oA Pe ie oe 3 eve ae pers a heane i fates Ae Fe au S a SSNs SEE a a ae Ses Pe at ee oe ee BS SNe ie See a ip Cee (Bae upjeq) sensesqo eosBep z ‘ueU! 00 ~ he said, atter a pause. “Buly, you must call at Broadbrim’s office; you. know where that is?” ‘The agency is on Maiden lane,.I believe?” said Billy. “Correct. Do you think you can disguise yourself well enough to escape recognition ?” : “Why, cert. Nothing easier. Well?” ; “Well, when you. have effected your disguise, I want you to call at Broadbrim’s office, and say that you are from Millville, and that you have been sent by your employer, Amos. Gilbert, the banker, with .a request that-he will return to Millville at once with you.’ eS) I understand all that. But ‘in what disguise? That of a clerk of middle age, with whiskers and mustache—a studious kind of bloke?” Now, let me give you a few points about this Mr. Gil rer the banker, _so as you'll make no mistake.” “Drive ahead.” Tim Clutterpucte then entered into a description of. the nator’ his confidential clerk, Eugene Dudley, the sort of place Millville was, and many other little points which may, the Goat, ot find necessary to be posted on. While Tim was’ still talking, a gruff voice demanded: “Hello! you fellows. .What are you doing there? This: {% No meeting-place; get out!” They were somewhat startled at ehegtiig the strange voice, and ; looked around to see who it was. At first they were puzzled. But they presently discovered that the gruff voice bhocppiel i | from the crazy wooden stairs leading to the floor above. ~*Do you hear me?” cried the voice, “Are you going to get out, or am I to call a policeman?” _ And, as these words. came angrily sbi the ‘Stair t the: man 8 > | OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. a ¥. -.who gave vent to them himsélf appeared, looking over the balus- ters down into the hallway... He looked to be a man of about forty-five or fifty years of age, with iron-gray hair, beard to match and a perfectly white “moustache «<< : His face, which was broadeand round, suggested good living; and a more than usual fondness for wines and other intoxicating liquors. “Get out! Do ye hear?” growled this very solid apparition. “All right, old grampus,” Tom responded, with a laugh. “We aren't goin’ to run away with your confounded place. Come, gents, let’s go and drink our red-faced friend’s health, and wish him a more civil tongue. Good-by, old gramptus—good-by! See you again, beer barrel. Ta-ta!” ~ oe . a And thus the five men passed into the street. = A moment or two later he was convulsed with laughter. “And so theyre going to send that little runt to the office, are they?—to fool Josiah Broadbrim, the Quaker detective! “Well, I’m a better hand at disguises than I imagined. How slight a thing will make a change in one’s appearance; a little touch up of the face, a few whiskers, hair ditto, and, presto! you're a different man. - “It’s as well that I saw Billy and the rest of them slip into ‘the hallway, but the strange thing is how I succeeded in getting in myself without arousing their Suspicions. “Well, Mr. Billy,” continued Broadbrim, for he it was, “I - shall be prepared to receive you and your message from Mr. Amos Gilbert, banker, Millville.” Once more Broadbrim, the Quaker detective, made a lightning change in his appearance, and strode out of the hallway, and walked rapidly for police headquarters. Ne CHAPTER WV. _ AFTER THE MURDER. . We may néw return to the country road near Millville, where we left Eugene Dudley looking down at the body of his victim— poor, murdered Eunice. “What if any one should have heard her cries?” the man asked of himself. This query he repeated again and again. To assure himself that such was -not the case,, he listened? intently. But he heard nothing, not even the rustle of a leaf, The stillness was actually oppressive to him. — 4 “T wonder is she really dead?” The thought flashed across Eugene at the moment. that Eunice might only be unconscious, and that reflection encouraged him so much that he bent over the motionless form, felt of the pulse, and endeavored to listen to the beatings of the heart. The next moment the hand fell from his palsied grasp, and he sprang to his feet. “Tt’s no use; she is dead!” he murmured, mournfully. “Eunice, forgive me, if you can!” he exclaimed, with a sudden revulsion of feeling and horror. “I—I did not mean to take your life. Oh, ‘miserable wretch! what have you done?” This feeling of regret and remorse did not last jong. The man had his own safety to see to. * He knew he would be lost if any one came along the road just then, and he concluded to carry the body of his victim into sk timber, and conceal the corpse amid the rank vegetation and underbrush, which he knew grew there in slenty. He had recourse now to a small flask of liquor, which it oc- curred to him he had in his coat pocket. oy : _He took his flask out and drank deeply of its contents. It had a perceptible, almost an instantdneous, effect on him, and for the better. : It braced Dudley’s nerves for the ordeal of carrying the body into the woods. : “IT must hurry up,” he exclaimed, hoarsely, “while I have light left, and get poor Eunice into the timber, and cover her with _ leaves and brush. ie ae “They may not find her for a year-or two; then I'll be away “many thousand miles from here. co ; “Ha, Alice Silverton—little you know what I have done to — obtain your hand—and yet I loved this poor dead girl more than d ever loved or can ever love you! : Ce “Oh! what a curse money is,” thought, Dudley, bitterly,’ as, _ taking the dead girl in his arms, he bore her into the timber. He was hidden in the seclusion of the fringe of woodland some ten or twelve minutes, when he again emerged into the road. His face was deathly, and big drops of sweat bedewed his brow. Again he had recourse to the flask; and, emptying it, tossed the vessel over a tall hedge, into a turnip-field to his left: Simultaneously, the moon disappeared behind a bank of omin- ous looking clouds, and once more he was left in total darkness. Again and again were Dudley’s eyes directed to that bank of sullen looking clouds, behind which the great, yellow moon had. vanished, and as he did so he muttered: - ees “We are going to have a change. I shouldn’t be surprised if we had a terrible rain storm. This strange calmness forebodes danger. : ie “Ha! the wind is already rising, and. before the fury of the elements sets in, I had better get to Cyril Slyme’s. “The old miser thinks he has me on the hip—imagines I have a fortune coming—and would grab the lion’s share fcr the wretched amount he’s advanced. “And yet, for all my contempt for the man, I can do nothing without him. \ ; “Money I must have, if T have to wring his cursed neck; for without it I fear my marriage with Alice will not take place. “The miser has the reputation of being wealthy. He will trust no bank, it is said, and keeps his money hidden away in every nook and cranny of his old rookery. “We shall see to-night whether these reports are true. é “Wonder what makes the people of Millville call old Slyme’s residence ‘Great Wallingford’? e “Not even a servant does the old codger keep, and he lives alone in-a state of semi-starvation.” Thus thinking, Dudley had for the time forgotten his poor victim, whose dead body lay concealed in the little strip of woods that fringed the roadside. So strong, indeed, was his incentive to get money, that’ his murderous act of a little while before was for the moment ob- literated from his mind. So on he went, not even observing that the wind was growing stronger, or that heavy drops of rain were beginning to fall, A sudden flash & lightning, accompanied by a hoarse rumbling of thunder, brought him back to the fact that the storm had already set in. / “Yes, here it comes,” he muttered; “and it will be hot and heavy while it lasts. Fortunately, I’ve not much further to go.” Dudley hastened his steps, and a few minutes later halted, as a vivid flash of the oncoming storm lighted up an old, crazy struc- ture, removed some thirty or forty paces from the road. CHAPTER Vi THE MISER’S HOME. The flash of lightning did no! last bit a moment, but quite long enough to give Dudley a good view of a queer looking, two- ‘story frame building, compassed by an acre anda half of grounds. : se This patch of land was given up to a few rose bushes, half a dozen apple and pear trees, and any quantity of rank vegetation — and undergrowth. _ It was plain that its owner did not pride himself very much on the good looks of his residence, for the old frame building _ was tottering on its last legs. An entire absence of shingles in many places on the roof, dis- closed the bare joists and rafters, while some of the woodwork in front had rotted away from age and lack of repair. ee “That crib,’ muttered Dudley, “isn’t fit for a dog to live in. . But little does Slyme care for appearances, so that he can wring the money from those who are unfortunate enough to borrow from him.” ; The man regarded the building for a moment with a deep scowl, « then passed in at a dilapidated gate, and approached the front door, which he managed to make out by a second lightning flash, Boldly he knocked at the rude looking door. His first summons was unanswered, He knocked again, louder than before. “It ain’t possible the old scoundrel’s dead,” Dudley muttered ; though wishing fervently in his heart that he was. “Men: of ting ‘the sphere of their misdeeds and ill-gotten gains. Ha! oe ‘the Slyme type die hard, and make much noise before quit- . ~ here he comes at last, growling and grumbling as usual. Pm Re is . TNS Dy oe ee but were. he to know the cause of th delay, what then ?” And Dudley shivered in every limb as he pictured the mur- dered girl, hidden away in the heart. of the little ines of _ woods. Dudley’s quick ear had oie dy caught the hung. steps of the owner of this tumble-down. structure. -. He could also hear the old fellow’s unpleasant grumbling -as he drew near the door. Who. is there?” demanded a hoarse and somewhat muffled voice from the other side of the door, “And what is your busi- “ness at this hour?” As the old fellow put the question, Dudley heard the un- mistakabl e-click .of a ‘frearm: —‘t.is 1, Mr. Slyme, Eugene- ~your friend from~Millville, and your enemy, too, for that matter.” Hite latter part of his sentence was, of course, spoken under the young man’s breath. Dudley heard the turning of a key in the apparently rusty © lock, the ‘clanking of some “heavy chain, and the noisy removal of bolts and bars. @ Then the door was cautiously opened, and a light shot forth into the darkness. : Just as this was done a brilliant flash of lightning illumined the whole landscape,+while the roaring of the thunder shook the building. This in turn was followed by a heavy show. “Mercy on me!” cried Slyme, stepping back into the pass- age from which he had emerged. “How sudden! How very terrible! Andnow, my boy, what kept you?” “You don’t expect me to answer your, questions out here in the storm!” growled Eugene, “Give. me a chance, won’t you, to get=inside?” “Why, certainly, my dear boy—certainly,” mumbled old Slyme. “Get under cover, by all means. First, let -me secure the door. So!—and so! ~ “There's nothing like bolts and bars, Eugene, to keep inter- lopers out; and the good, healthy clangi a8, of a chain abso- lutely frightens people at times—he, he, he!” chuckled the old man, as he made his .door thoroughly secure from intrusion, so far as bolts and bars were concerned. = “Doors are all very well in their way,’ ventured Dudley. “But it won't do to forget that there are such avenues of ingress and egress as windows. “Indeed, I had a visit last night, which went far to prove that such was the fact, for my cunming interloper was far too prudent to come in by the door, so Selected my bedroom win- dow, and ended by appropriating my gold watch, trousers, waistcoat and about forty dollars in money. “It may be that your windows are about as secure as mine,” sarcastically, “and the jolly nocturnal visitant may try them. to as good an advantage.” + e - fe “He might, my dear Eugene,” replied Slyme, witha chuckle. “But it he did so, he might be ‘taken ‘at a sad. disadvantage. For instance, I’ve such little playthings as spring-guns set; and spring-guns aré dangerous, Eugene; for, you see, they explode sometimes, whether we will or no, and the consequences would be most painful to the gentle burglar who endeavored to effect an entrance to my house. “But, talking of burglars “T hear that some New York gentlemen have been for the last two or three weeks getting in their fine work in Millville and > suburbs.” “Do .you mean that burglars have been operating?” said Dud- ley, as the old man led the way into a front room on the ground floor of the ramshackle«structure. “Yes, my dear boy, | mean that burglars have been at work, and making quite a.fine harvest. They are New York. burglars, too, Eugene—nice, gentle throat- slitters from the Bowery and adjoining thoroughfares. It is possibly one of those, Eugene, who entered your bedroom and stole your money. Did you say you lost, a watch, too?” Mes 4 ‘ 4 “That's very. unfortunate—very. A young man likes to look at his gold watch. Eugene, especially if there is any one present, as it gives him: an air of importance and prosperitye Humph! that burglar was a bad. man, to deprive you of your watch, Eugene, a very bad man, though I do say it, myself, iG “This old duffer is poking fun at me,” thought Dudley. “went on the old man, garrulously. OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. he, he! ey “W onder doce he think I had anys hand in the burglaries? It looks that “way, by ———!” The apartment into which Cyril Slyme led Eugene Dudley was almost bare of furniture. The whole combined furnishing of the room wouldn’t have : brought twe dollars from any source. a te decay, an old mattress of shavings that answered for a bed, with a few ragged quilts and blankets thrown upon it—the last of which had eva UY not been washed since they were pur- chased. On the table was a big, ilace bottle, and the month of this bottle held a dirty tallow dip, which setved the old man in lieu of the kerosene lamp which he sometimes carried to the door to serve as a light for any visitor whom he favored—Eugene = Dudiey, as we have seen, being one of the favored ones. Now, as.to the owner of Great Wallingford himSelf: Cyril Slyme was. a man who appeared to be about seventy- five years of age, though he might be a few years. younger or older, as the case might be. He had asrather high and broad forehead, deep-set gray eyes, a fringe of sandy whiskers, ann a profusion of reddish hair. Added to this, Cyril Slyme had no small sense of humor, as well as thrifty craft. That he was neither a fool nor a blockhead was self-evident, if we omit the folly of his living alone and on a starvation diet. Dudley’s object in coming to Cyril Slyme’s was to obtain a loan of five or six thousand dollars, if possible, a portion of which he meant forwarding by some trusty hand:.to Eunice, thinking before meeting her so unexpectedly that she was still in New. York. There was little doubt hut he had some affection left for the poor girl, even up to the moment that she had denounced and threatened him yith exposure. But Dudley’s love for money was greater even than his love for the betrayed and murdered woman. All this was ended now, however, and he=was more firmly resolved than ever before to marry Alice Silverton, the wealthy Millville heiress, even though he had to adda second tmurder to. his previous one. that night. “T don’t think he has noticed anything strange about me,’ Eugene kept murmuring to himself. “I may bless my stars, though, that the old rascal’s shortsighted, or she must have seen my nervousness. All's left now is to make a bold play for the money, which I must have if I] have to strangle him for it.” While he was thus reflecting, Slyme said: “My young friend has/come to the old man for money—he, But he has not yet given me his opinion about those burglaries which they say is. scaring the poor®Millville people out of their wits. The work—he, he, he!