Beadle's Dime Library No. 42 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

The California Detective. 11 **Now, then, you young feller, will you get out of the way, or do you want a first-class funeral?” The above speech, hurled indignantly at Bright by a coach- man, who had been compelled to rein up his horses suddenly to keep from running over the astonished man, recalled the detective to himself. * All right, Johnny; go ahead with your mule team,” the detective said, returning to the curbstone, and following in the footsteps of the woman who had so strangely attracted his attention, ‘“‘It’s either her or her ghost!” Bright muttered, as he walked onward. ‘*She’s changed a great deal, but it’s her face. I’d bet all my Young America No. 2 stock on it. Judging from her dress, the world has gone well with her. She looks gay as a pink, and ain’t she pretty?” The cool detective smiled as he put the question to him- self. The lady walked briskly onward, little thinking that her footsteps were so closely followed. “Tt would be funny if I should stumble on her just in this accidental way,” Bright muttered, communing with himself as ne followed up the chase. ‘“ Sleeping or waking, for three years that face has been constantly in my mind. In the dig- gings, every time I’ve seen the gold panning out from the cradle, I’ve also seen her face smiling at me from the muddy water. Well, now, to drop on her in this unexpected way is really what I call luck, and no mistake.” On went the lady; close behind followed the detective, un til at last she entered a store. After a few minutes she came out, with a little parcel in her hand, and proceeded to retrace her steps, going down Broadway. Still the detective fol- lowed. She turned into Twenty-third street, went down the street quite a little distance, and tripped up the steps of a modest little brick house. ‘“‘Run to earth, by jingo!” cried Bright, in glee. He had followed cautiously; dropping a little in the rear, so as to not excite the suspicion of the girl that she was watched. The door closed behind the lady, and the detective stood outside in the gloom, gazing up at the house. “Now, how the deuce am I going to find out what she is or who she is—whether she lives here or is only making a visit?” he queried, as he looked up at the house. ‘* Well impudence must carry me through here.” He ascended the steps and rung the bell. After a few moments the door opened, and a woman, ev’ dently the servant of the house, appeared. ‘** Miss Jones,” said the detective, blandly. The servant girl stared at the questioner; the confident tone in which he spoke puzzled her. ‘** An’ is it Miss Jones?” she asked, doubtfully. ** Yes, Miss Jones,” the detective repeated. ‘¢ An’ does she live here?” asked the girl, her voice betray- ing strong proof of south-of-Ireland birth. ‘“‘That is what I want to find out.” “Oh, I thought from the way ye axed, ye knew she lived here, an’ it was bothered I was, for no one of that name lives here at all,” the girl said, her miud evidently relieved. ‘But the young lady that went in just now, dressed in black, with a red sash—” ‘Shure, her same isn’t Jones!” ‘“No?” cried the detective, in apparent astonishment. “‘That’s Miss York, the stage actress—Miss Coralie York.” ** And does she live here?” ** Av coorse she does!” the girl replied. The detective had discovered what he wished to learn, “Well, now! I really thought it was Miss Jones, a very intimate friend of mine. I made a mistake. I’m very sorry to trouble you,” and the detective took his departure. “‘ Shure, he’s a rael gintleman,” the girl said, as she closed the door. CHAPTER VIII. THE MASQUSRADE. Just about an hour after the interview at the depot between the two detectives, the Western express rolled into the building. From one of the cars came a tall, stately old gentleman, with long iron-gray hair and a flowing beard of the same color. His face was bronzed almost to the color of an In- dian. In his hand he carried a small carpet-bag. As he stepped upon the platform, he looked inquiringly around him as if he expected to meet some one, Hardly had the old gentleman paused upon the platform, when from the little knot of people gathered at the nearest door, Van Rensselaer’s ally, Mr. Bishop, advanced. He came forward directly to the old man. ‘“‘ Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Hartright?” he asked, of the old gentleman. “That is my name, sir,” the stranger replied. ‘‘Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Bishop, Mr. Van Rensselaer deputed me to meet you at the train.” ‘* Mr. Van Rensselaer is not here, then?” ** No, sir; he has been called out of town on important business,” Bishop answered. ‘‘ He desired me to tell you that he was very much disappointed at not being able to meet you, but the business was urgent and required his per- sonal attention; in the mean time, until his return, he re- quested me to fill bis place and see that you were comfort- ably bestowed. Mr. Van Rensselaer also wished me to say that he deeply regretted he was unable to entertain you at his mansion, but hoped that you would accept his hospitality at any hotel which might seem fit to you.” *‘T am such a stranger in New York that really I do not know where I had better go,” the old gentleman said. ‘“‘ If you will permit me to arrange the matter—that is, if you have no particular preference—” ** None at all.” “TI would suggest the St. Nicholas.” **That will do.” ** Have you any baggage?” ‘* Nothing but this,” the old man replied. “Yam a true traveler, and do not believe in much luggage, although my traveling has been mostly done in the jungles of India.” “Tl call a coach.” Bishop did so, and the two were driven at ence to the hotel. The New Yorker attended to seeing the old gentleman be- stowed in a comfortable room, and then the two had supper. The repast over, the two adjourned to the reading-room, and drawing their chairs to the window, gazed out on brilliant, flashing Broadway. “ Half-past eight,” said Bishop, consulting his watch. “I suppose that you feel fatigued by your journey and will retire early?” ‘** Oh, no,” the old gentleman replied; ‘‘I am so used to travel and hardships that the trip from Buffalo has not tired me in the least.” e ‘“‘T was just going to suggest that, if you were not too much fatigued, we might visit the Academy of Music. There is a grand masquerade ball given there to-night; I was pre- sented with a couple of tickets this afternoon. It would serve to pass the evening away.” “That’s an excellent idea,” responded Hartright. “I think I should enjoy that. I haven’t been to a masquerade for years.” : “This is to be a magnificent affair, I believe. We can get there by half-past nine or ten easily enough.” Gomicbooks E(o)