Beadle's Dime Library No. 386 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

if y | a See os i i ee re rere = + eaten — > 22 He called aloud upon the young AEfepatlod alitorod tle skdok bratieweliatna cise: ane’ thie wet name, but there was no answer. He hastily explored every apartment above the basement floor, All were bare, as on the former occasion, ex- cept the one room out of which ** Blithers * had appeared, and which he had been forbidden to enter. This room he now entered. It was richly furnished, but all the furniture , was in the utmost confusion, as though having ’ been searched or rifled by some one who taken himself off in frantic haste. Hawk did not s Ay to investigate. Full of a strange foreboding, he hurried to the ‘basement and knocked on Clarisse’s door. No answer. He pounded, but with no better result. Then he broke down the door, groped his way through the interior, threw open a sash, and flung wide a shutter for the admission of light. His premonitions had not been for nae The room was suggestive of a recent and hor- rible crime. Chairs were overturned, the drawers of the of the ted a pulled out, their contents scatter- ed, the disordered, ornaments smashed. A knife, ruddily stained, lay in the middle of the floor. Red blotches and gouts were upon the walls, and tresses of long, beautiful hair, as though torn out by the roots in a struggle for life with a merciless assailant, were scattered about the room. Hawk staggered into a seat, horrified beyond measure. sa God!” he gasped; ‘‘Clarisse has been murdered, and by that fiend, Kotzka! I see it all. Infuriated by her love for me, or her pro- tection of Olga, perhaps her growing luke- warmness in his accursed political projects, he ae be ieee made way with her!” nging to his feet, he lighted a lamp and follow the trail of the’ sanguinary traces. This led him out into the basement-hall, down the last flight of steps into the sub-cellar. aie his worst fears appeared to be con- Ta th the middle of the cellar a long trench—long enough for a newly-made grave—had recently been filled in and stamped down! He leaned against the damp wall and contem- plated this awfully-suggestive spot with inde- Zartbablle feelings of horror and dismay, Then he started, and listened He had heard’ the street-door opened vio- lently. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps tram- pling ae the main hall and descending the CHAPTER XXIII. A BURIED SECRET DISENTOMBED. APPALLED as he was at the thought of Clar- isse’s violent death at Kotzka’s hands, our hero was for the moment incapable of action or even intelligent deliberation. Nearer and rset lower and lower, Wirotich- ed the trampling f At last they <a the cellar ste face—the face of Kotzka, agrin with semi-das and joy— at him through the semi-darkness., **Ha, ha, ha!” roared the terrible, never-to- be-forgotten laugh. ‘‘ What! are we bereaved? are we mourning for our beautiful Clarisse? Dig, st my falcon, if you would find her, and atrest! Falcons are given tosoar- ing, Pec that I know, butnow there must be delving if the false, fair dove is to be seen and fondled yet once more! Ha, ha, ha!” The hateful voice roused our hero to his wont- ed energy and dauntlessness. Extingishing his lamp, and casting it side and a iabolical he drew his revolver, and dashed at Kot: who at once took to flicht. ‘“‘Murderer! unparalleled monster!” shouted Hawk, springing up the ste firing shot after shot at the “*do you bear a charmed deed, bullet-proof?” It seemed very like it, at all events. Heedless of the shots that were pearances, directly into his in pursuit, a huge fugitive; life? Are you, in- ured, to all road back, | Botzka t bounded upstair after stair with sur- prising agility. t with a parting roar of demoniac laughter, he disappeared into one upper furnish- aporapent, closing and fastening the door be- ind him But Hawk was now at the fever-heat that mocks at obstacles. Pausing but a moment to c his six- shooter with fresh cartridges, he hurled himself against the door like an avalanche. Stout as it was, it gave way like paper be- fore the fury of his onset. Then he came to an exasperated pause in the ence of be room. oat otzka ain red! But where? how! ei er windows were closed and fastened on the inside The only remaining door opened into a