—of New York crooks and thugs, eh?” CHAPTER VIL THE GREED FOR GOLD. Thé miser’s chuckle jarred very unpleasantly on Dudley’s ears. “T wonder does he suspect that I am in league with the thieves?’* thought the young man. “It seems so, or he wouldn’t be so often harping on it. And yet it's quite possible I am mistaken. I will soon find out.” “My young friend has perhaps no opinion on the subject,’ prompted the miser; “even though he has lost his fine clothes and his gold watch?” “To tell the truth, Mr. Slyme, I have paid little attention to the matter, ’saving in my own case. Of course, the loss was pretty severe. Still, it might have been worse, so where’s the use of crying over spilled “pple 2” “Exactly—he, he, he !—where’s the use of crying over spilled milk? ~My dear Eugene, you’re a philosopher—a veritable. phil- osopher—he, he, he!” “Confound you for an old fool!” muttered Dudley. “YY aur eternal giggling 1s enough to give one the blues.” 5 “What's that you were saying 2” queried the miser, sheyply. “Only a bad habit I have of speaking to myself. I was merely observing what a fcol I was to take this midnight journey. I could have done it as well to-morrow more I am sure 7 There were two chairs, a leg of each of which was gone, a small deal table which was worm-eaten and hastening rapidly | 1 _could obtain. Mr. Gilbert's permission ‘to algent’ myself from the bank half a day. ae »* “Of course, you could, and it would have been better, no doubt. But, excuse me, ‘Eugene, my dear. boy,” said the miser, “suddenly rising. . “I had almost forgotten myself. What ex- * travagance—he, he, he !—having a lamp. burning, when a candle, ~ would. suffice. ; “You perceive, Eugene, how very. provident I am—which is because I am so very poor—he, he, he!” “Confound . your he-he’s,” muttered alley poor, T must say.” Old Slyme Sie euaned. the: lamp, and, lighted the tallow’ dip in the black bottle. This little act seemed to ease the ‘miser’s mind: very. Sack “So you know nothing about the burglaries?” he: went on, reseating himself. . . “No more than yourself, Mr. Slyme. As I’ve told’ you before, _I have given, the matter no serious: thought.. The truth is, ‘ ‘have too much on my hands just now to bother with burglaries or their perpetrators.” “To be sure—he, he, he! But, Eugene, my deer boy, when is 6 this marriage of yours to Miss Silverton to come off: ee i et as.soon as IJ get money to Sauare matters,” Dudley re- plie : “And your own expectations froin syour family?” “In six months from to- cy, sir, I am to receive two hun- dred thousand dollars.” “A very latge sum, my boy, a very large sum. If you are not too extravagant, ‘the interest, Eugene, at six per cent., will keep you like. a—a lord... But, then—he, he!—Miss Alice has more than double that amount,” “So I believe; and out of that money,-when I come into pos- session of it, fifteen thousand dollars will be my good friend poe It, shall be placed to.his account. in the Millville an + “The where?” exclaimed the miser, as thome he had not heard aright. “In the Millville bank.” “No, my dear Eugene, not the Millville bank—he, he, he !— nor in any other bank, I have a bank of my own—he, he !—a very safe and sound bank, Eugene. Banks, such as the Mill- ville one; fail sometimes, my dear boy; and the old man is too poor ‘to Jose his honestly-acquired money that way. So your marriage is to take place as soon as you can square yourself; what do you mean?” “My visit to you to- night must explain what I mean. I have come here to borrow six thousand dollars, for the use of which I will give you fifteen thousand dollars, independent of certain small sums which I have borrowed previously.” “In all, fifteen hundred dollars—he, he!” rubbing his hand, “Yes, I believe that’s the amount.” “And you think I will let you have six thousand more, eh?” said the miser, lifting his wrinkled brows and running over the amount on the fingers Of his left hand. Shexactly |?’ “My dear, dear Eugene, you must think I am rich, whereas I am very, very poor-—he, he, he! Now, listen to me—where, in the name of all that’s good, bad and indifferent, am I to get so much money ? It can’t be done, my dear boy; it can 't—posi- tively can’t—be done!” “Do you mean what you say?” cried Ditdley, rising in his chair, in apparent anger. “Did I not understand you to say, no later ‘than two days ago, that you would help me through to any reasonable amount?” “Now, now, Eugene,’ i oe miser interrupted.’ “Don’t get ex- cited, If a couple of thousand dollars will do—he, he !—I can serve you.” Yo are very striking. a “match, chimed in Slyme, 3 “Is* that. your ultimatum ?” asked Dudley, with a show of. great indignation. “If it is, the negotiation ceases right here, and I will have no more to do with you. I can obtain the loan in New York and on better terms. I’ll trouble you to light me to the door, Mr. Slyme.” “My dear boy, it will never do for you to leave in this storm,” cried the miser, springing to his fee “See how the lightning flashes and the ‘thunder roars! ‘ "The very rain’s coming down in F paket ul, Pie. now, tor? be in a hurry—don’t. be in a hurry—that’s a good, dear a OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. _ small fortune to a prudent man; “I must get’ home,” salient replied Dudley. “Surely, Eugene, surely. But you can’t go away in “this storm. My dear. ‘child, On Il get your death—you’ll get your Gent “Little you care whether I get my death or not,” aad Dudley, peevishly. “No, ‘Mr. Slyme, I must go... .All business transac- tions are ended between us, and forever. It is folly, I say, to prolong this interview. | will start for. New ° eae to-morrow morning, and negotiate the loan.” - And as he spoke, Dudley relighted the ey Old, Slyme took him by the “shoulders, and freed him ee into his chair, saying: “Come to think, Eugene, you won't have to go to New York. I—I think I can do this little obligement for you. ’ Six thousand dollars, eh?—he, he!—six thousand dollars..is a big sum—a but I think I can do it for you, Eugene; yes, I'll go at once and get the money.” And the miser, in his eagerness, left the room and forgot the lamp. He was not gone more ae a couple of seconds when he re- tdrned, “Tm afraid I must leave you for a few minutes in the dark, Eugene,” said he. “I’m really afraid I must—he, he, he!” “What's the matter with the candle?” growled Dudley, strik- ing a match and lighting it. Os *Ves—yes—I forgot all about that,” mumbled: Slyme. “Stay where you are, Eugene—stay where you are, my boy, until [ return. Don’t move, or you may run across some of them plaguey spring-guns—he, he, he!” And so saying, the miser again left the room. “Spring-guns, eh?” muttered Dudley. “I don’t believe him! The old fellow gives me this to ftighten me. “Ha! What was that Pe” ws And Eugene sprang up from the chair. An alarming sound seemed to have come from’ the widow It might have been a gust of wind or a dash of rain on the window-panes, for the storm was still raging furiously. ; Dudley could not resist the temptation, however, of stealing over to the window and trying to penetrate the darkness, But he could discern nothing, and, after listening for d few moments, he went back to his chair. “t's only a gust of wind or a dash of rain,” he took up a newspaper and tried to read it. “How infernally nervous lam! Ugh! I feel as though I had a dose of ague, Y He threw the paper down, and again arose. An irresistible impulse took possession of him to go and see what old Slyme was doing. ° With stealthy steps, he Pei to the door, opened it, ane crept into the passage. He stopped for a moment. # He could hear faint sounds proceeding from some room ap- parently in the rear of the building. Leaving the door slightly ajar, direction “of the sounds. It was as he had surmised. The sounds came from a rear room. He went softly forward to a spot where he could see a teh cate pencil of light piercing the gloom. Then he heard .a voice. ~ It was Slyme’s. The old man was grumbling about parting with so Snack money, and heaping curses on Dudley's head for oe him into the deal. : The young man stood outside the door of fie apartment, in which the miser was looking over his precious money and se- curities. . Dudley pushed the door in softly, and could see all that was taking place. The miser’s tall, gaunt frame was bent over a tin cashbox, as he kept muttering : ; “Fifteen thousand for six Hea he, hel “Not a: bad night’s work, eh? But he ought to have made it twenty— twenty thousand dollars, at least. Where does the young rascal think a poor old man is to get his money from? .But he doesn’t cate—he doesn’t cate. It would never have done to let him 0 he muttered, as Dudley stole away in the to New York, though. New York is a wicked place, and New, York has wicked money-lenders—he, He, he!” ae old hypocrite!” muttered Dudley. . "See how he ah _ companion, he would have awakened to the reality of his peril. Piles and piles of thousand- & gloats over his ill: -gotten money! dollar bank. notes, by he An evil expression came into the watcher’s face as he saw the miser handling the valuable securities and bank notes so lovingly; and, worse yet, murder entered into his soul. ot money shall be mine |” he muttered between his set teeth Then, seeing the miser preparing to leave, he Wactened beck to the apartment which he had quitted a minute or two before. Having eritered the rem, the young man closed the door softly, sat down on his chair and took up the old newspaper. When Slyme came in, he was attentively reading it. 7 7 CHAPTER VIII. A FATAL SHOT, 3 Y Xx Cyril Slyme carried the cashbox in his hand as he entered the room. It probably ea eined all his available wealth—all the money, perhaps, that he had in the «world. He looked at Dudley for a moment, and it was plain that he did not suspect what was passing in that young man’s mind, for he put his cashbox down on the mattress, and reseated himself. The miser’s ruling passion was strong even at this moment, for he had barely taken his chair when he bethought himself of the candle, which stood lighted on the table. Old Slyme at once got up and extinguished the lamp. “So!” he said, with a satisfied chuckle, as he produced pen, - ink; and paper from the cashbox. “I must have you sign a re- ceipt for six thousand dollars, my dear Eugene. Six thousand, did I say? No, no—he, he! ‘That’s all a mistake. Fifteen thousand, my dear boy, fifteen thousand! The amount to a dol- latisit noe” Eugene nodded affirmatively. “Thank you, my boy, thank you. And now I must make out the receipt, and have you sign it—he, he, he!” ~The miser’s everlasting chuckle was extremely irritating to young Dudley, but he refrained from making remarks, ‘save to urge Slyme to make out the receipt, so that he might append his name to it. : ~ The document was soon written, and submitted to Dudley for his approval. The young man glanced over its contents, and, apparently satisfied with the business part, signed the paper. He was excessively nervous, and it was with a shaking hand that he afffxed his signature. ‘It was, maybe, fortunate for him that this was a observed by his short-sighted friend. ~ Having put his name to the document, he made inition to the other receipts which the miser held of ‘his » “Vhat’s all right, my dear boy. I have them—he, he!—in the ‘box. Do yOu, wish to see them? Only fifteen hundred dollars re “Let me see the documents, to make sure.’ 3 “Why, certainly—he, he |—of course ; a not?” And Slyme produced the several receipts for money which Dudley had previously borrowed. The young man pretended to be deeply immersed in the pert- sal of these same receipts, which was done probably to gain time and to fix on his future action. Finally he handed the slips back, with the remark: 7 Ee acknowledgments are all right, and everything ship- shape and regular.” “Well, T must let you have the money now, I suppose,” said Slyme, heaving a sigh of genuine regret. “THs a big sum to part withthe, he \—but what won’t a man do to serve a Einiend es “Humph!” said Dudley; “but you forget that you are serving your own interests by making this advance. Fifteen thousand dollars for six thousand is a tolerably big night’s work. One ought to get rich in short order at that rate.” _ The miser made answer that he didn’t see it in that light— that, if anything, he was the victim of his unbounded generosity, not to mention ‘his friendship for Eugene. _. The old man removed from the cashbox a big package of -greenbacks, and counted out six brand-new bank notes, the denomination of each of which was a thousand dollars. Had Cyril Slyme at that moment caught the eye of his OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. & There was unmistakable murder in Dudley’s eyes, as he again caught sight of so much money, and realized the ease with | which he could make it‘his own. But the miser was blissfully unconscious of his danger, and, after passing the six thousand dollars to his visitor, went on arranging the.other contents. of his tin cashbox. ~ It now occurred to Dudley how easy he could put a bullet through the old -man’s: head. The cashbox must contain at least a quarter of a million dollars, not including the securities. Dudley screwed up his courage to the topmost notch. Quickly he drew a pistol from one of his pockets, and as the old man still fumbled with the contents of his cashbox, Dudley - stealthily cocked his weapon, and bringing it up in -his trem- bling hand, fired! The report-of the firearm was deafening in that small space. It was followed by a profound groan and a heavy thud. » The room was filled with the smoke of the discharge. But it soon\cleared away, and disclosed to the nervous gaze of Eugene Dudley the’ miser’s prostrate form. He “had fallen from the chair onto his face, and lay ina great pool of blood, which had flowed from a gaping wound in the side of his head. It was a ghastly, horrible-looking sight. The young man for several moments could not withdraw his gaze. ‘ It scented: to his then heated brain, that the staring, lusterless eyes followed’ him everywhere. , Dudley, in his present nervous state, could not stand this long. He sprang to the old mattress, and possessed himself of one of the dirty, tattered blankets. With averted eyes and trembling hands, he threw the blanket over the face of the corpse, and so hid the horrid sight from view. This done, he grew more composed. There was a small cupboa apd in one corner of the room, where Dudley well knew Slyme kept articles of food and drink. On the occasion of one of his visits to Great Wal lingford, the miser had treated Dudley to. a liberal supply of spirits. Now it occurred to the young man that if Slyme had liquor on that occasion, he must*have it on others. He soon. discovered a big black bottle, of about the same size and ‘shape as the one which held the tallow dip. The murdérer uncorked the bottle,-and smelled of its con- tents. . It contained whisky. Dudley nervously carried the neck of the bottle to his lips, afid took a deep draught of the spirits. The liquor was good, and sent a thrill almost of joy through his blood. Not satisfied with one drink, he took a second and a third. “Tam all right, now,’ he muttered; “I could face the old boy himself. And now to see the amount that box contains, not forgetting to secure the Pe to which my signature is at- tached.” Dudley didn’t mind poor old Slyme’s body ‘in his exhilarated state. He was in a-dare-devil humor, eee by the quantity of spirits he had drunk. Feeling that he was equal to anything ities what he had done, he was soon busying himself with the contents of the - cashbox, He undid the various packages of bank notes, and counted each package separately, until he figured up the total sum of two hundred and thirty thousand dollars. The secutities amounted to nearly as much more. But for these he had no use, except to put them aside so as to destroy them later. All the documents bearing his signature came next in order; but, unfortunately for himself, one of these he dropped on the floor, and neglected picking it up. It was a paper acknowledging the receipt of five hundred, dollars. “Two hundred and thirty thousand dollars!’ “Dudley kept: saying over and over again. “Where’s the use of my marrying Miss miverion t now! I have a fortune of my own—but at what a price! Oh, God! at what a price!” And again nia old horror took Puereseion of him. 2 )=—t=« said Billy : gentlemen ; but don’t forget to follow Broadbrim, whatever j you do. ‘Phere may possibly be a chance to down him before , night.” “Well, we'll’ go, anyhow,” he led the way into the street. Here they separated, Billy, the Goat, starting on his mission said Tim; and so saying, But, coming to think, I can have the detect- “Just, wait a few seconds, , Billy left the ginmill’ and sallied | into the _ ’ proceeded Billy, confidently, © “Mr. Josiah Broadbrim, Esquire, will never see Millville this ‘side of the grave.’ hand Abs time he : “and I leave the rest to you, to Broadbrim’s office, the other four going in the direction A - Mulberry ‘street. esuaen eta ary € CHAPTER XX. A NARROW ESCAPE. Old bioeanrin did not dream that he was being followed from police headquarters. But he nevertheless was, by Tim Clutterbuck and his three companions, who by this time had succeeded in- effecting a striking change in their. attire and looks. In fact, they did not appear to be the same as those who had left the saloon in the company of Billy, the Goat. They looked now like rough workingmen, thanks to the ee istic deftness of Captain Shingle. “While the Quaker detective was chatting to the head of the detective department, Captain Shingle; in a fence nearby, had deftly and quickly effected these changes, and subsequently _ made similar alterations in the appearance of Clutterbuck. It did not take more than a few minutes to do all this, and by the time Broadbrim emerged into Mulberry street, they were Meee ready to follow in his tracks. ‘The Quaker detective reached Centre street at last. His quick» eye caught sight of the four men, some ten to” i: 4 fifteen paces behind; and something in the gait of one af the pretended workingmen attracted his notice. - The man’s walk, it occurred to him, was familiar. There was something, too, about the others that struck him as being strange, and at once aroused his suspicions. He also saw that when he stopped, the four men stopped likewise. “No man on earth would walk in that way, save old Cap. Shingle,” ‘suddenly communed the detective. “There’s no doubt but I’m shadowed, and if these other two fellows are not Ross and Curley, I'll eat my head. “I cannot place the third man, though. But I think it’s Clut- tetbuck, Yes, it ‘is Clutterbuck !” Without attracting the attention of the men in his rear, Broad- brim coolly proceeded to walk up Centre street. There was a considerable crowd of people on the street just then; the time being about noon. Did these fellows, under the cover of such a multitude, mean to attack him, or were they simply shadowing him to his offiee? The detective was forced to the conclusion that Clutterbuck and his pals were following him to his agency. They would not dare attack him, he thought, at such a time, and under such circumstances. But in this Broadbrim was mistaken. The four men had coneluded, strange as it may seem, to make a combined dash on the detective and Overpower him by force of numbers. Two of the pretended workmen carried heavy oaken staffs, either one of which would be hard and heavy enough to knock the detective’s skull in, could they haye got a fair stroke at him. Some six or seven yards behind Tim Clutterbuck and his pals Was a closed carriage drawn by a pair of spanking grays. The driver was a burly, broad-shouldered fellow, and had followed the men slowly from Mulberry street. _ It was part of the plan that he should drive the carriage up, provided there was any show for a successful attack, and that, ‘having stricken Broadbrim» senseless, the detective should be hustled into the vehicle and driven off to West street, and hence across the North River to Jersey City. It was a bold and daring scheme, but more daring ‘schemes ad been done before with success, even in a populous neighbor- hood such as Centre street was at that time of day. About two hundred paces from that gruesome building, the Tombs, Broadbrim became conscious that his persistent. follow- ets were closing in. He was prepared. He braced himself to meet the peril: which he now, by some occult means, knew. threatened him. He was not long left in suspense. He heard the nearby rumble of carriage wheels. _ Then came a sudden rush of feet. - Broadbrim turned in time to dodge’a powerful stroke aimed at his head. ¢ : “You will, will you?” he exclaimed, meeting the combined rush of his assailants. left. Down went two of the four sprawling on their backs. The two men with the heavy canes were not so easily dis- posed of. They, with the most horrid oaths, closed in on the detective. The hack had, in the meantime, stopped. And from the box sprang the driver. Bounding forward, he struck at the detective with the loaded butt of his whip. The stroke swept harmlessly over Broadbrim’s head. The fight now raged fast and furious. A great crowd had gathered, Some rough-looking fellows seemed disposed to join in the fracas—at first on Broadbrim’s side; but when they heard he was a detective, they viewed the situation differently, and joined forces with his enemies. ae It seemed all up now with Broadbrim. He strugled like a lion, nevertheless. But in vain. At last he received a blow from one of the heavy canes - that struck him to his knees. Hesitating no longer, opposed to such odds, he whipped out Doubling up his fists, he struck from the shoulder right and. OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY, 33 his. pistol, and two ringing discharges, followed by flashes of flame, scattered the crowd by which he was surrounded in all directions. His assailants fell back. The firing of the pistol shots attracted the notice of several police officers, who came rushing up. Clutterbuck and his pals made a dart for the carriage. The driver, perceiving the police, did likewise, and sprang onto the box. Then, before any of the rascals could be secured, the car- riage was driven furiously toward Canal street, and turning the corner of that thoroughfare, vanished. It was useless to pursue the vehicle. It had completely disappeared ere the officers got into Canal street. When the police returned from their pursuit, Old Broadbrim, too, was gone, and the big crowd which had been attracted by the commotion had meted” The police, who, as it happened, were new men on the force, never discovered from that day to this the cause of the dis- turbance, or even who the participants were. Not did Old Broadbrim go out of his way to make ee any the wiser. ‘ The detective, not wishing any cheap notoriety, got away from the spot where the fight had occurred as soon as he could. ' In order to escape a crowd of qiestioners, and also the return of the police officers, he darted quietly down one of the side streets, thence finally into Park Row—the old-time Chatham street portion of it. “T had a pretty narrow escape that time,” thought Broadbrim. “T had better keep my eyes and ears open in future, lest the rascals. do me an injury that will prevent my attending to the Mullville case.’ CHAPTER XI. Te Be DOB in SH OT: a 7 When Old Broadbrim got into Park Row he ran up against the very man, as luck would have it, that he now wanted to see. The man was tall, thin and lanky,” had an almost colorless face, keen gray eyes, a close-cropped pate—no whiskers and no mustache. He might have been any age from twenty-five to thirty-five or mone. He was a man one would be apt to take a second look at in the street—not that he was at all prepossessing, but there was something so stealthy and peculiar about him and his move- ments that he would have attracted attention anywhere. This fellow had been an all-round crook and pickpocket, but was now supposed to be in some way connected with the Pink- ertons and the police department of New York. This was only in part suspected by a few of the crooked fra- ternity, but the majority scouted the idea that he belonged | either to the police or the Pinkertons. Broadbrim had not seen him in some time, so fancying that he might get some information from him that might be useful in his Millville journey, he hailed him as he was passing. “Hi! Harry Lestrange!” The lanky-looking man, eoing his name, instantly stopped and faced about. An expression of alarm Fised across his face at first, but see- ing it was Broadbrim, he came over to him, smiling. “Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Broadbrim!” he said, extending his colorless hand, which the detective failed to grasp, however, “Yes, itis ¥ Harry, and I wanted to see you in the worst way.’ Lestrange looked about: nervously. i “You wanted to see me,” he said; “what for?” “ir know ‘you don’t care to be seen with me in so public a place,” teplied the detective, quietly. “What do you say to a drink ?—-where we can sit down for @ few minutes, and talk “quietly?” This seemed to relieve Lestrange’s’ mind to some extent. Casting stealthy, half-fearful glances aréund, before reply- ing, he said: ~® “You are always prudent, Mr. Broadbrim. Where shall we adjourn for the lush?” “Anywhere you please,” the detective rejoined, not a dozen miles from here.” “I know a nice, quiet joint down New Chambers - street,” Harry answered, ‘Cahere well not be disturbed. if “Very good, then. Lead the way.” “Follow me, Mr. Broadbrim, but mind you don’t come too close,” cautioned the man, the detective thought with no little trepidation in his mannér.. “Keep about six paces or. so in the rear® “You appear to be scared,” smiled Broadbrim. “I have good reason to be,” was the laconic reply. you keep me in sight, sir; close.” Saying which? Harry Lestrange crossed to the other side of the street, followed by the detective, who kept in the rear, at the stipulated number of paces. As they proceeded toward New Chambers street, two or three men passed in a bunch, nodding familiarly to Lestrange as they went by. The detective recognized ae that they were crooks, Five moré went by. ere they got to New Chambers street, and though they nodded to Lestrange, it was sin a cold, formal way, and evidently. of not the most friendly character. There were deep scowls on three of the men’s faces, which apparently boded no good to the detecti ive’s conductor. “T see now why he’s so nervous,” muttered Broadbrim to himself. “But what brings so many of the crooked fraternity on Park Row to-day The last fellows evidently have been drinking. plain, however, they are no friends of Lestrange. 3 By this time Harry had turned the corner into New Chambers street, to the. left. Nor did he do this without a quick glance over his shoulder. It was, maybe, to see if the detective was following. Or, which was more probable, to see if other crooks were in sight, or whether he was followed by the fellows who had just passed, He did not stop, however, but went right on down New Cham- bers street. When he had left Park Row by about two blocks, he crossed to the other side of the street, and went along half a block more, finally passing into 4 quiet-looking lager beer saloon. He knew that Broadbrim was following, so did not take the trouble to look behind. The detective waited several seconds, cast a quick glance up and down the street to see that there were no suspicious characters lounging about, then. made a swift dash into the saloon. There was no one in the saloon excepting Lestrange and a big, florid-faced German, who had brought. him a “glass of foaming beer. and a very ‘dark- colored cigar. The table at which Lestrange sat was in a dark nook of the drinking place, at the far end of the long, narrow room, which had no doubt been selected by that gentleman asia place where there would be less fear of interruption. The detective looked at the German for a moment, appeared to be a good-natured fellow enough, sleepy to a degree. The saloon-keeper yawned lazily as the detective’ scttled for the drinks, then plumped himself down in the big armchair and appeared to 8° off into a doze. “You perceive,” said Lestrange, “this is about the best place I could have got. We will be in no dread of an interruption, “Mind One thing’s who lymphatic and anyhow.” “So I see. The German’s asleep. His business is not to say rushing. Do you come here often?” “Once in a while.” “Just for-safety’s sake.” “You've about struck it,” Lestrange answered, lighting his cigar, and puffing away with a lack of his former nervousness. ‘His uneasiness, since Stee this quiet retreat, seemed to have left him. “IL saw: you nodding ‘to some men as you came along—who were they ?”’ the detective asked. “Crooks. The first. batch were ae of mine. fellows “Were not. so friendly, il “What's the trouble, anyhow? “Am I to understand that they take you for a stool-pigeon?” The is 92 saw that,”; finished Broadbrim. “So. that 16S but don’t, on your life, come too- Is there anything unusual in the wind? ~ 14 OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. oe “You've just hit-it. That’s what they do take me for. “But what is it you want to know from me ?—for I reckon you haven’t taken all this trouble for nothing.” “You may rest assured of-that,” replied Broadbrim.. you in my eye to-day when I[ made a pilgrimage through the Houston and Bleecker street dives. I want information—that’s what I want—and that’s what I am here tatking to you for now. But I don’t want information without paying for it, though.” And the detective took a fat wad of bank notes from his pocket, and began counting them. Lestrange’s ‘sharp, gray eyes glistened again. “You appear to be well fixed, Mr. Broa adbrim,” he said, with a longing look. al generally am. But I can be generous, too. can be a very liberal paymaster. How are you off for cash?” Lestrange, by way of answer, dived his hand into his trousers pocket, and drew forth a handful of silver coins and nickels. “Guess I’ve about five dollars: in all,” he rejoined. “Humph!” said Broadbrim, “a very slim sum for a man of your talents. “ve got twenty dollars for you, Harry, if you can give me the lay of certain work that’s going on, at present, in Millville.” “Why, that’s my native village |” exclaimed Lestrange, in real or pretended excitement. “I know every nook and cranny in it; and I was sorry to hear a ‘The man suddenly stopped himself. “What did you hear?” “Tt won't interest you.” “How do you know?” “Em, Stre. 1t wont: operations.” “What operations?” As a rule, i It’s too far away from the scene of “I mean from New York,” explained Lestrange, with evi- dent unwillingness. ‘It's: he said. *““You are sure you’re not going to arrest me?” “That will depend upon yourself. You know-I can arrest you for that burglary in Jersey City, but if you. act on the square with me, that will amount to nothing.’ “And ‘will never be brought up against me?” said Baxter, eagerly. “And will never be brought up against you,” replied Old Broadbrim, repeating his words. “Very ood, T will rely on your word, Mr. Broadbrim.” “My. dear fellow,” rejoined the detective, “you can’t help your- self. But you are probably aware that I never break my word, are you not?” “That is the reputation they give you,” answered Baxter, 23 replied Baxter, promptly. “And I believe you to be an honorable man in every sense.’ Old Broadbrim could not help smiling.at Baxter’s eagerness to curry favor with him, and simply | said: aoe “T thank you for your good opinion.” CHAPTER XIII, A SNUG CRIB. The detective, still having the arm of Horsley Baxter in Bis. turned out of Stanton street into a narrow lane. “Where are we going—to a saloon?” inquired Baxter. ce 6733 ak thought you said we were going to a_ saloon,” -declared Baxter, “and my throat is as parched as a lime- burner’s pipe. I feel “as if I could do a. good, big drink.” “You do, hey?” “Ves, indeed, I do. Won’t you drop into a saloon? There’s’ a quiet little joint right down hege.” “Abe Johnson’s? Yes, I know it—where we would meet the toughest cases in. Gotham, and ‘where you, my dear fellow, would have a good chance of giving them the tip. “Oh, no, not, to-day; some’ other day, Horsley. As. for the drink, I can give you a good, big one where we are going.” Baxter’s jaw fell. “Is it far?” he asked. “Not more than a hundred yards. And it’s not a saloon, either. It’s a snug little crib, kept by a friend of mine.” H’m !” ce And Baxter relapsed into a sullen silence. Presently they drew up before a small house, the shutters of which were closed. “It doesn’t appear to me that there’s any one living there,” said _ Baxter, regarding the little house, Ble _ that cranky grumpus had so much taste?” “We shall soon see whether there is any one living there or not,” was Old Broadbrim’s reply. “Come along!” It was not the detective’s. object to release his hold of Baxter, even for an instant, knowing~well the slippery nature of the man. So he partly dragged him along up the stoop, much to the cunning crook’s disgust, who had really been watching for a chance to escape. Old Broadbrim forced Baxter to the door, and rang the beil. They had not long to wait. A muffled sound of footsteps was heard in the hallway of the old house, and the next moment the door was cautiously opened. Following the opening of the door came the head and shoul- ders of a man. He didn’t appear to be more than Ione years of age, though his hair was perfectly white, atid clustered in ringlets around his broad, open forehead. He gave both men a keen looking ¢ over; especially was his gaze fixed on the tattered-looking figure of Old Broadbrim. - And he was by no means impressed with his scrutiny. “Come,” he said, putting on a stern look, apparently foelion to him, “what do you two fellows want? Don’t you think you have struck the wrong house? The place you want is next-door, Judley Blunkins, the undertaker’s.” Old Broadbrim made a hideous face at the man with the snowy hair. This seemed to eurage him. “Come!” he again exclaimed, “clear out! J. want no tramps here, and I have no use for ’em. Go to Blunkins. He’s in- terested in tramps, just now, I hear.” Baxter was by. no means pleased at this sort of reception. To be called a tramp was a dire insult that he couldn’t stand. “You infernal old ignoramus!” he cried, wrathfully. “Whom do you call tramps? The boot is on the other leg; you're a tramp yourself, and a cranky one at that.” Old. Broadbrim laughed. peo a “That will do,” he said. “You're abusing an old friend of mine, who in my present guise didn’t know me. That’s all there aS, £00 10.7 The tone of Old Broadbrim’s voice was at once Pee cd by the white-haired owner of the house. “Beg your pardon, Mr. Broadbrim,” said the man; “if it hadn’t been for your voice, | should never have known you. Come in! Who’s your choleric friend?” “Mr. Baxter, this is Mr. Jarndyce,’ introduced the detective, as they entered the house. Horsley Baxter was no more pleased with Old Broadbrim’s introduction than he had been with Mr. Jarndyce’s former greet- ing. He sullenly bowed, but wouldn’t extend his hand. When the door was secured, Jarndyce led the way along a passage. The passage was somewhat dark, and Old Broadbrim and ° Baxter had to follow their guide carefully. At last: they reached the door of a, room, which Jarndyce opened. » The three men entered, and found the apartment almost luxuriously furnished. The room had two windows, which looked out on a trim little garden in the rear; and the sun rays, pouring gloriously through the polished panes, added greatly to the apartment’s cheery looks. “Mr. Jarndyce, my friend wants a big drink,” exclaimed Old Broadbrim. “Have you any liquor handy that will assuage his thirst 2” Jarndyce smiled. -*WVbat does your friend drink?” he asked, “Ts it claret, whisky, champagne or lager beer?” ; Baxter's eves glistened at the mention of lager. “T never drink wine,’ he hastened to explain; puts a head on me.” “Then you'll take beer?” ; “Ves, let it be beer. And mind you-don’t stint me,’ came warn- ingly from Baxter’s lips. “When I[ drink, I drink, and no fooling about it.” While Jarndyce hastened from the room Old Broadbrim and Baxter helped themselves to two luxurious easy-chairs, in the upholstery of which one could sink a dozen inches, at least. ‘Who'd think,” said Baxter, looking around the room, “that “and whisky OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. “You'd better not let him hear you call him a cranky grumpus,” warned Old Broadbrim. “Why not? What's to hinder me?” “He may cut off your supplies. It’s likely as not you will be his guest for some days, and it is better for you to act in a friendly spirit, or he may lead you such a life that you'll not - care for.” ESO you mean to keep me here some days, hey?” growled Baxter: “What's that: for?” “Te keep your tongue from wagging,” the detective answered. “Of course you may speak as much as you like here, but it would never do to give you a charice to do the same in any of your old hatints. That must be avoided, and the only way to avoid it is to keep you here under lock and key.” “Perdition! Then I’m a prisoner, is that it?” , “No, no; you are mistaken; you are by no means a prisoner: you are the guest, for the next three or four days, of my es- teemed friend, Mr. Jarndyce, who will treat you with the utmost civility and kindness ; that is,” Old Broadbrim hastened to add, “so long as you deserve it,-and no longer. You will have plenty to eat, and drink, and smoke; and how much better is it than to go to prison for ten years for that Jersey City burglary? “You perceive you are in the toils, my boy, and the only thing left is to make the best of it, and behave yourself like a gentle- man, which you no doubt are, in point of education. “Now. I’ve said as much to you as is necessary, and take 4 friend’s tip, and avail yourself of my advice.” By this time Jarndyce had re-entered the room, with a foaming pitcher of beer, and a large, polished tumbler. He laid the pitcher before the thirsty man, and courteously re- quested him to help himself. “And here are some good cigars,’ he added, putting a box of prime weeds on the table, to which Baxter had drawn his chair. “Reckon you'll find them as good as any in the market. Don’t you take any refreshment, Mr. Broadbrim?” he asked, turning to the detective, and exhibiting extreme solicitude to serve him. “A cigar will answer all purposes in my case, thank you,” said the detective, as he selected a weed from the box and lighted it. The sight of the pitcher of foaming beer made Horsley Baxter quite mellow. ’ He poured a bumping glass and drank it with great avidity. But, not satisfied with one, and fearing that the beer would get flat, he refilled the tumbler again and quaffed the amber liquid with great gusto. “That's your stuff!” he exclaimed, smacking his lips, and re- turning the glass to the table; “it’s small wonder that our Ger- man fellow-citizen 1s so partial to it. Give me-the name of the brewer, so I may write him down a public benefactor. His name deserves to be enrolled on the scrolls of fame. “Name not known, eh? Well, that’s strange! Great oversight not to know the name of so noble a brewer!” And thus he went on drinking and talking, loud in his praises of" lager beer, till Jarndyce heard the ring of the front door- bell. He instantly left the apartment to answer the summons. He was away about ten minutes, which rather long stay had aroused the curiosity of one man in that room, at least. It was Old Broadbrim, the Quaker detective. At last Jarndyce came back, and going up to Old Broadbrim, whispered in his ear. The latter nodded and smiled. And again Jarndyce left the room. “That grumpus seems to.be doing a lively business,” remarked Baxter, with a sneer, “he’s in and out like a jumping-jack.” As Old Broadbrim didn’t make Horsley any the wiser of Jarn- dyce’s errand, Baxter had again recourse to the big pitcher. “Tf you go at it in that way you'll get drunk,” remonstrated the detective, who was now awaiting every chance to get all the information he could out of him. “Drunk!” exclaimed Baxter, with a sneering curl of the lip. “Do you for a moment imagine, Mr. Broadbrim, that a small pitcher of beer will set me drunk?” “Small pitcher, do you call it?” “Well, what is it but small? Why, my dear sir, I could drink a keg of it, almost, when thirsty, and you could hardly see the sign of it .on ame. “T was a clerk in a brewery some six or seven years ago, and I thought thirty glasses was a very moderate day’s supply. afte 18 “I knew a man, too, in that brewery, but where's the use ar talking; you’d never believe me, I know.”: And Baxter suddenly lapsed into wlende and said no more, passing the time now with an unlighted cigar between his teeth, which he chewed reflectively. hd more Jarndyce re- entered the apartment, and with a mur- mure “All’s right. You: may send for him hen you want him,” again left the room. “Now, look you here, Baxter,” said Old Broadbrim, “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I need not remind you your liberty will depend on how you answer them. You are to speak ~ the truth, you understand ?” “First, let me put one question to you!” replied Baxter, this time: lighting a fresh cigar, and whiffing at it nervously. “Put your question.” “Who was it that Jarndyce said was to the same effect?” “You will know the moment I catch: you tripping, the detective, with some sternness in his manner. “So now you perceive I’m not fooling.” “Well; I suppose you'll give me a ‘show, providing a don't know about any of the questions you are going to ask me.’ “But you do know!” declared Old Broadbrim, aan ate - “You must have some informant as to that fact?” “Yes, but he’s dead, or 1 wouldn’t be talking to you on the subject.” “Did I know the man?” “Yow did.” “And he’s dead?” Viesu “When did he die?” “To-day, about an hour since. He was auiedered x “Murdered, hey!” exclaimed Baxter, glaring around the room, a3 all right, and other words > retorted apprehensively. “Who murdered him?” “Some of his former pals.” “What was his hame he : a “Harry Lestrange.” Baxter gave a great gasp. He was apparently surprised and confused. a he was going to tell you what you are now about to ask me? “Yes.” “And he mentioned my name?” He did, and Gilson’s,” “fim! he deserved being shot!” savagely growled Bax- ter. “What right had he.to tell tales out of school? And how were I and Gilson mixed up in his affairs?” “He was on the point of telling me when a bullet stopped him, cutting his life short. But he said that you and. Gilson could vouch for all he advanced. It was.a cowardly way to kill a man, let him be ever so bad,” said Old Broadbrim, with some feelitig. “The trouble with Lestrange was that he turned to the Te formation dodge, and some of the boys concluded that he was in with the police.” “Perhaps they were right,” “IT know they were right now. But until you told me, Mr. Broadbrim, I’d never have believed it. The ee meant doing for you as well as him, I’ve no doubt. “A stool-pigeon is their abomination.” “Exactly, and that’s why. they. killed,” Old Broadbrim replied. “So you want me to be a stool- “pigeon to get killed, too, hey?” “There’s no stool-pigeon about it,” Old Broadbrim interrupted. “You are not going to do. this thing for money. You simply earn the price of liberty, no more and no less.” “It’s the business of a stool-pigeon, all the same,” said Baxter, toying with his cigar. “But I suppose I must tell, whatever itis P “Can’t you guess what it is?” “How should 1?” ® “I will tell you. You know as well as I do that there is a gang of burglars at Millville, and they’ve been there for the last three weeks, operating on the houses of the town proper, as well as the mansions of some rich men some distance removed. _ “Can't deny your knowledge of that, can you?” Baxter hesitated a long time before. replying. He evidently knew all about the burglaries, and other matters pertaining to them and Dudley, but he was unwilling to confide more than he could help ty the detective, OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. tested him: , “T see you're devintitina to answer, but in spite of your teeth I'll get the information out of you! “Don’t you lose sight of that Jersey burglary, Baxter; if you ‘do it may land you seven or ten years in Trenton—which is the reverse of .a pleasant: prospect. “And now let me tell you another thing. I have a man at this moment in Jarndyceée’s who is able and willing to answer all my questions, and makes no bones about giving the whole scheme away.’ __ What's his name?” sullenly. “His name is Bill Gilson!” “I thought as much!” for the moment.” house?” “Te: did.” ok He: infernal villain CHAPTER XIV. VALUABLE INFORMATION, It took Horsely Baxter some time to get over his indignation. When he did, not suspecting that the detective was “‘‘string- ing” him, he said: *Go ahead; I’m going to make a clean breast of this Millville business.” Then a sudden suspicion arose in his mind, as he continued: ~ “Why didn’t you get this information from Gilson, if, as you say, he’s in the house ??. “For thes simple reason that I know you are a much’ more truthful man than your friend,” replied the detective, with char- acteristic tact. “And when forced to the wall,’ whatever you say I can: believez? This was flattering Baxter's vanity to some purpose;: for it was a common saying of his that whenever he passed his word, he could be strictly relied. upon. His pals had a like opinion, so he prided himself on fone honorable in this way, even though he would relieve a flash pal of a watch or a purse, without the slightest scruple. His usual commentary was—that he didn’t believe in any man being better off in the world’s goods than himself. This was a doctrine that Horsley Baxter rigidly carried out. By am pleased to find that you have such a good opinion of me,” said Baxter, “and you may depend on it, Mr. Broadbrim, that I will answer your questions trathfully, and to the best of my ability.” “That's all I want,” said the detective. “Now, Baxter, answer me this: How mary of the boys are in that Millville deal?” ‘About’ a dozen,” , “Do you know them all?” i “Yess well??? “Do you know a man named Eugene Dudley?” redo. ay ou got acquainted with him first in New York! es 6¢ es.” “And he has a wife in New York?” “Yes; he had ‘one here—a sort of a one,” laughing. “Now, let me understand what you mean by a sort of a one?” Broadbrim asked, though he knew what Baxter’s answer would be perfectly well. “Well, I mean this: The marriage between the girl Eunice Pointdexter and Dudley was a mock one—in fact, no marriage atlark “Vou see, this Dudley is a very handsome fellow—such as an impressionable young girl would like to cotton to. I rather think Dudley was a little in love with Eunice himself, and to get rid of her repeated importunities, consented to marry her, “Now, as he didn’t care about running his neck into a halter, he got an old crook, named Shingle—a great friend: of His—to officiate as parson, and tie the knot.: “Then I suppose he tired of her, and left for Millville, not let- ting her know where he was going. OThis girl; Eunice, had a sister, named Amine, and - it senened ito mé that she, too, was in love with Dudley. However: she was too fond of her sister to show. any signs of effection for the man when Eunice was present. replied Baxter, “And when he ran away, she was as bitter ‘against: him as — Eunice, and from what I ee a swore to hunt him down.” Broadbrim saw ie was. passing in his ss ahd at once exclaimed Baxter, taken off his guard ° followed us to this X 6% “These girls are not in New York now?” ae really don’t think they are—for I was dead stuck on Amine, myself, and have been lately engaged in a still hunt for them.” “You have heard nothing about them ?” “Nothing.” “Do you think they’re in Millville?” “They might be; but I wouldn’t be certain as to that,” Baxter replied. “But if they