Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 437 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

—_——— — en ———————eee ee ——eE Pe] ~ z Se ee ee ad a = - to . . - . enn . ae . -_ ~ -— ~~ \ its balance. —————— oe ——_ ‘Some things are better left unsaid, Claudia,” as the somber reply, “Tam your wife.” “ Ay, and by that tio you have a right to hear what [ would almost rather die than say.” His husky voice and pallid face startled the irl, He had the appearance of one suffering eenly, and, beset with fears, the more terrible because they were vague, she grew weak and dropped into a chair. - Both had been standing; she now motioned him to a seat with a trembling hand, “‘T presume,” sbe said, faintly, ‘‘ that it is better [ should know all.” **[T believe in my heart "tis better you should not know. Isit, orisitnot? That is the ques- tion I have debated until my head has grown light, and my reason almost been thrown from Is it best, or isit not?” He seemed to have forgotten her presence, and muttered the words looking gloomily at va- cancy. ‘1 am your wife,” she repeated. ** Yes, and I havo told myself you had a right to know, terrible though it is. There was an- other reason—one which, I confess, influenced me more thanany other. I thought that you would despiso me, and that drove me almost mad. I decided to come, and then, if you said 80, to tell all.” ** Ralph, this suspense is terrible. Speak!” r: Will you despise me, afterward?” **T am sure I shall not.” “Perhaps you will drive me away—refuse ever to see me again,” ** Ralpb,” she cried, sharply, ‘‘ delay no longer. _ Speak at once, for [ shall go mad if you do not, I fear—the worst !” “You cannot fear as much as you will ” x Speak ’ She had never been paler, and her hand was ressed over her heart convulsively. She did see the worst—she remembered the letters she had found in the cabinet—and a terror had fallen upon her which seemed too great to be borne, ‘**’'You shall hear all,” Ralph gloomily replied, “and in the end, if you blame me for telling, remember that I speak only because you are my wife, and—forgive me if you can! Claudia, you remember that Professor Woodside sent me to my mother for the story of my father’s life?” +s Yes. ” 7] learned it from her. She told me that the world said that Temple Hathaway died a de- faulter and a suicide; but she also said this was not true.” **'What did she tell you?” i ** Thas my father was—murdered py “By whom?” Claudia gasped rather than spoke the words, { ** Dare I say?’ ** Tell me all /” | ‘“‘There was no witness to the deed, but m mother says the assassin was—your father !” The terrible secret was out and a few moments of silence followed. Ralph had not seen Claudia even start, but there had been a deep, quick res- cease liko a Basp and he knew how the blow ad gone home, to expected her to faint—to cry out—to do something even more startling, but there she sat like a marble statue, Ralph Hathaway felt that he had better have died before that hour—before Claudia ever saw him—but the Rubicon had been passed; the secret was told. ‘*Claudia,” he said, hoursely, after a pause, ‘lo not curse me for my words, and remember there was no witness; remember there is one hope. My mother may have been mistaken.” Claudia did not answer. She remembered the letters found in the old cabinet, and the sugges- tions contained in then. She remembered and shivered, ‘‘ Have I done wrong, Claudia?” Ralph hum- bly asked, ‘You have done right to tell me all,” she re- /plied, ‘At least, yo have cleared } Neeodag as was your duty, and I had aright to know. Tell me all!” He told the story as he had heard it from his mother, and then added: ‘* Remember that there may have been a mis- take. My mother relied on those dying words of my father, and he practically recalled them in his last moments, There may have been a mis- take. Claudia looked at him far more calmly than he dared hope. The heroic part of her nature was asserting itself, and though her heart seem- ed to lie like lead in her bosom, her se]f-control was remarkable. ‘* There must have been a mistake,” she said, firmly. ‘** My father is not the man to harm any one. ‘**Can’t we prove this?” he eagerly asked, ‘We can, at least, try.” ‘*Claudia, do you blame me for telling you this?” ‘*Blame you? No; you have done perfectly right. It was your duty.” “And can you forgive my weak, unnatural, brutal treatment of you in the last few days?” ‘*Do not uso such terms, Ralph. You were sorely beset, as I now see, and in this great emergency we must be nearer to each other than ever before. I can no longer blame you; donot | blame yourself,” ‘* You are as noble as ever.” He bent over her, and