Beadle's Dime Library No. 509 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

4 sure of the secret beforehand—even compelling the desperate man to commit it to writing.” ** Indeed?” ‘Wor a truth, my young friend. And I by no means despair of that secret, notwithstand- ing your clever bravado of burning it up be- fore | my eyes at the breakfast-table this morn- ing. Hayfield laughed. ‘*Even assuming all this to be true,” said be, ** what help would there be for you now?” **'You would not have destroyed such a scrap of writing, without having first committed it to memory. **That would stand to reason.” “Very well. Should my other sources of in- formation fail, you will sooner or later impart it to me,” **Oho! and why sbould I?” ‘* By reason of your conscientious words of a few moments ago: ‘{ want to be a good man’.” Mayfield elevated his handsome eyebrows, without making any reply. “You spoke of other sources of information,” he observed, after a pause. ‘* Besides yourself, there are two remaining, now that Jem Burkitt is no more.” ** And those two?” ** Are those who were his pals in the robbery. They are Manning Grayton, alias the Center- bit, a master-scoundrel, now under a life sen- tence, for a subsequent murder, in the New Jersey State Prison; and Tip Barker, alias Brummagem Bob, now in the hospital at Sing Sing Prison. I am about to visit the latter, aud Pg can be present, if you wish.” “Ob, PH accompany you, then,” Mayfield carelessly assented, ‘* However, I don’t place much hope in either of these convicts,” the detective went on. ‘‘ Brummagem Bob is, I understand, at death’s door, and would J abe be incapable of speech, even if so inclined. And Grayton, being a lifer, would have nothing to gain in giving the snap away; his only hope being to effect an escape at some time or other, and enjoy the buried plunder.” **T see, I see!” a little wearily, or at least un- concernedly. ‘** You haven’t asked me for the history of the robbery.” ‘Is it interesting?” ** You shall judge for yourself, A little over a twelvemonth ago, old Mr, Hopkins Mervyn was a prosperous and somewhat miserly broker and private banker in New York. One morning he went tohis bank to find bis mammoth so- called burglar-proof safe in ruins, and gutted of its cash contents, The burglars had selected their bp pcbeipeors with no less cleverness than they had executed their crime, By an unfortu- nate coincidence (unfortunate for the banker), the missing funds (over three hundred thousand dollars in gold and unidentifiable greenbacks) had constituted his entire capital, besides a few thousands belonging to a neighboring National Bank, which he bad intended to hand in on that morning. Not only wasold Mervyn ruined in his own person, but in debt for that side amount, beyond all likelihood of rehabilitation; for his health, never the best, gave way under the shock, and, moreover, as the robbers had left no trace- able clew, there were even those unkind enough to hint at his possible collusion with the crime, “* He took to his home and his bed, and, in a few short months, was a corpse in tke arms of his weeping daughter and sole heir-at-law—a beautiful and sensitive young lady, Miss Henri- ette Mervyn. ‘* Enough was allowed the young lady out of the sale of the house furniture to give her father’s remains a decent burial, the rest being retained by the bank corporation in whose debt he had died. ‘‘ After the funeral she mysteriously disap- peared practically penniless, leaving no trace. addition to her other misfortunes, she is known to have brooded over the unjust asper- sions of her father’s name. It is a common im- inane that she has long since made way with erself, under an assumed name and in some obscure locality, the victim of an insupportable despondency, amounting, perhaps, to mental aberration. *‘Such is, at all events, the earnestly pro- fessed impression and belief of the next heirs- at-law, in whose interest I am ostensibly en- gaged in tracking the stolen treasure. oy are two nephews of the deceased banker, Jaco and Josep ae eee not brothers, though fraternally hand-in-glove in their desire to pounce upon the buried cash, as may well be su ‘ rvey Mayfield had lost not a word, though pretending to be but cursorily interested in the ware 5 ** You use the word ‘ostensibly,’” said he, ne ‘* Exactly; for I do not share in the common ipeeetion that Henriette Mervyn is dead. In ity, though unbeknown to the nephews (a ae pair of