Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 574 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

—~— we + me eo = we See As i4 ‘ a Old Falcon’s Double. / introduced to my busband and my Cousin | Hugh.” ne ct i ne eS oN. —— = te * _— é a to have a predilection for Cockneys, te which class she imagines him to belong—that she keeps him in more or less constant attendance upon rine made a rather r attempt to cast down her bright eyes and take the congratulation Ae ~ ye net _e in the Grande Hotel, an all . = + —_ » o -~ aw ~ a _ her _ being on the scene, while Colonel Sherwood re- mained in the general ignorance upon the sub- ject that had been his privilege from the outset. ‘* Willingly—on yet another condition.” ‘* Name it, sir.” “That I shall also be introduced to Mrs. Charles Howland in her proper person.” ‘* With all my heart!” she cried, gayly, giving him her band as he extended his; and they ac- cordingly quitted the Louvre together, the best of friends. No mistake had been made as to the sensation which they really did cause among the habitues of the famous cafe, but of that we shall not fur- ther speak. Suffice it to say that the real detective sub- sequently accompanied his Double to her home, where he was made known to both Howland and Spender, with such amazement on their art as can be left to the reader’s imagination, and where, after a brief delay, he made the true acquaintance of the beautiful and daring woman who had duplicated bis personality, for the most part so successfully. ‘Well, Monsieur Falconbridge,” she said, with her dazzling smile, ‘‘is it patent to you mow how I managed to ‘ get there’ in counter- feiting you, as some of our own Westerners might say?” he was splendidly dressed, though in the most perfect taste, though she had been without aid in her toilette, as a matter of course—or, in fewer words, she was her bright, lovely, fas- cinating and darkly beautiful self. ‘* No, it is not,” the great detective frankly admitted, after contemplating her for a mo- ‘ment in complete silence. ‘‘ Mr. Howland,” turning to the two gentlemen, ‘‘ you are to be congratulated more than any man I know of. You have for a wife, not only a heroine, but the cleverest and ablest woman I ever saw, As for the lady’s personal advantages,” with a courtly bow for the young wife, ‘‘ they speak for themselves,” ** You do me proud,” cried Eleanor, with her clear laugh. ‘‘ Confess, though, Major falcon- bridge, that if it was a man who had thus been counterfeiting you—” ‘* 1 would have sued him for big damages on the spot!” was the blunt interruption. He then joined in the laugh that followed, and shortly afterward took his leave, after promis- ing to communicate whatever progress he might be making. ** Well,” said Eleanor, when they were alone, ** well, messieurs, what do you think of it all?” *“‘T hardly know,” Cousin Hugh replied for himself, with mock helplessness. ‘* Sometimes I seem to be standing on my head, and some- times on my heels.” ** And my feeling,” said her husband, kissing her, ‘‘ is just this: A sense of absolute and un- adulterated joy and gratitude that you are - never again to masquerade, or be other than your own dear, noble and womanly self!” “IT sincerely hope so,” she replied, returning his kiss with interest, ‘‘ But if the real Falcon- f - bridge should order otherwise for a brief space, IT could hardly refuse, out of a just indemnity to him for the “nme of his giant’s robe in which I concealed my insignificance for so long. And now, my dears, let us go to our petit _ diner.” CHAPTER XLI. PROGRESS. THE next morning they received brief word r _ from Falconbridge, to the effect that Tommy Dodd was duly installed in the establishment of the Countess d’Espigneau as a page, and that everything was in train. _ Eleanor determined to first celebrate what sbe - hopefully regarded as her permanent restoration to her true character, by effecting a removal toa better locality and into lodgings in better keeping with her wealth and position, to say — nothing of her tastes. Admirable furnished apartments were secured then both she and her husband, together with Hugh Spender, made up for lost time in re-establishing family relations, necessarily neglected till pow, with her father and aunt, _ Colonel Sherwood, however, was seldom to be geen, his time being almost completely taken _ with his old Paris friends, of whom he had a “< view extensive circle. As for Florine, Eleanor made the sacrifice of sete to forego the girl’s services, ‘that dm might still remain a guest of the hotel to her 4 own advantage, inasmuch as her engagement with Captain Tidewell was now a fixed fact and, as the captain was a gentlemanof goo family, it would be more agreeable to his pride than if he had taken his bride out of a lady’s ___—- maid’s situation, ret to the effect of Eleanor having relinquished But all this was done, with no intimation as 0 he ck or of the true Falconbridge _ “Well, my dear,” Eleanor observed to Flo- rine, soon after effecting ber change of resi- _ dence, * of Seat ke hope you'll be happy, and I you will. RO h, no doubt of it, mademoiselie,” and Flo- : _ . + : we be < wt _ x 4A4 Vs is" i! vo a %, + sh ve : —_ st « - ~ ~ < yy oe. | oh = ? ce re j if ‘ r “ = or , wt et re is ‘al ; 7 4 seriously. ‘‘ Monsieur, my fianee, is everything that is good and kind,” ‘“* Why do you not call him Conrad, as Aunt Jerusha does?’ ‘‘Not auy more does she, mademoiselle!” ex- claimed Florine, indignantly. She wouldn’t dare! And as for that photograph of pcm m, or which the old thing so surreptitiously obtained, I— Ah, ma’um’selle, [ must not lose my temper; but the—the young lady cannot boast of having that in her possession any more.” ‘*T wouldn’t mind her, if I were you. When is it to be, my dear?” ‘* When we get back to New York, madem- oiselle, whenever that may be,” “Shall you vot hate to quit your native Paris again!” ‘* No, mademoiselle,” with a blushing lower- ing of the bright eyes that was genuine enough now, ** not with monsieur.” ‘Tam glad you are so devoted to him,” said Eleanor, heartily. ‘* Mr. Tidewell is an excel- lent, high-minded gentleman, of a good family, and fairly well off, I believe. And I truly hope and believe you will try to make him an excel- lent wife.” ‘*‘ Ah, mademoiselle, do not fear that I shall not try,” with thorough simplicity, ‘‘I love him!” Eleanor kissed ber, and a moment later Miss Bigbhee, with her grenadier’s stride, came stalk- ing into the apartment which the two had thus far had to themselves. “6 Look at her, Eleanor!” exclaimed the spin- ster, pointing a scornful forefinger at the un- abashed Florine, ‘‘ Doesn’t she betray her de- basement, her prospective slavery, in her quiv- ering lips and appalled mien?” *“*7 cannot say that she does, aunt,” replied Eleanor, struggling to keep her countenance. “What! But softly; perhaps you are not aware of her having consented to her abasement, of having signed the death-warrant to her womanhood with her own coward hand?” ‘* But in what way, aunt?” ‘Tn what way? Why, by bowing her neck to the tyrant yoke, beg consent to become a nameless nothing, a gimcrack and a toy—by consenting to be married !” **Oh, indeed! However, she looks as if she might survive the degradatiou with some cheer- fulness.” ** Ha, ha, ha!’ with strident mirth. ‘* With cheerfulness—yes; but show me a sadder spec- tacle under the quiet thunderbolt and _ the bel- lowing stars than a cheerful slave! Ye cannot —never, though deep calleth unto deep until the welkin howls, Slaves, slaves ever, and to the tyrant, Man!” As she strode out of the room with Mg Cassandra-like gesture of prophecy and wrath. While Eleanor and Florine were still laugh- ing, Captain Tidewell called. leanor had not seen him since quitting the Ganymede, which was now undergoing a thor- ough refitting at Cherbourg, and she was unaf- fectedly hearty both in her greetings and her congratulations, ** Well, we manage to enjoy ourselves a little, ma’am,” said the yacht-master, with a gentle lance toward Florine, whose blushes were that ot and furious as she would have scornfull ronounced une betise, or ‘ stupid freshness, et us say, in another not more than a month previous; ‘“‘though I think we might do that now quite as well in New York as in Paris.” He seemed to be covered with a quiet and ab- sorbing happiness that was good to behold. Eleanor only remained to exchange a kiss with her father on his return from the races; but her visits to the apartments of the Grande Hotel were thereafter more frequent. Nothing was seen of Falconbridge for two re after the receipt of the communication al- luded to, thongh Eleanor had begun to enjoy life a little after the manner of her sex, with an assured feeling that the detective business was now at last in hands that could scarcely pro- crastinate or fail, It had cost her pride a little secret pang to feel this way at first, notwithstanding her relief at permanently discarding her unsexing dis- guise; but she nevertheless was conscious that the business was in his line rather than hers, and that he could fairly demand the task in the light of an indemnity to bimself. At the end of this second day, however, ber busband came home to say that he had ex- Nie a few words with the great detective, who had Ser ip. encouraging progress, and had promised to call in the evening. And afew minutes later Hugh i sie a re- turned from a drive with an unexpectedly met New York friend, to say that he had seen Ma- dame la Comtesse driving her pony phaeton in the Park, with the oddest-looking, little owlish- faced, Cockney-appearing tiger in attendance, whom Eleanor was sure must have been none other than the detective’s Ariel, Tommy Dodd, notwithstanding that he bad been reported as having been engaged as a pone Gea “It is true,” explained Falconbridge, when he called a little later on, Tommy is already so high jin madame’s good graces—she seemed . re Sy. ae be ath 2 } - J a4 i ite Te 24 oy : ‘ = lee Ph re h f "3.49 - ‘ : . of iy ’ <a * » seat %* aq —————— LS ee eae ene eel —_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—___..._ ees cS @ her person outdoors as well asin. We are ge.