shal- low closet, which was empty. The sole remaining aperture was the fire- place, and the slenderest boy could not have crept up its narrow, rubbish-choked flue. awk sounded the walls after the manner of an expert, but without detecting the slightest indication of a secret door or panel. Wholly at a loss to account for the disappear- ance, he at last reluctantly retraced his steps. Obtaining another light in the basement chamber of horror, he returned to the sub-cellar, whose environments were even more appalling. Partly resolved to open the grave, if grave it were, he searched the cellar for some implement to assist him, but without finding any ‘“*The murderous fiend!” he cited **he seems to have forgotten no precaution.” Hawk was, however, none the less certain that Clarisse had’ been murdered and buried in that Por the first time, though but for a Mee he permitted himself to indulge his rief as had been the growth of his Saat, he had come to love the strange und beautiful Clarisse with a great and absorbing love. Only a short time before, she had seemed to reciprocate that love, and dreams of a rosy fu- ture had peopled his peril-hardened, danger- tried, but a susceptible heart. And now! Dead, ruthlessly murdered—perhaps losing her life through the very love for him which he had evoked—cut off in her glorious womanhood, her transcendent beauty! It was indescribably terrible! A well-remembered sound aroused him out of his horror-woven spell. It was a sad sound, a sound between a sigh and a groan, accompanied by the clanking of a chain. Ha! the invisible prisoner at the mouth of the tunnel! Was the solution of this mystery already in his grasp, after g him so long and repeat- ws he would investigate it at once, and the work might in some measure distract him from the thought of his murdered love, Proceeding to the mouth of the tunnel, he carefully scrutinized a portion of the masonry, sudo y the sounds which continned at inter- At length he found a round iron button, im- bedded in the masonry near the ground, He pressed it with his thumb. tly a narrow door, in cunning imitation of the stone-work framing it, swung slowly open in obedience to a secret spring. It disclosed a short, cramped passage, with a door, partly ajar, at the further end, from which rays of ig A were issuing, as well as the sounds e had heard. After studying the nature of the secret spring- lock with a practiced eye, Hawk entered the passage, closing the door behind him. He then crept along noiselessly, and peered through the half-open door. What he saw riveted him to the ground for a moment with intense astonishment. As he con- tinued to look, this He hae gave way to one of recognition, in which there was also joy, hope and a world of pity. This is what he saw: First, the interior of a large, well-furnished, well-warmed prison cell, with even a brisk little ate-fire kling in one corner, and lighted an iron bracket-lamp, but with no window, loophole or other opening than the door of en- trance. Next, an old man seated listlessly at a table. His hair and beard were white as snow, the lat- ter falling far down upon his breast. He was comfortably clad, and ap hall well cared for but his eyes indicated imbeci lity, perhaps a total loss of memory, and even consciousness of his surroundin trong, but not heavy, chains shackled his wrists and ankles, His frequent movement of those members caused the cl g sounds, and he often sighed mournfully. Hawk drew a long breath, and his eyes glis- tened in a way that he would not have had noti Then, setting down his lamp, he glided into the cell, and placed his han on the captive’s oulder. The latter looked up ore tneeielys and mut- tered something in a foreign tongu or French!” said Hawk, in his atau incisive tones. ‘‘ Eh? what?” muttered the old man, survey- ing him with indifference. ‘‘ Who are you? What do you want? I want Clarisse!” “aie A spasm of pain shot over the detective’s stern The old man had uttered the name tenderly— ng like a little child pining for its accus- tome Alas!” ” thought Hawk, ‘‘ the poor old captive is to be envied in this, that he will hardly ap- preciate her death.” Then he bent his lips, and whispered a pa prisoner’s own name, or one that ‘he had ce possessed, cars 1 Who speaks?” he cried, suddenly start- ing up as