Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 100 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

——P Sa “Tama managain. But, whose captive am I—tell me that?” ‘ * The captive of the worst enemy you have in the world.” **None worse than you,” mumbled the en- trapped man. And aloud: ‘ Well, and what am | wanted for?/—since I am safe from your hands and teeth. Eh?’ “You will, mo % die by her hand!” ““*Her hand!’ It is a woman. Who—her name?’ | *“‘ An actress of renown.” | “Sacre! Helen Varcla! Bad as ever,” in-| wardly exclaimed Victor Bramont. “1 have | seen this Helen Varcla many times, and every time with a shiver, because her face is like the face of a woman who, one night eighteen years ago, saw me poison the wife of Dorlan Ray, and whom I tried to strangle when she pursued me through the den. That was strange, too when she hated Dorlan Ray because she could not win his love. I always imagined that the reason she pursued me, to kill me in turn or de- | liver me to justice, was because she, herself, wanted the pleasure of poisoning tha sick wife of Dorlan Ray, and—sacre /—I robbed her of | that pleasure. What has this devil-Voodoo in common with Helen Varcla?” ‘** Helen Varcla has good cause to take your life, Victor Bramont, and so have I. You may a dead man before morning.” ““Suere! You have brought me here to be stranzled by Helen Varcla. A great mistake. Not while I have this stick. That popgun of yours cannot shoot twice. Before Helen Varcla arrives, I shall have the satisfaction of beating ae head into fragments. Now, en he rushed upon in his bleeding | nd. The black cat spat at him; the parrot swooped | down with a screech and belabored him about the ears with its flapping wings. Then another whine of rage and agony broke | from the lips of Victor Bramont, as he recouled, staggered, dropped the stick and clapped both hands to his eyes in helpless blindness. XlImo | had ejected a subtle powder from some contri- vance between her lips, which instantly de- | prived him of sight. ** Diable !” he shrieked. ‘‘My eyes! They | are out! Piece by piece she is killing me! 1 | am to die the death of a dog!” “Beware of the Voodoo in her den,” warned XIlmo, a second time. ‘And now, Victor Bra- | mont, backward you go--back! Into the pit, to await your visitor.” She advanced upon him, thumping him smart- ly about the head with her knotted stick, and | forcing him to retreat across the room. ‘*Ho!” whined her victim, unable, in his blindness, to offer any resistance, though be es- sayed tolay hold upon the rapidly-circling cane. ‘‘Ho! Iam to be tumbled into a pit. Leave off—sorceress! I shall one day pay back these lows—sucre, yes!” “Back! Back you go. Helen Varcla will see you soon. She wants the link—the link you broke eighteen years ago, in the chamber of death, beside the corpse of the wife of Dorlan | Ray. Back! Hah! now you go down—down— down!” While she drove him thus, beating, thumping and pounding him with the death’s head cane, | a portion of the wall behind him—obedient toa spring, which she touched with the toe of her sandal—yawned and disclosed a narrow closet, In the direction of this closet she pressed him, and with a sudden push forced him into it. No sooner had his weight alighted inside than the interior of the aperture shot downward with its human burden. ‘* Down you go, Victor Bramont!” screamed Ximo, over the edge of the black cavity. ‘“* Wait there until Helen Varcla comes.” ‘Helen Varcla is already here,” said the voice of Zabach, who at that moment entered between the curtains. ; = hurriedly closed the aperture in the wall, ‘* Hark!” added the African, raising one hand. The muffled drum-tap was heard in the wall. ‘Two women are at the door. One is Helen Varcla.” ‘*How could they pass Belial, my faithfal dog ?—he is ever hungry, and knows no one but Xlimo, his mistress, and Zabach, his master.” ‘I cannot answer. Hear: the signal.” The muffled tapping in the wall, this time a ple of taps, sounding like a message of impa- ence, Helen Varcla is in too much haste,” ex- claimed the Voodoo. ‘But if she be alive in the yard, with Belial, my faithful, why, then, you may admit her.” Zabach hastened through the curtained arch- way, the panel fo which had been moved enide, mo crossed to the boili t and remov it from its hook, pane “What can be the matter with my messen- gers?” she muttered, frowning thoughtfully. Franz Edouin should be here, too, by now. Then all cre et except one—the link. eventeen years seem long to wait for revenge. ihe hate of Helen Varcla never dies—” Quick in the impulse of f NaF ibe stout stick flourish ee EE ee ee ..... _ shiver, which he attributed to the possib sob rising at thought of the coming The French Spy. ‘Man in the hole! Man in the hole!” squeak- ed the parrot, ogling his witch of a mistress. ‘**Silence, Pluto!” she snapped. ‘* Ah!