There was nothing harsh about his voice;
on the contrary it was soft and kind and
the fears of the girl seemed to vanish imme-
diately.

As for Mrs. Boutelle, with a countenance
severe and cold, she looked at Norma a mo-
ment and then left the scene.

She had turned the girl over to the man
who wanted her. Her anger at that time
could go no further.

Owlet advanced to where Norma stood
:and leaned toward her.

“ Where is he?” asked the maid.

Evidently she did not know what had hap-
pened, for her question was natural and there
was no intent to deceive any one.

“ Into this room a moment,” said Owlet,
opening a door on the right and revealing a
room quite dark.

“ No!” put in Norma, “ since Mrs. Boutelle
seems to have quite abandoned me I will
hold no conference in her house.”

“ Where at, then?”

“ You have been looking for me. You
did not deny awhile ago that you are ade-
tective. I have lived in our shadow ever
since that terrible night. am in your hands
now.”

Orson Owlet looked at the girl and saw
how deathly white she was.

“ You have not told me what has happened
him,” she said.

“ He is dead.”

“ Dead l”

She fell back a step and clasped her hands.
Old Owlet let her have her fright out with
out disturbing her, and it was some seconds
before she recovered.

“ Where is he anyhow?”

“ At the Morgue by this time. ”

“ Ah, it was accidental, then ‘2”

He leaned toward her as he lowered his
voice: ‘

_ “_It was suicide, Norma."

 

“ Then I am partially avenged,” cried the
girl. “This is the beginning of the ven-
geance of Heaven. I have beenin their hands
so long that Icould not call my soul my own.
Call in Mrs. Boutelle. I want to see that
woman before I depart.”

As Owlet did not move, Norma bounded
across the hall and opened a door so quick-
ly that the woman listening at the key-
hole was thrown half way across the room
beyond.

” You know what has befallen him!” cried
Norma, as she straightened in the middle of
the chamber and covered the woman with
quivering finger. “He the wretch has
taken his own life. This man tells me so
and he is now at the Morgue. You were
hurrying me thither as fast as possible; but
I will live to see all of you doomed. You
know who I am, but you keep from me the
secret of my birth, the most sacred secret
one can have. You need not tell me now.
Don’t open your mouth and speak a lie.
Let me die with that secret unknown for
I am what you have made me—a thing more
despicable than the worm twe kill beneath
our heel!”

The mien of Norma was something ter-
rible. She seemed to move toward the
breathless woman as she spoke, but in fact
she stood still, her body‘swaying a little in
the wind of passion.

“Take her awa i” cried Mrs. Boutelle to
the detective. " don’t want her in my
house another minute."

“ Yes, take me off," said Norma. “Take
me where you will, only let me quit this
place, He is dead? Thank Heaven! It is
the beginning of vengeance long delayed.
Are we going back to the city?”

There was no reply to this and Norma

walked to the front door and opened it.

Old Owlet escorted her through the streets,
now and then looking into her face, but
speaking not. He seemed content to leave
the maid to her own thoughts, confident,
perhaps, that she would talk when the time
came.

In a short time he‘and Norma reached the
hotel and the girl was shown to the ladies’
parlor.

She was calm now.

Old Owlet waited awhile and at last he
went over to where she sat and said:

“You recall vividly, no doubt, Norma,
the events of the night of the 25th?"

She sat on a settee with her face partly
turned from him, and at sound of his voice
she looked into his eyes.

There was no start, no sign of fear, and
Norma replied not to the question.

Orson Owlet was the one who looked as-
tonished. He saw that a change had come
over the maid—that in the twinkling of an
eye as it were she had been changed from
a sane person into one bereft of reason.

Norma unwound her hands and put them
out like a child looking playfully first at one
then at the other, but she spoke not.

“ Come, you know what happened the
night Mr. Esty died don’t you, Norma ?”

She laughed a low, sorrowful lau h,
musical in its soft cadence,‘but heartrendmg
to hear.

“ I am with grandpa and the sea," she
said, the laugh giving way to a smile that
lingered. “ hear the waves as they come
into the cove and the boat is there.”

It was a glimpse of an old life—a broken
chapter from her own childhood and the de-
tective desisted.

Norma arose and began to walk the floor.
Suddenly she spied the piano and seated
herself at it. Owlet waited as her fingers
went lightly over the keys, and all at once
she began to play a tune which was a
favorite twenty years before. '

Norma was back amid the scenes of her
girlhood, back to the home which had exist—
ed beside the sea, and the present had been
blotted out by the events of the past few
hours.

Old Owlet listened to the music which con
tinued till others hearing it came to listen,
when he put an end to it by leading the maid
from the instrument, and together they went
downstairs.

Norma did not resist now. A carriage was
called and they were driven to Bond street
Depot.

Every now and then Norma talked about
the home by the sea and referred to the waves

 

beating against the coast and playing in a
little cove where her playhouse was.

And what did the prince of detectives
think? What was be saying to himself as
the train whirled them over the iron track to
New York?

“ This girl holds the secret. This creature
knows who dealt the fatal blow; she knows
who took the millionaire’s life, and we may
have to wait till reason comes back, if it ever
comes.”

Thus spoke Orson Owlet to himself while
he stole glances at Norma, the maid.

Landed in Gotham, he helped the girl from
the boat and to a carriage. They were driven
up-town and the vehicle landed them in front
of Mora Esty’s home.

Norma took no notice of the place till she
found herself in the parlor and face to face
with the astonished Mora.

She looked at the costly hangings as if she
at least knew where she was, then gazed at
More while the millionairc’s child watched
her with bated breath.

All at once Norma started toward the hall.

She mounted the broad stairs, followed
closely by Owlet and Mora.

They felt that something was about to
happen. They looked at one another as if.
they believed that the maid was going to un-
ravel a part of the crimson skein of crime.

At the head of the steps Norma stopped,
seemed to reflecta moment and then went
toward Harold’s room. '

They followed on.

The door of the room was unlocked, and
the maid entered, but halted in the middle of
the place and passed a hand slowly across
her forehead.

“ I hear the birds and the sea," she mut-
tered with the old expressionless smile. “I
hear the waters in the cove and Phil will
launch the boat ere long.”

“ What is she saying ‘2” whispered Mom
with a strange look.

The moment following Norma sprun to
the prisoner’s bureau, jerked open the ot-
tom drawer and cried in shrill tones:

“ What have you done with the knife you
bid here, Mora Esty ?"

The next instant she laughed; she was mad
again.

CHAPTER XXII.
A GLIMPSE AT A LIFE.

TnE effect of N orma’s mad exclamation
upon Mora was startling.

The millionaire’s child turned white and
seemed to recoil while she stared at her maid
who standing at the bureau was covering
her with a trembliug finger while she laugh-

ed.

Orson Owlet looked at Mora and then said
in soothing tones:

“ The girl is mad.”

" I hope to heaven she is,” was the reply.
“ The knife I hid in thezdrawer? Surely she
must be mad.”

Norma seemed to for et her startling
charge for all at once s e began to talk
about the sea and the little cove, and at last
Old Owlet took her by the arm and led her
from the room.

Norma submitted without cavil and she

was led down stairs while Mora, still white, .

followed her.

“ It was something fearful,” said the dead
man’s daughter to the detective. " It went
through me like a knife. Oh, what a terrible
charge it was!”

“She seems to be harmless," answered
Owlet. “ We mightkeep her here in hopes
of developments in a few days—’i

" No, not here in this house !" cried Mora.
“ I could not bear to be cooped up with her;
no, no, Captain Owlet. There are places for
people like her, and I could not live with her
under this roof for her malady might take a
dangerous turn and I would be alone to
combat her.”

There was logic in what Mora said and the
detective resolved to take Norma away.

He had a friend in another part of the city,
a real Amazon whom he could .trust to deal
with her sane or insane, and telling the maid
that he would convey her to a quiet place
where she would find friends, he bade her
give Mora good-by which she effusiver did
and the two departed.

Old Owlet took Norma nearly across the

/ .
/ ‘ , r

 

 

. a“).

I to Mrs. Hopes.

Shadowing the London Detective.

23

 

 

city and,within View of the river, stopped at
a house into which he conducted her and
turned her over to a woman who had once
been a matron of a private asylum, for the
insane.

“ \Vatch her like a hawk,” said the ferret
“Her malady thus far is
simple in its workings; she imagines herself
a child and back once more among the scenes
of her girlhood. But should she go through
any pantomime don't lose sight of a bit of it.”

The woman promised, andafter admonish-
ing Norma to remain where she was he went
back to another part of the trail.

Cruel Coyningham was dead—dead by his
own hand, and his bod even then lay on
one of the slabs of the ( uaker City Morgue.

IIad Carmel heard of it? Had the hand-
some man whom he had confronted in the
Philadelphia hotel sent her word of the
suicide and had Jack N oddles, the so-called
detective, been informed of the captain‘s
sudden taking off?

Owlet went back that day to Mrs. Larri-
gan’s.

He entered his little room—the one for-
merly occupied by Jack Noddles, as Coster-
man—and sat down.

A little rest after his trip and adventures
to and in Philadelphia would not come
amiss, and the house was quiet enough for
a ood sleep.

Irs. Larrigan had not seen him come in,
and he was hoping that she would not dis-
turb him, when this dream was rudely’
broken.

There came a sharp ra ping on the door,
and Owlet opened it to a mit Mrs. Larrigan.

She shut the portal carefully behind her
as she glided across the carpet and took a
chair near the detective.

“ You’ve comejgin a little too late,” said
she.

“ Why so ‘2”

“ You’ve had a caller, or at least I think
so.”

Old Owlet was interested from the first.

“ What was he like?" he asked.

“Laws, it wasn’t a man.”

“Ah, a. lady caller, then?”

“ Yes, a woman. She came in about an
hour a o and asked if you were in.”

" Ca led me by name, eh?"

“ Asked for Cyrus Delafield, you see.
Had your name down pat as if she was an
old acquaintance. She wasn’t bad-looking,
neither, but somehow or other she didn’t im-
press me as being a great beauty."

“ Was she much disappointed at not find-
ing me in?”

“She seemed to be, said she would call
again, and asked at what hours you were at
home.”

“ Of course you notified her?"

Owlet smiled.

“ How could I give her any definite infor-
mation when you come and go at odd hours,
and never tell me when to look for you? I
told her that you might be in soon, or you
might not show up for days. I never look
after my roomers‘ business, you see; but I
would have obliged the lady if I could."

Orson Owlet seemed to suspect who had
called upon him, and if asked to name her he
would have called her Carmel.

He was left to reflect upon the strange visit
while Mrs. Larrigan retired, and in a few mo‘
ments he was smoking quietly while he went
through the papers he had secured from
Harvey Hawk after the desperate struggle
at the hotel.

There were three papers, tied together
with a brown twine, and he separated them
carefully.

They were covered with uniform writing,
and one was muchbriefer than its fellows.

Owlet knew that what he held in his hands
had been taken from Coyningham’s bod by
the Adonis, and therefore they were liker to
prove interesting.

The briefest one he read first.

It referred to some property which be-
longed to Coyningham in the South, and at
the bottom of the sheet was a small diagram
showing the location of a mica mine.

The second paper was of an entirely dif-
ferent nature and at one name thereon the
detective stopped and stared. .

It was the name of Payson Esty, the mur-
dered millionaire. ’

This document showed that Coyningham
and Esty were joint owners of a mica mine.

 

in North Carolina, and that the writer of the
document, presumably Co ningham himself,
accused the millionaire o cheating him out
of the profits of the business

“ I charge this man, Payson Esty," read
the paper, “with sailing under false colors
—of hoodwinking the people of New York,
and at being at one time a criminal, as I
could prove in a court of justice.

“ I say, without fear of contradiction, that
I can prove him to be the common enemy
of mankind and a man who, if he had his
just deserts, would be spurned by the society
in which he moves and in which he has
brought up his children. I can prove that
he belonged at one time ton band which was
hunted out of one of the chief cities of the
world and forced to scatter, and all on ac-
count of this man's treachery.”

The second document ended abrupt] and
01d Owlet turned to the third an last
one.

It was closely folded and sealed with a
drop of green wax.

Owlet broke the seal and opened it.

Three small sheets fell upon the table and
he gathered them up with a good deal of
eagerness.

“The life of Payson Esty and the death
of Juggins Corde."

This was the top line that stood out in
all its strangeness before the old ferret.

Juggins Corde was a new name to Orson
Owlet; he had not run across it before in the
game of mystery and crime.

" Juggins Corde." he read, “died in the
ear of our Lord 1881 at No. 112 Cheapside,
london, the night after the last meeting of

the Circle in the old red house. Iwas not
present at his death, but I arrived a few
moments after and took from beneath the
bolster of his couch the paper which in his
last agonies he wrote and thrust underneath
it for the future finder.

“Juggins Corde feared that the end was
near and I felt that the ambition of Payson
Esty, then Adam (iaine, would never be
satisfied till the old man was out of the way.
We took this man, destined ever after to be
a thorn in our sides, into the Red Circle; we
thought we saw that the time was coming
when he would et more than his share of
this world’s goo s, and that we could then
gegther our nests if we should be unsuccess-

u .

“ It turned out partially so. He left England
and came back to his own land. He made
money hand over fist, and when I came
across him he had just opened a. mica mine
in North Carolina. What money this man
our old companion had! Ile had two children,
a boy and a girl, the former somewhat irri-
table and the latter pretty and courageous.
Isaw her courage tried one night when I
was calling on her father at home, for she
put out of the hallway unassisted a man who
forced his way into the house armed with a
knife and evidently a maniac.

“ Payson Esty would have but little to do
with us. He hung on to his wealth as if he
could take it all with him and I got but little.
I told him that we had made him in London.
—how we had given him his start in life;
but he would not open his purse. Then I
referred to the few shares he had a. year
previously given me in the mica mine,
and asked him if he thought that was
enough to pay for the keeping of the secret
of his past. -

“ At this he flared up and asked me if I
thought any one in New York would be-
lieve us were we to sa that he had been
Adam Caine—a man iable to arrest on
sight by the Scotland Yard men. IIis over-
bearing manner went through me like a
knife and when I went back to the others a.
vote was taken. It had .to come to this
and the man we had befriended and made
somebody so far as wealth was concerned,
had to be taught a lesson.

“ The world knows now that Payson Esty
is dead. It knows that he no longer counts
his wealth in the darkened rooms of his
mansion, and that he has loosened his grip
forever on the good things of this life. But
it does not know that he was not the honest
man the city thought him. New York and
her ferrets will never know perhaps—not
for a time at least—that he went the way of
all flesh because he could not be a man
among men—because he refused to pay his
friends back for what they had done for

 

him. The vengeance of the Red Circle is
terrible. The hand of the Banded Brother-
hood never fails, and its ways are many and
fatal.

