Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 960 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

, me if I ean. —. Would only pay half, “Man, you are crazy! p's 7 a The Broadway Sport, When the stranger left the car Rummy still kept him in sight, but he was forced to the conclusion that he was no detective, for how was he to learn the man’s name? “Blame me if I know how to do that trick!’ the cutthroat said to himself. “A detective could do it, somehow, but hang I don’t know how to go ‘about it, that’s what’s the matter. I bet it wouldn't long puzzle a feller like Broad- way Sport!” Think hard as he would, he could devise mo scheme by which to accomplish the de- sired end. Presently the man ran up the steps of a douse and entered. He let himself in with a key. “That settles it,” said Rummy? to him- self. “That is where he lives, or he wouldn’t be letting himself in that way. It will keep now, and I can find out his mame some time later on. Mebby I'll make it convenient to pay him a visit in _ the near future to introduce myself. 1 can see about as far through a plank as the next one.” Chuckling to himself. the rascal sought his former place of hiding, to await the coming of Gardner. He did not have to wait till C ap- pointed hour. ‘Having nothing else to do, BoM ut in his appearance much earlier, feeling tolerably certain of finding Rummy there, and, if not, it was as good a place as any in which to kill time. “Well, what is the greeted him. “Only half good,’’ was the answer. “* How is that?” “ Well, you see it is like this: The man said that as he bad recalled the order he I have brought that ‘With me, and you will have to be satisfied with it. It was the best I could do.” Hi You are trying to do pretty well, I admit.” “What do you mean?” “ How much do you intend to pay me?’ “It is five hundred, and you ought to word?” Rummy “f.-be glad to get- that.” vt e * Hand it over.”’ Gardner took a roll of bills from his ie pocket and placed it in Rummy’s hand, | ers it quickly disappeared. ‘*Now,” said Rummy, “I will take the other five hundred, if you please, and a hundred on top of that ‘for good measure, _ There is no chance. to get out of it; I am ‘s up to your game.’ Gardner paled. “What do you mean?” he demanded, ‘| “Just what I say. Fork over six hun- yea ered dollars more.” ’ os But, I—” tees No” use your lying, Hen Gardner; f et I there? Didn’t I see him pay you the money? I tell you you ean’t get out If I had got the | of it—” full amount don’t you suppose that I _ ‘would be glad enough to pay it over to you? You and I can’t afford to fall out, Rumny. “Yes, we can, too, well enough,” de- _ flared Rummy. ‘ You ve tried the ng game with me, Hen Gardner. I am on to the big fellow now, and can deal — Oh! you can stare, but | it is the fact,” and it did not take Rummy with him myself, a ‘great while to convince him of it. wee CHAPTER XIV. _ AN UNEXPECTHD ARREST. " 4 _ When Frank Allen reached New York, poe his" visit to Mount Vernon, he was out of the station when a hand fell shoulder. } ing, he found ins ro confronted by ooking man with black mustache, “ge in a cold, A fashion | are just theeman I want. ¢4 Woe ses , rs J get ' oie na ' Ass. . that made Mr. Allen turn pale in spite of all effort. “Well, now L want to know all about it, Mr. Allen,” said the stranger. “You want to know all about what?” was the haughty demand. “* Who and what are you, sir?’ “My name is Kempton, and I happen to be a detective. I have had my eye on you for some hours, and.now I want a full ex- planation of it all. Do not make a scene.” Allen took the hint, and they moved off together. * You may be a detective all right,” he said, “but I know of no reason why you should be paying your attention to me.” “Then must. enlighten you. Iam after the murderer of Mr. Thomas Stroughten- berg, and I 4m convinced that you know something about that crime. Now, what do you know?” ** Not a thing,” “You mean that you will not tell. A berth in the cooler may lead you to change your mind about that.” : “Good Heavens! you would not arrest ‘Consider yourself under arrest now, sir, until you can satisfy me of a mis- take.” “You never made a bigger mistake in your life, sir. I know nothing about that crime, any more than is known to the pub- lic generally, and I demand my instant liberty!” “Do not eut up, now, or I shall be obliged to be rough with you. If you want this thing kept quiet, just make a clean breast of it all, and if I am then con- vinced that you have told me the truth, why there’s an end of it. See?” — ‘** But there is nothing that I can tell.” “Oh, yes, there is.” “ What?” * You can tell me what the secret is be- tween you and, George Stroughtenberg, and what business took you to Mount Vernon. That is something I want to know, something I am determined to know.”’ “You will never learn through me.’’ * Yes, I shall.” aie . “I defy you. It is something private, has nothing whatever to do with the other matter you are looking into, and I will never tell!’ “Then I'll Mave to put you down below while I investigate. The suspicion is suf- ficient upon which to hold you, and I have clew enough to work upon to get at the -bottom of it.” “ Will you not take my word for it that it nothing concerning the Case you are on?” ‘*T can take no man’s word for anything. Whaf.I am after is the proof in every- thing.” ‘ Allen was more pale than ever, and a perspiration was on his face. é * But you will ruin George Stroughten- berg!” he cried. “ This is something that must not become known to the world. It might even put the crime upon him, inno- cent though he is.” Sh, “Do you know he is innocent?” “T can swear to it. You are making a mistake—a great mistake. Take my word for it and let it drop.” “ As if IT would not be making a greater mistake doing that. If you can prove George Stroughtenberg’s innocence, you. Detectives do not do business the Way you suggest.” “But it will n the man, if tell you. Can I not con that?’ “He will have you to thank for it, then.” “See here, let me go and I will give you. a thousand dollars, right in hand. Let the matter drop, so far as Mount Vernon is said. nee you of the truth of concerned, and 1 will give you two thou- sand. No good can come of letting the thing out, but. much harm,” * You do not know the man you are talk- ing to,” said the Broadway Sport. to that. * Come, will you make a clean breast of it all, or must I take you to the nearest sta- tion and make a charge against you? You can have it either way you bare: it; say quick.” “Do what you please with mé: Vll never tell you what you are after. You will find that you cannot hold me, curse you!” ‘Come on, then.” At that moment, though, Allen showed fight, trying to overcome the detective and break away. He found more than his match in Floyd Kempton, however, and after a tussle of brief duration he was docile enough, with a pair of nippers on his wrists. Then the detective steered him for the nearest sta- tion. The Broadway Sport was determined, but Allen's stubbornness equaled Kemp- ton’s determination, and although he was locked up under a serious charge, yet he refused to open his lips. What the secret was could not be got out of him, but it yet remained to corner George Strough- tenberg and force it from him. Fred Fly, meantime, with George Stroughtenberg, had reached New York be- fore the other two, as shown. The Ferret had gone straight home, with the understanding that he was to call upon George at an early hour the: fol- lowing forenoon. Stroughtenberg, too, had with a greatly troubled mind. There was something he could not understand, some- thing he ‘could not fathom, in Allen’s visit to Mount Vernon. “ And to the very house, too,” he said to himself. ‘ What can it mean, what does it mean? But L will know; I will trust | Fred Fly with the matter, for he is wise for his years and thoroughly: devoted to me, and he can find out and not let it be known. RRs On the following morning, as agreed, Fred called at the house. George Stroughtenberg was _ eagerly awaiting his coming in a small reception room just off the hall. He had been pacing the floor, complain-' ing to himself bitterly against the fate that had sent Allen to Mount Vernon, and still puzzling his brain trying to solve the enigma. gone it was a relief to him when Fred ar 4 rived. . Weill, my boy, you are here, I see,” he ‘Are you ready to undertake a re- sponsible errand?” “Yes, sir; | am ready for anything,” Hred answered. ‘i want you to go again to Mount Ver- non.” “ All right, sir, I'll go. " “And to the same house we saw Allen’ come out of yesterday.” “No matter where, sir; just you te me what is wanted, and I'll do it if I ean.” Stroughtenberg was about to lay out the > work for the boy, when a servant opened the door. She announced that a man call- ing himself Paddy Gallagher wanted to see him in haste. Paddy was promptly shown in. “ Begorra, sor,” he said, without waiting to say a good-morning, “it is Frau Rejzen- stein has sent me to ye in a hurry.” “What is up, Paddy?” — “She has infurmashun, so she says, dhat may be av use to ye. She heard two > dla’ guards talkin’ near her stand, and whin Oi wint up to dhe store dhis marnin’ ~ 1g ryt’ing was all gat cme to see if eve sii me “4 “gies fur ye,” . Gy “a ‘ : . re : ? * ; > ‘ 4 r Bich | i y, Tei ed oe e + , * 27 * “ OLOLe@ home, '