—foot- steps. , There must be several, judging by the noise,’ The Voodoo stepped forward and drew aside the curtains. Helen Varela entered, followed by her maid, Annette. Behind Annette came two men—the same who had ie hag re renee pet carrying a man who was helplessly gagged an based a the rear of all stalked Zabach. ‘* What is this?’ demanded Xlmo. “It is I—Helen Varcla. But for me, your emissaries would have assassinated the man whose life is valuable to me for certain pur- poses. I have brought Franz Edouin.” CHAPTER IV. THE ASSASSINS. It is necessary to speak of a scene which transpired prior to the opening chapters of this narrative. Evidently there was one person who was not subject to the rule of exclusiveness character- istie of the daily life of Dorlan Ray, the artist, and Osalind, his beautiful daughter; for, a few nights previous to the events mosady descri a certain scene of commingled happiness an sorrow was progressing within the house of M, Achefort, having much to do with incidents to be detailed hereafter. At the furthest extremity of the entryway or passage which held the rooms rented by the art- ist, a tall, narrow window or casement opened out upon a stone balcony barely of cient size to contain two persons, fixed like an eagle’s nest in its eyrie, and overlooking the high roofs of lower houses extending far away from the adjacent walls of a deep, dark, crooked court. tanding within the balustrade of this se- cluded perch were @ manand a maidev. His arms enfolded her in a fond embrace, and her head rested upon his shoulder with all the con- fidence of love. ; ‘*To be always with you, to dream that I am ever near you, dear Osalind,” said the man, in a voice that seemed to be striving to soothe, * is a cag am too perfect to remain unkroken. Even living in such a boon, I would fear that some sad occurrence might, at last, tear us asunder forever. That I must leave you does but highten my eagerness to be gone; for all the sooner may I return.” ‘* How can you try me thus, dear Franz, with unreasonable philosopbies?’ returned the girl, clinging tighter to his form, while he drew his mantls about her shoulders—for Osalind Ray as she reposed within the protecting caress o her lover, Franz Edouin, could not re xo a am of the night, though, in reality, the sudden aoa vulsion of the fair form was caused by a choked ion. ‘*Few men, dear Osalind, are bl by such alove as yours for me. See; this ring upon our finger. Its diamonds glow not more per- etual than my affection for you. Let me wear it till | return, to kiss upon and think of you.” She drew the ring of iamonds from her finger and held it toward him. A magnificent ring whose gems, even in the dull, uncertain pene which pervaded the airs of the stone balcony, sparkled and scintilla- ted like the tiny stars of heaven, polished by the electric ether of a winter’s eve. ‘* Dear Franz, I would not lose this ring for all the kingdom of my hopes. It once 5 oe os es to my sainted mother whom I never saw. W I feel despondent and weary with the s of a shadowed life, its glance has almost spoken words of comfort.” ‘And what has shadowed so rare and pre- cious a life as yours?” ‘That is for my father, some day, to tell you. The secret is not mine. But the ring, dear Franz: I invoke you, keep it safe.” ‘**Can you doubt my love?” ‘* No—never.” ‘Then by that love I promise, when you shall see this ring out of my possession, you will know that Franz Edouin is no more to you—” ** No more to me?” ‘‘Because I shall be dead—ah! I thought I heard a voice,” and stepping quickly to the ed of the balustrade, he peered searchingly into the depths of the court, or, as Franz Edouin made that vow not to part with the ring of diamonds, except in death, there had arisen from below a short-breathed, half hissed exclamation, the sound of which startled both lovers. Had not the baleony projected so abruptly at the front and sides, the keen Franz Edouin cast into the darkness would have discovered the window of the entryway directly beneath— which corresponded with that above, having likewise a stone balcony—and in this window, with one foot slightly advanced upon its bal- cony, stood a man who had been listening eager- y + catch the low-toned words of those over- ead. He was wrapped in a closk and wore a large slouch hat, both of these vege 4 concealin Lis shape and identity: but the rich boots and 5 