" This will not be read by any one while
the writer lives. It will not see the light of
day while the hand that pens it has a rip
which treachery cannot shake oil. \ hen
the writer has shullled olf—when he has
passed from the stage of action, this may be
found by a keen hand and a searching eye,
and then the world will know that Pa son
Esty’s avarice killed him, that it settlet his
accounts with the Red Circle. So perish all
who break the Code, no matter where they
hide nor what be their position in life.
As for the writer let him speak though
dead, and he speaks here, though he does
m3:1 betray the hand that avenged the broken
C e.”

No signature followed the ending of the
paper and ()rson Owlet looked up with a.
smile on his leathery face.

He laid the three documents side by side
on the table and saw that the same hand had
penned them all.

He was about to take them up again one
b one when footsteps distinctly approached
ins door, and thinking that perhaps Mrs.
Larrigan was coming back, he looked toward
the portal and waited.

The door was not locked, and it was open-
ed slowly and with extreme caution.

This was not his landlady‘s way and Owlet
waited for the one outside to enter.

A woman slipped into the room and stop-
ped just beyond the threshold.

Owlet saw that her face was vailed and
that she was not the loquacious Mrs. Larri-
gun.

The next moment with a sudden spring
the dctective’s caller came toward the table
where he sat, and there she halted, while she
leaned forward, showing a pair of eyes that
flashed beyond the thin vail.

The mysterious woman had come back.
She had returned according to promise and
she was not Carmel.

Suddenly a hand came out from among
the folds of the dark garment worn by the
Unknown and a revolver was thrust across
the table. It was poked unceremoniously
into the ferret’s face and he saw the white
hand that clutched it with an energy born of
desperation.

“ I have found you at last!” said a voice.
“ You were not here when I called awhile
ago. You are the dangerous maul You are
the bloodhound on 'Lthe trail and I am here to
killl”

It was evident even before this announce-
ment was made that she had come to slay.

The menacing pistol spoke hard upon the
last sentence.

The report filled the room and Orson Ow—
let, falling back, overturned the chair and
went to the floor with a startling sound.

In another instant the murderess snatched
up the papers on the table, crumpling all in
her eager grasp and turned to the door.

Mrs. Larrigan, entering at that moment
white-faced and breathless. had an ex perience
she would never forget, for all at once she
was seized bv the living woman and flung
aside and ha f way down the corridor.

The next moment the female cyclone was
gone.

Down the steps and out into the street with
the speed of a gazelle she went, looking not
back but straight ahead, with her fingers still
at the butt of the deadly weapon and her
eyes nflame beneath the vail.

By and by- Mrs. Larrigan came into Old
Owlet’s room.

She found the - chair broken on the floor,
and near it with a little rivulet of blood on
his cheek, stood the detective with a grim
smile of greeting on his face.

“ That was the same creature!” cried Mrs.
Larrlgan. “ Laws what apower she has!”

CHAPTER XXIII.
sorrrr Hours A SECRET.

“ I TOLD on I’d do it!"

Jack No dies started from the sofa upon
which he had thrown himself for a little rest
and stared at the woman who had burst into
the room.

" Here are the prizes of the play. I haven’t
looked at them; Ifound them on his table

a . flagrant“ 

24:

 

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

and snatched them up in a bunch at one fell
grab."

A lot of papers fell at Jack's feet all crum«
pled, just as they had been picked up, and
he looked from them to the woman in the
middle of the room.

“ In heaven's name, what have you done?”
he asked.

“ What you hadn’t the nerve to do!” was
the sharp response. “I found him alone
and I settled him.”

“Orson Owlet?"

“ The bloodhound of two worlds—the
leathery-faced man who gave you a number
in Dartmoor and who is hated by me with
all my soull I found him with those papers
spread out before him, and as he fell back
from the smoke of my revolver I caught
them up and vanished.”

“ You shot him, then?”

“Of course! I found him as Cyrus Dela-

' field and in the very room which you occu‘
pied for a while. There’s no fear of him
now.”

Sophy talked rapidly and with excite-
ment.

" No one saw you did they? I don’t
see how you did it and then got away.”

“It was hick perhaps. Oh, I had to run
against the woman who keeps the house, but
I tossed her to one side and then coolly left
the place.”

“ You are the boldest woman I ever saw,”
and a faint smile came to Jack’s face. “It
was a little too bold. You might. have
waited, girl.”

“Until he had played out this game ac-
cording to his notion? Never! I am not the
woman who waits."

Jack picked up the papers and at first
lance started and threw his sister? a quick
00k.

” Did you get them all?” be queried.

“ All there was in sight. I had to snatch
quick, but I covered the ground. There
Was nothing else to take; I got everything."

He read on a moment and then looked up
once more.

Sophy. or Natalie, had gone over to the
window and was looking down into the
street.

“According to these pa ers," said Jack,
“ Coyningham must be dea somewhere.”

“Dead, did you say?" cried the girl, com-
ing toward him. “What makes you think
so?”

“ They were not to see the light until after
his death and he carried them in his bosom."

“ Let me seel" and Sophy reached out for
the documents which were placed in her
hands.

“It seems true; it must be so," she ex-
claimed. ”Do you think he can be dead?
Did the bloodhound know?”

“If he did not know how did these papers
fall into his hands?"

“How indeed?”

J ack’s sister seemed to take a long breath.
For a moment she watched him in silence
and then she came up to the sofa and laid a
hand on his arm.

“You must pardon me, Jack,” said she.
“I loved that man.”

“ Cruel Coyningham ?"

“ Yel."

“ Then. thank Heaven that he is dead.”

80 hy’s face turned a ghastly white.

“ Bet the rascal—for rascal he was— 0,”
said Jack. “ We have other thin s to ook
to now. You have killed Orson wlet. It
will be known all over the city in ashort
time, and the police will be looking for the
woman in the black vail.”

“ Let them look!" cried the girl defiantly.
“ Let them hunt for me with all their skill.
I know this is not old London with its hid-
ing-places, its Dusthole and its Cheapside.
This is New York, and here, years ago we
passed the little childhood we had to drift
across the pond—”

“ Hark ‘1" and Jack Noddles sprung up
with the mien of a hunted beast.

, While Sophy, still cool, drew her revolver
and faced the door.

Had they found her so soon?

No one came in, and the fear which had
filled Jack Noddles’s eyes a moment vanish-
ed and he smiled when he looked at his sister
a in.

g?‘ A false alarm,” smiled the girl. “ They

don’t know who did it, or they would have '

haen here ere this. "

The alarm passed, brother and sister grew
very calm once more and Jack returned to
the papers.

While he read Sophy went back to the
window and watched, looking down into the
street and marking all who passed the house.

“Where is Carmel?" suddenly asked the
girl looking over her shoulder.

“In the house where I showed you.”

"Does she live alone?”

“ Yes."

“ And Harvey?”

" He has rooms of his own in another part
of the city.”

“ But Boyd lived with Carmel, did he
not?”

“ No; he came to the house often, that was
all. Sophy, you are rid of a curse.”

There was no reply to this, and Sophy left
the room to reenter it a few minutes later so
changed that Jack had to look twice to
make sure that she was his sister.

“They can’t penetrate this disguise,” said
the girl in tones of triumph

“ But you are not going to venture out
now ?”

" Why not? The ferrets haven’t got
second wind yet. I must go out.”

“ Whither?"

“ To Carmel. You must remember that I

haven't seen her yet.”

“Let Carmel alone,” advised Jack. “ You
and Carmel never got along very well, you
know.”

A proud smile curled the girl's lip and she
shook her head.

“ I will see Carmel and see her now if the
we to her house is lined with the shadows
of ew York! I must see Carmel."

Jack, unable to hold her back, waved his
hand toward the door.

“ Go, then, and if the whirlwind becomes
your harvest, girl, don’t blame me.”

“ I will blame no one but Sophy," was the
reply and with another look at her brother
Jack Noddles’s sister went away.

“_Willful and strong-headed. So she shot
him? I might have known that she would
do something rash, but I hardly looked for
anything of this kind. Out of the we and
by Sophy’s hand! What will Carme _sa ,
and how will Harvey take the news? IIe
ought to brea the freer at any rate. I hope
there was no half-way work about it now
that it is done. If Sophy wasn’t recognized
by Mrs. Larrigan, whom she had to throw
to one side to get out of the house, this affair
may become as famous as the other one.
The old score is settled at last, Dunbar
Vivier. You gave me a number in Dart-
moor and Sophy gives you—death!”

Meantime Sophy was well on her way to
the home of Carmel.

She flitted down-town with the greatest
coolness, and now and then stopped in a
crowd to hear if her deed had 0t abroad
and if any one was talking about 1:.

She mounted the steps in front of Carmel’s
house and run the bell.

Sophy was 0 der than Carmel, but not so
handsome. There was about J ack’s sister a
determined expression which could not be
found in Carmel’s face, and Sophy smiled
once or twice to herself while she waited for
her rin to be answered.

The oor opening revealed Carmel herself
in the hallway and the next moment Sophy
with a, sudden impulse had pushed past
her.

Carmel of the Red Circle fell back and
stared at the girl who at that moment raised
her vail and smiled.

“ When did you come?” cried Carmel.

“ Ha, you recognize me. Have I changed
very much?

“ Not a great deal. You look pale,
thou h, when you used to have red cheeks.”

“ go I had, but you see. Carmel, I have
more years to tell the story of a woman’s
life."

Carmel led Sophy into a parlor, but did
not flood it with light, as if she preferred
havin it dark and gloomy.

“ hat do you know ?" asked the Queen of
the Circle, looking into Sophy’s face as she
saw it in the shadows of the room. “You
used to have all of it, you recollect.” ,

“ That is what you used to tell me. You
have heard that he is dead?”

Carmel seemed to cross the room, but she
stopped close to the girl and took in a long

 

breath.

" Why should it come to you first, this
news?" she cried.

“ You don't know it then? Jack says it
must be so. Coyningham is dead.”

_ There was no start on Carmel’s part, but
instead an eager gleam lit up her eye.

“ She loved this man," thought Sophy.
“ She fairly worshiped him; but now she
takes his death with all the coolness of a
savage. IVhat has happened?"

” Where did he die?” inquired Carmel, af-
ter a moment‘s silence.

" I cannot tell you.”

“ But Jack, you say, has the documents——
the ones he carried next his heart. How did
they fall into Jack’s hands?”

“ In a manner some what startling. They
fell first into the clutches of the detective. "

Carmel uttered a cry she could not sup-
press. ‘

“ Into the hands of that man?”

“ Yes."

“ But how did Jack get them after that?"

" By force,” answered Sophy, as her eyes-
lit up with the recollection of the near past.

“ Did he rob the detective ?"

“ No, I did!”

“ You? You rob Orson Owlet, the prince
of ferrets? I don’t believe that at all."

“ It may seem impossible to you, but it is
true. 1 got the documents which were not to
see the light until after )oyningham’s death.
They passed through Owlet’s hands to Jack's;
but wm the bearer of them. I found the
man you were afraid to hunt.”

Carmel gazed astonished at the Woman who;
spoke thus with the utmost coolness and
made no reply.

“You do not start when I tell you that
Coyningham is dead. You loved him; on
took him from me. You carried him 0 to
this city, and that when I would have given
a world for his smile.”

“I never loved him. I never thought
enough of Boyd Coyningham to play for
his love. You have deceived yourself, Wo-
man." .

Sophy gazed at Carmel a full minute and
then passed her hand before hereyes as she
tottered to a chair into which she sunk.

“It is too late now!” she sighed. “The
past can never be replaced and he is dead. I
have stained my hands with blood to save
you, Carmel. I have killed to save all
of on from the snares of the merciless
trac er.”

Carmel looked on unpitying and in dead.
silence.

“Tell me,” suddenly cried Sophy, spring-
ing up and coming toward the Queen of the
Circle, “tell me who killed Payson Esty.

you hadn’t the nerve. I am equally as sure
that the b0 didn’t touch his father with the
dag er. 6 died at the hands of the Red
Circ c. He breathed his last with one of our
number in his presence, counting the breaths
as they flitted. You know whose hand did
it, Carmel, and, as a member of the Circle, I
have a right to know.”

She clutched Carmel’s arm and looked
down into her upturned face. Their faces
almost touched.

“ Tell mel” cried Sophy. “ You need not
keep the secret from me. You have no right
to do it. Was it Jack? Was it by the hand
of Coyningham? Woman, by the hand of
Heaven, you shall tell me, or I will throttle
you where you are.”

Carmel with a cry sprung up and with a
sudden effort threw Sophy half-way across
the room.

CHAPTER XXIV.
OLD POPBY'S SECRET.

Tris: dread secret possessed by Hetty the
telephone girl ,was enough to drive her to
distraction.

The startling pantomime which she had
witnessed in the Esty mansion, the sleep-
walking drama of Mora, preyed upon her
mind all the way home. She could not think
of anything else, and when she reached her
little room she was well—ni h exhausted.

It was a revelation, the ike of which she
had'never dreamed of——a scene never sus-
pected, and she felt the results of her visit.
all that night.

 

Was it possible that Mora, in one of her
trances, had taken her father‘s life? Was

at. m ;.~ v'. .

You didn’t do it—I know that, Carmel, for .

v. , t»; -;.«,s..-;.-.». 

 

 

 

 

" I

 

 

Shadowing the London Detective.

‘25

 

 

.she the slayer of the millionaire for whose
murder Harold even then occupied a felon's
cell?

lIetty held the Secret all alone. No one
had seen what she had, and she could place
Mora in the net of guilt while Harold would
walk from the toils a free man.

lIer visit to Orson ()wlet’s den had failed
to find the 01d ferret, as we nave seen, and
the little door still here the sign of—“To

Let.”

IIetty resolved to keep the secret awhile
yet.

She now know why Harold had refused
to answer certain questions.

He must have discovered that Mora was a
somnambulist and the secret which I’Ietty
had discovered must belong to him as well.

The poor girl felt that she would break
down under the burden of what she knew,
and once or twice she almost resolved to
impart the terrible information to her
mother.

But whenever she came to the point her
heart failed her and she kept still.

What had become of Popsy Vane? Hetty
who had called at the old astrologer's placo
had failed to find him, and she began to
think that, like Owlet, he had vanished in-
to thin air.

It was the morning after her discovery
in Mora’s home when she came suddenly
upon a familiar figure on the street.

It was slouching along with a shuflling
gait, and the stooped shoulders which first
attracted the girl's attention told her that she
had found Popsy at last.

Hetty walked a little faster and touched
the old man's arm as she passed.

There was something in that touch which
caused Popsy to look at her and in an instant
.he recognized the telephone girl.

“Where do you live now, Popsy?” asked
.Hetty.

“ Hush! don't mention it," was the reply.
“ One has to hide sometimes and I am play-
ing rabbit till the foxes have given up the
hunt.”

“But you know you need have no fears
ref me."