profligate sbarks), { have con- stituted myself a committee of ond for the re- covery ef the stolen cash, in the interest of whomsoever it may rightfully belong to. And in the general hope, let me add, that the unfor- tunate heiress may turn up to enjoy the fortune when unearthed.” ‘* Rather disinterested and unselfish on your part,” with a tinge of irony. ** Thope so,” was the quiet rejoinder. ‘* Though a mere detective, I generally get in my best work when my conscience and feelings are more or less interested therein, as in the present case, “Sir, this is greatly to your credit,” com- mented May4eld, in another tone. ‘‘Of course this whole matter is nothing whatever to me.” “ Ah } > ‘** But there is one thing in your story that I confess to be puzzled at. ‘Let me have it, Mr. Mayfield.” ‘*'You say there was never any clew to the identity of the burglars, any more than to their disposition of the plunder?” ‘* Never any clew that has been made public— certainly.” ‘“‘And yet you seem to be certain that the slain convict, Jem Burkitt, and his two pals, whose names you have mentioned, were the criminals,” ; The detective smiled, while those wild, falcon eyes of his again fastened upon the young man with piercing scrutiny. “True; a recent discovery of mine,” he ad- mitted. ‘‘ A discovery known to but one other besides myself.” ‘* What other?’ ‘*To yourself, Harvey Mayfield.” Mayfiel laughed, half-angrily. ” persist in that absurdity , if you must z “But I have your own way!” he exclaimed, hope you will excuse me from consideration of the ridiculous theme,” “As you please, young man. are at the prison at last.” By application at the office, Mayfield received back his father’s saber without much difficulty, after promising to be present at the inquest over the dead convict on the following day. He then accompanied the detective, on a per- mit obtained from the warden by the latter, to the hospital ward where Brummagem Bob was lying, though advised beforehand that the man was too near the point of death to be depended on for any communication of importance. That was found to be the truth, at least to all appearances, But, here we CHAPTER V. THE 1ELL-TALE BLOTTER, HELPLESS on his rude hospital couch, attended wd a physician and a sweet-faced Sister of arity, was Tip Barker, alias Brummagem sig sunken-eyed, frightfully | to all appearances, near hi gasp. ‘*We thought he was shamming at first,” said the medical attendant in a low voice to the visitors. ‘‘But we are almost satisfied by this ae, that the poor fellow has really received his ca ** Almost!” echoed Mayfield under bis breath. ‘Can there be any question of it in such a case?” The physician smiled, and then coughed be- hind his hand. “You'd be surprised to know how some of them can sham,” he murmured. ‘* However, I fancy Brummagem Bob is past that now.” ‘**] should say so.” The invalid, whose vicions brutality of physi- ognomy was still apparent through the rav of disease, bad viawed the visitors listlessly with half-closed eyes. feverishly. “What if the Centerbit ain’t no longer with us, Jem?” he muttered wanderingly, ‘* W emaciated, and, But the latter now lighted up e’re allright. Quick; one blow more with the pick. Then the pot is ours, and we'll soon put leagues of blue water betwixt us and the sleuth-hounds, Avast there, messmate! Lay me by the heels while I bang through the cistern-hatcb.” ‘*Ah, perhaps he was once a sailor,” com- mented the doctor. ‘ But the ead can’t be far off now?” But Mayfield’s interest had deepened, while the detective had instinctively drawn a step nearer the couch, at the hidden significance of the wandering words. The latter had abruptly ceased, however, the delirium slowly fading out of the sunken eves, ‘‘ Tsay, friend!” exclaimed the detective, bend- ing over the couch; ‘“‘ wouldn’t you do one good act and make a restitution before you die? It is of the buried plunder I[ speak. Do you under- stand me?” The moribund smiled contemptuously in as- sent. But, before Old Falcon could continue, there came into the apartment from a distance, and muffled by intervening walls, the harsh sounds of furious oaths and torrents of defiant blasphemy, followed by agonized yells—perbaps from some luckless prisoner undergoing disci- pline in the punishment cells. The dying man partly raised himself, and he the hand of the Sister of Charity, who was kneeling now at his side. “‘] reckon I’m slipping my cable now,” he pescet. ‘* How delicious the singing of those at this solemn hour!” ** Ah, poor soul! you hear birds?’ the gcod woman murmured, Old Falcon, the Thunderbolt Detective. ‘*So do you, don’t you?” ‘* But what birds?” ** The jail-birds.” And, with the perpetration of this ghastly jest, he fell back fainting, a damp sweat start- ing on his forehead. ‘In five minutes he will have ceased to breathe,” said the medical attendant, in a busi- ness-like way. ‘*Gentlemen, you had better withdraw,” The visitors did so, the detective with evident disappointment, his companion with a sense of relief that he was careful to disguise. Outside the prison gates, Old Falcon held out his hand. “What! you won’t walk back with me for luncheon?” exclaimed Mayfield, agreeably sur- prised. **'No; the next train for the city carries moe with it, and I have scant time in which to reach the station. But, do not be down-hearted, young man,” with good-humored irony. ‘‘We are destined to meet more than once again. Good-by till then!” They shook bands, and Old Falcon burried away. Mayfield finished his bomeward walk just in + time for the luncheon bell. After a hasty toilette, he seated himself at table with the rest. But, in spite of his ten- mile walk, be had little appetite for the meal, while the favoving glances of both his landlady and the fair new-comer—to say nothing of others, for the ladies had this repast almost ex- clusively te themselves, and his superlative good-looks rendered few if any indifferent to bis resence—wefe alike thrown away on him; so anxious was be to return to his room, for the urpose of making a transcript from) memory of the convict’s scrawl, which be bad so capricious- ly destroyed at the breakfast table. It was over at last, however, and he hurried back to bis apartment, with that one idea in his mind, and the directions of the burned writing racing confusedly through his head. But no sooner did he plant himself at his writing-table, after locking the door, than he started back in consternation, the freshly grasp- ed pen almost falling from between his fingers. There before bim, on a fresh sheet of white blotting-paper, was a reproduction of tbe preci- ous scrawl, where the desperate writer had gga it, wet ink-face down, with his brawny st, after concluding the unwelcome task, Mayfield’s head began to swim, and he was in a cold sweat, Now for the first time he recalled the blottin process on the part of the convict; and simul- taneously he remembered that the eagle-eyed detective had sat in that very spect, and doubt- less mastered at a glance the blotter’s betrayal; which would easily account for his philosophi- cal composure during the immolation over the brandy-flame of the — noir, For the moment, Mayfield turned sick at heart. The vision of the buried treasure had taken a mastering hold on his imagination. He had almost come to believe his poverty virtually atan end, untold wealth all but in bis grasp, the golden secret as practically bis sole posses- sion. But now! But hold! Was itso bad asthis? He seized the telltale blotter, poring over the ink-marks with the minutest scrutiny. Then he drewa a breath, and burst into a relieving laugh. e reproduction was incomplete, the be- trayal so imperfect as to leave ample room for doubt as to its being of any benefit to even such an expert as Falcon himself, should he have, indeed, succeeded in impressing the dis- connected words on his memory. Mayfield seized or and paper, and carefully reproduced, from his own recollection, the con- vict’s directions, to the following effect: “Two miles § of Yonkers, well back from river road, a deserted, tumble-down *country - house, avoided by every one as being haunted, in mid- die of old garden and orchard long since over- —_ out of recognition and decency. Three cel- ars under house. In smaller one, to N, a covered-up cistern. Dig to iron plate. Under down. an opening in cistern_ wall, cash boxes, crammed to the lids. | late, two feet n there the tin ‘ Jem Burxirr,”’ This reproduction embodied the language of the destroyed writing, without its misspelling and uncouthness. Com g this with the blotter’s revelation, Mayfield was gratified to find only this much reproduced with any degree of legibleness by the latter: Try as he might, Mayfield could make no more legibili than is embodied in the foregoing. ‘*A false scare!” he muttered, rubbin hands together. ‘‘ The deuce!” Even the lynx- out of the blotter’s impression bis we GComicbooks Var ANS ieee = te > (ake