are, Mister Eugene will find that he has a white—or, rather, a couple of white—elepha nts on his hands. It will take him all his time to escape those women, if I am any judge of womankind. “You see, when he left New York he started for Millville with ~~ some first-class letters of introduction—one of which was to a man named Amos Gilbert, a wealthy banker, who some years ago had been a broker in Wall Street. “This letter spoke so highly of the young man, that Gilbert at once engaged him as his confidential clerk, which, as might be expected, put him in clover and gave him the run of the best ‘families in Millville and all the surrounding country.” “Tl see. What did he do then?” “What did he do? What would you expect an ingrate to do? A man who was a crook in his heart, but hadn’t the courage to come out in his true colors. “Why, he went to work and made plans of the various res- idences in which he was received with so much hospitality. Then he cameon to New York and gave the boys the idea of what a bonanza they would have in operating the little town. “Of course, he was to have his commission on all the swag that would be looted. Because, | may as well tell you right here, Mr* Broadbrim, that Dudley does nothing for nothing.” “He must always have the lion’s share—is‘that it?” “No, he is satisfied with a fair commission; and the boys all like him fer that very reason. They like him’ for another rea- son, too—he has always been very liberal with his money. But 1 always read him like a book; his liberality had a tinge of self- ishness in it—it was the liberality of throwing a sprat to catch oa whale: “T understand. Go on,” said Broadbrim, who concluded, to a certain extent, to let the man tell his story in his own way. “Well, to shorten my story, the boys jumped at his offer. They went to Millville in ones and twos, and, while some stayed in the hotel, the majority boarded round with hayseeds some miles from the town. “Some represented themselves as_ peddlers, turalists; and so on. “You can better believe, Mr. Broadbrim, that not one of them was suspected, so the wealthy residences were broken into night after night till business was paralyzed and the people actually panic-stricken.” “IT know all that,” interrupted Broadbrim, with some impa- tienes. = Fell me, have you been there yourself?” “No;.1 have not.” “Vou were never in Millville?” “Never.” “But you appear to be pretty well Dated with it, never- theless,” said the detective. “With the topography of the country—yes. But all my knowl- edge is due to Mr. Dudley’s charts and plans, which I have closely studied.” “How did you get these into your possession?” “T was taken into their confidence, and I was to be ready to do some work if any of the boys got into trouble.” “T understand. Do you know anything more of Dudley?” “Yes, a good deal.” “From your way of talking about him I would be inclined to think that you are no very great friend of his,’ said Broadbrim, laying stress on his words. “Tam neither hiseériend nor his enemy,” Baxter indifferently replied. “To be candid with you, Mr. Broadbrim, I don’t care ‘for the man. “As I told you before, he’s an-open book to me, and he is by nature one of the most cold-blooded, selfish men I ever met— and this, notwithstanding all his apparent liberality. “Oh, Mr. Broadbrim, I know Dudley well,” said Baxter, with a. strain of bitterness in his voice;. “and, whomever else he can oe he can’t deceive me. ae you haven’t heard half of that young paptlonin's tricks others agricul- yet “What oS you think We going to dos Po OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. What? “Marry !” “That will land fie ina. dificulty.” “Tt will; and a mighty colossal one, too—especially if Miss Eunice or her sister Amine finds him.” “What is the girls name?’ “The one he’s engaged to?” oYes! “A Miss Alice Silverton, a rich Millville heiress.” “How do you know this?” Baxter smiled. —. “How do | know it?” he repéated. no-less lips than Dudley’s own. “He was pretty full of wine at the time. “We had been drinking all the afternoon together, and he got his tongue to wagging and told me all; for you must know, Mr. Broadbrim, Eugene in his cups is a bit of a boaster, especially in anything affecting the other sex. “In a word, he’s what they calla lady’s man, with. unlimited gall, magnetism and good looks—a fellow who. imagines every woman he looks at is dead in love with him.” Broadbrim smiled. He knew there was something up between Baxter and: Dudley, and with his keen intuition he concluded that that something had considerably to do with Eunice or her sister Amine. “Jealousy,” was the mental reflection of the detective. But he said nothing. “Well,” he proceeded, heiress ?” “Yes; and if I have been infcrmed correctly, will soon be in possession of half a million dollars. Ha! ha! a nice little nest- eggs for my handsome Eugene.” “Why don’t you block his game?” said the detective. “Where's: the wser” “Do you come in for some of the five hundred thousand dol- lars? Baxter emitted a knowing chuckle. “Ves: that’s just it,” he replied. “I have in a way pinned him down to ten thousand dollars.” “He has promised to give you ten thousand dollars when‘the knot is tied, eh?” “Yés, that’s what he promised; but he was drunk, and drunken promises don’t go,” said Baxter. “If he was sober, now z “You would get the stipulated sum?” said:Broadbrim, with a simile. “Vm hanged if I would,” Baxter hotly replied. “After the knot was tied—if I came bothering him—he would tell me to go to sheol. “I know my man too well, Mr. Broadbrim, to put any con- fidence in him.” “So | perceive,” said Broadbrim. ~ Dhatiis not.all, as it?’ “Not by a durned sight. Dudley has more strings to his fiddle than any one would dream of. Whose acquaintance do you think he made while in Millville?” “Got a lien on the parson, perhaps, seeing that he’s about to be married to Miss Silverton?” “Parson, indeed!” exclaimed Baxter. “Why he was dinias with the parson before he had been four-and-twenty-hours in Millville—and more, they were scarcely ever out of each other’s society, from which fact they are invariably known as Damon and Pythias. “Just think-of it! Damon and Pythias!” and Baxter burst into a roaring laugh, in which he was joined to some extent by Old Broadbrim. “Well, who was the man he got acquainted with?” the detect- ive queried. “Not the mayor, I hope?” “A bigger man than the mayor,” returned Baxter, pouring out a tumbler of the now flat beer. “A man named Slyme—Cyril Slyme—a. notedly wealthy miser of that part of the country, wRo has been advancing him money on his own prospects, and I believe latterly on Miss Alice Silverton’s. “T wouldn’t be in this miser’s boots for ten city lots,” “Wow is thatr “He quietly hinted that-——” Baxter suddenly paused. “That what?” asked Broadbrim, perceiving the man’s nervous- ness. “What would he do to the miser?”.~ Baxter got up from his chair and stepped to the door. Broadbrim sprang to his feet. “Why, I heard it from “so this Miss Silverton is a wealthy ”? 20 He divined that Baxter was going to make an effort to escape. But in this he was mistaken. Baxter returned to his place at the table and sat down, “I just wanted to see that that. rampus, Jarndyce, is not nos- ing round. I can Dut implicit faith in you, Mr. Broadbrim, be- cause I know you ‘Il never betray me; for if you did it would -be sure death “Oh, that’s all right,” Broadbrim interrupted, with a gesture of impatience. “Come to the point. “What would Dudley do to the miser?” “Murder him!” in a tense voice. “Why should he murder him?” “To get his money.” — “Has he much?” “About a half a million dollars; is reported to be worth, motes and securities.” ¥ “Who told you: this?” “Dudley, when he was drinking.” “And you are afraid he will murder the miser?” “Yes. You see, Dudley,” went on Baxter, “found that Slyme would not trust a bank with his hoarded wealth; and he dis- covered more—that the old miser kept all his money in the house.” “I. see,” Broadbrim replied. where Slyme lives? town limits?” “No, Mr. Broadbrim, I didn’t tell you anything of the kind. But nevertheless it is outside the town limits: The house—an old, tumble-down rookery, from Dudley’s description—goes by ‘the high-sounding narne of Great Wallingford. “Now, [ve told you all I know.” “No; there is something else yet that I think you’ve omitted,’ said the detective. ‘Give me a list of the names of the men who were operating in and about Millville; you said there were a dozen, 1 think.” “Yes. But you'll have to write the names down in your own handwriting. Are you ready?” Broadbrim took his’ tablets out, and’ wrote the names of the several crooks, as they were called out. “I guess that ends my business for the present with you,” the detective said, as he arose to his feet. “But, hold on! I was on the point of forgetting one thing. Do these fellows mean to burglarize the Mill vill e bank ?” “No, I guess not; not so long as Eugene Dudley’s there, you can bet your life. “There is one thing the young man draws the line at—the present looting of Mr. Gilbert’s bank. “When he's switched, and away from Millville, they can do as they like,’ "30 he does intend to leave Millville?” said the detective. “Certainly—immediately after. the marriage. But I think Mr. Broadbrim will spoil his marriage, and spoil many other things —that will not be overpleasant to the young gentleman.” The detective smiled, took up his battered hat and summoned Mr: Jarndyce. ‘Are you off?” said Jarndyce. “Yes; and I’ll leave this gentleman in your charge, and please don’t forget to let him have all he wants—but one thing—free- dom. 7. “See here, Baxter,” the detective went on, ‘this house is in the hands of those who will treat you well. But if you come any of your tricks, and try to escape, they will shoot you like a dog “There will always be some eye on you, night and day, so don’t forget that.” Saying which, Old Broadbrim left the house. at least, that is what Slyme alf a million dollars in good bank “What do they call the place I think you told me that it was outside the CHAPLER. AY: ‘FIVE TO ONE. — The Quaker detective, when he leit Jarndyce’s house, took out his tablets, to have a second peep at them. He looked over the names of the Millville operators again. There was one name in the list that had an especial interest for him. “Now, if I should run across Toby Sherlock, I’d have no difficulty in breaking up the Millville gang,” he muttered. “There is not a tougher or more skillful man in Gotham. B 6 ae they want to kill me!” OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. “My action with Baxter was a master stroke. ahead in his information, for which I have no fault to find with him, but the reverse, for he has saved me a heap of _ trouble, for a I’m as thoroughly conversant. with the case as I ever will Old Bipeabrins returned his tablets to his pocket, was made for the Bowery. He did not know that his departure from Mr. Jarndyce’s house had been watched. Nor did he know that on his entrance to it he had been a lowed. But followed he was, nevertheless. The first. inditation he had of this was a terrific stroke of a cudgel from one of the men who were shadowing him. There were five of them, and though*they did not at all re- semble Tim Clutterbuck and his pals, they were doubtless the same men, only in disguise. The stroke of the bludgeon felled Broadbrim to the sidewalk. Not expecting an attack, this combined action of the five men came on him pretty severe. But Broadbrim was too much of a man to give way to fear, notwithstanding such yells as: “Mash his head in!” “He's a: sneak thiet!” “ : “The villain went into my place last night and stole all my clothing and money!” *Yes, and after you givin’ him a supper yelled a voice, with an unmistakable brogue. the worruld!” “Call the police!’ lected. “Oh, never mind the police!” said another. “Settle him with- out them. Who ever heard of such a thing?—stealing from a man that gaye him his supper, and probably his bed! Break every bone in his body—that’s my advice!” Broadbrim, notwithstanding all these angry cries, picked him- self up, not much the. worse for the stroke of the heavy cudgel which he had got. The crowd, however, was increasing, and bent on mischief as such’ crowds invariably are when they get a story of ingratitude and rascality. It appeared now as though from limb. The crowd came surging up on all sides, uttering the direst threats, and bent on “doing up’ the apparently unfortunate tramp. His real foes, however, made another dash at him. But Broadbrim was prepared this time. He took out a revolver, and flourishing it in the faces of the crowd, shouted out: “Vhese men are telling you hes, aca people! and fifty cents!’ “Kall the, thief 0’ said a ‘man in the crowd, which had col- the detective must be torn limb They are crooks, The crowd, hearing Broadbrim’s words, paused, undecided. Could it be possible that the story they ‘heard was a lie? Were these men crooks who were attacking the tramp? This kind of reasoning did not suit his five assailants. They made another dash for him. Broadbrim waited till the man with the cudgel came within range. Suddenly and quickly, his clinched fist shot out, and his as- sailant struck the ground with a crash that shook every bone in his body. . But Broadbrim saw that his danger was by no means diminish- ing, and that the majority of the crowd was for joining forces with his enemies. ae Of course, he now saw nothing left but _to use his. revolver, even though he fired a shot ‘or two in the air, He was confident, too, now that those who were nrging. on the crowd were Tim Clutterbuck and his pals. This was the second time that day that they had attacked him, and their chances now for doing him was ten to one better than | the first. , The detective had hoped that the see would come up—but © not a patrolman was in sight, which fact encouraged his foes immeasurably. “T mustn’t let them murder me!” ground the detective, through his teeth. : He concluded. that if Bill Gilson was there, which he wasn’t, he would be ~ As he gave vent to these-words, a pistol shot was aimed directly “at him. Broadbrim caught a glimpse of the man leyeling the pistol, and. so was deft enough to move his head aside. ‘his quick motion saved the detective’s life. x Another shot was fired at him, with a like result. It missed his head, and imbedded itself in the woodwork of a restaurant close by. Just as Broadbrim was about to use his weapon in return, a loud cry of “Police ! Police!” came “from ‘some one in the crowd. : Such a scattering of the mob, when they heard the ery of “Police!” was ludicrous in the extreme. Some bolted down side streets. ‘ Others ran into ginmills, and availed thethselves of every pos- sible loophole they could discover, to get away. ‘The five men who urged on the attack were the first to make their escape. The confusion succeeding the arrival of the police was so great, that even Broadbrim. could not tell which way they had gone. Not wishing to be detained and. questioned by the officers, the detective ran like the others, till he had put a respectable’ dis- tance between himself and the scene of his struggle with Clut- terbuck and his four companions, who had, no doubt, also fired the pistol shots; their object being to murder him, and so pre- vent the detective from probing the Millville burglaries. CHAPTER XVI. TURNING THE TABLES. Old Broadbrim hurried back to his office, and divested him- self of his tramp’s attire. Then he looked over the desks and tables for a message, which he naturally thought would be left for him by either Leonard or Cosgrove, There was no message. “Teonard mustn’t have got back,” he said. “I wonder what can have detained him? I trust he’s not fallen into the hands of the Millville gang. For, ever since I took this case, the agency has been most narrowly watched. “Such scoundrels would think nothing of murdering him! “Ha! here’s something that escaped my first search. What isnitre “Saying which, the detective picked up a note that lay on the floor, and which, by a natural oversight, he did not at mks see, He opened the ncte nervously. By intuition, he knew that the news it contained was not pleas- ant. The few aes in the note were in a scrawling hand, and the spelling was obsolete or worse. In fact, it was badly written and worse spelled. Divested of its bad spelling, it ran as follows: “When you get these lines, hurry at once to No. — Houston street. Your partner, Thad ‘Leonard, has fallen into. the hands of the Millville gang, who are determined to kill both you and him, The gang will-do all in its power to prevent your journey to Millville. Don’t forget to take a strong force of polis with you, for your mission will be a dangerous one.’ * There was nothing more. ? No name, nor a clew to the writer, of any kind. “No. — Houston street,” the detective muttered; “one of the most noted thieves’ resorts in Gotham, and kept by one of the toughest citizens in the State. “Wonder who can be my unknown correspondent?” Old Broadbrim paced up and down the room rape, for three -or four minutes. He stopped and looked at his watch: It was now a few minutes after eight o'clock. Billy, the Goat, was to be there at eight, ioe What had detained him? Would he come alone? Not likely. ‘ The detective was now forced to conclude that he was running too much risk, and that it would have been well had he brought, some men from the central office with him. Old Broadbrim now examined a couple of splendid revolvers, which he had taken from one of the drawers of his desk. “Guess I’ve the lives of half a dozen men in my hands, if the OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. “what’s your business?” said Broadbrim, sternly. 21 worst comes, and J’ll take care that they don’t surprise me, either,” he said, , As he spoke, the door of the office was noiselessly opened. The detective had his back turned to it. A villainous face and the burly form of a man followed. the opening of’ the door. Behind him came four other men. They stole forward with the stealth of panthers, for not the least sound apparently alarmed Broadbrim, They drew nearer. ‘Then, with a sudden bound, they sprang forward. But they had reckoned without their host. Broadbrim had been alive to their movements since they had entered the office. And, like a flash of lightning, he turned and faced them, saying quite placidly: “I expected you, gentlemen! How do you do?” ¢ Simultaneously with his words he.had two pistols pointed at their heads. We have said that the detective was aware of the presence of his visitors from the moment they had entered the room. And here it is necessary for us to explain. On the opposite wall, and facing the door, was a large mir- ror. Broadbrim happened at that moment to be looking at the mirror. He saw the opening of the door, and likewise beheld his would-be assailants sneaking into the room, and so he turned with the rapidity of thought, and faced them. A quiet smile played on Broadbrim’s face, as the muzzles of his weapons moved from one to the other of the rascals. “T have the bulge on you, gentlemen,” said the detective. “What's your business? But, perhaps, you’ve made a mistake and come into the wrong office ?” The five men were so utterly taken aback that they couldn’t utter a word. : “Have I to find your tongues, gentlemen? I again ask you The detective, of course, recognized, in spite of their. dis- guises, Tim Clutterbuck and his pals, but concluded to keep that knowledge to himself for the present. # “Well, gentlemen, I am waiting very patiently for you. You see, I have my fingers on, the triggers of those weapons, and if you keep me too long in this position they may go off.” Broadbrim’s voice was perfectly placid. His keen eyes, however, belied the almost mocking calmness of his words. Indeed, they blazed dangerously. “Come, now, state your business, or I may lose my temper,” “Guess we'd better. skip, pals,” said Clutterbuck. ‘“We’re in the wrong office. I thought we were when-we came in here.” And Tim turned as if about to leave the room. The other four followed suit. “Stop a minute,” said Broadbrim. with you, Tim Clutterbuck.” “You are mistaken, cully; T-ain’t Tim Clutterbuck,” “Who ‘are (you, then?” “My name’s Chris Chandler.” “One of your names, no doubt.” “No, my genuine name.’ “Well, let me call the roll, and see if you are right: “Tim Clutterbuck—one. “Billy, the Goat—two. “Cap Shingle—three. “Ross—four. .“Tom Curley—five. “Guess that fills the bill, mockingly. “Vou're out there, cully,” replied Tim. “You’s away off—a thousand miles off. You must be dreaming. Come, pardners, let’s get out of this crib; the gent’s mistakes.is making me sick. ‘Did you ever hear of such a thing? He'll be telling us just now that we don’t know our own names. Come! let’s git.” “Another step in the direction of that door will cost you your life!” exclaimed the detective, with stern emphasis. “Stop right where you are!” A couple of sharp clicks rang out. “IT haye a’ bone to pick does it not?” said the detective, 22 Their effect was instantaneous. Not a man of the five dared move an inch from where he stood. So long as those weapons were pointed at them, they knew they had no earthly show. : “Now, gentlemen, turn a little more this way, so’s I can see your faces in a better light. So! Now, I guess we can settle down to a nice, quiet little chat,” said the detective, sweetly. “What do you want to keep us here for?” growled Ross. “That’s my business, Mr. Ross. You perceive I am master of the situation, and can dictate terms. When you ate in Rome do as the Romans do—suit yourself to circumstances. That is the only way to get on in this world.” The detective pointed to some of the office chairs. “Pray, be seated, gentlemen.’ roadbrim’s coolness enraged the ruffians more than enough. “T’m not going to sit,” said Clutterbuck. “The rest may do as they please.” “Nor i7% “Nor.” SNor 122 “You appear to be about unanimous on that point,” said Broad- dtim, with a laugh. “But, as I told you, I think, previously, that I am master here, and will be obeyed, whether you like it or not. First of all, Mr. Clutterbuck, I should regret to put you fo any unnecessary inconvenience, but when I request you to take that chair, I mean it. “Now, don’t give me any more trouble, my murderous looking friend, or I’ll send a bullet through your brain. “You have made several attempts on my life to-day, and that alone would be a sufficient excuse for my killing you on the spot. You understand? So, sit!” ‘Tim looked at Broadbrim’s face. He saw the stern lines about the detective’s mouth, sterner than he had ever seen them before. cone one of the pistols of the detective was aimed at his nead. Tim’s face grew livid. He was gradually wilting. “Come, do what I tell you! “Tl give you exactly ten seconds to comply with my request. “Tf you are apt in your chair by the expiration of that time, Bib? fire”? “It’s no use,” groaned Tim. on us.” He then threw himselfminto a chair. The others followed his example, without even as much as a word. : : “Now, gentlemen,” said Broadbrim, uiet little chat. _ “Reckon you’ve made-very little by this visit. It would have oe ene: in your pockets to have stayed away. /What do you think} The only response was a series of oaths and imprecations. “Fie! fie! For shame, gentlemen! Don’t you know better than to be using such interdicted language in your good friend Broadbrim’s office?” reproved the detective, with mock solem- nity. “Besides, I never allow cursing here, under any circum- stances. And, as for you, Tim, my friend, I have been very much interested recently in your movements. “You may perhaps be not aware that the head of the New York detective bureau holds a warrant for your arrest at this very moment.” o “I don’t believe a tarnation word of it,” said Clutterbuck, taken for the moment off his guard. “I have done nothing, and Pm not afraid of twenty chiefs. No one can prove that I did anything, either.” : “To prove it is a very “That’s what you say.” “But you have already given yourself away badly.” a low is tate: “By your admission that you are Tim Clutterbuck. A few minutes ago your name was Chandler. Oh, Tim! Tim! one thing ls plain “What is that?” “That you never open your mouth but you put your foot in it.” “And so you consider that old gag clever, do you?” sneered Clutterbuck. “Give us a rest with chestnuts. What have you got to say?” ne “The infernal cop has the bulge “we can have a. nice, easy matter, my dear Tim.” OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. “I am about to speak of that warrant Captain Titus has for your apprehension.” Ay “He'has no warrant for my apprehension,” sullenly from Tim.’ “Listen,” said Broadbrim; “let me refresh your memory. Five years ago about this time, a certain Tim Clutterbuck was in Chicago, bank operating. ae “There were two more men with him, named respectively, Terry Gerrity and Brockley Talbot. “One night, in the midst of a great rain storm, they broke into the. Second National Bank, on Madison street. “They operated on the safe, and, with a big charge of dyna- mite, blew the hinges off. ; “As they were thus engaged, who. should come in on them but the bank watchman. “There. was a degperate struggle, was not only a powerful maty but a brave fellow. “He fought you three almost to a standstill, when you, Tim Clutterbuck, got in his. rear and, bringing the heavy butt of. your revolver down with all your force, crushed in his skull: “The watchman died almost instantly, and you and your two : pals got away with a cool hundred thousand dollars in bank notes. “As good luck would have it, one of your comrades left a clew in his flight—a note addressed to Brockley Talbot. ; “One week ago to-day, in a little town in Illinois, some bur- glars broke into the only bank in the place. es “They were surprised by the citizens, and one of the robbers was mortally wounded. “This man was Brockley Talbot.” : _Broadbrim witched Tim’s face, as the words fell deliberately -from his lips. Clutterbuck’s face grew as white as ashes. His teeth chattered as though he had the ague. In fact, he could hardly keep his seat. “Well, I’m not quite through yet,” the detective went on. “Talbot was dying from a bullet in his left lung, and I sup- pose thought he might as well go out of the world with a clear - conscience. “He sent for the superintendent of police, and before he died implicated you in ‘the robbery of the Chicago bank as well as the murder of the watchman. : “How about the captain not having a warrant for your arrest?” Broadbrim retorted. “Let up, will you?’ growled Tim, great beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead. “So you. do own to the Chicago job, then?” “I guess not,” came sullenly from Clutterbuck’s lips. ~ “Nor did you ever know any such man-as Brockley Talbot?” “No! Curse it—no!” “Nor the other man, Gerrity?” “Let up, I say. You ain’t going to land me into any hole, and don’t you forget it.” “ : “Then V’d” snorted he, defiantly. any one of that name.’ “Perhaps not. But thy pretended ignorance won't serve thee, however. Thee ask why I have come here. I will tell thee. Thee detains a man, a private detective, here against his will. The offense is a State’s prison one. Where is he?” - “T don’t know what you’re driving at,’ snarled: the saloon- keeper. “lve been pretty plain, surely. Thee have a prisoner femed Leonard here. Where is he?” “Some one’s been putting up a job on you,” and the wily ruffian laughed, as if he thought the whole deed a good joke. The detective’s lips curled, scornfully. “Ts that so?” he asked, putting away his card, winen the other had thrown with such contempt on the counter. ‘So thee thinks some one’s been putting up a job on me, hey?” “Tt looks mighty like it.” ~ “Indeed ?” “You appear to doubt my word, sir?” “Frankly, I think thee is lying,” retorted Broadbrim, ie “Thee is lying, and thee knows it.” “Curse you!” growled the saloon-keeper, losing temper ; When “Don’t know “would you insult ane in my own house?” “That’s just as thee takes it. If thee wants the lie more direct, with any adjectives attached, thee shall have it with double compound interest.” At this the ruffian gnashed his teeth with rage, and his hands clinched convulsively, while baleful fires shot from his cruel eyes, it is well for’ you,’ fellows at your back!” ~ “J have not the least doubt of that, my sinister-faced friend; but I A thee shall have good cause to remember me before * he growled out, “that you have these ~. OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY, ae 27 chief,” said Broadbrim. I’m Hronee with thee. I have given thy gang a pretty bad shaking-up as it is—and all in one day. Before I’m done, thee’ll only have the tattered remnants to swear by.” Broadbrim called to one of the officers. The man, a stalwart six-footer, drew up at his side and saluted, "Marshall, just keep an eye on this fellow, will you?” “Do you mean he is not to leave the bar?” the officer asked. “Yes; should he attempt to, you know what to do.” The officer gave a firmer grip to his locust. “Am I a prisoner?” demanded the saloon-keeper, Hiei with rage. “For the present you may thus consider yourself.” “And you arrest me without a warrant, hey?” “That's warrant ehough for you!” said Broadbrim, throwing back the lapel of his coat, and displaying fs ee “That won't go down here, 8 spy Wieewont ss “No, you'd better bet it won 4) \ “Well, my angelic-faced friend, we shall see. By-by, for the present. Don’t forget, Marshall—take good care of that estim- able gentleman till we come back.” “Where do you think you’re going?” yelled the saloon-keeper alter him. “Just on a visit to your cellars.” “You've no right there.” “We'll make a right.” Broadbrim, without another word, walked away. But he soon discovered that he was not to, have it all his own way. Every rascal in the place. sprang to his feet at a signal from ' the dive-keeper, and as Broadbrim and seven or eight of the officers were making for the cellars, they sprang forward and intercepted them. Knives and revolvers were drawn at once. A moment later a desperate struggle between the thieves and the police was going on. All the lights in the dive went out as if by preconcerted ar- rangement, and soon pandemonium reigned. Groans, ‘yells atid curses rang out through the stifling atmos- phere, and during the progress of the battle the dive-keeper had succeeded in getting down the cellar steps. As he disappeared the police managed, after a desperate struggle, to overpower their assailants. “Quick, boys!” shouted Broadbrim. This was done. “Where’s the dive-keeper ?” No one could tell. “Where’s Marshall?” Marshall had also disappeared—no dotibt having followed his prisoner into the cellars. Three men lay dead on the saloon floor. Four more had been half clubbed to death, and Jay groaning and cursing in the sawdust. The rest were promptly secured. After all this had been accomplished, Old Broadbrim and some of the officers descended into the cellars. They did not go far when they met the missing policeman, Marshall, coming back with the dive-keeper and Thad Leon- ard. “I was nigh losing the cuss that time,” said Marshall. “But I had made up my mind, if I lost a leg, to bring him back. I collared him before he had gone very far, and then it occurred to me that I’d make him show where Thad was. The only way I could convince him that I meant every word I said, was to clap the muzzle of my shooter to his head and swear to pump him full ot lead if he didn’tat once head me to where Leonard was.’ ia “And he led you?” “Ves, like a lamb. He just did as he was told; ba IT had to give him a sharp reminder on the head first, though. After that he grew tractable and gentle, with never as much as a cross word.” ; Thank you, Marshall; “Light the gas!” ll not forget to mention you to the “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Broadbrim. I did nothing more’ than I should have done. And if I hadn’t brought that fellow back, I wouldn’t have come back myself, you can bet.” . “They collared you that time for keeps, Thad,’ said Broad- é 28 OLD, BROADBRIM, WEEKLY. § 4 brim, laughing. “I guess you will be more careful of wueregee tious notes in the future.’ “But the note was supposed to come from you. It was in your identical handwriting,” interjected the young man. “A clever forgery,” said the Quaker detective, grinning. “Who- ever perined that note had my handwriting down fine. Don’t you think so, Marshall?” passing the slip of note-paper which he had got ‘from Thad to the policeman. “Yes, sir; I do that. It is a very neat bit of penmanship. Perhaps this miserable dive- keeper here wal tell us who wrote it? p?? “No, I guess not,” said the sinistér-faced man: good reason that I don’t know who did write it. plain, though.” “What is that?” Broadbrim asked. “The Dudley business is gone up the spout. for me.’ : “You heard that little thyme about the devil, didn’t you, Mar- shall?” asked Broadbrim. “It reminds me strongly of my zealous friend, the dive-chap here—and runs something like this: “When the devil was sick,’ etc., etc.” “No, you are all wrong there, cully,” interrupted the dive- keeper. “I’m out of the business for fair. If Dudley wants to carry it on single- handed, let him. From what I can learn, he’s just one man left.” - “Who?” “Toby Sherlock.” “Where is Toby?” “In Millville.” “for the very One thing is No more Millville GHAPTER XX. ON THE SCENE OF ACTION. Two men are seated in a room of the Millville hotel, which almost overlooks the Millville bank. The hour is about the noon of the day following the happen- ings of the incidents described in the previous chapter; the two men—Mr. Amos Gilbert and Josiah Broadbrim, the celebrated Quaker detective, who has only arrived there that morning. “What you have been telling me, sir, pains and surprises me beyond expression. I cannot believe yet that Mr. Dudley is the rascal you say he is. “He has always appeared to me a most exemplary young man —one in whom I took such an abiding interest. “You advance a serious charge, sir—a very serious charge. There is some terrible mistake; I will never believe it—that— that Mr. Dudley, my confidential clerk, is in league with thieves |” “This exemplary young man, as you call him, is a cold- blooded criminal, Mr. Gilbert. I have his record, and there is no mistake, I assure you. He is not only a thief in his heart, but an ingrate and a hypocrite. And to-morrow he may be a murderer!” “These are terrible words of yours, sir,’ said the aged banker, rising from his chair and pacing the room, agitatedly. “I can- not realize them—I cannot realize their terrible significance! Married before? Good heavens!” - “A mock marriage, ae Gilbert, and the girl he uettiyee ‘may be even in Millville now.’ “You received two communications, you say, from Millville?” “Yes; one from yourself, and one from an unknown corre- spondent, who is evidently this woman, Eunice Pointdexter. If . not, I don’t know whowit can be. But the communication is evidently from a woman,” said Broadbrim, with emphasis. “How do you know that, sir?” “There is the communication—read it for yourself, sir, and tell me if you sone think it came from a jealous woman's brain.” Amos Gilbert ae his eye over the communication that had been sent to the chief of the New York detective paral. “Well, sir?” ‘plied the banker, handing the detective bac I've just heard.” é from a woman,” re- ck his note. “But you just now happened to make a remark of ee I did not fully catch the import.” “It referred to murder—did it not?” said BeGadbrind Bie dues certainly look as though it came : “Yes; it did. Am I to understand ‘that Dudley may be ei into thé commission of a crime of that vei aes. cr “Yes; that’s what I mean to convey, sir.” “The murder of this unfortunate girl, Eunice Pointdexter?” “Not at all,” replied Broadbrim, quickly. “But the murder of a miser—a man, sir, as rich as yourself, whose name I under- stand is Cyril Slyme “The miser of Great Wallingford?” interjected Gilbert, in amazement. “Exactly, sir. The miser of Great Wallingford. This man Dudley has been in the habit of borrowing sums of money, on_ : the strength of a prospective alliance with a rich young lady of this town.” a “You mean Miss Alice Silverton?” said the banker. “Precisely.” “But what earthly object would the young man have, gh ing, as you say, he is so bad, in murdering this miser?’’ “His object, of course, would be money, for which he would murder you or anybody else if he thought he could escape de- tection. “You see, from what I have ascertained with regard to the miser, he keeps all his money and securities in this tumble- down rookery where he lives, which he calls Great. Wallingford. “Dudley happens to know this, and may be tempted to possess himself of Slyme’s wealth at the expense of the miser’s life. “The transition in crime is so easy, you know,” said Broad- - brim, in continuation, “that from robbery to murder is a very short stride, and not hard to take. Dudley’s cay might tempt him to kill the old man on his very next visit.” “Then, if you think so, why not arrest him? -It is your duty to prevent a murder being done,” “And so I will; but I want to bring home certain crimes to him first.” “What crimes?” if a “The Millville sheglaries” “Which may not be his work at all,” said Mr. Gilbert. er “Personally, perhaps, no. But that he planned them there is now no room for doubt. That he is morally responsible for all the robberies which have been taking place here. for the last month there is equally no doubt. “As it is, | have broken the band up pretty effectually before leaving New York; but there is one kingpin besides this man Dudley, that we must collar, and then, maybe, you will have some security in Millville for the rest of your life.” “What do you expect me to do?” asked Mr. Gilbert. “Nothing—say nothing and do nothing.” “111 denounce Dudley!” interjected the aged banker, hate “Oh, nothing so foolish as that, I beg,” said the Quaker detective, “By doing it you would render all my “work abortive, and give a subtle scoundrel a chance to escape. ~ “No, no, Mr. Gilbert; oe will simply say nothing—and_ saw. wood,” “Do you mean to say I can look at the villain again, after what I have heard?” said the old man. “Why not? Be as friendly as ever with him, Its s no. “fault ‘ot yours that he’s a scoundrel.” “But I can’t be friendly with him, my dear sir, after what ae said the old banker, excitedly. ear Se _ keep a great watch on Dudley, nevertheless. q a o i as ee “Then avoid him. Meanwhile, I will try and hunt this girl Pointdexter up—that is if she is in Millville—and I believe she really is. Not a word, Mr. Gilbert, to Miss mice Silverton, or anybody else, as to what has passed between us.’ “Am I to’see you soon?” “To-morrow. every word I’ve said. I wish you good-day, sir.” And the detective left the hotel, and wandered about the prin- cipal thoroughfare of the little town. We need not add that Old Broadbrim was in disguise; and even though he had been met by any of the New York crooked fraternity, they ae never have recognized or suspected his calling. Outside the town limits, Old Broadbrim ran across a stalwart farmer. The stalwart farmer happened to be Thad Leonard. “Any news?” Old Broadbrim asked, coming up with Thad. “Yes; I have discovered where the girls are living.” “You mean the Pointdexter girls?” “Yes, the Pointdexter girls,’ Thad answered. been here just about a month “Almost since the arrival of Dudley?” “Exactly. Five or six days after his coming here.” “Where are they living?” “They have ' “In a widow’s on New street.” “Tt’s a wonder Dudley hasn’t run across them.” “No, because they never move out in the day,” “and they never go out at all, unless deeply veiled. said Thad; But they I thought it as well,’ Leonard added, “to make the acquaintance. of Amine, and I just told her that we were people sent down from the central office to shadow Dudley. I found the girl a very shrewd, sensible young woman, anid got her to promise me to say noth- ing to her sister till I gave her permission.” “And she promised?” : “Ves, 1 think it’s prettty clear sailing now,’ said Thad. “Whom do you think I met about twenty minutes ago?” he asked, suddenly. “Dudley himself?” “No; guess again.” “Toby Sherlock?” “Yes. And going around as though he owned everything in Millville just now. Wonder how long it will last?” “Till ‘we nab him, I suppose,” Old Broadbrim answered. “The next twenty-four hours will tell a pretty story in the Millville ‘burglaries in the arrest of their promoter, Toby Sherlock. That Toby is as slick a rascal as there is in the whole State; and we may probably still have some trouble scooping him in. ae talk of the d—Il,” the detective muttered; “here he comes.’ And " two men passed on in opposite directions, Old Broad- brim brushing shoulders with a well-built, flashily-dressed fel- low of about thirty years or so. This gentleman was Toby Sherlock. CHAPTER XXI. ‘BROUGH TY TO BAY. i 4 - We may now return to the room in Great Wallingford where | we left Eugene Dudley struggling in i the iron grasp of some un- known assailant. Who it was he had not the remotest idea. _ He trembled at the bare theyant that it was an officer of the X By then I trust to be in a position to prove . ‘a-lookin’ at you with his eyes. OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. Sas law; but the instant he heard the man’s voice he was partly re- assured that it was his old friend, Toby Sherlock. He was now as mad as a man could possibly be. The idea of Sherlock spying on his actions in this sort of way. It was too bad! “You have been following me around for a purpose,” he growled. “And now Ey “Oh, shut up! Better get a light, so wa can see what we are doing. Drop that pistol—drop it, I say, or Vll fill you: full of lead! Ay, give it to me—that’s right; in your possession it may do another murder. Why, you tremble, man, like a dog in a wet sack. Now sit quiet there till I get a light.” And Toby Sherlock struck a match. The light from the sliver of pine shot up into the air, dissi- . pating the horrible darkness of the room. “Now, where’s that candle?” said Toby. and lively she is. So!” And the man lighted the candle in the mouth of the black boitle. “Counting the money, eh? And the securities? Didn’t know that there was any one a-watching of you? Of course not— people don’t bargain for that sort o’ thing, you know. “Lively’s the word, “They go it blind—thinking they ain’t a-been wattched—an’ then as a very natural consequence they comes to grief. “That's jest about the way it’s with you, Dudley, my boy. You go back on an old pal, an’ do a murder. Your old pal turns up jest in the nick o time, an’ sees you a-countin’ of the coin, an’ then he naturally comes an’ takes a hand in himself.” “Yes, curse you! and you have been spying on me, too,” Dud- ay! oe , ’ ley interrupted, wrathfully. “Come, come, cully, none of that there ee talk, for I won't stand it,’ said Toby Sherlock. “lm a peaceable man, but I won't stand to be called a spy, or a horse-thief, or a yaller dog. Not for Joseph! So you may jest as well understand that now as any other time. “Tow much did you say was in that pile of bank notes? “Count ’em again; but don’t yer go an’ defraud a poor orphan out of his rights, or I may read you the riot act. Count ’em, Dudley—count ‘em again. I was never very much on figures myself, an’ I never got no college diplomey in mine, you can bet.” “You want me to count the bills over again, do you?” growled Dudley. “Ves, an’ look lively—fer I ain’t a-goin’ to wait here all night. Them’s thousand-dollar notes, ain’t they?” Yes.” “Any smaller bills?” “No?? ‘Sure ?” “Look yourself.” “No, I guess I’ll use your eyes this time, cully. You’re a bank clark, ain’t yer? What's the good of a bank clark ef he can’t count money? “Go on, Dud, an’ let’s have the full amount. Never mind the ole man’s carkiss; it ain’t a-goin’ to bite you, although he is He’s a nice, healthy lookin’ ole corpse, isn’t he? “But who'd a-thought. he’d live in sech a pickle, an’ he a-worth so much money? “Tt’s enough to make a man "shed tears at the ingratitude of life, 30 Ho wendned and thirty of them nice crisp bills; hey? every one of ’em a thousand dollar, an’ no counterfeit.” “No, the bills are all good,” replied Dudley, sighing. “Genuine treasury bills, redeemable at a thousand dollars by the gov- ernment.” “And them securities—how about them?” “They make another two hundred and thirty thousand.” “But there would be some risk in trying to negotiate them?” “I guess there would,’ was Dudley’s response. “I wouldn’t touch them myself.” “No?” “No, I wouldn’t care to run the risk. But what are we going to do?” Dudley asked. “We can’t wait here all night.” “No, I was jest thinking that,” replied Sherlock; “what if you cut with the securities an’ let me tackle the rest an’ see to the body? Besides, this here Millville is getting jest a leetle too hot ter hold us. Come, what are yer going to do, Dud? Skee- daddle or ‘Toby Sherlock stopped right short. Dudley, now furiously enraged at the coolness of Toby’s pro- posal, and regarding him now in the light of a spy on his-ac- tions, suddenly repossessed himself of his revolver, which the other had neglected to take up from the table, and taking quick aim, fired. A gasping cry from Sherlock, Wiis tell forward on his face, told the result. “Traitor and murderer!” oh ohed the fallen man, as he squirmed convulsively on the ground. “It’s the third murder you have committed this night.” “Yes,” rejoined Dudley, with an ‘oath, and it’s about time you were out of the world, too. So you would play the spy on me and follow me fronr Millville? You saw me kill Eunice—ha, ha, ha! People such as you should be put out of harm’s way: seconds you will be dead, and I will so make it And In a few appear that you will be thought the murderer of the miser, and that you in turn had received the fatal shot from his dying hand.” And Dudley so arranged the two bodies to have it appear that they had mutually caused each other’s death. Each of the dead men grasped a discharged pistol. Next Dudley destroyed the securities by setting fire to them and scattering the ashes in the rear of the house. Then he took the cash box containing the two hundred and thirty thousand dollars in bank bills, and fled. In the little grove where the murdered girl lay, Dudley hid the cash box and its contents. Then he stole home to his lodgings, and long before the dawn was fast asleep. : Eugene Dudley had reckoned without his host when he thought he had escaped home to his lodging without being observed. When he was approaching the door of the house in which he lived, a pair of keen, bliie eyes were following him from the doorway of a building opposite. It was Amine, who had been keeping a quiet watch on that house all night—and who saw him leave and saw him come in, Shortly after the return of Eugene Dudley, Amine Point- dexter, according to arrangement made with. Thad Leonard, conveyed the intelligence to the detectives that Dudley had been from home a considerable portion of that night, and that her sister, who had followed him, had not as yet returned. Of course, there was a search at once instituted, with the re- sult of a most ghastly discovery at Cyril Slyme’s, so mysterious © in its character that it at first baffled the detectives’ keen wits. OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY. “There has been a duel to the death here,” said Thad. “The old miser appears to have had some pluck, for he died, anyhow, protecting himself from spoliation. What is this? It looks like — a’ money receéipt.. It is one?” “T see it is,’ chimed in Old Broadbrim; “an acknowledgment, for five hundred dollars received, from Cyril Slyme by Eugene Dudley. “No, no,!” Old Broadbrim suddenly exclaimed. “This has been no fight to the death between the miser and Sherlock. The miser never discharged that pistol in the world! “And I'll take a stack of affidavits that Sherlock never fired his. Dudley has been here, and Dudley is the double. mur- derer !” The house was searched from garret to cellar, but not a cent - of the old miser’s money could be found. It was strange! The man had the reputation of being wealthy—very wealthy, in fact—and not as much as a nickle could be discovered any- where. What did “it mean? Searching parties were organized. by the Millvilleites, and the country-side for miles was scoured for some trace of Eunice Pointdexter. t last they found her poor, dead body, hidden away in the little fringe of timber land, woe it had been dragged by Dudley the night before. Soon after the finding of Eunice’s body, the miser’s cash box was unearthed from under a lot of leaves and brush by a four- teen-year-old farm lad, who got a large reward from the banker for his lucky find. News of all these startling events went through the town of Millville like wildfire, and as the banker, the detectives and a big crowd of citizens were making their way to Dudley’s lodgings they heard the sudden ringing of a pistol shot! The crowd forced their way into the house. But too late! x Amos Gilbert’s confidential clerk was in the throes of death. © He lived to utter one name—Eunice Pointdexter—then his guilty spirit left him. oe “T can see nothing more to keep us here,” said Old Broadbrim later that day to Banker Gilbert. “I would rather have had this case to wind up differently. But it’s as well, perhaps, as it is. | I have succeeded in breaking up a bad gang, and in future the crooked fraternity of New York will give you and ve a wide berth.” Josiah Broadbrim and _ his panne left Millville tae a five thousand dollars richer—a present from Miss Alice Silverton, who, but for them must have fallen into the clutches of the un- scrupulous Eugene Dudley. She had a narrow escape. Old Broadbrim lived up to his engagements with the crooks who had given him information, by at once giving them their liberty on his arrival in New York. Nor did he forget to re- - ward his old friend, Jarndyce. THE END. In the next issue, No. 11, “Old Broadbrim ‘After ‘the Gold Brick Swindlers; or, The Bidekdock Bunco Gang,” will appear the story of how Old Broadbrim. broke up a famous conspiracy to use the old game of gold bricks-in a novel way. In this case the famous Quaker detective had one worthy of his powers, and the schemes he used to succeed were more than a clever. The whole tale is tecotine to a ce John’s Revenge. Mr. Smarthead, the teacher, had been rough on John, and John wanted revenge. ‘The next day John came to school and the teacher noted a meaning smile on his face, and saw that he wanted revenge. A little later the teacher went out for a moment and when he returned he saw a tack on his chair. But he saw through the thing and did not sit down again, but said: “Boys, I am going out of the room for a moment and I want a boy to take my place at the desk while I am out.” Then turning to John he said: “You may come here and take my place, but sit down on my. chair and do not stir.” When he finished speaking the last words he grasped John by the shoulders and sat him down on the chair. The tack was made of steel, but the pants were made of wool, so, of course, the tack went through the pants. She Found it Out. She was lank and lean, and there was a look of sup- pressed curiosity in her eyes as they rested on the faces of her fellow-passengers. Presently she nudged her com- panion. “There comes that Litewite girl,” she whispered; “the one that was married about a year ago. Can you remem- ber her name? Icant. — “Why, yes, it was Jennie.” “Nonsense. I can’t call her Jennie, can I? I’ mean her married name. It’s on the tip of my tongue, too, but I cant get it.” a “Let me see, I believe it begins with an S. Perhaps it is Smith ?” “Of course not, silly; I could remember that without trying. ol say she looks as if she was pretty well off. Let's go over and sit beside her.” “But we don’t know what to call her.” “Oh, leave that to me, I'll manage it—lI’ve a plan that never fails. Why, how do you do? I’m so glad to see you!” Pe “Why, this is quite a surprise,” “Yes, isn’t it? Dve been wanting to come to see you for an age, but it is so far that I’ve kept putting it off. Let me see, what is your new address ?” “Oh, we are in the same place. Why, did you think © we had moved?” “Oh, almost. everybody did this year.” “How is your husband? Well? By the way, what do you call him? There is so much talk now as to whether a wife should use her husband’s Christian name or——” “Oh, I always use his Christian namé.” “Hum—veéry much better, I’m sure. —do you call——”"_ ages “T call her ma, just as my husband does.” ae “Do you know, I met an old acquaintance to-day and And his mother she had actually forgotten that I was married. Wasn't it horrid of her?” “Oh, horrid! By the way, how do you spell your name? We had quite a controversy about it the other daye> A wave of color swept over the other woman’s. face. “With two g’s,” she replied, in frigid tones, signaling the conductor to stop the “bus as she spoke. As she stumbled out, a shrill voice from the far corner piped out: “Why, that was Mrs. Hogg, wasn’t it? Her face was so red that I hardly knew her. I wonder why she got out here,’ A Mud Bath. One Monday morning an Irishman was seen busily en- gaged in repairing a break in the fence, which was made by “Billy, the terror of the neighborhood,’ who was known to have eaten two shirts and a pair of pants from Mrs. McFadden’s clothes line. When Billy saw an opportunity to have fun he never let it slip by. As he was strolling about the yard look- ing for trouble, of course, he happened to spy a large black Thomas cat belonging to Mrs. McFadden. This cat was an old enemy of Billy’s. Tom, the cat, was standing jus\, back of Pat. As soon as Billy saw the cat he let out a great big “Ba-ah-a-a,” and lowering his head, he let fly. Tom, who was watching for just such a play on Billy’s part, skipped nimbly out of the way, of the approaching head. The result was that Billy missed the cat and got Pat square in the seat of the pants, and knocked him through the fence, and into a pool of muddy water, in the alley. Pat pulled himself out as well as he could, and rub- bing the injured spot a little he limped into the house. I am sorry to say that for the rest of the week Pat took his meals standing up. He Didn’t Touch One. “James,” said Mr. Clapp to his young son, “did you eat those apples that your mother put in the icebox yes- terday?” “No, sir,” replied James,-“‘I didn’t touch one.” Then said his father: : “How is that your mother found five cores in your room, and only one apple left in the icebox.” “That,” said James, rushing for the door, “is the one I didn’t touch.” . , Pethaps a Creme de Chicken. “Waiter, are you sure that they put fresh eggs in this golden fizz?” "Yes; sah l’> “Then how is it I find these feathers?” “Doan know, sah, unless yo’ got: a cocktail by mis- take.” shi : # J INFORMATION FOR THE CURIOUS. Readers of the “Old Broadbrim Weekly” will receive answers to cee which may puzzle them i these columns. e Y. B. (Cincinnati, O.)—Yes, B’s creditors can recover their claims, even though the property has passed to C. C. J. H. (New York)—1. There is a literary bureau in Boston, Mass., that examines and: edits manuscripts, and also finds a market for same if the story has merit. 2. Your handwriting is above the average. K. N. (Baltimore, Md.)—To. make a copy of a coin or the engraving on a spoon, lay a piece of moderately thin paper over the design, and then rub with the flat end of a lead pencil, bearing sufficient weight on it to bring the im- pression in relief. Duck (Nyack, N. Y.)—Professional long-distance swimmers use fish-oil for anointing their bodies prior to entering the water for a race.’ It renders the skin im- pervious to the water, and thus prevents the enervating effects produced by remaining in that element for a long . time. G. C. D. (Duluth, Minn.)—The term “dead-reckon- ing’’ is used in navigation to express the estimation that is made of a vessel’s place without having recourse to ob- servation of the celestial bodies. It is made by observing the way she makes by the log, and the course on which she has beén steered, making ‘allowance for drift, leeway, &ce. L. P.. (Pottstown, Pa. )—Gilders use a prepared gold size, sold by dealers in.paints, oils, &c., and brighten the gold by means of an instrument known as a burnisher, usually composed of agate. Such work requires a cer- tain deftness of handling that can only be gained by ex- perience and practice, without which the work will pre- sent a very rough and unfinished appearance. D. J. (Newport, R. I.)—The climate of Florence, Italy, is described as extremely variable, especially in the early spring, when the inhabitants are liable to diseases of the trachea, to bronchitis and affections of the lungs. simmers are hot; but both the summers and autumns are peculiarly healthy. The average temperature through- out the year is about 59 degree Fahr. W. B. A. (St. Joseph, Mo.)—When exercising, be careful not to strain the nruscles by using the clubs, dumb-bells, pulley-machines, bicycle, ringsy or any other form of appliance so continuously as to produce a sense or fatigue or lassitude. ‘The opposite effect is brought about by careful and rational exercise, the mind betng cleared and every muscle in the body being pliant and strong, with no vestige of an ache. W. M. (Hartford, Conn.)—1. A boomerang is an in- strument used by the aborigines of Australia for war, sport, or the chase. It is of hard wood, of a bent form, and parabolic shape. One side is flat, the other rounded, and it is brought to a bluntish edge. 2. The tallest men in the world are found in Terra del Fuego. 3. “Mother Carey’s chickens” is a name familiarly given to the stormy petrel. ae. “Mother Carey’s goose” is applied to the- eons tn great black petrel of the Pacific Ocean. 4. The mar’ ner’s compass was first used at sea by the Chinese abot the year 300, but the annals of that race assign its di covery to the year 2634 B. C. It seems to have been ¢ first used exclusively for guidance in traveling by land. O. G. H. (Birmingham, Ala.)—-A herdman’s “rope. or lariat, is from twenty to eighty feet in length, but fd: general purposes one fifty feet long is used by the majo) ity of cowboys. . After being well stretched, a rope mag of the best cotton thread, i close woven, will becon¥.. sufficiently pliable for use. The “loop” is usually mad by intersplicing the strands to the required size, arl) sometimes an iron ring is set in the end, through: whic}: the other extremity of the rope is passed. Considerab!) practice is requisite to attain any degree of dexterity A throwing a lasso. S. T. B. (Manchester, N. H.)—It seems to be the gen eral opinion of geologists that in most cases. petroleun is produced by the decomposition of both vegetable an animal matters. In this respect it differs. from coal) ’ which ‘has arisen-from the decay of vegetable matte alone. The oil is found in cavities in sandstone an shale, and is formed in rocks of nearly all geologica ages. There is no cause to fear that the supply of thi useful product will ever be greatly diminished or entirel exhausted, for there is enough now in existence to sup ply the world’s wants for thousands of years to come. C. E. ¥. (Adrian, Mich.)—-You can etch your nam on steel or iron, So as to readily identify your tools, 1 the following process: Warm the metal, and then rt i over the surface with a piece of beeswax. When cool etch with any pointed instrument the name or characte desired, cutting clear through the coating of wa» Then sprinkle on the scratches some powdered iodin« moistened with water, and rub in for four or five min utes with a camel’s-hair peficil, Then heat again unti the wax runs off; wash in warm water, and wipe dry The characters designed will be indelibly fixed on th tool by the iodine. G. C. B. (Nerthport, - I.)—Glass can be drilled witl a common drill, but the safest method is to tise a brooc { drill. No spear-pointed drill can be tempered harc enough not to break. The brooch can either be used a: a drill with a bow, or by the hand. It should be selecte« of such a bore that it will make a hole of the require size, at about one inch from ang coal ’ iatte? ang ica f thi tirely sup oocl, har@ d as act 117 eC 1 be incl’ 1 bY ay cq f al 4 yred pre _ the intel QUA eo ae ee Fa RAVARARARARGRARARGSL EA GOOD START Like that made recently by the New Library of Detective Stories, e The ld Broadbrim Weekly Means that the Publication is a Winner. ITH the very first issues, the shrewd old Quaker, JosIAH BROADBRIM, leaped into the favor of tens of thousands of readers all over the country. The detective, who for years has been the terror of every criminal in America, is now as famous among the boys as he is among the crooks. Only in another way. The criminals hate him, while the boys all agree that lie is among the greatest detectives of the age, and that the Old Broadbrim Weekly contains some of the most thrilling detective stories ever printed. If you are not already a reader of the : OLD BROADBRIM STORIES you are behind the times, and you should lose no time in catching up to them again. Here are some of the ieee 4 issues. They contain the true solutions of some of the great mysteries of crime that have never before been explained: No. 8.—Old Broadbrim on an Ocean Chase; or, The Diamond Smugglers’ Great Invention. The story of a great invention by which the United States was robbed of thousands of dollars by the diamond smugglers. You can’t afford to nniss it. No. 9.—Old Broadbrim Solving the Railway Mystery; or, The Millionaire’s Strange Death. The Engineer’s Vision. The Body on the Track. A Millionaire Murdered. The Black NineGang. A Gentlemanly Scoundrel. The Mystery Revealed. Doesn’t that sound like a splendid story? No. 10.—Old Broadbrim Finding the [lillville Rob- bers; or, The [liser of Great Wallingford. How a band of crooks plan to rob a bank. How Old Broadbrim ‘‘shadows a shadow,”’ learns their plot and foils them. No. 11.—Old Broadbrim After the Gold Brick Swin- dlers; or, The Blacklock Bunco Gang. A rascally gang of sharps who made it their busi- ness to sell gold bricks, and incidentally fleece rich young New Yorkers, meet with a surprise that lasts for them during terms in State’s prison. Old Broad- brim does it, of course. Jf you want to know how, read the story. No. 12.—Old Broadbrim Among the Thugs of Harlem; or, Landing a Big Catch. Adventures both on land and in the water in the vicinity of Harlem, are told in this story. The old Quaker finishes at 'the top of the heap, but he has a tough struggle. No. 13.—Old Broadbrim on a Strange Abduction Case; or, The Tramping King of Ireland. An abducted heiress. The work of a well-organ- ized gang. There was a problem for Old Broad- brim. Did he solve it? Well—you had better read the story. The Tramping King of Ireland is a prize- winner among the ranks of the hoboes. There is a mystery about him that you will want to see solved. 14.—Old Broadbrim Fighting Western Despera- does ; or, Playing a Counterfeit Game. A monopoly on crime. Sounds peculiar, doesn’t it? That’s what a certain gang out West had in the district in which it operated. When Old Broadbrim struck that part of the country there were hot times for some of the members of the gang. The old Quaker did some clever work with counterfeit money. Don’t miss this story. . 15.—Old Broadbrim Forcing Their Hands; or, The Panel Thieves of the Tenderloin. Do you know what the panel game is? There were two or three young college men who came to New York some time ago, who know all about it now, although they had never heard of it before they came totown. One of them told Old Broadbrim his experiences in the city. Asa result, there was a series of hair-raising adventures for the lively old Quaker, and a grand wipe out of a big band of men and women, who are now serving terms in State’s prison. These Stories are the Sensation of the Year. They can be purchased for Five Cents at any newsdealers, or from x STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 232-238 WILLIAM ST., NEW YORK CITY. ai