“I haven‘t girl; but here. Come to me
“‘whenever you can. Don‘t come for, say, an
.hour. By that time I’ll be home and there
.I’ll talk to you.”

“ I'll come.”

Old Po s bent close to the girl’s face and
'whispere t e number of a house on Mott
.street which caused Hetty to smile as she
looked up into his face.

“ You haven’t turned Celestial, have you?"
asked the girl.

" You on't know what I’m liable to be

et," was the reply. “ I may turn angel
efore the game‘s played out. But come.
Hetty. I want to see you anyhow.”

It was a long hour to the girl and when she
turned into Mott street with its Chinese
signs and symbols she had an eager heart in
her bosom.

It was the last place in her mind to which
Popsy Vane would fly, but stranger things
than that had happened, and Hctty soon ran
up a rickety stairs and rapped at a. door at
the end of a dark and dingy hall.

Popsy‘s footsteps were heard inside and he
-0 ened the door to takea good look at his
Visitor‘s face.

“ You've come?” said he.
you’ve not been watched?"

“ I took all the caution I could.”rcplied
Hetty. “ One can’t have eyesin the back of
one’s head, you know."

“Of course not. Come in,” and he shut
the door the moment Hetty went forward

It was not Popsy’s old place so familiar
to hundreds of the black art’s patrons in
the city. It was more like the den of
a hunted beast, and Iletty inhaled the foul
odors of the den before she was there a
minute.

Popsy Vane looked like a hunted man
as he went over to the table and pushed
his visitor a cane-bottomed chair, while he
took a seat on the edge of the table from
whence he could steal sudden glances at the
door.

"It's not the old place, eh, Hetty?” he
,said with a grim smile.

“ it is not. You must put up with a good
many inconveniences here.”

“Oh. that's nothing so long as one’s safe.
Safety is the thing, you see."

“ Are you sure

 

“ But were you unsafe in the other
place?”

“ Bless you, yes. You see they had found
me out at last."

“ They?" echoed Iletty.

“ Did I say that? Well, they have dis-
covered me and that would never do. This
is more like a den, but I'm nothing but a
beast after all. When did you see Orson
last?"

Iletty told him.

“ What news had he?
the great link yet?"

“ I think not."

“No signs of finding it, either?”

” I fear not."

Popsy seemed to reflect a minute for he
was silent fully that length of time, watched
curiously by the girl who wondered what
was passing through his mind.

“I want to show you something, IIetty,”
he suddenly said. “ I know you have never
seen it and I don’t show it very often."

Ile plunged one of his dark hands into his
bosom and drew up a packet which he pro-
ceeded to open.

It was flat and almost as large as his
hand, and when he had taken off several
wrappings a daguerreotype fell out on the
0in table.

Ietty leaned forward to get a look at it,
but Popsy’s hand swiped it up and he drew
it back.

“ You won't tell that I have it, will you?"
he cried.

“ To be sure I won't."

“ Orson doesn't know it, you see. Ha, ha,
I used to tell Orson nearly everything, but
this is one of the secrets he never dragged
into the light."

Then he came forward with the icture
and the following moment Hetty He 10 was
looking at the face of a woman.

It had been taken many cars when the
eapriees of fashion were as 0( d as they were
then, and, despite the oddities of her dress,
the woman was handsome.

Popsy Vane held the picture close to the
girl's face for five minutes.

"Takea good look,” he smiled. “You
have never seen her face before.”

Hetty shook her head.

" It is strange to me, but—"

“ What were you going to say ‘2"

“I have seen a face strangely like that.','

“ You have?” cried Popsy, his little eyes
getting a gleam of excitement. “ Not in this
city, girl?"

Had he picked up

spent all my life in New York."

“ But this is not the face you have seen,”
persisted Popsy. " It cannot be the same
one for this picture was taken before you
came into the world, girl, and she has been
dead many years.”

Hetty looked at the face again.

“ Who was she, Popsy?" she ventured.

“Ah, who was she?" echoed the old as-
trologer. “ I thought you would want to
know, and if I should take a notion not to
tell, you why you would be disappointed,
eh? ’

“That is your secret, Popsy. I feel that
I have no real right to share it.”

The old man took a long breath.

“That is (foral’s face,” he said at last.

“ Ioral?" spoke Hetty, looking up into the
face above her.

“ They wanted to kill me because she
died.”

The girl drew back with a cry.

“ To kill you because she died? Did
they—”

“ Yes, they said that I did it.
locked. girl?"

“I heard you lock it when I came in.’

He looked relieved. '

“ That is good. Now, I want you to tell
me where you saw a face that resembles this
one.“

" In this city as I have told you.
in the Park not long ago.”

" In Central Park?"

“ Yes." ‘

“ Does she come there ‘2"

“ She used to.”

“Is she a young girl?"

“She is a young girl."

I.  1?]!

“ Yes."

“So was Coral."

“ She looks so in the picture.”

Is the door

I saw it

 

 

“Was this tall girl pretty?"

“ Many would call her so.”

” That is a woman’s answer," smiled Pop-
sy. ” What was the color of her eyes?”

“They were almost but not quite black."

“ Just like Coral’sl”

iletty did not speak.

"Tell me where you saw this girl, and to
what part of the Park she comes.”

lletty did so, describing where she had
seen her on several occasmns, but she ended
by saying that she believed the person re.
ferred to was not to be found there any
more.

“Why not?" cried Pops '.

“Because she has vanis ed.
her mistress.”

“ Oh, gone off?” disappointcdly.

“Yes. You see, she seems to be mixed
up in a strange and startling crime—"

“ The girl you saw in the Park?”

“ Yes, that same girl.”

“Tell me about it."

" Orson Owlet could have done so before
this. He might have told you that the face
I havo seen in the Park greatly resembles
the one in your hand."

“What (loos Orson know about this girl
you tell me of?" exclaimed the old man.

" He is on a trail as you may know.”

“ He is, indeed."

“With that trail the girl is new con
nectcd.”

Old Popsy took a long breath and looked
away for a moment.

" But you must go on!” said he. ” You
haven't told me whothe girl is. You must
know. I know you do. You see her in the
Park; she is connected with the trail Orson
has taken. Now, lletty, who is she?"

“ She is Mora’s maid.”

“ Norma?"

“Norma.”

The picture nearly fell from Popsy’s hand
and he seemed to tremble.

“ Norma the counterpart of that face?" he
murmured. “ It can't be; but you say so
Hettv and it must be so. ”

“ Perhaps I should not have told you.”

“ No, you did right. How old does Norma
seem?"

“ She is past twenty.”

“ And it was nineteen years since they
failed to take my life."

Popsy Vane slowly hid the picture from
sight and Betty watched him restore it to its
hiding-place. When he had done so he

She has left

|buried his face in his hands and silence
“ Where else could I have seen it? I have ,

reigned in the little den.

It was a long, strange quietude, unbroken
save by the breathing of Old Popsy whose
face was buried in his gaunt arms.

Hetty Hello pitied him.

“That is all. Iietty,” he said looking up
at last. “ I don't want you an [OD er.”

She pushed back the old cha r an arose.

“ Good-by, Popsy."

“ Farewe 1, girl. In the Park you say?
I won’t forget the spot. You have been kind
to me. You are one of the few friends Old
Popsy has left. No more horoscopes for me.
They will have to cast their own or seek an-
other in that business. The stars never lie.
though man frequently does. Popsy will
find her. He wants to see this girl. She
may go oil? but she will come back to the
Park. I will bring her back. I know my
art.”

A weird smile crossed the wrinkled face
and his eyes for a moment lit up with hope,

and whie the beam still lingered Hetty ‘

withdrew, and unlocking the door, passed
out and down to the street below.

She looked carefully around her when she
struck the sidewalk, and the man who
dodged behind a door near by had a familiar
look, but he did not give her a second
glance.

“ Popsy may be in peril.” she thought;
but she kept on and turned her face home~
war .

The daguerreotype and Old Popsy’s story
lfiad strangely interested Harold Esty’s sweet-

eart.

 

CHAPTER XXV.
cnosrne IN.

Onson Owner with the air'of Mrs. Lax-rt.
gan who exclaimed vociferously against the
woman who had tried to take a life in‘ her
house succeeded in removing the eifectsot'

 

26

w .

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

Sophy’s shot, and he was left alone at his re-
quest.

He saw that the important papers which
he had wrested from Harvey llawk had in
turn been gobbled up by the woman, and
that he had not a single page to tell him
that Captain ()oyningham, the suicide, had
left a confession.

It was vexatious to say the least.

He knew that :1. failure to hear of his
death would tell the would-be slayer that her
bullet had after all gone wide of the mark,
and he wondered at the same time if liar.
Vey had returned to the city.

Harvey Hawk had come back.

So long as the pretty face of Hetty Hitts
was to be found in New York so long would
the sport be found hovering near the flame
of beauty.

He came back as soon as he could get
away after the death of Coyningham and his
tussle with Owlet in the hotel.

It was seven o’clock the following even-
ing and Hawk, elegantly attired, might
have been seen in the vicinity of the girl’s
home.

He had not made his call on Carmel nor
had be hunted up Jack Noddles; he would
see them later, but just now he wanted to
make sure that Hetty had not vanished.

He watched the house until near eight be-
fore he saw any one come out and then the
front door opened.

Hetty, closely hooded, stepped upon the
pavement and in an instant was followed by
Harvey.

The girl made her way across several
squares and entered Central Park.

The night was pleasant, but the man on
the watch could not see why she should seek
the Park at that hour when she might find
air and plenty of it in another direction.

Hetty wanted to make a discovery if possi-
ble; she wanted to see if Popsy Vane was
on the lookout for Norma.

Harvey Hawk saw her enter the Park and
take a seat near the gate.

On a settee in the shadow of a tree sat a
solitary figure and Hetty knew that Old
Popsy had ventured out.

The astrologer was quite alone, and his
keen eye scanned every one who came into
the Park, and in turn he was as closely
watched by the telephone girl. '

Of course Norma would not come, but,
eager to see what might happen, Hetty took
a seat'near by and continued to regard the
ma eian.

arvey Hawk, an unseen spectator of all
this, strolled down the path leading past the
two settees.

He had taken but little notice of the old
man.

All at once Popsy Vane left his bench and
with a cry that drove Hetty Hello to her feet
he cleared the space between himself and
Harve‘ysand was at the sport’s side.

The had met for the first time since the
scene n Popsy’s den when he had the rascal
tied in the chair and had left him to a fate
from which he had in some miraculous man-
ner escaped.

Hawk turned in time to push the old man
of, but Popsy was not to stay there.

“I have you now and there is nothing

between you and my hands! Satan must
have helped his own in my den, for you
vanished when I thought 1 had you foul.
Now you are minel”
Hetlty breathless stood by and saw Popsy
force arvey Hawk toward the line of trees.
It was all the work of a mad moment, and
the girl’s heart stood still in her bosom while
the struggle went on.

Some one must certainly come to the vil
lain’s rescue. It was impossible that two
men could battle there without being inter—
fered with; but no one seemed to come for-
ward.

“ Mine! mine!" almost screamed Popsy
Vane. “ Tracked across the ocean and
threatened with the noose, I will have no
peace till Istrangle all of you. You are

ere to watch for Norma. You are here to
kgll the girl as some one else killed her mo-
t. er.”

Popsy had forced Harvey upon the settee
and seemed to be chbking him there.

“You will rob me of no more philters!"
he hissed. “You used it against some in-

nocent victim, and now you’re after me. Oh,
‘ you can’t get away. 1 have claws like an

 

eagle and I am more than Popsy Vane, the
skylight astrologer. "

Suddenly there sprung to the rescue the
policeman who had heard the noise of the
fracas, and his strong arms tore the combat-
ants apart.

liven then old Popsy glared at Harvey
Ilawk who entered no complaint, but said
something in a low tone to the officer who,
after seeing ()ld Popsy on his settee again,
walked off with Hawk.

But there crept after them but at a re-
spectful distance a man who had come up
to witness the last scene in the startling
meeting.

Harvey Hawk revealed under a lamp (lid
not look as well gotten up as when he en.
tcred the Park.

Old 'l’opsy’s long fingers had handled him
roughly and when he struck the sidewalk
he hastened to get beyond the sight of
man.

“ Somewhere where I can pull myself to-
gether," he said with a smile as he surveyed
himself. “In a little while I would have
been pulled to pieces by that old vulture. I
missed the girl by the unfortunate affair,
but I’ll see her to-morrow. Iknow where
she nests all the same and that’s enough.”

Harvey Hawk dropped into a tapAroom
and asked the young man behind the bar for
the use of a private room.

He was directed to the young man's apart-

ment on the upper floor and there be pro :

ceeded to revise his toilet.

While thus engaged he. heard some one
come up the stairs and recalling Popsy Vane
he sprnn g across the room toward the door.

"it ma be the old wolf after me still,” he
exclaime as he caught the latch; but that
moment the door swung open in his face and
he fell back with a gasp. _

“Don’t feel alarmed, Mr. Hawk. Popsy
Vane won‘t trouble you any more to-night.”

The person who walked toward Harvey
Hawk was Orson Owlet, and well the rascal
knew it.

They had met before and the meeting was
likely to remain long in his mind; he recalled
even then the struggle in the Philadelphia
hotel, and now that he stood face to face
again with this same determined clue-finder
he had a right to feel a sudden chill at the
heart.

The room was small and possessed a low
ceiling. The few pieces of furniture were
good ones and everything betokened a little
show of luxury on the part of its tenant.

" Take the chair there, Harvey,” said Or-
son.

There was a slight hesitation on Harvey’s
paat, but he did so and Orson Owlet contin-
ue :

“ You're in my hands now.”

“ Do you think so?”

“ I know it. I am going to take you into
custody."

Harvey threw a swift glance toward the
street window.

“The game has nearly been fought out.
I have picked up the threads of mystery one
by one and I have followed them to the end
of the skein.”

“That's clever,” answered Hawk with a
powerful display of sangfroz‘d. “But you
may be mistaken, Orson Owlet. You are a
good detective, one of the very best; but you
must be careful when you call the turn.
You may not have all the threads nor the
right ones."

“ Never mind that.
nor is it Seville.”

" No."

" It is not North Carolina with its mica
mines. nor Australia with its bush.”

“ You are right. This is America—the
land of the free and the home of the brave,"
smiled Harve .

“Captain goyningham killed himself be-
cause he received a letter which threatened
to make it unpleasant for him.. You have
not seen Carmel? You have failed to report
to her."

Harvey shrugged his shoulders and again
looked toward the street.

“There was Juggins Corde, the man who
died in London.”

“Yes, the one Payson Esty killed.”

“ So the confession of the captain says.
Juggins Corde was a man who almost
deserved death. Hunted by the police for
his iniquities, hiding from the men of Scot-

This is not London,

 

land Yard, he fell at last at the hands of a
man whose life he made miserable—killed in
self-defense."

