Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 196 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

\ A a ee en re me wm we ee after which the baffled party discontentedly left the house, at a complete loss to understand how their prey could have escaped them. Beau returned slowly to his room, deeply cogitating as he did so. ‘*T wouldn’t believed that of Bob,” he said to himself, as he raked the fire. ‘‘ Any little job of ecrib-cracking he might be up to, for there ain’t no sort of harm in that. hat little folks lose they kin make up ag’in. But, when it comes to smashing in a woman’s head! I'll be blessed if I know what sort of flesh and blood some folks is made of,” He raked vigorously at the fire. *“*Tnat officer’s a cute chap,” he continued. ‘“‘ By the way, what ever become of that key? I’m a donkey to put anything in that pocket till the hole’s sewed up.” There was a quick, snapping sound behind him. He turned sharply around. “*Is this the key?” spoke a well-known voice. There, just emerging from the open closet ap- peared the burly form of Bob Rockett! To say that Beau was astonished would very rly express his state of mind on perceiving his appavition. He rose to his feet and backed slowly away as thouzh he had seen a ghost, his eyes starting from their sockets, his hands extended as if to repel a terrible phantom. **The deuce!” was the only sound that broke a his lips, as he turned and dashed for the oor. But Bob was too quick forhim. In an instant he bad him by the shoulder, and dragged him back into the center of the room. ‘One whimper of alarm, and [ll burst in that blockhead skull of yours,” cried the burly Pt ine ‘“What has become of all your new friends, the police?” ** All gone,” gurgled out the frightened fellow, “ And so you were going to turn on me, and sell me to them, eh?” ‘* Yes!” cried Beau, with sudden boldness. “Tf you had a hand in murdering poor Sall Crapper, I’d blow on you if you was my grand- father.” **Come, come, old chap,” rematked Bob, more mildly. ‘‘l thought you knew me too well to swallow such pap as that. [’m not a murderer yet, thank Heaven. And don’t intend to set up in that line of business. Sit down here new, you old foo till 1 tell you all about ‘* But how did you ev r get into that closet?” asked Beau, still lookin, at Bob as though he beheld some powerful n igician, or one vested with supernatural power . BP sag laughed as he took :is old seat beside the ve. “Well, as long as the co tis clear, I will let you into that little secret, too.” CHAPTER IL THE GARLANDS AT HOME. From Beau Bink’s dingy apartment, with its “cobweb hangings,” to the interior of a stylish mansion on Fifth Avenue, and of a room hung with damask curtains, and furnished with the richest and most expeusive upholstery, isa broad step, but we must ‘ .k the reader to take it with us. The apartmen in question is in the showy mansion of Mr. Garland, the wealthy President of the Provid) ut National Bank; and the per- S@BS coca r.re this gentleman, a white-haired, oone™ , yes kindly-eyed relic of the last gen- eration; his daughter, Grace Essex, a young, beautiful, and charming lady, who looks yet in the first bloom of youth, although she has been twice married; and his son-in-law, Paul Essex, an erect, well-formed, handsome young man, with the frankest, and most honest of faces. Se has been at the piano, rattling off the newest and most lively of melodies, with her de- voted husband hanging over her with all the ardor of a young lover. But a quick exclamation from her father, who is reclining in his easy-chair, busy over his ange, paper, causes them both to turn toward im. Her fingers still play a light roulade upon the keys as she calls out to her father: _ “Why, what is the matter? No sudden fall in stecks, I hope? The bottom hasn’t dropped out of anything, ds it bas such a fashion of dropping out in the mercantile world?” . Garland looked up with a disturbed ex- Sig arti , ber light laughter calling up no smiie | a crime, I know he is. serious visage. ““No, no, Grace, if has nothing to do with business. But—I vow I wouldn’t have believed itof him! It is the most astonishing thing.” awe + ee ee eee ee - ! | | -- _ me ee wee Shadowed; or, Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life. oe The paper had fallen from his hands to the floor. Paul sprung forward and picked it up. ‘Nothing serious, I hope,” as he ran his eyes quickly over the columns, “Tt is that murder which took place last night. You read of it. That brutal slaughter of a woman in a disreputable quarter down- | town. A most horrible business.’ ‘* But, father,” cried Grace, leaving the piano | and coming over to him, ‘‘why should that | specially disturb you? Murders are, unfortun- | ate] y very common occurrences nowadays.” | ss t is not that, Grace,” looking up into her | eves with a pitying glance. “It is not the wo- | man—but you would never imagine who has | been accused of her murder.” | Paul had by this time found the graph | which had so greatly disturbed the old banker. | ‘But what is he to us?’ he esked, reading | from ve paper. ‘‘Michael Crapper, alias Rusty Mike, a well-known rough and burglar, who has already served several terms in the pen- itentiary. Why, it was he who was suspected of being concerned in that effort to drown you, | Grace; that happiest of all failures,” ‘*] remember,” replied Grace, a shudder pass- | ing through her frame, as she rested her light | hand upon her husbanad’s shoulder. ‘‘ Ah, Paul! | | one does not easily forget an adventure like that. I tremble ye at the Me Mss ee of it.” ‘But read on!” exclaimed Mr. Garland, im- | patiently. ‘‘ Never mind that villain. He is fair food for the bangman, at any rate. But | his aecomplice.” | Paul’s eyes hastily ran down the remainder of the paragraph, and then the paper fell from his hands, as a light cry escaped his lips, ‘“Robert Rockett!” he exclaimed. ‘Why, | every one supposed he was dead! He alive and | accuse 1 of murder!” | “No, no!” came in sbuddering tones from | Grace’s lips, as she backed off with eyes dis- | tended with horror, ‘‘Not he! Oh, it cannot be possible!” ‘* Yes, my dear,” replied her father, folding his arm around her slender waist. ‘“‘ He is ac- cused of being concerned with Rusty Mike in the murder of this woman, who, it seems, was Mike’s wife.” | i ‘‘1 do not believe it! There!” she spoke vehemently. ‘‘ After all he has done for us, too! You do not credit it, father?” ‘Tt seems incredible,” rejoined ber father. | ‘To think of all he has done. Ee savcd my | life when this Mike sought to drown me. He saved me from being kidnapped. You know | that, Paul! And last of all he saved me from | the crime of bigamy.” | ‘“T should like to know how?’ asked her | father. ‘‘ He did his best to convince us that George | Delorme, my former husband, was living. And | suppose they had not tried to rob the bank—Le would be still living; I would have been mar- | ried, and oh, what a horrible affair that would have been! And then we know that the leader of the burglars struck him to theearth for try- ing det Paul’s eyes. Are we to thank him now by believing that he is a murderer?” Her lips were white, her cheeks deathly pale, but her eyes glittered with feverish intensity. ‘‘Come, come, my dear, you are too excit- able,” said Mr. Garland, soothingly. ‘ Read the remainder of the paragraph, Paul. It may be a mere unfounded suspicion. I should be sorry enough to believe that there could be any foundation for such a charge.” He drew his daughter close beside him, and | clasped his arms around her, as Paul resumed his reading. “Two men were seen to leave the house be- fore the murder was discovered,” he remarked. ‘“‘One was known to be Mike Crapper. The other was a stranger. But the description giv- en by the woman who saw him would answer exactly for Rockett,” he continued, as he ran his eyes further down the paper. ‘‘ Aha! this does look serious! A rough, well-worn over- coat was found in the room, with blood on its sleeves. In one of its kets was a hand- kercbief stamped ‘R. Rockett.! It also held a silver tobacco-case, with his name engraved on the inside of the lid.” Paul shook his head doubtfully. ‘This, with the description of the | man seen in company with Rusty ike, certain- ly does look suspicious.” ‘‘It is not true!” cried Grace vehemently, starting from her father’s arm. ‘ There is | some horrible mistake. He is incapable of such | You don’t believe it, Paul?’ She laid her hands upon his arm, and looked up imploringly into his face. | a ‘* Believe it? Well, I don’t have your faith in | looking adventuress. — a the man, Grace, but I hardly think he is so bad as that. ‘The circumstances look very dubious it is true, but it does not do to trust too much to circumstantial evidence.” ‘‘Is there anything more, Paul?’ asked Mr. Garland, a doubtful look upon his handsome countenance, ‘Have any arrests been made?’ ‘‘No. Thatis another bad feature of the case. Rusty Mike has disappeared entirely, but the police had sure notice that Rockett was con- cealed in a house on Blair street, near the Kast River. This house wassurrounded and searched trom top to bottom. They had information from one of its inmates that the fugitive was in the house when they entered it. et, in some mysterious and unaccountable manner lhe escaped them. How he could have left the house through a cordon of policemen without i seen is certainly an extraordinary affair. Yet he seems to have done so.” ‘Tf he was conscious of innocence why should he seek to escape?’ queried Mr. Garland. ‘I don’t like the looks of that.” | ‘‘Because he is like a hare pursued by the hounds!” exclaimed Grace. ‘ You have set them on his track for that bank robbery, father. Although there is no proof that he had anything to do with it. And now some enemy bas sought to place this murder at his door. No wonder the poor fellow seeks to escape, You know that you have no proof whatever that he was connected with those bank rebbers.” ‘‘ Except that he himself threatened me to de something of the kind.” “Ts that proof?” she asked, turning suddenly toward bim. ‘‘ Do burglars thus advertise their purposes? Is that proof, Paul?’ _ ‘““No, Grace. It seems to me rather in hiv favor.” “Thank you. Oh, I do wish that those rob- bers were arrested! I know that it would clear him of complicity.” ‘“] declare,” exclaimed Mr. Garland, “ you are an earnest partisan, Grace. But 1 fear you are inclined tocling to your prctege, right or wrong.” ‘‘ And suppose I am? Think what he has done forme! I would despise myself to desert him now. If he is arrested and tried for this crime, father, you must see that he is defended. We owe that much to him.” ‘* [ will,” Mr. Garland replied quietly. ‘* But how about that woman; that—person, whom George Delorme called his wife? She was suspected and watched? Has nothing been dis- | covered?” | ‘‘ Nothing positive. She bas had a number of visitors, among them Roger Glindon. But then ” he shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘She is a good- Roger is a soulless B mes turer. It may not be difficult to guess his pur- poses.” ‘“T have no faith in him whatever,” she coldly replied. ‘*He would be equal to bank robbing, or any other enormity, in my opinion. —But has anything been discovered about that woman? Is it known who she is?” “Tt is only known that Delorme brought her here from the West.” ‘Well, well, I don’t know that I have need to care. The Delorme episode has gone out of my life. It matters little to me who she is. But I cannot belp doubting Roger Glindon.” Ata later hour that evening Grace accompanied her husband to the opera. A celebrated Italian company was giving a series of entertainments of the most attractive character, and the beauty and fashion of New York crowded the boxes and the seats of the opera-house, listening with attentive ears to the magnificent musie which rung from the orchestra and the choruses, and fell in trickling gems from the lips of singers of world-wide fame. For hours the vast audience was held spell- bound by the charming music of Trovatore, se richly rendered, and it was with asigh atthe breaking of the charm that Grace rose from her seat, and drew her opera-cloak around her. The whole audience had risen, and was crowd- ing toward the Coors of the theater, in that crushing fashion usually seen, as if the saving of a minute now was a matter of life and death. Up the long aisles Paul and Grace were borne as on the waves of an irresistible stream, and into the wide vestibule, which was thronged with the multitudes pouring out from the various doors, and down the wide stairways. He touched her on the arm, and pointed over _ sea of heads toa distant part of the vesti- ule. ‘‘ Yonder is an old friend of yours.” ‘¢T recognize no one,” she answered. is it?” ‘‘ Roger Glindon,” (EO) es Who 900 ALA (E cS (Ele)