- ting along swimmingly, so far.” CHAPTER XLII, CONFIRMATION, ‘“THatT is excellent news,” Eleanor replied, ‘“‘but then is our fugitive an inmate of ma- dame’s hotel, or even still in Paris, major?” ‘*T can only think so, as yet,” was the detec- tive’s ig ‘“*Of course, my interviews with Tommy Dodd are secret and few, and he bas not yet been able to assure himself on this vitally important point. But I am in strong hopes of obtaining some sort of confirmation as to my impression by to-morrow, at furthest.” The confirmation came sooner than it was looked for. On his way back to his lodgings from the Howlands’ new establishment that night at a rather late hour, the detective availed himself of ashort cut through a short narrow little street in the vicinity of the Countess d’Espig- neau’s hotel. This little street was mostly deserted, strange to say, save at about this hour of the night, when it was not infrequently taken advantage of by certain home-returning guests of the Grande Hotel, and similar neighboring estab- lishments, from the opera or Theater Francaise, who might prefer pedestrianism, On the night in question the detective had only just entered the narrow, poorly lighted street when his keen eyes discovered a novel disturbance at about the middle of the block. There was a woman’s cry, the sudden rush of a masculine figure toward a similar one, which seemed to be knocked down, then a staggering back of the other, after which the floored figure sprung up, and silently darted away. But by this time the detective was in pursuit like the wind, though having no ide@=of the identity of the group. A man and woman were standing together as he flew past them, ‘‘ Remain!” he exclaimed, while on the wing; ‘*T shall return.” ‘‘Heavens!” said the woman, who was none other than Florine Duprez; ‘‘ that was made- moiselle herself—or rather Monsieur Falcon- bridge—who may overtake the wretch, the scelerat, But, Conrad, tell me,” anxiously, and while dragging her companion under a street lamp, where she solicitously examined him, ‘vou are sure you are not wounded?” Her companion was Mr. Tidewell.. ‘* Quite sure of it, my dear Florine,” was the reply, with a short laugh, ‘‘ It was almost as close a call forme as for you—for who would have thought of a knife to come hurtling at me from the rascal] after I had knocked him down? But bis first assault upon you! What on earth could it have meant? He did not succeed in touching you, though, the Lord be praised!” Now that the peril was past, Florine was clinging to him under the lamp, pale and trem- bling. ss ‘Ah, monsieur, don’t be too sure,” she mur- mured. ‘‘True, I was not even scratched, but look here!” \ She exhibited the side of her mantle, or light opera cloak, where it had been completely cut through by the knife—a long, vicious slash, that had also left its mark on her dress-waist at the same side. ‘* Good God!” exclaimed Tidewell; “it must have been aimed direct at your heart. This is terrible! Let me see if I can find the dagger. I thought I heard it ping into something here- abouts, after feeling the wind of if on my face. By the way,” while looking about him, “* was the stranger who dashed past us really Mrs. Howland in her detective character, whose se- cret you have lately let me into?” She could only murmur an affirmative, while still trying to recover her composure; for Flo- rine had recognized the assailant as John Bur- ley, which was more than a sufficient excuse for ber unusual lack of nerve. pave this moment the detective returned to them. ‘“‘T was unsuccessful,” he growled,: half-an- grily. ‘‘However, I saw him disappear into the side-court of the Hotel d’Espigneau, or somewhere thereabouts, so that there x | be a chance of tracking him, How did it all hap- n? ‘Oh, mademoiselle!” Florine had not even yet got used to the madame of her whilom mistress’s married status—‘*‘ it was horrible. But first say you will forgive my having let monsieur into your secret.” Faleonbridge bad before this made himself familiar with Eleanor’s. entire family connec- tions and associations, together with their rela- tion to the quest on hand, ‘“Tt doesn’t much matter, my dear,” he re- plied, with a slight smile over the odd compli- sation of the case. ‘* Besides, how could you be expected to retain any secret from ‘ monsieur’? But explain.” Florine had by this time recovered something of her native vivacity and assurance. ‘‘We were returning to our hotel the S. Comichoo x ‘