"That‘s a new version of that crime.”

“ Never mind thatl New to you, perhaps,
but not to those who investigated the affair.
You knew that if put upon trial Payson
Esty, then Adam Caine, could never have
been convicted for that crime. A witness
whose testimony could never have been im-
peached would have stepped forward and
cleared the American. iut your band had
him in its power."

“Why didn’t he break from us, then ‘2"

“ He dared not try. lIe dared not expose-
the past to his children. and when you re-
solved to finish him in his own house—"

“We?”

" The Red Circle," smiled Orson Owlet.
“ When you resolved to put him out of the
way and then, with the ingenuity of the
devil, fasten the crime upon the innocent,
you played the greatest band the Circle ever
held."

It was a proud and defiant smile that came-
to Harvey Hawk‘s lips and settled there.

“ I say it was the coolest hand I ever saw
—the most diabolical plot that ever was.
batched in this or any other city. It meant
the death of two persons and the darkenin
of other lives. You robbed Popsy Vane o
the deadly philter. You had selected that:
secret emissary of death and with it in your
possession you went to work."

“ Well?" .

The very words of the old detective seem-
ed to embolden the man before him.

“The rest when I play my hand out,” said
Old Owlet and Harvey Hawk seemed to re-
coil. “The rest some other time."

Orson Owlet rose and stood over the
man.

The smile had left 'the lips and the eyes
seemed to send forth a venomous glitter from
the depths of their owner’s head.

\Vas there to be another leap for liberty,
another battle for the mastery as in the
Quaker City?”

“ Come,” said Owlet, throwing out a
hand. “ \Ve will go down together and
they won’t know what has taken place."

Harvey had been forced to the corner.

“ Fool l” he suddenly laughed. “ Payson
Esty was stabbed. The coroner’s jury de-
monstrated that.” .

“ Stabbed but none the less the victim of
the infernal philter!” was the quick answer.
“ We will go down now, Mr. Hawk.”

To this there was no reply and the next
moment a man sprung across the room,
dashed out the sash, and vanished!

Owlet saw him pick himself up on the
pavement below.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TIGIITENING THE COIL AROUND HAROLD
ss'rr.

HARVEY HAWK’s dash for freedom and his.
escape did not occupy much time. The
leap was sudden and startling and the sash
went outward with the man.

Old Owlet stood at the window and watch-
ed the cool head make ofl“ when he could
have brought him down with the revolver.
But such was not his design.

Harvey, very slightly hurt by his escapade,
though out some by the glass, vanished be-
fore the few people on the walk could realize
that a man had actually jumped from a
second story window to the sidewalk below.

“ This is better than being dragged away
by that fox,” said he, as he continued his.
flight. “ I must see Jacknow. This is get-
ting just alittle too interesting to suit me
and Jack must take a lively hand. Where
is Jack?”

Jack Noddles, the so-called Scotland Yar—
der was not hard to find, and a few minutes
after his escape Harvey came upon him in the
same room Where we saw him last with

Sophy.
.Noddles looked up with surprise when
Harvey opened the door and showed his torn

clothes and the blood‘streaks still on his.

handsome face.

“ You’ve been through a sausage-cutter.
haven't you?” queried Jack. “ Seems to me
you’ve met with an adventure of some kind
and that it got the better of you.”

Hawk smiled grimly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shadowing-London -

run—u.

 

“ That trail-dog must perish 'nowl” cried
he. “ You must take a hand in this new
feature of the game, »for Orson Owlet is
nearing the end of his trail.”

Jack thought of Sophy’s deed and answer-
Cd:

” He's been settled. Have no fearsin that
direction."

“ Settled?” roared Hawk. “ You don‘t
know how 'I have had to jump from his hands
just now.”

“ Just now ‘2" and Jack laid his cigar down
and stared at his companion.

“ Just now. It’s not the first adventure
l’ve had to-night, but of the other one I will
not speak, for it concerned Inc individually.
This one concerns us all.“

“ It is against the Circle, ch ?"

“ Yes, against all of us. Of course Cap-
tain Boyd‘s out of the game forever—”

“ ()nt of the game?’ interrupted Jack.
“ Tell me how.”

" The fool couldn’t wait for fate to take
care of him, so he took care of himself. He's
dead.”

Harvey Hawk proceeded and related his ex—
perience in the Quaker City, coloring it to
suit himself, and Jack Noddles listened with-
out once interruptin him. ‘

“Then,” said No dles, at the end of the
narration, “then Sophy failed."

“ Is Sophy here—in New York ‘2”

This was news for the sport. That Jack’s
sister should make her appearance in the
game was really startling to him for he
knew something of the girl‘s rashness and
nerve.

a“ Sophy is here," answered Jack. “ I
did not know she was doing to drop down
upon us and she came without warning.”

“ And made a failure of her attempt to si-
lence Orson Owlet?"

“ It seems so from your last adventure."

The face of Hhrvey Hawk clouded.

“ Women generally fail.” said he, without
looking up. “ We mustéflay fast now.”

There was no reply an Jack began smok-
ing again.

“ What has become of Norma?" he asked
at length.

Hawk shook his head.

“ You should have looked after her before
you left Philadelphia. ” i

“ I was only too eager to get away. The
girl. will not come back to New York.”

“ Not unless Orson Owlet brings her
back.” *

“ I will risk that. When she hears of
Coyningham’s death she Will put many a
mile between her and this fox of the trail.
Let Norma. drop out of notice.’L

" With what she knows?"

“ Yes, for her lips are forever sealed. and
she is as good as one dead as far as the past
is concerned." ‘ . ' ‘

" But that is not the Code, Harvey,” and
Jack Noddles leaned forward and looked his
companion in the eye. » .

Hawk was about to reply when the door
behind him opened and fol owin Jack's eye,
he saw near the portal the slen er figure of

So h .

'lp‘hz false detective’s sister had slipped
down-stairs and into the room with little
noiseyand now she stood ’looking atHarvey,
seen for the first time in years. ,

“ You know him, Sophy ‘2” said Jack.

The girl'advanced and held out her hand,
and Hawk took it lightly while ,he gazed
into her face quite white and drawn.

“ Whatwere you telling Jack?" she ask-
ed. “1 could not help overbearing some
words. .What were you saying about Orson

Owlet?” . .‘
at Noddles

_ Herve threw a quick look
, and the atter came to his rescue.
“Harvey knows what you did,” he said;
to his sister. “ He was telling ‘me' that it
was a cool. bold play. ’v’ p ‘
’ “But one which had to be made, eh?
You men dared not play out that hand and
I had to for you." ‘- I r
Asmile came to Harvey Hawk's month,
but he did not speak.  v
“ I brought off the papers in triumph.-
‘ too,” continued Sophy. " I. got everything
I’went'for—his life and the documents. ” ,
“You did'Well. Sophy." , ‘ '
“Better than you would have done."
_ " I don't doubt thatl’ ‘ ‘
- Sophy. With another look pt Jack, with-
ths 4% closed . . er '

'drgw. and

‘ .

.\>.

 

“ She does not dream that she failed,”said.

Hawk.

“ No, and to tell her that she has might be
followed by serious consequences. Let her
know it not. Sophy is a bundle of nerves.
and were she to hear suddenly that she failed
to kill Orson Owlct she might go mad.”

“ Then we must finish the play. This
man is too dangerous forns. Carmel—"

“ Have you told Carmel about Cruel Coyn-
ingham?"

“ Not yet. She sent me after the pair.
you know—«sent me over to Philadelphia to
overtake Coyningham and Norma: but 1 was
forestalled by the man‘s display of cowardice
and his rash act in the upper room on Arch
street.”

A, few minutes later Harvey Hawk was on
the street, but this time he was not alone.

Jack Noddlcs walked at his side, and the
pair turned up in another part of the city.

“ Have you the key yet?” asked Jack.

Harvey nodded.

" You know the way. Norma put you
onto that, and you can add another link to
the chain to-night.” ‘ l

” In that house i” '

H Yes.ll

Jack Noddles fished from his pocket a
crumpled letter, which he secretly trans-
ferred to his companion.

" This is the new link,” he went on.
“ You can place it in the bureau, in the
lower drawer, and I will appear on the scene
tomorrow.“

Harvey seemed to remonstrate, but at the
same time he took the letter and stowed it
awayrin his pocket.

" Don‘t you think the play should en
soon?" he asked, lookin at Jack. . ~

“ It will end soon. t has almost reached
the end now. What more is there to do,

on ask? You ought to know, Harvey.
he law is throttling the young man. You
see the papers, don‘t you?’

Hawk nodded.

“ Everything is dead against him—”

“ And the only danger is that one man——
that human being with the face of a Sphinx
and the cunning of a ferret.”

"0b, as to that man we will' beat hi

et.” '

Further down the street they separated,
and Harvey Hawk watched Noddies till he
had passed out of sight.

“ He is cool and full of cunnin ,” mused
he. “ He would have made a gem Scotland
Yardcr if he had turned his ingenuity in that
direction instead of playing out some fool
hands across the water. ‘ Jack Noddles,
London Detective ’ sounds well this side'the
pond, but over there it would not do so well.”

He ended by laughing to himself and van-

ished like Jack had done in a network of

streets and under the lamps of New York.
But the handsome man had not vanished
for good that night. There was work for
Harvey Hawk, and with ,tho crumpled letter
which he carried in his ocket he made his
way to the vicinity of ayton Esty's late
home. a ' ‘
No one would have recognized him now.
There were no traces of his wild leap visible:
court-plaster and a little water had blotted
them out, and he now stood on the sidewalk
looking at the scene of the terrible crime.
Slipping to the rear of the mansion, where
he found everything quiet, Harvey Hawk
used a key wh ch he took from his pocket
and entered the house. ' ,
It was as still as death inside.
A low light burned in the main hall and
fell softlycver the rich carpet on, the stair-

’ The cool~headed sport made his way to the
parlor. the door of which he opened noiseless-

y and looked in. The room’was dark. but
the light from the hall showed him the furni-
turcand the alntings on the walls. ,
I rile turned ack and went u stairs.

In the corridor above be we ked noiseless-

‘ ly and at last stopped at Harold Esty’s door. .

- It was shut but not locked, and ,he opened
it with a smile and entered.

More than once this handsome burglar
stopped and listened. Not a sound came up
tointerrupt his nocturnal raid. ’ »

*-He turned on the - as softly, but still
enough to let him see w at he was-doing.
_ The bureau stood handy, and: he'lstooped
and pulled open thelower drawer. ' 9 ,

 

war-Iv

from his pocket and his gloved hand slipped
it down amon the things in the drawer. ‘

“ That will ( o,'l' said Harvey when he had?
performed the act. " 1 don‘t care for any
more commissions like this. It’s-m share
of the work perhaps. Let Jack do t 6 rest.
Heavens!"

He sprung up and fell back with the cry
still on his lips. Ills eyes bulged from his-
head and he slmok like a leaf, for before him.
stood beautiful Mora Estyl »

CHAPTER XXVII.
'rnn emu or A shorter.

Tm: gloved sport could not breathe while:
he stared at the handsome girl dressed in
white, and looking for all the world like a.
ghost.

It first occurred to him that-she was lookn
ing him fairly in the face with a stare of."
recognition, but the next moment he saW‘ -
into the true state of affairs. 3 .

Mora was once more a somnamhulist, and"
saw no one as she came forward, and Har~ ‘
vey fell back almost to the wall while he:
gazed at her and held his breath. .

What would the girl do? ,.

Mora advanced to the bureau and opened?”
the very drawer in which he had just dc~ »
posited the letter. He saw her hand vanish.
among the contents of the drawer and re-
main there for a second. .

“ She will find the letteg, but she mu
not keep it," grated Harv y Hawk. “it
would ruin us to have her find it and turn‘it
over to Orson Owlet.” , ‘

But Mora did not discover the letter, for
her hand came out empty and she fell back.
again to the door. ‘ -,

“ Jupiter! what a scheme we missed," fell
from Harvey’s lips while he watched the:
girl. i‘ No one knew anything of thisepecna
liarit , and she might be where her brotho
is w th more chances to pull hemp; Ah,
there she goes, and I feel better.” I '  ’!

Mora walked to the door and vanished
into the hall. The gloved sport waitudmns
til she was gone, and then he crept to he
hall and- listened at the top of the stalls. '

Mora had gone back to her own mom—g- ‘
least so thought Hawk. for he descended-to
the floor below and stopped there a moment;
.preparatoryito quitting the mansion. ., .

‘ His work was done. He had carried out.
the play which Jack Noddles had. starter?
and .the letter in the bureau was toan
earthed on the morrow by this so ‘

ret from Scotland Yard—unearthed i
used with terrible effect against»:

Est . .
Harvey in the hall heard footsteg or:

stairs, and looking up as he fell c _

Mora once more. A . " 

This .time the girl had robed herself. so
becomingly, and the man, hugging the w
in the shadows of the bal‘ustrade, wa
her as she came down and movedtowa
parlor. 3 ,  .

Presently the sound of music came
that room, andhe ventured to look. inn

Mom was seated at thopiano, wan
back turned toward him, and he. lie“
awhile,.witha grin of pleasure at 16h
ners of his mouth. . .

“ It's time for me to go,” said he. k
played out my hand here. and. if Iii
something might occur not on the hills!

He drew back and crept down thew ,
to the back door. His hand was  '
he heard a cryrand turning he, saw
Esty tottering back, having seen him.
last moment. i . g

The city Adonis hardly knew .w

a He saw Mora reel against the 
thought at that moment that the. will}?
that had parted her lips might be heard

‘ the new maid if she had one and h V

be seen again. ~ . .-
Harvey let her fall to the floor: and
last look turned torthe door and val
Once more on the street he looked
the hoods and; saw that it was aria
silentas ever; _ ' . , "
He hurried off to turn up in a litt e. ,
the door of which he shut and'securei .-
ed before he seemed to feel entirely '
“No more such. adventures 401” ‘

said to himself. . :50qu ‘V,
: pl.

 rilldoomsda and'Jack a

have the

 

s remain.

i

28

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

Then he thought of Orson Owlet, and his
last adventure with the shadow-Sphinx came
back with startling distinctness.

“Why not get out of the game, but not
like Coyningham did Y" he exclaimed. “ Why
not give them the slip and leave them to
finish the business? There's nothing in it for
me any longer—nothing but manaclcs if I
Why not make a bold play for the

girl and vanish? Tomorrow I‘ll look at the
lay of the land. To-inorrow I’ll see the
phone fairly and arrange for the last play
by Harvey Iawk."

He turned in and went to bed.

The silence that soon filled the room was
unbroken and the dim light that fell softly
over the poor carpet revealed the figure of a
man on a cot.