planted in that attitude of deep attention, be trayed the presence of an officer of high rank. e had stood there like a specter for some time, but was not rewarded by his eavesdrop- ping until Franz Edouin, ina louder tone, de- c 4 ‘When you shall see this ring out of my pos- session, you will know that Franz Edouin is no more to you.” And immediately aiterward: ‘* Because I shall be dead.” Then broke from the lips of the listener that exclamation, the words of which were: then!” ‘** That voice,” said the lover, again folding Osalind to him, ‘‘sounded wonderfully and un- pleasantly near. It must have been some one passing in the court, who called to a companion; though I heard no footsteps. Let us return to your good father, dear Osalind. Il have, also, to bid him farewell.” ‘* Ah! how he loves you, Franz,” murmured Osalind, as they left the balcony and moved to- ward the front of the building. ‘* It shall be my life’s aim to prove myself worthy the love of two such lovable ones.” ‘“* And when will you return from: Versailles?” ‘That may be soon, dearest. My secret mis- sion for the Imperialists shall not keep me long from you, depend.” They reached the door of the artist’s studio, which was open. Glancing in, they saw Dorlan Ray busy by the light of numerous tapers, fin- ishing a rare picture that was to be deiivered on the morrow. Anon the father of Osalind paused at his task, heaving a long-drawn sigh; and once, when he rr he cup of a favorite flower with some é tening tinsel, to rene a fairy tossed dew- rop gleaming in the light, a tear trickled down his cheek and fell upon the pallet that trembled in his fingers. ‘It is like the waters of the son!],” he uttered, lowly and with emotion, shaking his erst steady hand. ‘They flow where life seems brightest, when budding bree is sorrowful, to cheer and invigorate. Oh! that the countless tcars I have shed for Osalind could revive her as even that artifical dew-drop perfects the beauty of that painted rose—” ‘** Father! a are weeping,” cried Osalind, running to his side. “Tush !”—endeavoring to displace her caress- ing arms, as if ashamed at being thus surprised in tears. ‘‘ There, Osalind—there. I krew not that you were near. I fear that you have de- tained z Edouin too long. Ah! such love has deterred many a brave man from duty. You were to leave Paris, Franz Edouin, with the first shade of night; now you are at least two hours tardy. Bid him adieu, Osalind; he must away.” “Dear omuedt oh, how to part with you!” ex- — the girl, rushing to the arms of her over. ‘““Nay, we must part. Duty first. dear one— then love. Farewell, Dorlan Ray.” leu! Franz Edouin, you must die, The two men fervently grasped hands, and their eyes met in a gaze that spoke of friendship strong and true. “Dear boy, farewell. May Heaven cuard you. One word; if, on your return, you find me not here, 1 charge you to protect my child, There is that upon my mind which I cannot ex- plain now, for your leisure is brief; but it speaks of serious trouble. Remember, if harm comes to either her or me, its cause is a man, and that man’s name is Victor Bramont.” “Victor Bramont—that hated name!” burst from Osalind, who drooped her lovely head and turned ao nt ‘*Victor Bramont,” repeated the lover, as if committing it safely to memory. ‘‘ Be sure I shall not forget it.’ ** Now farewell.” Another pressure of hands and lips, and Franz Edouin was gone. ** Victor Bramont,” he muttered, as he strode through the night, pulling bis hat over his eyes and drawing his cloak tighter abou: him. ‘I shall remember it—yes—never fear. What harm can threaten a dear one through him? Short, ind will my stay in Versailles. Why should I be sent there at all? So much for having become famous upon the detective force of Paris. Victor Bramont. True, as Osa- lind exclaimed: a ‘hated name!’ Harm or no harm, Victor Bramont, whoever he may be, is now my deadly enemy, because he is the cnemy of my bride and of the father of my bride. Vic- tor Bramont, bewsre—beware!” __ Scarce a moment after the exit of Franz Edouin from the house of M. Achefort, thedoor opened a second time, and the aeure that had played eavesdropper on the lower balcony step- forth to the pave. He placed asmal] whistle to ae and blew a low, clear note, which was repea twice—three , & Signal, which brought two men from the shadowy surround- ing, running on tiptoe, like prowling cats, whose muccular es and vitiated faces might remind one of two strong leopards with the treachery of wolves. ‘*Hassim! Migo!” called the first ng) he “Mark course is to Ver saijles, Felttet Guan or ah comicbooksec (@) tes 8 ee ee o~ ——— i «