Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 963 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

case. dence that the fellow who assaulted me was Sylvester. Afterward I picked up this piece, which you see fits and matches the torn flap.” “JT don’t see What the piece proves? Was the case torn in the scuffle between you two?” “Tt was torn before that. I found this piece under the chair in the hall where the body of Mr. Rawlins was found seated.” *Tsn’t it awful!’ Jennie shivered and clasped her little hands. ‘ Why, that looks as if Mr. Sylvester and Mr. Rawlins might have had a fight or something—does it not?” “ Well, it looks pretty bad for Sylvester. I suppose he might say that the piece got there in some other way. A man would naturally say anything to clear himself of a crime like that. The cigar case shows that Sylvester must have been about the old man when be was murdered. The torn piece indicates a struggle. The case also is good presumptive proof that Sylvester got that package away from me. The assault shows that he must have known its value or he wouldn’t have risked highway rob- bery to possess himself of it. Also, this same package.is the one carried by the boy who claims to be Mr. Rawlins’s nephew, and I fully believe that it belonged to the old gentleman. How the boy came by it, or how John Sylvester came, to know where and what it was, or how that torn piece of morocco was placed under that hall chair, we hardly khow now, but I venture to say we will know, before long.”" As Jennie thought over the ecurdling na- ture of the drama in which she was so in- nocently concerned, she again shuddered. Then she felt gratefal to the messenger boy for what he had already done in ferret- ing out the crime. He seemed to be quite a hero in her eyes already. “Your mother said that the police trou- bled you,” remarked Adam. “There is one detective. His name is MeGraw. He followed me everywhere, I think, from the time I first left the house of Mr. Rawlins. I hope he did not get on my track when I first left Jersey City for Brooklyn.” “T know the chap. He is a fraud of the first water. Should he trouble you much more, letane know. When and where can I see you again?” “T shall stay on here, as far as I know. My sister has gone out, or you would see her. I brought you in here so we might not be interrupted by the children, If IL happen to go off you can see my sister. She will be posted. When she learns how much you have found out she will be glad that you have taken such an interest in the At first she thought it strange that T should have confided in a stranger.” * All right. She shall judge me by what I do rather than what I say. You can always count on me, Jennie.” The two had risen from their chairs, as the boy detective indicated a purpose of going. Adam, standing with his back to a window, was surprised to see Jennie make a startled movement, while her eyes suddenly dilated with alarm. She pointed toward the street. * Look!” she cried. they are again!’ The East Side Spotter turned in time to see a couple of men disappear behind some shrubbery in the square. It was but a glimpse, yet he recognized. one of the pair. “Phil MeGraw!” he ejaculated, as he turned to Jennie again. “I did not quite catch who the other was.” ‘“T know. It was John Sylvester. I would recognize those mutton-chop whis- kers anywhere.” Jennie made a grimace, “Tow I hate that man, though I hardly know why.” “I’m not stuck on the mug. See what ‘Look quick! There The East Side Spotter. Se ee Cee a —= _ he give me.” bruise on the back of his head. him up for that lick yet.” ‘“T know now what I feared before,” re- marked Jennie, thoughtfully. “What is that? Nothing alarming, I hope?” “ Mr, Sylvester, for reasons of his own, is having me shadowed. That other man, McGraw, was always hanging about our Jersey City house. He, no doubt, followed me when I came here. Seeing Sylvester with him makes me feel sure that Sylves- ter is at the bottom of it. Is it not ter- rible?”’ *T think I understand his motives. He has a reason for wanting to implicate some one else. Remember this cigar case. But you must trust me to expose these vil- lainies and bring the murderers and rob- bers to justice. I'll do it or my name is not Artful Adam.” *T trust you implicitly. danger, though, on my account. be unhappy.” “Well, I am glad you feel an interest in me, But a detective who won't rush into danger when the case and the occasion re- quire it, is hardly worth his salt. I will be ecareful—that is, as careful as I dareto be. Don’t you worry. It will be a chilly day when they catch me nodding. Now I must shadow those blokes. They are up to no good. IKeep mum and don’t get the blues. Remember—I am on to their little game every time.” Adam shook hands, then slipped across the street into the square. Jennie watch- ing him until he disappeared among the shrubbery in the wake of the two men, sighed and turned away. CHAPTER XI. BURPEE AT THE HOLE IN THE WALL. At the Hole in the Wall the gas had just been lighted when a rustic-looking