Harvey Hawk slept after his wild adven<
tures of the night. He could sleep like a
child even in the shadow of retribution. and
the nearest clock striking the hours of that
his last night of freedom did not break his
(dreams.

At the same time Orson Owlet was sitting
in a chamber with a brilliant light looking
into the pale face of Norma, the mad
maid.

Mrs. Hopes has been roused from her
peaceful slumbers and had brought Norma
'downstairs.

Old Owlet’s face was a study.

Norma sat in an armchair and her face
was white and fair.

“ What does she say ?" asked the detective,
looking at Norma’s guardian.

“ But little and that little about the waves
:and the little cove," was the reply.

Owlet smiled.

“Does she ever refer to her old master,
.Payson Esty ‘2” he asked.

“ Her mind seems to be ablank so far as
he is concerned. Once, however, I thought
she was coming to him, but she suddenly
drifted back to her childhood and all vanish-

At this juncture Norma laughed and stood
erect.

“ Don’t you hear them now?” she cried.
“There they come, racing in like a lot of
riderless steeds and Phil will never get the
dory launched."

Owlet and Mrs. Hopes exchanged looks.

“Norma?” spoke the detective.

Suddenly the girl turned to him and then
came over to where he sat.

“Ah, you called me," she exclaimed.
" You called me Norma." She passed her
thin hand across her brow. “ I am Norma,
Mora Esty’s maid.”

The mention of a name seemed to have
turned the current of her mind and she had
been brought back from the waves and the
boats.

“ What did she do with the knife she hid
in the drawer?" she went on. “ Has she
told on why she took it away? Was she
afraidy of the police ?"

Old Owlet leaned toward the girl and took
her hand.

“ The knife,” he said, “ was found by a
detective. It is used against Harold.”

“ Against him, eh? Why not against
her?"

ill/11's. Hopes clasped her hands and turned
pa e.

“ This is terrible,” said she. “ Norma
must have seen something in the house that
night.”

“More than she has yet told," was the
low response. “She will tell more by and
by,” and he looked at the maid again.

" She keeps that secret, does she?" she
suddenly went on. “ Mora Esty keeps it
from the world while her hands are the
crimson ones. You haven't charged her
with the deed, have you? No, you haven’t
thought of such a thing."

Old Owlet did not reply.

" Let her go on," his look said to Mrs.
Hopes.

“I saw it all. I saw it all, I say. It was
so well done that my heart stood still in my
throat and when all was over she came."

“ Mora?" .

“Mora,” the maid answered.

“But she did not come in until after the
.murder?”

“ She took the knife away. I saw her.“

“ Where were you, Norma ‘2"

It was a question which seemed to rouse
in the maid’s bosom a feeling of personal in-

 

security, for all at once she shrunk back to
the chair and trembled there. V

She had gone too far. She had unfolded
a chapter which she had intended to keep,
and not even the shattered mind had secured
it to her.

From that moment she was quiet. Her
lips came together and she looked at Orson
Owlet. but spoke not.

“ Come, go on. I am listening,” said the
detective. “ You can save the innocent and
punish the guilty. It is in your hands,

irl.”

But the lips did not unclose.

“ It is all over for to-night," said Mrs.
Hopes. ,

All at once Norma, liftinga hand, revealed
a strange mark on the white arm as the sleeve
fell away from it.

“ Did you see that?” suddenly ejaculated
Mrs. Hopes. “ I discovered it soon after she
came. It is a brand.”

“ I saw it. It was a circle.” '

“ A circle and within it a dagger. She
tried to conceal it from me, but I had a good
look at it during one of her naps."

By this time Norma had turned and was
at the door. She stood there looking back
at Owlet and Mrs. Hopes, and when they
expected to see her vanish she came across
the room, and stopped at the detective's
chair.

“I am going away from here," she ex-
claimed. “ I will not remain any longer. I
will have to kill some one again if I do."

Mrs. Hopes looked at the detective, but
did not speak. Her experience with insane
people had been varied and she knew how
to take them.

“ You don't believe it,” continued Norma.
“ You don't think I am going away. They
want me. They want me to play out the
game for them. Harvey. Jack and Carmel—

don't like Carmel, though—they want me
to strike again. It was a fine play. First
the potion and then— Hark! that was the
big breaker that comes in from the heart of
the sea."

With this the girl ran across the floor and
disappeared beyond the door.

“ You must watch her.” said Orson Owlet.
“ I am pickin up the links one by one and I
hold nearly al now. That girl, mad as she
is at times, will tell the truth by and by. She
holds the key to the mystery. She knows.
You must watch her, Harriet.”

Mrs. Hopes promised and a moment later
the man of trails stood once more underneath
the lights of Gotham.

It was near midnight and he saw but few
people on the street.

That portion of the city inhabited by Mrs.
Hopes was quiet enough for any one, and
when he started off he heard his own foot-
steps echo far away.

He went back to Mrs. Larrigan‘s—to the
scene of his narrow escape at Sophy's hands.
and letting himself into the chamber with
his night-key he locked the door and turned
on the light.

But the next instant he fell back with a
slight exclamation for stretched on the floor
at full length lay a woman, and Old Owlet
bent over the body to look down into the
white face and the clinched hands of the
creature whose hands had lately attempted
his life.

It was Sophy—Jack Noddles’s sister.

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
OLD Porsr's CHILD.

To return to Popsy Vane whom we left in
the Park. After his struggle with Harvey
Hawk, the old man went back to his bench
to wait for Norma.

'If he had known that the girl was even
then under Mrs. Hopes‘s care he would not
have waited with such patience watching all
who entered the gate and strolled past him.

Popsy did not see Hetty Hitts who sat near
by during the battle, therefore he did not
miss the girl when she got up and stole back
to the street on her way home.

He became a statue in the gloom, now and
then bending forward as the strollers grew
fewer in numbers, and watching all with a
pair of keen eyes as if he felt that Norma
must come.

Ten struck and he was there still.

Ele you came and the strange old man con-

/

 

tinned to gaze about him as he shrunk from
the light.

It was midnight and Popsy had not moved
since his tussle with the city Adonis.

Those whose duty it is to clear the Park of
loungers overlooked him.

It was nearly one when a figure flitted to-
ward the old man. Ile saw it for a moment
in a streak of light that fell across the walk
and drew back with a sharp ejaculation.

She had come at last.

Old Popsy held his breath as the figure ap-
proached and all at once he sprung up and
at it.

There was a slight scream as the figure re-
coiled, but one of Popsy’s hands was thrust
out and the apparition was his prisoner".

"I have been waiting for you,” he said,
looking into the white face which he drew
toward him. “ You don't know how long I
have been here. Nearly all night.”

" But you don't want me. I don’t know
you and besides—”

“ By Jove! you have her eyes and her
mouth! Who was your mother, child ?”

“ The waves that beat into the little cove.”

“ That’s a pretty answer to my question,
now isn’t it?"

“ But I know no other mother. I hear
them even now, and unless you relase me
those from whom I have escaped will take
me back."

“ Take you back? I guess not.”

Norma had come. She had carried out
her threat made to Owlet and Mrs. Hopes
that she would elIect her escape. She had
returned to the scenes of her work, and, pro-
bably finding Mora Esty’s home closed against
her, she had come to the Park as of old.

“ Are they after you ?” went on Popsy
Vane. “ I have a nice place and they won’t
find you there.

Norma caught at the idea immediately.

"Take me thither then,” she demanded.
“ Take me away from those who watch
me." ‘

Popsy proudly led the girl away. Out of
the Park and across a almost deserted por-
tion of the city he conducted the girl until
he ushered her into his new quarters in
Mott street.

“ Do you live here?” asked Norma.

“ No, Ihide in this place,” was the reply.

“ Why do on hide?”

" Because am hunted."

“ I am hunted: that is, I have been
watched. I told them I would break jail
and that’s wh I am here."

She laughe at the end of her sentence and
01:11 Popsy looked at her shaking his head
as l .

"She‘s loose in the upper sto ,” he mut-
tered. “ Is this the girl whom etty saw in
the Park—the one she said looked like
Coral?”

“ So." said the old magician, smoothing
Norma's wealth of black tresses, “ so you
call the waves your mother?”

“Did I? How strange it was for me to
say that. I have seen the waves and I hear
them at all times. But who are on?”

“Popsy Vane—Popsy, the 01( astrologer,
who, until a few days ago. had all the dupes
he cared to hoodwink, but who now dare
not go out in open day. They want me."

“ For what? You didn’t hide the knife in
the bureau?’

“ Well, I rather guess not, girl.”

Norma looked away.

“ Look here,” and Popsy began to un-
wrap the daguerreotype he had exhibited to
Hetty.

Norma sprung forward and took the pic-
ture from his hands, held it close to the
light and gazed long and curiously at‘ it.
Her face did not change one whit during the
stare.

" I wonder if she recalls a face like that ‘2"
thought Old Popsy.

“ You don’t know it, eh?” said the magi-
cian.

Norma shook her head.

“ You look like her. You have the same
eyes and your mouth is shaped just like
Coral’s was.”

“ Who was Coral ‘l”

Popsy seemed to hesitate.

“They accused me—” he did not finish
the sentence. ‘

“But who was Coral?" pessisted Norma.
“ You say she looked” like me. Why should
she?’

 

 

 

s

' ~ ‘ ~MM:_..;WI
g 

. .«gzzz-iy.  .  New his.

 

 

 

 

» earth quake.

‘r “time. 'But let us not talk about that. ,. Since,
" you are m

Shadowing the London Detective.

  
   

29"

 

 

“ Go back, girl. Give up your talk about
the waves and the little cove. Think as far
back as you can. Your mother must some-
where rise before you.”

The maid seemed to fall into deep reflec-
tion. She leaned her head on her hands and
thought, all the time watched by Popsy.

” No, I ‘can’t recall ‘her. But stop! Let
me chase the sea and the boats from my
head."

“ That will do it."

“ I see a woman's face.
dark."

“ So was Coral’s."

" 1 see a trim figure and a hand that was
soft and kind."

Popsy Vane did not seem to breathe.

“ It was under a hot sun, but the little
cove was sheltered."

“ Yes, es."

She too up the picture and looked at it
again. The old man waited patiently.

“ I see her now. Was she my mother?"

“ She must have been."

“ And my father?”

There was no reply only the old man seemr
ed to shrink within imselfu

“ What of him ‘2"
"What of my father?"

Popsy Vane seemed to grow into a statue
of stone.”

“ I am your father.”

He spoke with an effort and bent forward
to watch the sheet of his werds upon the

maid.

She broke out into a fit of laughter.

“ You? No, you are not my father. That
cannot be. Mrs. Bontelle used to tell me
that I was a waif, picked up at sea and she
ou ht to know."

ld Popsy drew from his bosom a little

It was very

continued Norma.

 packet which he opened before N orma's fixed

as.
g“The three links of the gold bracelet rolled
out and fell on the table!

At once the dark e es dilated and Norma
put out her hand an clutched them.

“ You have seen them before?” eagerly
asked Popsy. ‘

“Somewhere, somewhere,” answered the

irl. “ I have seen ,them, but perhaps in a
ream. I can’t tell.”

“It was in no dream. It was in real life.
That bracelet belonged to your‘ mother.
You are Tina.”

" Tina? Tina who?"

The astrologer looked as if he were afraid

. to s k the answer.

" at now," he answered at length.
“ Some other time, girl. I am your father.
I have found my own at last." .

“ Where is my mother, then?”:

“She is dead. ’ , ,

“ Mrs. 'Boutelle thought so, too.”

" She died long ago."

“ In thiscityi i

"No, across the sea. Do you remember
an thing like this?”

opsy Vane leaned toward the floor and

made a loo with his arms, and Norma gave
a quick de ighted laugh. .

“ You used tovmake a loop thatway for
JOckoto jump throu h."
thpsy grinned an then caught Norma‘s

n s.

'9 No one but‘youdfatherlwould know any-
thing about your playing, irl.”he exclaim-

ed. “ We used to lay w th Jockc and he
used to jump throng my hands. like that."

" Yes, yes.‘ I remember that." , ‘ ,

“ Then you don't doubt me now, eh?"

" I oughtn’t, to but you look so old and so
strange.” .

“ am old; 1 am stran e. But why have
you ifiien wzatchedjgirl? Why have you been
coo up ’ l ’ ‘

fipThey' think I know something about
that crime.” l .

In What crime?” ‘

Norma seemed to breathe hard.

" You'know; the whole city knows,” she
said atlast. “ It shocked the town like on
It fell like a thunderbolt from
the clear blue. Irefer to the murder of Pay-
mn  n

i.

, “ Yonwere Miss Mora’s maid i” l -- ~

“ 1 was in the house in that capacity at th

 
    
  

father, tell me all about my
the home. whichlhas almost faded

  

use: an.

  filmml. f,.J..-3;“

 

“ But tell me one thin first," replied Pop-
sy. “ You know whatt ey have done. The
millionaire's son lies in- prison charged with
the murder."

There was no reply.

“ You were maid and 'you must know
something for you were at home that night
and your room is on the same iloor. What
was that you said awhile ago about some one
hiding a knife in the bureau? They found it
there against the oung man.”

“I know they ( id. I knew it was there—
knew it all the time."

“ My God! and why didn't you make way
with it ifhe Was innocent?”

“ Well, I did not," and a laugh followed
the sentence.

“ Tina-I can't call you Norma any more
~—Tina, if the hounds of the law suspect
this,,they will dog your footsteps, they will
make you tell the truth.”

Norma came forward and stopped right in
front of Popsy, her whole frame in a quiver
of rage and her white hands clinched.

x “ l defy them," she cried. “ I can keep
what I know for that belongs to the
Code.”

“ To the Code?" exclaimed the old man,
falling back. “ Heavens! girl, you haven’t
gone that far?" ‘

“ Never mind. I will keep my secret and
they may hang the man they’ve caughtif
the want to.”

he face of the astrologer seemed to grow
white and all the lines showed in a spasm of

agony.

 

5

CHAPTER XXIX. .
owms'r AND JACK’S SISTER.

Tun startling sight of Sophy lying on the re t

floor of his room was the unexpected for
Orson Owlet. ’

The woman was unconscious and the de-
tecfifve raised her up and began to restore her
to i c.

It was slow work, for Sophy seemed to
have passed beyond life’s borders, but at
length she came round and could stare at the
man whose life she had attempted

She had come back, perhaps to repeat the
attempt; she had stolen a sin to the detec-
tive‘s room at Mrs. Lar gan’s, but some
thing had thrown her into unconsciousness,
and in that condition the ferret had found
her on the floor.

Owlet wanted no intrusion now.

He did not dream ‘that even while he
worked with Jack Noddles's sister.Old Popsy,
in another part of the city, was trying to
convince Norma that he was her father.

Sophy, or "Natalie" as she now called
herself. stared at Orson Owlet. but said
nothing. What passed through her mind
could not be told by the man who watched
her; but he seemed to take delightin seeing
her back in his little room.

