Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 423 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

patched another message. Oi: Liinutes. and went home. door. ‘Yes, sir. A telegram. Just come. five minutes ago.” “* Very well.” He took the message with affected coolness, with which he tore it open slightly trembled. He read it with a sensation of mingled hope and fear. *“ What can be wrong?” itran. ‘Ido not under- stand. Thering you speak of was stolen from my jewel casket more than a week a By a servant probably. What can you mean? plain by letter. ** ESTELLE.” CHAPTER III. THE RED HALL. “By Jove, Foster, you banking fellows are “ing into the romantic business strongly. That etfair of the clipped-off finger is the talk of the town. It has roused such a sensation as we have nut had for ten years. The finger of a high- burn lady, they say? And wearing a valuable ring? Come, come, confess that this is 9. got-up affair—a clever advertisement to bring cus- tomers to your house.” The speaker was a fashionably-dressed gentle- man, of apparently some thirty years of age. | He had a classically-cut face, with long hair, ry worn well down on his neck and forehead. His expression was a peculiar one, Apparently frank and open, there was pomp tps in it deep and hidden. He was not one of those trans- ibe . arent men who wear their souls upon their my aces. Yet he spoke with an engaging air of ,. easy A apa eo“ ‘* Faith, yes,” answered Harry Foster, with a laugh. “Tt has brought; us customers enough, but not of the kind we like. We have kept open house these three days to all the curious people in town. And our private office has been in- vaded by reporters until there is not room to lay down a thimble. I think we could spare some of these customers.” **But you don’t really want to claim that it is all so? No, no, that’s too thin. Our high- born ladies don’t play the part of burglars’ as- sistants. Confess that that finger was got from the hospital, and pas there to give the good people of New York a bit of a sensation.” ‘You can huve it yourown way, Paul, Any- how you will acknowledge our little game was well ro an a Paul looked at the speaker with an odd ex- ression, and then broke out into a hearty acest | But is it true, in solid earnest? You are not . ulling wool over the public eye?” ‘*Tt was true enough to sicken me, when I saw that bleeding finger.” ‘** But, Heaven, man! this is an extra- erdinary business!” Paul spoke with great | energy. ‘Who did it? Who was the woman? “i The police, of course, have it in hand. What “a have they discovered? With a clew like that Pee, ring and finger they ought to have no trouble to get on the track. Tell me all about it. It is safe with me, you know. You suspect some- body? Admit it ” A look of uneasiness came upon Foster’s face which the other did not fail to observe. Pp 4 ‘* Don’t ask me,” he answered. ‘‘ The detect- 4 ives think they are on a track. What itis lam not at to reveal.” liberty “Is ita true trail? Have you no suspicions yourself?” Foster cha countenance still more under this cross-questioning. “Tf you will excuse me, Mr. Clifford,” he re- — rather coldly, ‘‘ I would prefer not to talk r about this subject. I am not afraid of your discretion, of course, but other people’s secrets are not mine to discuss.” “You suspect somebody. I can seethat, And et ro have not given the police your clew. You know this woman, Foster. You are trying te screen her.” ‘* Sir!” Foster was on his feet, with a face full of anger. ‘‘ You are going further than friend- ship permits, I don’t like this prying, and want no more of it. I will tell you this, and you can make the most of it: If I discover this womam and her confederates I will deliver them up to the law, though she were my own and At the end of this time he returned up-town ‘* Anything for me, James””’ he asked, at the Not and walked calmly to hisroom. But the fingers Union Telegraph Co. Here he wrote and dis- | For two hours more the uneasy and restless | f mortal wandered about, dropping into place af- = ter place, but staying nowhere more than a few wage] smile marked his face, and he twirled The Lost Finger. they were my own brothers. I make no terms with crime. Now let that end it.” ‘‘Forgive me, Harry,” answered Paul, with a laugh. ‘‘I am devoured with curiosity. I may as well acknowledge it. No Paul Pry coula be worse than I. But, hang it. I have nothing else to do, and a bit of mystery like this is a sweet morsel. Never mind. I will find out who your detective is, and worm it out of him. am oe to see that ring, and the finger that holds i ‘*Then you will have to die in ignorance,” re- joined Foster, with a shadow of alarm in his tone. ‘‘Supvose I say that I suspect who it belongs to, and ask to see itin the interest of the law?” rome neat. But I will warn them against you. Come, let us take a turn in the air. It is insufferably warm here.” Foster was evidently more uneasy and dis- quieted than he cared to show. The two friends left the hotel parlor in which they had been seated, and strolled out on Broadway. They walked slowly down the thronged street, the cool evening air driving away the feverish anxiety from Foster’s face, and bringtig back its usual composure. his companion seemed to have seriously ruffled and alarmed him. Their conversation took a lighter tone as they walked on block after block. ‘By the way,” remarked Clifford at length, ‘it is a week and more since I saw you at the Red Hall. And you owe me a revenge. You oe EK: my purse at our last sitting. When shall I have satisfaction?” Somehow the questions of \ ‘*T don’t know,” answered Harry indifferent- ly. ‘‘I am growing tired of tke whole busi- ness,” ‘*Tt is easy to grow tired when we win. But the losers have some rights.” Foster started as if he had been stung. ‘‘'What do you mean, sir? [ do not like in- sinuations.” ‘*‘T know what is the trouble, Foster. The Countess is away. If she were there you would not need twice asking. Faith, though, you