indi- vidual, - wearing steel-bowed — spectacles, dropped in and ordered a glass of beer. This was several days later than the time of the occurrences already narrated. ‘*T am lookin’ for a boy of mine,” he in- formed Slosson, the bartender. “Ran away. Bound out to me, you know, by his father. Father died. The boy skipped to New York, where he said he had an uncle,” “New York is a big place,” returned Slosson, carelessly. “’Bout as soon look for a needle in a haystack as for a lost kid in New York. Been to the police?” The man indicated by a nod that he had. Then he buried his nose in his schooner, and sighed deeply. * Where does that boy's asked Slosson. ‘Further down-town. seem to find the house, was Rawlins—’’ ‘way that again!” spoke up old Slooger, coming forward from the rear of the sa- loon, Where he had been listening. The stranger recapitulated his statement, and pushed his empty glass across the bar to be refilled. “That is pretty fair beer,’ he remarked, “but it ain’t ek’al to our St. Louis brew, back home. I s’pose ye hain’t seen no such boy around here?” he added, looking vaguely around. ll even Don’t run into L should “+7 i . unele live Blessed if I can That boy’s name “Why, no,” replied the old man. ‘ We ain't a ‘’sylum for stray kids. What might be your name?” “Burpee. That boy was such a lazy cuss! Wouldn’t hardly do nothing.” “Should hardly think. you'd be so anx- ious to get him back, then,”’ sneered Sloog- er, increduously. “ Nine hundred mile is a good way to come for a no count kid. Railroad ‘fares come high. Rats! Tell us something else that ain't rotten.” “ Bet you a fifty that what I say is so,” ’ ' ee The lad showed her the } bantered the stranger, flourishing a greasy = wallet, fairly crammed with banknotes. Old Slooger’s manner underwent a sud- den, though furtive change, as did that of Slosson. Both eyed the pocketbook greed- ily, and their manner became at once child- like and bland. “ Then you don’t know where that pesky boy is?” persisted the countryman, shoy- ing baek the wallet into his pocket. “He certainly hasn’t been around here that we know of, has he, Slos?” * Nit. We don’t have much use for min- ors, anyhow.” “Well, he has been here,” asserted the man, coolly. “I heard how he come in here one night, and how you all fit him and took him, and kept what he had, What have you done with the lad?” “T tell you we haven’t got the kid,” con- tended Slooger, uneasily. ‘“* We did have him safe enough, I will say that. But he attempted to leave the house one night, and the coppers nabbed him.” “T reckon you mean the police. What could they want of him? ‘That boy is as innocent of wrong-doing as a chicken, by gum! Ha, ha! «He hasn’t got sense enough to be crooked. But I was afraid something had gone crooked when J got that letter.” | “What letter? Blamed if I can make you out at all!” and old Slooger chewed nervously on the end of his cigar. * Don’t know who sent it, but after I got to town, here, it Was left at the hash house where I stop. It wasn’t signed, but it told me the boy was here, and that you wasn't wishin’ him any good. Now, that won't do. I ain't come all the way from Mizzoury to see that boy of mine put upon. If Rube comes to any harm, I'll make them as is ‘sponsible take a dose of their own medicine. See there!’ The countryman, being by this time somewhat beery in the head, again jerked out his well-stuffed wallet. “By gum!” said he. ‘“TIl spend a thousand dollars, if necessary, or have that boy back and all he had with him—blame me if I don’t.” “That is all right; I will help you through. See?’ Old Slooger linked his arm in that of the countryman with an af- fection quite touching to see, and watched the wallet out of the corners of his eyes. “Dash the coppers, anyhow! I told them that boy was all right, but they clapped the bracelets on him and on my son Steve and sent for the patrol, and me looking: on with me two eyes as big as hens’ eggs.” ‘* ll fix them!’ asseverated the stranger, ‘waving the wallet. ‘I'll sue the city for damages. Where can I find a good law- yer?” “Tell you what we'll do,”’ and old Sloog- er fairly embraced Mr. Burpee in his dis- ingenuous ordor, as he greedily watched the wallet. Ae We will go into the house and talk things over. Ain’t Slooger your friend? Bet your sweet life. Won't he see you through? Give us some of that five- year-old whisky, Slosson. Genowine stuff, pardner.”’ After a drink all around at the house's expense, the countryman was. ushered through the back yard into the stuffy, dirty room where we last saw Rube Raw- lins. Then Slosson, going to the side door of the saloon, beckoned inside several tough look- ing loungers from the street. After whisper- ing a few words with these henchmen, he sent them back to join old Slooger and his new-found comrade. ‘Well, now,” spoke Slooger, hanging al- most affectionately over his guest as the latter sat down on the single bed. “TI tell you. New York’s a tough town. Better let me take care of that wallet, old fel’. I am up to all the dodges here. Some buzzer