."‘No questions, no lies,” sudden] said
Sophy. “ I have tried and have faile . Let
us be quits." .

“ As you :say,” was the response. ‘“ You

thoughtlyou would make a cleaner job of it al

did cu ,

“ did. I conceal nothing. I came
back to kill you."

“ You know me then?”

“You are Dunbar Vivier. You are the

man who made Jack wear the number which
they sewed on his sleeve at Dartmoor—26,-
999, ‘and ou stopped me after the arrest to
sa that shoul never cross your path it I
vs ued my liberty. Why shouldn’t I try to
kill ou‘lf’

" a your mind you have provocation.”
answered Owlet. “You are phy flares.” '

” Iam Sopby—So by who, but for our
man-hunt in Englan ‘years ago, might ave
been a better woman. Perha s it was bred
in the bone, for Jack was wil ‘ ” '

“Jack, the London Detective," 'siniled'

Owlet. -
“ You find out everything. You will take
them all in again?"
“ I will do my duty.” .
'. “Go and do it then,_but take me now,"
and Soph rose and held out her hands.
‘ Orson wlet looked up into her face and
saw that it was sswhite I - lath ’ H

fl”

  

    
   
  

\ room it

‘ ofle’r?

 

 

we to “ "-

 
  
   
  
   
  
     
   
  
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
    
    
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
   
       
 
           
        
        
     
      
          

“ I might warn them all."

“ Of course. You haven‘t been here long?”

“ I came over three months ago.”

“ You knew they were here?”

" That is my secret.”

" Were you still following the Captain?
You used to love Cruel (Joyningham, Sophy.”

“ i love him still. I know that he is dead,
that he died by his own hand because your 
shadow hovered over him. Isn’t that cause
enough for me to dagger you ?" u 

” Come, woman. You might save Jack." -' u w

Sophy seemed to jump at the chance. ~

“ You don’t mean that?" and she bent to-
ward thc‘ detective and looked him in the
eye. “ You don’t intend to save Jack at;
a V)!

“You can save him, I say. Jack didn't

commit that crime." ‘ x V 
" I believe you." ,' ‘,  -
" IYou know who did.” ‘ C‘f,
ll ?”I v.

"You belong to the Red Circle. The
brand is on your arm as it is on the arm 01' -:{
each member.” . , ‘

“Look i" laughed Sophy and she opened?
her sleeve showing Old Owlet the same sort
of tattoo he had seen on Norma’s flesh at.
Mrs. Hopes's. “It is there, as on say-
the mark or the Circle. It has n on a

cod many arms and some are now powers
ess." > .

“ As I have said,” continued Owlet " you“
know all the secrets of the Circl . That 15‘ '
a part of the Code." , ' , .

“ What do you know of the Code?” _

“ You forget who I am, woman.” -

“That is impossible. Forget who y
are? No,nol”

” Why not tell the truth and save Jack
“but you would drag him in with the

“ Not if he is innocent." » ' ‘
Sophy took a turn about the room. glanced.
down into the lighted street and comeback
" Jack is innocent.” she said. , 1 _
“ But he has posed as a detective when h'
no more belongs to Scotland Yard than yo
do, Sophy.” v '. ‘
“ But ack knows how to play that cat-dz
Iiie has seen a good deal of the abeaghs in his:
i. me.” , -. '_'
“Even when he played the flute in Dark
moor he saw them." ' - ‘\
“ Yes; but he played it too much. Ybfit
heard him then and that’s how you ,
cred that Jack was 26,999 in this ..

 
 

  

  
  
 

        
     
         
 
   
    
 
      
      
   
 
      
 
         
  
    
  
      
 
    
     
 
 
   
      
  
  
  
  

Orson Owlet laughed 1i htly as he recalls,"

his discover of Jack N dles’strue identi ‘

while in be . r ‘ 
“ Who did it. Sophy?" , -
In an instant the woman fell back and;

face rew sphinx-likea ain.  '
” hey’ve got him.” s e cried. ‘ i .
“ But not the ri ht man. They , 

Harold Esty in the s dow of the noose, «but:

you know, Sophy, that he isn't the rlglt‘tf
an ll \ .<

m - “Mir ..
' “They found the da ger labia draws
They could not find the etter whichflhe
hle ’had received from his father‘t'or

" But who found the dagger?“ M
80 b seemed to wince. ‘ ‘ _
“ so did,” she‘said. .“ I'll admit
“Jack as the Scotland Yarder,.
Jack. a member of the Red Circle.','
“That is true." _ . g ,
“ But after all, what roof'is there r'
dagggr killed Payson tyi" “ ‘ " '
' non hi T ebloodonit—thes t
the linen n' which it was wrapped. ' ‘
and more—the stab in the neck.” . .
Owlet watched, her a' moment in 
*1 You don't care to save Jack,” he -‘
at length. “You don’t seem to care a
stretch him with the'bslancefi' ,, '
“  I sell you he Signage it; . 
“ on't on a e van go,
'I‘ell meythe truth and. you
pens." .

Sopb seemed to look lengingl 1 
doorkleiding to the steps. butshye 
spca . l g
“ Payson Esty longago was
Caine.’ ‘ .’
_““So he was." . ,  la
_ “Andhe, too, belonged toth _
9min“ Momflyiima'fi ' '

was you 

 
 

   
 

  

  

  

O‘

   

       
 

      
 
 
 

   
   

   
     

      
 
   
    

 

  

    
     

     

0

   
  

   

   
    
    

3O

Shadowing the London Detective.

 

 

him. He refused to be bled by Cruel Coy-
ningham and company'”

“ I don’t know.”

“ Ay, but you do know,” said ()wlet
coolly. “ You know that he refused to give
you anything but an interest in the mica
mines. That was not enough. Then you

. got it into your heads that he was going to
betray you all—that he might open up the
sealed books of your lives—tell how Jack
had served in Dartmoor, how ‘ Cruel’ Coy-
ningham had been shut up for forgery, how
Harvey Hawk, the handsome Harvey, with
claws like his namesake, knew what it was
to feel the prison lash, and how Carmel—the
beautiful Carmel, the Carmel with the soft
eyes, and velvet fringed talons—had once
been transported from a land which was not
her own.”

“ You have picked up a great deal, 01'-
.son Owiet as they call you here. I wish I
had killed you the other time.”

“ But you did not, Sophy. Now what
are you going to do? I shall leave this room
in a few minutes,"

“ With me, of course?”

“ Why shouldn’t it he with you? You
belong to me now. Still, for all that has
happened, you don't care to save Jack."

“ That would be treachery."

“ It would he love also. You love Jack.”

She started. There came to the woman’s
face a flush that lingered there.

“ You are stone, woman. I shall go and
play out (my hand. I have about all the
threads in it. All I have to do is to put out
my hand and pull in the drag-net and in it
will be found the person who killed the mil-
lionairc.”

“ But it will not be Jack.”

“ We will see who it will be. Jack knew
~that I’opsy Vane dealt in poisons capable of
taking human life without a struggle. Why
couldn’t Payson Esty have been killed with
one of those philters? There was a stab in
the throat and a dagger has been found; but
the poison might have worked first.”

Sophy seemed to become rigid in her chair.

§She looked toward the door and seemed to
measure the distance between her and it, and
Owlet. remembering his last adventure with
Harvey Hawk, moved in that direction.

He was not a moment too soon, for all at
once Jack Noddles’s sister left her chair and
sprung forward, but the hand offlthc prince
of ferrets fastened at her wrist.

She was too late!

While he held her thus she gazed into his
eyes as if she would kill him with a look,
but Old Owlet did not stir.

“Since you want to go out you shall go,”
said he. “ Come, Sophy, we will find it
.open. In fact, it is never closed.”

“ What, the station?"

He nodded.

“Is it worse than the Bow; Street {Sta-
tion?"

“It is just as secure, Woman.”

“No, not there!" and Sophy pulled back
the length of Orson Owlet’s arm. “ You
shall not take me thither.”

“Tell the truth, then, for, as a keeper of
the secrets of the Red Circle, you know.”

There was no answer and the detective
dragged the unwilling woman across the
floor.

“ Wait!” cried Sophy, when near the door.
“ I will save Jack. I will tell the truth, so
help me Heaven.”

She was not released; the old ferret was
not to be deceived by a creature like Sophy
Bares.

“ Very well. Who is the guilty one?”

“ Carmel!" she whispered.

“ It is not true,” replied Orson Owlet.
" Carmel didn’t do it and you know it, wo-
man.”

CHAPTER XXX.
THE FLIGHT OF THE RED-HANDED.

SOPHY was not at all abas'ned by this de-
nial. ‘

“ You don’t believe 'me, then?” she said,
looking at Orson Owlet. “ You asked me
to tell the truth, yet you doubt it when
told.” .

“ Never mind, woman. Ishall prove that
Carmel did not kill Payson Esty.”

“Prove it, then!”

She was as defiant as ever, and again her
glance wandered to the door, but the hand

 

of the detective was at her wrist and there
was no escape.

An hour afterward Sophy languished in
a cell and the detective, seeing her fixed for
the night, had turned to other scenes.

Harvey Hawk, waiting for the morrow,
was sleeping in the little quarters which be
occupied dreamless of the threads which the
fearless ferret was picking up and weaving
into a net of conviction.

He rose with the day and dressed.

“Now for the swoop," said he, as he Went
to the window and gazed down into the yet
almost deserted street. “ Don’t I know that
this man-hunter is closing in on the Circle,
and it behooves me to make myself as scarce
as possible.”

He went down to breakfast and after that
smoked a cigar in a quiet little Park near
by.

The day broadened and Hawk went over
to that part of the city occupied by Hotty
Hello.

The curtains of the girl’s house had not
been parted for the day and he watched the
premises, some time.

“No one up yet," said Harvey to himself.
“ I will go back awhile.”

Back he went, but not home again. He
turned up at a house some distance from the
telephone girl’s home and entered.

All was quiet inside. He recalled his ex-
perience in Mora’s home—the sleep-walker
and his narrow escape—and while he waited
in a darkened parlor for some one to come he
indulged in another smoke.

“Well?” said a voice behind him and he
blew the white smoke aside to look up into
Carmcl‘s face.

Carmel had come in noiselessly.

She wore a dark gown and her figure
seemed to have increased in stature for she
stood proudly before the Adonis and looked
at him with a cold eye. -

“ Well, you are back, I see.
what you have to say."

Harvey looked a moment longer and then
answered:

“ I guess you are satisfied. I followed
them to the Quaker City and Cruel Coyning-
ham will bother us no more.”

A singular smile wreathcd Carmel's lips.

“ Did you kill him?” and she leaned toward
Hawk until their faces seemed to touch.

Carmel had evidently heard of the Cap-
tain’s death.

“ Herc," suddenly cried Carmel snatching
a newspaper from the table. “ This tells
the tale. You must have lost your nerve!
This man died by his own hand and the girl
——she who has the secret—you let her escape,
did you?” ‘

“ Really, Carmel—”

“ You let her get away it secms,for nothing
is mentioned about her here. He took his
own life like a coward and you— Where
were you afterward ?"

Harvey could not speak.

“ Don’t you know that he carried some
important papers upon his person? Where
are they?"

“ I had them—”

“ Ohrigou had, eh? You came down upon
the dc like a vulture, did you? You
must be the unknown man who was found
with the Captain by the policeman and the
boy of the house.”

“ I was there.”

“ The papers then! I want them,” and
Carmel held out her bloodless hand.

Harve drew back.

“Con ound it, woman, those papers I de-
stroyed.”

“ You did?
them?”

“ Don’t you know that I might have been
robbed on my way back? It was a little too
risky to fetch them along.”

“ Who would have plundered you?”

" That man, perhaps."

“ Dunbar Vivier? Nonsense! He was
not near you at the time. You destroyed
the documents found on Coyningham’s per-
son? What were they?”

“His confession and some other documents
that hardly related to the Circle."

Carmel” gave him a doubting look and
drew off.

It was evident that she no more than half
believed him.

" You know that Sophy has come upon
the stage ‘2” she said at last.

I

Let me hear

Why should you destroy

 

“ I have seen the girl.”

Carmel’s brow clouded.

There was no love between these two
WOHICH.

“Jack will regret this as long as he lives,”
she almost hissed. “He should have sent
her away at once. She has no discretion
and is liable to do wild things. Why, she
has already tried to kill the detective.”

“And has failed.”

“ Of course. A rage-blinded creature
like Sophy would be sure to make a balk of
the matter. Now we must strike.”

U '68-),

“The hand we started in to play is still
ours; but we must to work. This man, as
you know, is picking up link by link the
chain of truth. “ What if he should find
Norma?”

“ ()h," smiled Harvey, “he can’t do that.”

“ Not if the girl goes further. She is a
strange woman and I can’t say what she will
do now that Cruel Coyningham is dead."

“ She won’t come back here, that‘s pretty
certain.”

“ I hope not.”

Harvey was anxious to get away.

He had business elsewhere, and, then, he
did not care to be longer in Carmel’s pres
ence. He knew the Queen of the Red Cir-
cle and had not forgotten her promise of re-
ward in case he followed Cruel Coyningham
to the end.

He had done this, yet he had not carried
out to the letter Carmel’s commands.

He had seen the Captain lying dead on the
floor of the room in Philadelphia, yet he had
not taken his life. Dead, but not murdered.

Hawk rose and looked once more at Car-
mel.

Did she suspect flight on his part? Did
she believe that he was about to abandon the
game and leave her and Jack to fight it out
with Orson Owlet who had sworn to dis-
frgver the hand that took Payson Esty’s
i 9?"

At any rate Carmel came over to him and
her hand fell lightly upon his sleeve.

“ You are going away?" she said. “ You
won't come back again.”

“Going away?" cried Harvey, feigning
surprise at the accusation. " What, abandon
you?T'

“Look me in the eye, Hawk!” she went
on. “ You contemplate flight. You are go-
iin to play coward worse than Coyningham

I 

“It is false. 1—”

She crossed over to the mantel and snatch-
ed from its top a long-bladed dagger which
she held out in her hand with the hilt toward
him.

“Better this than flight now,” she went
on coolly. ” Plunge .this into your heart
rather than abandon your companions of the
Circle at this juncture. It will be better for
you. Then the soft hand of this merciless
tracker, this man of clues, will not hand you
over to justice, for if you fly he will find you
even if he is compelled to track you across
the sands of Asia or down into the dustholes
of London."

Pale of face, Harvey Hawk fell back from
the blazing eyes of this woman.

“ Which do you choose, the dagger or
flight?" she continued, the dagger still gaz~
ing at him though the ruby set in the top of
the black hilt. “You can’t escape if you
run, if you stay you may silence this man.”

“ No one talks of flight but you, Carmel.”

“ No, but your eyes look it," was the
quick response. “ You were on the verge
of it.”