a kiss was gravely ex- changed. Both hearts were too full for utter- ance, and for several moments neither spoke. It was Claudia who spoke first. ‘Ralph, we must be patient, and I trust that time will sweep the clouds away. At present I do not see that we can do anything but wait patiently, as I said before,” It was not a satisfactory way to leave the matter, but Ralph could not think of a better one. To him it seemed almostan impossibility to clear up a mystery buried under twenty years of time, but something might transpire to help them. As for Claudia, she wanted time to think before any decisive step was taken, When Ralph finally took bis departure the part- ing was gravely tender, Claudia watched bim to the street; then she ran up-stairs to her own room, and took from their hiding-place the package of letters she had found in the cabinet. She turned to the last and read it carefully. It did not serve to reassure her, Written by Temple Hathaway to Professor Woodside, there was the charge in the dead man’s hand-writing that Woodside’s business scheme had been dis- honest, and the intimation that the latter had threatened him was now startlingly suggestive. ff we Be had seen that letter he would have regarded the worst as practically proven—he could not have believed otherwise. ‘* But I will not believe!” declared Claudia. ‘*T will not believe anything against my father, who is so noble and good. And yet—yet—these dreadful papers!” She shivered and sat a long time in deep thought, She had come to her room with the fixed intention of destroying these letters, but it seemed now that she would do an injustice to Ralph by so doing. His father’s name was under a dark cloud, and if these letters were made public his reputation could be cleared, But at what a cost! Her father’s honor— perhaps, his life! She had now to choose between two evils. If the papers were destroyed the act might sweep away the last hope of clearing Temple Hatha- way’s reputation, and Ralph would go on to the end of his life, brooding over the disgrace as only one of his sensitive nature could, On the other hand, to make the papers public would be toruin the father she had loved and respected, and regarded as the noblest of men. This shall never be!” she thought. ‘Come what may, my father must be protected. Even if I destroy my own hopes by the act, this terri- ble proof shall be swept away!” She moved to the fire and threw the letters into the grate. The flames seized upon them greedily, and ina brief space of time they had shriveled and grown brown—the writing faded they sbrunk, and writhed, and fell away to ashes, ‘*Tt is done!” whispered Claudia. ‘‘ For good or evil, I have put one terrible piece of evidence beyond the power of resurrection !” CHAPTER XXX. THE DETECTIVES EXPERIMENT, THAT evening Duke Dorgan walked into the station-house and accosted the captain of the precinct. ‘“ How is my friend Brown,” he asked. ‘**Sulky as ever,” the captain answered. ‘‘ Do you know, Dorgan, I don’t believe you will get that fellow to confess?” ‘* Why not?” ‘* First, because he bas a good deal of back- bone. Secondly, because he knows he can get only a light punishment for decoying you, while if he confesses, he may jump from the frying- pan into the fire, “Just my idea. I’ve been afraid of it all along. Well, my second prisoner—he of the cab —what of him?” ‘* A second edition of Brown.” ** Exactly! Well, I have a plan.” ‘* Name it.” ‘*T am going to visit the second man and try for a confession. I shall probably fail. If I do, I want to try an experiment.” ** What is it?” ‘*T want Brown released.” ‘“*T think I see.” ‘* Once released, he will have to go sounewhere. Well, wherever he goes, I shall go, too, and I hope to run him to his hole and get a clew to the mystery. I shall disguise myself and dog him wherever he goes,” ‘* That’s all right, but let me give you a hint, Go well armed and look out for yourself. He may lead you into some den of cut-throats, and when the roll is called to-morrow your spirit may pop up and answer to your name—‘ Dead!’ ” Despite his mode of expression the captain’s manner was very serious, and it was plain that he meant all he said. he was a desperate man, and, by following him, Deep Duke, the Silent Sleuth. ede | as obstinate as ever, He visited his second prisoner, but found hina Not an explanation wouid he make, Then Dorgan disguised himself xs en old man, putting on ragged clothes and a white wig and false beard, and was ready for the next act in the drama, He then took his stand outside the station- house, and waited for Brown to appear. The captain of the precinct went to the cel] and informed that person that, 9s the detective had failed to make any formal charge, they bavi decided to release him rather than board hiv: for nothing any longer. He was free to go whenever he saw fit. Brown saw fit to go at once, and was soon om the sidewalk. He paused there and seemed to hesitate, looked back to where he had last seen the captain, but seeing no one there, turned end walked down the street, For several blocks he seemed fearful that he would be followed, for he frequently locked around, but he saw no one whom he was inclined to suspect. There were a good many other per- sons on the street, and be paid no attention to the white-bearded old man who was moving slowly along on the other sidewalk. Nevertheless, Brown did not seem at his ease, _ and for some time his progress was slow and un- | certain. Either he feared being dogged, or he was undecided where to go. is movements, | Slow as they were, eventually took him to the: vicinity of the ferry, and when within fifty yards of it his manner suddenly changed. Striking out briskly he walked to the ferry- house, paid his toll and passed inside. The boat was just on the point of starting tor Christopher street, New York, and he hurried on board and. sat down in the men’s cabin. An old man with a white beard had come: aboard just after him. This man waited until the boat swung out of the slip, and then entered the ladies’ cabin. When the New York side was reached Brown took a Fourteenth street car and resumed his. journey. The old man went to the expense of a cab, and gave the driver minute directions. The result was that the cab followed a block be- hind the car until Union Square was reached. At University Place the old man dismissed his vehicle and walked briskly to the east. He was at hand when the car reached the end of its route, a few rods beyond. Brown alighted, but at once took a Fourth avenue car and started south. The old man boarded the following car, which was close be- hind the first. In this way both rode to the Bowery, but after going a few blocks further, Brown alighted and passed into a street to the left. _ The old man, otherwise Duke Dorgan, did the same, ha v4 The detective was convinced that he should soon run his game down. Brown was seeking a quarter of the metropolis where people of his: grade were likely to be found, and there, too, might be the man, or men, who had set him upon Dorgan’s track before. Not far from the Bowery did the pur- sued go. He paused before a corner saloon, but did not enter it. Above the saloon were living rooms, which a dingy sign announced to be a “‘hotel,” and after a cautious glance around he entered there. ‘“ Very good!” thought the detective. ‘J have him in his den, and, in good truth, it looks like a den. Fit resort for all kinds of cut- throats, I should say. Well, I'm going in, just the same. The sign says it’s a hotel, and I want to be accommodated.” He allowed two or three minutes to pass, and then walked boldly to the door and opened it. A stairway was visible beyond. He as-~ cended. What he found above confirmed all bis sus- picions. It was a narrow, poorly lighted, ill-ap- pearing place, and it was plain that though it i me to be a hotel, if was a mere “dive.” This did not trouble Dorgan, and, as no one ap- ared to challenge him, he prepared to find rown. Voices were to be heard in various directions, but where was his man? At first he could see but little in the dark hell, but he gradually became accustomed to the semi-darkness, and had just discovered that one ~ door near him was marked ‘‘ Office!” when the knob was rattled on the other side. Dorgan om quickly back, and a man came out. lt was Brown himself. “Tl go up to the room,” he said, to seme one he was leaving, and then closed the door end ascended another flight of stairs. ; The detective did not propose to lose sight of him again, and he followed as closely as |e dared, Thus he soon saw Brown enter another room, and evidently, without himself hein«, seen, The chase was narrowing down, and the next thing was to discover who was in the room. At least two voices were to be heard, A second door was to be seen near the first. If he read Brown rightly | and Duke determined to investigate at all hazards. He-opened it cautiously. Darkness Dorgan might walk into the midst of some of | and silence were beyond, as far as the immediate the worst criminals of New York, ‘Thanks for the warning,” Duke replied, vicinity was concerned, and he soon saw that: the room was little more than a closet, but the “but Ul take the risk. I need some little | voices from the next room were very distinct skirmish to warm up ny blood,” | and he felt that he bad made a lucky hit, ' mnie Noo co ~ .