if yn ure RD call of an almost ‘Who calls me by the old Come, stir up the embers faded intelli strong title? “*T, Hawk ent Hawk Heron, the Falcon 22 _——sS&Wawk Heron, the Falcon Detective. of roe memory, my friend! Do you not recall me But the momentary luster faded out of the plaintive gaze fixed ni him, and the prisoner ert te into his apat. xo!” said he, vettishly: “the man you speak of is dead—long dead—his name a lost echo! I want Clarisse!” The detective made more efforts to awaken the dormant faculties, but with no better suc- cess. At last he hissed into the old man’s ear: ‘“Clarisse can come to you no more! But would not another answer in her place—Kotzka, for instance?” The effect of that name was magical. Fire leaped into the dim eyes, the sunken breast heaved tumultuously, mingled rage and fear distorted the aged face. ** Kotzka!” the old man almost screamed. ““No, no; not him! The traitor, the renegade, the fiend!” ‘** Ha! renegade, traitor? Could we but prove as much!” **Not him, not him! I would kill him—I would tear him to pieces—or he should kill me!” The utterance was more feeble now, but the eyes still blazed, and the shriveled fingers were working convulsi vely. ** Now try to recail gy features,” said Hawk, impressively. ‘Seize this awakening of your smoldering faculties ere it fades again! Study me well!” The prisoner obeyed. <A troubled look came into his face, he placed his hand to his forehead, but that was all. The detective fixed his soul-burning, pene- trating gaze into those aged and troubled eyes. Then, slowly baring breast, he presented to their view the emblem ineffaceably elineated there—the proud falcon striking down his vul- ture enemy in mid-air. ** Look, call up the past, remember!” he ex- claimed, in his Peake. whisper, “*Do you not recall me now The test was successful. The troubled, clouded look slowly faded, giv- ing way toa startled, » fo yous expression. hen, struggling to his feet, the old prisoner threw his arms around the detective’s neck and burst into a flood of tears. ** The Moo gives up its dead!” he sobbed. ‘* Hawk Heron! my son, my son, the child of my adoption!” Before the prisoner relapsed into his imbecility, which was not very long, many revelations passed between him and the detective. The departure of the latter was scarcely noticed, but Hawk promised himself that the old | captive should henceforth be his special care. ‘ Clarisse, my murdered love,” he murmured, “‘thy gentle ministrations to this old man must henceforth be my task.” CHAPTER XXIV. THE WEB YET WEAVING. RETURNING to the horror-haunted cellar, the ere was seized with a fresh fit of indeci- zo had the ea = tools been at hand, he could not have thought again of opening that new-made grave, if grave it were, What then should he do? Notify the police? No, not that! He still had a feebly glimmering hope that Clarisse might not have been really murdered, after all; that these sanguinary traces had er been cunningly contrived to deceive Besides, he clung stubbornly to his original vaunt of clearing up this tissue of mysteries and horrors singly, or at least without an iota of aid from his pro essional brethren. He would stand or fall alone. After coming to this determination, he lost no more time in quitting the accursed house. Having found the street-door key on the inside, he made the entrance fast and put the key in his pocket. It was about eight o’clock. He was sauntering past the adjoining stop when a female figure, whose face was muffled almost out of sight, passed up the steps and be- gan fitting a key to the door. - “Oho! Mynheer Schmidt’s odd landlady,” thought Hawk, i aig a place of conceal- ment. ‘ Let us wait a bit.” Before the old woman could effect an entrance, a Schmidt himself came along, and ascended e ; — could readily hear what passed between “ Ah, Madame Dupont, is it you?” said the ola German, genially. “ And may | assist madame in fitting the key?” The woman mumbled an unintelligible answer and then the lock yielded. ‘‘T hope monsieur likes his apartments,” the old woman then said, while both remained ee on the top step. “Tf anything more be abe me for monsieur’s comfort, monsieur en Had to speak.” The accent was a strongly foreign one, and the voice a deep guttural. Mr. Schmidt rubbed his hands, His new Gomichboo S