He laughed but it was a hollow laugh full
of cowardice which he tried to drown in the
cachinnation.

“ You won’t take it? You will remain
and fight?”

“ I remain!”

Carmel threw the blade upon the chair.

“ See that you do,” she cried. “ The
crisis has come. The Circle is battling for
existence. Jack will tell you so, and the
girl who has come to curse us—show me
her!" and Carmel’s hands came out and
clinched convulsively. “ Once across the
water when she played a treacherous hand I
wanted to strangle her; but now—now!
Where is Sophy, man?”

Harvey said he didn‘t know. He had seen
her but once and that was in Jack’s pres-
ence, and he hadn’t kept an account of her.

 

Shadowing the London Detective.

31‘

 

 

“Come back soon. Come to me by
‘noon and we will weave a net for this
sharp of sharps. We will show Dunbar
Vivier that as Orson Owlet or even under his
old name if he cares to go back to it, he can-
not beat the Red Circle.”

“I will come back.”

A cooler lie had never passed this man's

r lips. He spoke it while he looked into
Carmei’s eyes and felt that at least he had
deceived her.

He went out to gasp in the rich air of that
morning and to look once at the house while
he chuckled inwardly to think that he was
going to give them all the slip.

As for Carmel herself she went to the
window, pulled the curtains aside and
smiled.

“ A coward at heart he meditates flight,
but it will be his last."

Harvey Hawk went back to Hetty's home.

As he turned into the street where the girl
lived Land was near the house she came
out.

Instantly a smile of pleasure came to his
lips.

“My luck!” said he, increasing his gait.
“Hawk’s luck has never yet deserted him in

time of need,” and he followed, keeping
watch of Hctty.

She led him a short chase, for all at once
she (lodged into a little store into which he
followed.

Iletty started as she turned and came face
to face with the handsome man.

“ One word with you,” and the cooHiead-
ed sport sidled up to her while she walked
toward the door. “ You know me. You
once seemed to act as though you didn’t care
to save Harold Esty.”

“I never said that I would not save him if
I could.”

"Not that, perhaps. But you recall our
last meeting in the restaurant when I gave
you a chance to prove him innocent?”

“ I recall that meeting."

“ Good! I thought you were blessed with
a good memory and that you would not for—
get an important meeting like that. One
promise from you sets him free."

Hetty, white-faced and trying to keep cool,
looked at him and waited.

“Become my wife and he goes free. The
law will never reach him, innocent or
_guilty—"

,“ Never!"

“ You don’t know, girl, that I can twist
the rope for him. You don’t realize—”

“I have answered you. You are in the
plot. You are Harvey Hawk. Take care
that you do not occupy the cell in which he
languishes now.”

The city Adonis with a sudden start turned
white.

Hetty turned and vanished.

“The jig’s up," said he. " It was a fool
play anyhow—right here on the street! I
deserve just what I'm likely to get now that
she knows who I am.”

He looked down the street a moment and
turned back. Truly the lines were tighten-
ing and he could almost feel the noose under
his chin.

“ Fight it out both of you,” he cried.
“ Jack and Carmel, fight it to a finish with
this ferret of ferrets. Harvey Hawk vanishes
forever from the game."

Half an hour later he emerged from his
little boarding-house. There was a pile of
ashes in the grate and some little films of
What had been paper on the floor.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE LAST swoor.
“ COME to me. I have found Tina."

This was the brief message which found
Orson Owlet as he was about to quit Mrs.
Larrigan’s for what he hoped would prove
the last chapter in the mystery.

There was no signature, but the ferret
knew the strange characters and the long
scrawiing hand and he went at once.

Opening a. door in a rickety house in Mott
street he was startled by a cry and before
him stood Popsy Vane and Norma.

The maid shrunk back, white-faced and
terror-struck, and her hand closed protect-
in ly on the old astrologers arm.

he was insane no llonger, .but she looked

 

 

frightened and Orson Owlet stopped at the
door and looked at the pair.

“ This is Tina. You have heard of her—
Coral's child and mine. This is the little one
who was stolen from us years ago and who
was tracked to sea when the trail was lost.
I came back to (loral, you know—it was in
Seville—and when my wife died soon after-
ward they tried me for murder, but they
proved nothing. I have told Tina all. The
had a hold on me, those people of crime hm ,
for I dealt even then in strange things which
sometimes took human life, but Inever gave
Coral a powder.

“Tina came to me in the Park. She has
been Norma, but now she is {Coral’s child
with her mother’s wonderful eyes and her
mouth. You know this man, girl?”

Norma came forward and stopped in front
of the detective.

“ You can tell him all you know of the
crime of the millionairc’s 1nansion,”contin-
ucd I’opsy Vane. “ It is a strange narrative,
Orson—one that is hard to believe.”

“ She can tell it by and by."

“ \Vhy not now?”

“ Wait till I have caught my man.

Norma started violently.

“Thank God he says ‘ Wait till I have
caught my man’,” she exclaimed. "Then
he does not believe that it was Mora’s
hand.”

“ It was notTMora, no matter what you and
others may have seen in the silent hours of
the night within that house. I have seen it
too. Iknow that Mora walks in her sleep;
that she goes first to her father's room and
thence to Harold’s with a dagger, that she
places the knife in the bureau drawer—-”

“ She does! she does!” cried Norma.
“ But she did not do it, She found the
knife, however, in her father's neck, found
it there that night; but she left it where it
was. She was asleep then. By and by she
came back wide awake—that was before
Harold made his terrible discovery—and she
carried the blade away. It was found in
Harold’s bureau—found there by Jack Nod-
dles. He knew where to look for it. My
God !:I told him i”

1 “ You told him, girl?” echoed Orson Ow‘
et.

Norma shrunk back to where I’opsy sat
breathless and with a stare in his deeply-
buried eyes.

“ I was in the web. I could not get out
of it. My oath fastened me there as a fly is
fastened in the Web of the cruel spider. I
fell into the hands of the Circle a year ago.
I could not resist that handsome man—liar-
vcy Hawk. But now,” she Went over and
laid her hand on I’opsy’s sleeve, and stoop-
ing kissed his wrinkled forehead. “Now
you can take me with you, but I have found
him at last."

The old man looked up and smiled.

“ You let him into the house that night,
Norma. You knew what was to take place.”

“ He came for a stolen interview,” was the
reply. “ Murder was the last thing I thought
of, but when it had been done I had to con-
ceal it, for was 1 not one of the Red Circle and
wasn’t my life in the baiter with the rest of
them? But go. Find the right man for
you say you kan him.”

Orson Owlet with another glance at father
and child left the room and went back to the
trail.

Harvey Hawk, ready for flight despite his
solemn promise to Carmel, had gone some
little distance.

He was not the same Harvey as before.
The black mustache, which made an Adonis
of him, had been sacrificed.

Why had he ever come back to New York
anyhow?

He had simply thrown his own self into
the net and had lost Hetty at the same
time.

Like a fly he had returned to the flame
once too often and his wings were already
feeling the heat.

. Fear lent speed to his limbs now.

He regretted that he had failed to filch
another philter from Popsy Vane.

He cursed the ill-luck which for the first
time in years had fallen to his share.

011, on! It was like the flight of Cain
from the presence of the Avenger. It was
the flight of the blood-stained and the last
effort of the hunted guilty.

Once he thought of turning round and

 

surrendering himself to the first ofiicer he
met.

That would be robbing Orson Owlet of
his triumph anyhow. It would be cheating
the man of many victories on the trail of
crime; it would be getting at the last terri'
ble moment the besljof the,indefatigable hun-
tcr down of criminals.

But something urged him err—something
that seemed to whisper in his ear that after
all he might escape for New York is large.

He had lost heart at last, this cool man
had; he had given up hopes of ultimate
freedom away from the land of the free and
where a soft but terrible hand like ()rson
()wlet’s did not close on its victims.

" \Vhy not go back?" said he at last,
though no one was on his track. “ (la itain
Coyningham had the nerve, why shouk n‘t I
be just as brave?”

He started with glee at the thought. Yes,
why shouldn’t he be “just as brave ” as the
man who had died in the Quaker City?

Harvey Hawk turned back.

He re-entercd his little room and shut the
door. In his haste he forgot to lock it. His
nerves were unstrung anyhow.

He went over to the table and sat down.
He drew toward him a sheet of paper and
picked up a pencil.

” Why should I?” he cried suddenly,
throwing the pencil across the room. “ I
will leave nothing for that man—nothing to
give him one thrill of triumph.”

The door opened and Harvelean sprung
erect. turning over the chair and nearly upset—
ting the table.

“ I might have known it!” he exclaimed.
“ I might have guessed that I would fail to
lock the door.”

Orson Owlet stood before him fresh from
Norma and her father.

The cool-headed sport looked into the old
ferrct’s eyes and then with a grin held out
his hands.

" They never have escaped you," he said,
“and they never will. You must be Fate
itself."

“ No, I am Dunbar Vivier." .'

IT is a month later.

Once more the slmtters of the millionaire’s
mansion on the avenue are open.

There sit in the parlor three persons and
one fair girl ,is looking up into a pale face,
while her hands are folded in his lap.

“ Out of the darkness of suspicion into the
sunlight of proven innocence," says she. "_ It
is worth waiting for, Haroh .”

“ True, Hctty, and Nora yonder. she
realizes that i had a right to seal my lips to
the officers of justice though I laborer un-
der a terrible impression."

Mora listy smiles sadly.

She knows all; she knows that Harold had
seen her somnambulistic pantomime, seen it
on the very night of the dark crime in the
house after Harvey Hawk had killed ,their
father with the potion, and then to fasten
the deed upon the innocent had plunged the
dagger into the throat to the hilt.

And the Adonis languishes in the cell from
which he will not emerge till he walks forth
to death; and Jack Noddles, stripped of his
so-called authority, exposed to the world. not
as a London Detective but as (.‘onvict 26,999
of Dartmoor. is near his old friend of the
Circle, and Carmel lies dead in her elegant
home.

She for one‘ had the “nerve,” to follow
Captain Coyningham.

l’opsy Vane and Tina have vanished, and
the keeper of the secret of their whereabouts
is Orson Owlet.

Let him keep it, and let us hope that far
away from the scene of the startling drama
they may find that rest for which they have
yearned.

Hetty Hitts—Hetty Hello, if on please.
reader—has just become a bri e, and she
and Mora can stand in the sunlight and,
looking back. feel that a strong hand and a
true brought both out of the shadow and
saved Harold‘s life.

It is a conclusion happily brought about
by the cunning of one man, for, but for the
hand of Owlet, the Detective, the innocent
would have gone down into a. felon’s grave
and the Red Circle have scored its greatest
triumph. .
THE END.

 

BEADLE’saeDIMEakEBRARY;

Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Umform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers,

 

 

BUFFALO BILL NOVELS.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraharn.

826 Buffalo Bill‘s Lassri Throwers.

822 Bufl'aio Bill‘s Best Bower.

816 Buffalo Bill's Red Trail.

812 Buffalo Bill‘s Death—Knell.

794 Buffalo Bill’s Winning Hand.

787 Buffalo Bill’s Dead Shot.

781 Buffalo Bill‘s Brand.

777 Bufialo Bill’s Spy Shadower.

769 Buffalo Bill’s Sweepstakc.

765 Buffalo Bill‘s Dozen: or, Silk Ribbon Sam.

761 Buffalo Bill‘s Mascot.

757 Buffalo Bill‘s Double.

7 50 Buffalo Bill’s Big Four.

748 Buffalo Bill‘s Flush Hand.

739 Buffalo Bill's Blind: or, The Masked Driver.
735 Buffalo Bill and His Merry Men.

7.31 Buflalo Bill‘s Beagles; or. Silk Lasso Sam.

7m Buffalo Bill‘s Body Guard.

722 Buffalo Bill on the War— nth.

716 Buffalo Bill’s Scout Sha owers.

710 Buxalo Bill Baffled; or, The Deserter Desperado.
697 Buffalo Bill‘s Buckskin Brotherhood.

691 Buffalo Bill‘s Blind Trail' or. Mustang Mad 8.
667 Buffalo Bill‘s Swoop; or, The King of the M nes.
649 Buffalo Bill‘s Chief of Cowbofys; or. Buck Taylor
644 Buflalo Bill’s Bonanza; or. S Iver Circle Knights.
362 Buffalo Bill's Gri : or. Oath Bound to Custer.
329 Buffalo Bill‘s Pie go: or. The League of Three.
189 Wild Bill‘s Gold Trail; or. The Desperate Dozen.
175 Wild Bill‘s Trump Card: or, The lndian Heiress.
168 Wild Bill. the Pistol Dead Shot.

By Buffalo Bill.

820 White Beaver's Still Hunt.

307 Wild Bill. the Wild West Duelist.

800 Wild Bill. the Dead-Center Shot.

639 Buffalo Bill’s Gold King.

599 The Dead Shot Nine: or. My Pards of the Plains.

414 Red Renard. the Indian Detective.

401 One-Armed Pard; or. Borderland Retribution.

397 The Wizard Brothers: or. White Beaver's Trail.

394 White Beaver. the Exile of the Platte.

319 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind of the West.

304 Texas Jack. the Prairie Rattler.

243 The Pilgrim Sharp: or. The Soldier‘s Sweetheart.
83 Gold Bu let Sport: or. Kn hts of the Overland.
52 Death-Trailer. the Chief o Scouts.

By Leon Lewis, Ned Buntllne, etc.

773 Buffalo Bill's Ban; or. Cody to the Rescue.

682 Buflalo Bill's Secret Service Trail.

629 Buffalo Bill‘s Darin Role; or. Daredeath Dick.

517 Buffalo Bill’s First rail; or. The Express Rider.
158 Buffalo Bill, Chief of Scouts.

117 Buffalo Bill s Strange Pard' or, Dashing Dandy.
92 Buffalo Bill. the Buckskin ng.

BY WILLIAM H. MANNING.
823 The Athlete Sport About Town.
808 TheCrook-Detective‘s Pull.
790 Plunger Pete, the Race Track Detective.
774 Steve Starr. the Dock Detective.
764 The New York Sh ’s Shadower.
738 Detective Claxton, t e Record Breaker.
714 Gabe Gall, the Gambolier from Great Hump,
7015 Spokane Saul, the Samaritan Sus ct.
692 Dead-Shot Paul. the Deep-Range x lorer.
655 Strawberry Sam the Man with the irthmark.
646 Dark John, the rim Guard.
638 Murdock. the Dread Detective.
623 Da erous Dave, the Never-Beaten Detective.
611 Alkai Abe the Game Chicken from Texas.
596 Rustler Rube; the Round-Up Detective.
585 Dan Dixon’s Double.
575 Steady Hand. the Napoleon of Detectives.
563 Wyoming Zeke, the Hots ur of Honeysuckle.
551 Garry Kean. the Man wit Backbone.
539 Old Doubledarl; the Wily Detective.
581 Saddle-Chief Kit. the Prairie Centaur.
521 Paradise Sam. the Nor‘-West Pilot.
518 Texas Tartar. the Man With Nine Lives.
506 Uncle Honest. the Peacemaker of Hornets’ Nest.
498 Central Pacific Pro I. the Mail Train Spy.
492 Border Bullet, the Prairie sharpshooter.
486 Kansas Kitten. the Northwest Detective.
479 Gladiator Gabe, the Samson of Sassajack.
470 The Duke of Dakota.
468 Gold Gauntlet. the Gulch Gladiator.
455 Yank Yellowbird. the Tall Hustler of the Hills.
449 Bluff Burke. King of the es.
442 Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.
487 Dee Duke: or, The Man of Two Lives.
497 The vals of Montana Mill.
415 Hot Heartl the Detective 
405 Old Bald . the Brigadier o uck Basin.
385 Will Die Turpin, the Leadville Lion.
297 Colorado Rube. the Stron Arm of Ho ur.
279 The Gold Dragoon, or. alifornia Bi hound.

