Beadle's Dime Library No. 42 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

24 Beadle’s Vime Library. _— - ——< Then, with a sudden and powerful effort, he cast aside the lingering remnants of the spell, which had bound all his faculties in a leaden chain, and rose to a sitting posture on the bed. Again he looked around him, saw that he was in his own room, on his own bed; then he surveyed himself and saw that he was fully dressed as if for the street. ‘‘ Have I been mad during the night?” he cried, in won. der, ‘‘or is all this but a terrible dream? Let me recount what has happened. First, I went to the masquerade; saw there a woman @ressed in black and closely vailed; heard her voice as she passed me, and fancied that in her tones I heard again the voice of my long-lost Alice. Acting on a sudden impulse, I followed the woman, managed to gain speech with her, and after a few minutes’ conversation be- came satisfied that fate had at last in this strange way thrown into my path the girl whom I once loved as if she had been my own child. I asked her to let me see her face, knowing that that would at once confirm my suspicion or convince me that I had made a mistake. She consented on condition that I should leave the ball-room and go with her. I agreed to this at once. We set out in a carriage. The carriage stops and we enter a desolate-looking house. I tell ber the story of Alice Van Rensselaer, and explain that, I think that she is the child confided to my care. She de clares that she is not. Theu I drink a glass of wine at hei request; she removes her vail and I behold the face of Sarah Gordon, the woman whom I loved and lost long years ago; after that comes a blank. I can remember nothing more. And now I wake and find myself upon my own bed with the morning sun streaming in full apon me. I cannot un- derstand it. It all seems like a wrrible dream. I wonder what time it is?” The old man looked at his watch. It had stopped; the sands pointed to half-past six. ‘Tt must be later than that,” he muttered, rising to his feet and proceeding to the window. The crowded state of the street convinced him that the da, was no longer young. A tap at the door attracted his att_ntion. ** Come in,” he said. A servant entered, bearing a card, and with the message that the gentleman desired to see him at once upon import- ant business. ‘* James Bright.” The old gentleman thought for a mo- ment, but he could not remember that he had ever heard the name before. ‘‘Show him up, please.” : In a few moments Mr. James Bright entered the room. ‘* Mr. Hartright?” he said. “Yes, sir.” “My name is James Bright; I am a detective officer.” * A detective officer?” and the savant looked astonished. ‘Yes, sir; you passed through some rather peculiar ad- ventures last night, I believe.” The cool and confident tone used by the detective completely astonished the old gentleman. “Yes, sir; I confess I myself am really unable to state exactly what did happen to me last night.” “I can give you about all the particulars, I guess. You went to a masquerade ball last night, met a vailed woman there, went with her in a hack to a dance-house in Water street-—” ‘* A dance-house!” exclaimed Hartright, in wonder. ‘Exactly; the woman, though, was as ignorant as your- eelf regarding the character of the place. She was but a tool in the hands of another. There you drank a glass of wine, and from that time to this all is a blank to you.” ‘““The wine was drugged, then? I understand now the strange stupor which overcame my senses. I have traveled im India, sir, for nearly twenty years; have met the Thugs eee with their silken nooses of slaughter right in their native jungles; but they are harmless compared with the Thugs of this great city; at least my adventures last nigh would seem to say so,” Hartright said, seriously. ** And you were robbed last night.” ‘** Robbed!” The old gentleman felt of his watch, then placed his hand upon his pocket-book. *‘My watch and pocketbook are safe—” ** But you have some valuable papers, I believe.” The savant looked at the detective in utter amazement **How could you know that?” he asked. ‘‘My dear Mr. Hartright, it is our business to know » little of almost every thing,” the detective replicd, smiling. ‘* But are the pupers safe?” Hartright felt for the will in his breast-pocket, then for th. papers sewed up in the lining of his vest. “They are gone!’ he cried; ‘‘ my vest has been ripped open and the valuan.e papers relating to the birth of my lont Alice are stolen. Another paper has been taken from the breast-pocket of my overcoat.” ‘* Three papers gone?” “Yes.” ‘The marriage-certificate of Philip Van Rensselaer and Sarah Gordon, the record of baptism of the child of that union, Alice, and the will of Philip Van Rensselaer, wherein he bequeaths fifty thousand dollars to David and Clara, and fifty thousand dollars to Alice Gordon Van Rensselaer,” the detective said. ‘ How is it possible that you should know the contents of these papers?” asked the savant, in wonder. ‘“ Particu. larly the division of the property made by the will. Even I am a stranger to that, for it is still sealed up, just as I re ceived it from Philip Van Rensselaer.” | ‘‘Our secrets are our stock in trade, Mr. Hartright,” the detective said. ‘‘ No matter how I gained my information, rest assured that it is correct.” | ‘‘But who could have stolen these papers?” asked Hart right, bewildered. ‘‘ What person in this world has an interest in having al: proof of the birth of Alice Van Rensselaer destroyed?” Bright asked. “‘T can not guess.” “TJ can; I’m on the trail and I'll run the fux to earth be fore I get through,” the detective said, with an air of coo. determination. ‘‘ Mr. Hartright, I am acting entirely in the interest of the missing heir, Alice Van Rensselacr, in this matter. Will you be guided by my advice? You have al- ready been the victim of a trick to rob you of these papers. When the guilty party feels the meshes of Justire closing around him, he may become despetute and strikes at your life, for you are the one witness living who can prove the identity of the girl, Alice.” ‘* But have you trace of her?” the old man asked eagerly. ‘*No, not yet, but keen hounds are on the scent.” “Do you know who the vailed woman was whe decoyed me to the dance-house last night?” ** No, I do not.” ‘Find her out! She is Alice Van Rensselaer, J am sure of it, although she said that she was not.” “T}l discover the truth before I’m a day older,” tha de! tective said, confidently. ‘‘ And now, Mr. Hartright, I vant you to run away.” ‘Run away?” ‘Yes; go and hide yourself somewhere—in some small place near the city where I can get at you easily when I want you. You mustn’t give the gentleman I am fighting against a chance to steal your life as easily as he did the precious papers that you lost last night.” cCDOOKS Cor