are te the only trout that is ready to spring at that ait. ‘T will meet you where you will,” cried Fos- ter, with a sudden show of anger. ‘And I should advise you not to bring hcr nae into connection with mine in that flippant tone.” His lip took ahard curve. ‘‘Say when. I am your man.” ‘*To-morrow night, then. show of ducats. ‘*' Very well. Bring a goodly I intend to fleece you.” ‘You may look for me.” A few more words passed, but the friendliness of their tone was gone. Foster bit his lip as though he was chafing inwardly. \ They soon sesh Clifford turtiing back to stroll again up roadw ay. Foster looked after him. “*T don’t know what to make of that man,” he said. ‘‘All these side cuts are not chance. Paul Clifford does not impress you like a man who does things by chance. e has some ob- ject in view in his impertinence. What is it? I will meet him, at any rate.” What Clifford thought, as he walked away in the opposite direction, was not evident. A cane with an air of deep satisfaction. ‘* Did I speak of him asa trout?” he myttered. ~* ppbould ve said gudgeon.” e Ww more rapidly as he went on. inally he took a stage, and rode a considerable distance up town. Leaving the stage, he walked down one of the cross streets, and entered a house not far re- moved from Bradway. Walking up-stairs he opened the door of an elegantly furnished sit- ting-room. It was occupied by a single person, a = ep an who sat reading in an easy-chair. . This person sprung up as Clifford entered flung his book carelessly on a center table, an advanced somewhat eagerly. | He was a tall, slender personage, with a pale and not very agreeable face. e nose was long and sharp, the lips thin and bloodless, the eyes restless. ‘* What results?” he asked. “T have met him. He is dangerous. He must be dealt with.” ** Does he suspect?” ‘Too much, I fear.” ‘*But what? Explain.” “I have nothing to explain. He is suspi- ciousl cautious. I fear him.” en we must crush him.” “‘ As we woulda snake. He has promised to come to the Red Hall to-morrow night to give me satisfaction.” ? LO . | = ‘*Shall we dispose of him? The Countess is absent.” ‘* No, no, no, man! ous.” Why?” ‘* Because he is already suspected of this rob- bery. I have learned several things to-night. I am sure he is shadowed by the police, If ke should disappear, some awkward investigations might be made.” ‘** Shadowed? And you have invited h'm there? That will never do, Paul.” ‘Trust me,” answered Paul, with a curling lip. ‘I am not fool enough to expose the s - crets of the Red Hall. I will manage to get rid of the police spy.” ns But what do you propose? You have some plan.” ‘‘Leave it to me to settle with our man.” ‘*But how? You are rascally mysterious.” **Sit down; I will explain.” A long conversation ensued between the pair of villainous confederates. It was a conversa- tion in which one of our characters was vitally interested. But the features of this conversa- tion we must leave the future to reveal. ‘* What think you, Juan? Is it safe?’ asked Paul Clifford, at the end of this conference. ** It :2ems so,” ‘* And shrewd?” 46 Yes.” ‘‘It must work. The Countess is weak on him. He is at all points inour way. We get rid of him, and screen ourselves, all in one act,” ‘* But I dread the Countess,” answered Juan, with an uneasy look. ‘‘She has a devilish tem- per when started. If she suspects foul play with her lover, chains would not hold her.” ‘‘She dare do nothing.” Clifford’s lip curled savagely. ‘‘She will not lift a finger. She knows me.” Juan looked at his companion. A significant smile passed between them. ‘fT should counsel her not to,” came from his thin lips. ‘* I would sooner play at odds against the devil than Paul Clifford.” ‘‘ And I against the chief of his imps tham Juan Vernel.” It was evident that some serious, perhers fatal, peril was hovering over the head of Ea1- ry Foster. He was being drawn into the mac!- strom of ruin and disgrace. The night passed. The next day came and went.. Night again threw its shadowing mantle over the great city, shrouding all the shapes of crime that wait until the sun has set to show themselves abroad. Dark deeds there were in abundance in that vast metropolis, but they hid their unsightly forms under the glooms of the the night. Harry Foster walked up Broadway, with his erect attitude and firm tread. Twenty paces behind him came another form, seemingly of a young man about town. To all appearance he ad no special errand abroad, yetstrangely his business took him over the same route as that followed by the unsuspecting man ahead. Still further in the rear came a light, one- seated carriage, occupied by a single person. This was a gentleman, who now drove briskly up by the side of the pavement. ‘‘ Mr, Foster,” he called. Harry paused and looked around. ‘¢ Paul Clifford!” he exclaimed. ‘Yes. I have been taking a little turn for exercise. Stepin. We will have a breezer up the avenues.” ‘Thank you, I prefer to walk.” ‘But you are a judge of horseflesh. I want you to see the pace of my animal. Come. To oblige me.” Thus urged, Harry, not very willingly, step- ped into the carriage.: Paul had said nothing about the spy, whom he saw and recognized. He had his reasons for silence on this point. _ He gave his restless horse the reins, and drove away at a sharp pace. The spy, who had come up close enough to hear their last words, wore an aspect of discom- fiture. . “Very neatly flung,” he muttered. ‘“ But they are only off for a turn in the Boulevarcs. I can take up the trail later.” He did not conjecture how completely he had been flung. His whole labor had been wasted through this shrewd move of Paul Clifford. Few words passed between the young men as they drove up-town together. Neither seemed in a talkative mood. s soon as he reached @ clear street Clifford pit the horse to his paces. ‘‘ A good stepper, Don’t you think so?” ‘¢ Yes,” answered Harry briefly. ‘‘You are non-committal,” Cliftord laughed, That might be danger- i 900