BY HAROLD PAYNE.
821 The Tramp Shadower‘s Backer.
813 The Sham S otter‘s Shrewd Scheme.
806 The Grand treet Gold-Dust Sharpers.
798 Detective Burr’s Luna-lo Witness; or, The River-
side Drive Death-Mystery.
792 The Wall Street Sharpcr's Snap.
784 Thad Burt’s Death Drop.
742 Detective Burr Among he New York Thugs.
734 Detective Barr‘s Foil; or. A Woman’s Strategy.
728 Detective Burr. the Headquarters Special.
713 Detective Burr’s Spirit Chase.
706 Detective Burt’s Seven Clues.
698 Thad Burr, the Invincible: or, The “L " Clue.
690 The Matchless Detective.
680 XX. the Fatal Clew: or, Burr's Master Case.

BY LIEUT. A. K. SIMS.
804 The Ki Pin of the Leadvllle Lions.
786 Chicago harlie‘s Diamond Haul. .
776 Chicago Charlie, the Columbian Detective.
758 The Wizarl King Detective.
723 Teamster Tom, the Boomer Detective.
709 Lodestone Lem, the Chanfipion of Chestnut Burr.
695 Singer Sam. the Pi rim etective.
688 River Bustiers; or t e Detective from‘Way Back
673 Stuttering Sam, the Whitest Sport of Santa Fe.
666 Old Adamant, the Man of Rock.
618 Kansas Karl, the Detective King.
552 Prince Primrose, the Flower of the Flock.
538 Huckleberry, the Foot-Bills Detective.

 

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR.
824 The Soft Hand Detective.
815 The Soft Hand's Clutch.
809 Dan Dunn. the Soft—Hand Sport.
796 The Frisco lit-ti-ctlve‘s Thug~Tangle.
789 Sam Cary. the River Sport.
780 The Dead Sport‘s Double.
771 Prince John, Detective S ecial.
763 Dandy Don, the Denver etective.
754 ’l he Man from Texas; or, Dangerfield, the
Doctor Detective.
744 Sweepstakes Sam. the Silver Sport.
720 The Secret Six; or. Old Halcyon.
712 The Man of Silk.
705 Bantam Bob. the Beaut from Butte.
693 Kent Kassnn. the Preac or Sport.
683 Bob Breeze, the Rounder Detective.
675 Steel Surry, the Sport from Sunrise.
668 Solemn Saul‘s Luck Streak.
661 The GetJl‘here Sharp. _
651 Silvertlp Steve, the Sky Scraper from Siskiyou.
645 Gopher Gabe, the Unseen Detective.
636 Dandy Darling, Detective,
627 Mossback Mose, the Mountaineer.
617 The Gri Sack Sharp‘s Even up.
597 Big Ban y, the Brigadier of Brimstone Butte.
588 Sandy Sands, the Sharp from Sna City.
576 Silver-Tongued Sid: or, Gri Sack harp’s Sweep.
564 The Grip-Sack Sharp; or. he Seraphs of Sodom.
555 Grip—Sack Sid. the Sample Sport.
547 The Buried Detective; or, Saul’s Six Sensations.
541 Major Magnet. the Man of Nerve.
535 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator from Dead-Lift.
527 Dandy Andy. the Diamond Detective.
514 Gabe Gunn, the Grizzl from Ginseng.
504 Solemn Saul. the Sad an from San Saba.
495 Rattlepate Rob; or. The Roundhead‘s Reprisal.
488 The Thoro nbred Sport.
474 Dadd Dea -Eye. the Desnot of Dew Drop.
466 Old ugh and Ready, the Sage of Sundown.
458 Dutch Dan. the Pilgrim from Spitzenberg.
450 The Rustler Detective.
443 A Cool Hand: or. Pistol Johnny’s Picnic.
438 Oklahoma Nick.
433 Laughing I430; 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 of Pan Handle.
403 The Nameless Sport.
895 Deadly Aim, the Duke of Deningcrs.
387 Dark Dun}. the Ishmael of the Hills.
879 Howling onathan, the Terror from Headwaters.
872 Captain Crisp. the Man with a Record.
867 A Royal Flush: or, Dan Brown’s Big Game.
360 Jumping Jerry. the Gamecock from Sundown.
355 Stormy Steve. the Mad Athlete.
351 Nor‘ West Nick. the Border Detective.
645 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
839 Spread Eagle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
331 Chis Charley. the Gold Nugget Sport.
824 Old orked lightning. the Solitary.
317 Frank Lightfoot. the Miner Detective.
302 Faro Saul. the Handsome Hercules.
292 Moke Homer. the Boss Roustabout.
286 Pistol Johnny; or. One Man in a Thousand.
283 Sleek Sam, the Devil of the Mines.
257 Death Tra . Diggings: or, A Man 'Way Back.
249 Elephant om. of Durango.
241 Spitfire Saul. King of the Rustlers.
233 The Old lioy of Tombstone.
201 Pirate of the Placers: or. .10 uin's Death Hunt.
197 Revolver Rob: or, The Belle 0 Nugget Camp.
180 Old '49; or. The Amazon of Arizona.
170 Sweet William. the Trapper Detective.
165 Joaquin. the Terrible
154 Joaquin, the Saddle King.
141 uinox Tom. the Bull ' of Red Rock.
127 So Scott, the Masked iner.
119 Alabama Joe: or. The Yazoo Man-Hunters.
105 Dan Brown of Denver: or. The Detective.
88 Big George; or. The Five Outlaw Brothers.
71 Captain 0001 Blade: or. Mississippi Man Shark.
67 The Boy Jockey: or, Honesty vs. Crookedness.
64 Double-Sight, the Death Shot.
50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie Sport.
47 Pacific Pete. the Prince of the Revolver.
45 Old Bull's-E e, the Lightni Shot. _
40 Long-Hairs Pards: or. The arters of the Plains.
80 Gospel George: or, Fiery Fred. the Outlaw.
28 Three-Fingered Jack, the Road-Agent.

BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER.

818 Gentleman Dave. the Dead Game Sport.

783 The King-Pin Tramp.

767 The Sport of Silver Bend.

718 Uncle Bedrock's Big Bounce.

707 The Rival Rovers.

687 Double Cinch Dan. the Sport With a Charm.

677 Mr. Jackmn the Gent from Jaybird.

659 Gilt-Edge Johpniv‘: or, Roldan and His Rovers.
650 Luck Lester s one Hand.

634 Old andcart‘s Big Dump.

622 The All Around 8 rts.

603 Desert Alf. the an With the Cougar.

590 Gentle Jack, the High Roller from Humbug.

578 Seven Shot Steve the Sport witha Smile.

568 The Dude Detect vs.

558 Hurrah Harry. the High Horse from Halcyon.
549 Belshazzar Brick. the Bailiff of Blue Blazes.
583 Oregon. the Sport With aScar.

525 Fresh Frank. the Derringer Daisy.

508 The Dude from Denver.

478 Pinnacle Pete; or. The Fool from Way Back.
459 Ma?or Sunshine, the Man of Three Lives.

429 Ha r Trigger Tom of Red Bend.

402 Snapshot Sam; or. The Angels‘ Flat Racket.
396 The Piper Detective; or, The Gilt Edge Gang.
375 Royal George, the Three in One. ‘
356 Three Han some S OI'tS‘ or, The Combination.
344 Double Shot Dave 0 the ft Band.

333 Derringer Dick. the Man with the Drop.

300 A Sport in Spectacles; or, Bad Time at Bunoo.
268 Magic Mike. ‘he Man of Frills.

229 Captain Cutsleeve; or. The Little Sport.

214 The Two Cool Sports; or, Gertie of the Gulch.
192 The ' htning S rt.

182 Hands p; or, e Knights of the Canyon.

160 Soft Hand. Sharp: or. The Man with the Sand.
145 Pistol Pards; or, The Silent Sport from Cinnabar

'; .  7:14: 1’93 .

 

ALBERT W. AIKEN’S NOVELS.

Dick ’l‘nlbot Series.

741 Dick Talhot's Close Call.

7337 Dick Talbot in Apache Land.

733 Dick Talbot. the Ranch King.

729 Dick Talbot‘s Clean-Out.

72.3 Dick Talbot in No Man's Camp.

384 Dick Talbot in the Rockies; or. injun Dick.
351 Dick Talbot: or. The Brand of Crimson Cross.
349 Dick. the Gentleman Road-Agent.

107 Dick Talbot, of Cinnabar.

93 Dick Talbot. King of the Road.

41 Dick Talbot in Utah: or, Gold Dan.

88 Dick Talbot's lron Grip; or. The Velvet Hand.
36 Dick Talbot; or. The Death-Shot of Shasta.

35 Dick Talbot at the Mines: or. Kentuck. the Sport.
34 Dick Tailhot’s Foe; or, Rocky Mountain Rob.
33 Dick Talbot at White Pine: or. Overland Kit.

Alison’s Fresh 01’ Frisco Series.

825 Fresh, the Race-Track Sport.
660 The Fresh in Montana; or, Blake‘s Full Hand.
652 The Fresh's Rustle at Painted City.
647 The Fresh at Santa Fe: or The Stranger Sharp.
556 Fresh. the Sport: or. The B g Racket at Slide Out..
537 Fresh A ainst the Field: or. Blake. the Lion.
529 The Fres of Frisco in New York.
497 The Fresh in Texas; or. The Escobedo Millions.
461 The Fresh of Frisco on the Rio Grande.
173 The Fresh in Arizona: or. California John.
130 The Fresh in MexicO' or. Captain Volcano.
97 The Fresh in Big Walnut Camp; or. Bronze Jack
77 The Fresh of Frisco.

Alison’s Joe Phenix Serles.

799 Joe Phenix’s Great Blue Diamr nd Case: or. The
New York Sport at Long Branch.
39.3 .309 gfieniiix‘y  or The Man of Three.
09 on 3 he an .
:2: i“  anus '
0e 8 s .
703 Joe Phenix‘s Siren; or. The Woman Hawkshaw.
700 Joe Phenix‘s Unknown; or. Crushing the Crooks
681 Joe Phcnix‘s S his or. The Actress Detective
637 Joe Phemx in razy Camp.
632 Joe Phenix’s Master Search.
fig 509 gllilenist gflmlziggxzomhe Dandy Conspirstor
‘ 0e on x s on .
601 Joe Phenix’s Shadow;or.the Detective's Monitor
g9 goo ggeniixv ténilfiipg of Detectives.
l oe on x s t unt.
161 Joe Phenix‘s Great Man Hunt.
112 Joe Phenix, Private Detective; or, The League.
79 Joe Phenlx. the Police Spy.

Alken’s Miscellaneous Novels.

814 The New Yorker Among Texas Sports.
775 King Dandy, the Silver Sport.
753 Gideon's Gri at Babylon Bar.
717 Captain Pat cGowen. the Greencoat Detective.
674 Uncle Sun Up. the Born Detective.
670 The Li htweight Detective.
665 The F Detective; or, The Golden Gate Find.
613 Keen Billy, the Sport.
607 Old Benzine the “ Hard Case ” Detective.
594 Fire Face, the Silver King’s Foe.
586 The Silver Sharp Detective.
577 Tom, of Calif (rain; or, Detective’s Shadow Act.
570 The Actress Detective; or, The Invisible Hand.
562 Lone Hand. the Shadow.
520 The Lone Hand on the Caddo.
490 The Lone Hand in Texas.
475 Chin Chin, the Chinese Detective.
465 The Actor Detective.
440 The High Home of the Pacific.
42}: The Lone Hand; or. The Red River Recreants.
408 Doc Grip. the Vendetta of Death.
381 The Gy sy Gen tleman: or. Nick Fox. Detective
376 Black Beards: 01. The Rio Grande High Horse»
370 The Dusky Detective: or. Pursued to the End.
363 Crowningshield. the Detective
m0 The Genteel Spo tter: or The N. Y. Night Hawk.
252 The Wall Street Blood: or. The Telegra h Girl.
203 The Double Detectiye: or,’l‘he Midnight ystery.
196 La Marmoset. the be tecnve Queen.
101 The Man from New York. ,
91 The Winning Oar: or. The Innkee s Daughter.
84 Hunted Down: or. The League 0 Three.
81 The Human Tiger: or. A Heart of Fire.
75 Gentleman George: or. Parlor. Prison and Street.
7': The Phantom Hand: or. The 5th Avenue Heiress.
63 The Winged Whale: or. The Red Rupert of Gulf.
59 The Man from Texas: Or. The Arkansas Outlaw.
56 The Indian Machpa; or, Madman of the Plains.
49 The Wolf Demon: or. The Kanawha eon.
42 The California Detecti ve: or, The Witc es of N.Y.
31 The New York Sher : or. Thail'lash of htning.
27 The Spotter Detect ve: or. Girls of New ork.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.
th f om Kirb ' or Short Card
828 gjhlgl-lgngt' Boztmfilckf By Wnl'.‘ R.‘ Eyster.
829 The Frisco Sharper's Cool Hand: or. Routing-
the Rookery Crooks. By Harold Payne.
830 Buffalo Bill‘s Boys in Blue: or, The Brimstone
Band’s Blot-out. By Col. P. Ingraham.

831 Sh dowi the London Detective' or Harvey
Hazvks‘ Sgort-Stop. By Capt. How'ard’Holmes.

832 Gld Gale’s Block Game: or Old Silvertlp’s Tie-up
at Tangled Pine. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

833 The [S rt [Detective's Gri ' or Bouncing the
Race- ,ourse Bettors. By m. H. Manning.

834 The Wild Steer Riders- or, Texas Jack’s Terrors.
By Col. Prentiss Ingra am.

A new issue every Wednesday.
Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all

Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS,

Publishers. 98 William street. New York.