The Spruce Street Tragedy; or, Old Spicer Handles a Double Mystery

CHAPTER XXII.
CHAMBERLAIN'S CAPTURE

"How'd he manage to get away? confound you!" exclaimed Crowley, turning upon the reporter in the bitterness of his soul. "He managed it while my back was turned answering your nonsensical questions."

"Nonsensical! Look a-here, officer, I can prove to you in just one minute and a half that my questions were anything but nonsensical."

"Oh, don't bother me!"

"Well, but how do you suppose he got away? I'd really like to know that – good point – great sensation – man supposed to be fatally wounded finds he's a prisoner – the trusty officer left in charge merely steps to the door for a moment to consult and advise with a well-known gentleman of the press, when, on turning back, presto, change! the bird had flown!

"Yes, I can work it in that the greatest mystery hangs about his disappearance – that is, you know, unless we can find out just how he managed it."

"Well," said Old Spicer, suddenly turning upon the reporter, "I think we can satisfy your laudable curiosity upon that point."

"Ah! you do, eh! How so, pray?"

"See this closet?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, step a little further this way. You see there's a door opening from it into the next room. The place has been so arranged that it can be used as a closet for either room, you perceive?"

"Ah, yes, to be sure, or so that it might be used as a passageway – as in the present case, eh?"

"Exactly. Now, then, the question is, has the wounded man, in his supposed weakly condition, been able to escape from the hotel? Crowley, please summons Killett. We must institute a thorough search."

"I'll take a hand in that," exclaimed the reporter, with alacrity, "and I hope I shall find him."

"Why are you so anxious on that point?" asked Old Spicer, curiously.

"Why, you see I want to make a little noise in the world before I start for New Haven to hunt out the murderer or murderers of Charley Way."

"Oh! you are going to do a little detective work up there, are you?"

"Yes, sir; I'm jist going to pipe that mystery, you bet."

"Well, sir, I wish you all the success possible – all the glory there is left to gain."

"Are you speaking sarcastically, sir?"

"By no means."

"I thought I detected something of the kind in the tone of your voice."

By this time Killett had made his appearance, and the detectives, the reporter, and nearly every one connected with the hotel, spread themselves through the house in search of the missing man.

After an hour they returned to the point from whence they had started, and were obliged to confess that their efforts had been in vain. Emory E. Bissell had utterly vanished, and left no trace behind!

"Well," said Killett, drawing Old Spicer aside, and speaking in a low tone, "there can be no question about it, the fellow was playing 'possum, and he's got clean away. What had we better do now?"

"He must be found," said Old Spicer, decidedly.

"No question about that; but where shall we look first?"

"Have you no suggestion to make on that point yourself?"

"I think he's still in this neighborhood."

"I think it's quite possible; and, if you're willing, I'll leave you here for a time and look after another matter."

"All right, old fellow, only don't let us lose track of one another."

"Of course we mustn't do that," and Old Spicer, a little irritated by the escape of both Chamberlain and Bissell, hurried away.

He went straight to Cora Bell's rooms, and had a long and serious talk with her. He then went to the place where he and Killett had spent so much time earlier in the day, and wrote two long letters, which he posted with his own hand. After this he went to Inspector Byrnes' office, on Mulberry Street, and was closeted with that celebrated detective for more than two hours; and then, being quite worn out, he made his way to a neighboring hotel and went to bed.

Early the next morning he started out again.

A little later he found himself in the Bowery. He had just crossed Third Street, walking in the direction of Fourth, when he saw a figure ahead of him that attracted his attention.

It was that of a rather good-looking young man of about twenty-three years of age.

The blood tingled in the old detective's veins. His heart beat faster – his pulse quicker.

He hurried forward.

The young man turned into a saloon. Old Spicer followed him.

The young man called for a drink. The detective did likewise.

The young man cast a suspicious glance at the elder, threw a nickel on the bar and hurried out.

Old Spicer also threw down a piece of money and started for the door.

"It must be done now," he thought; "but it will be a tough job taking him alone."

At that instant he caught sight of two men coming up the street.

They were Detectives Frank Mangin and James Maguire.

Old Spicer immediately gave them a signal, and hurrying forward, they came up in front of the young man. Old Spicer still remaining behind him.

"Chamberlain," said Mangin, in a determined tone of voice, "you are our prisoner."

The street was crowded with people. Chamberlain, who was a muscular young fellow nearly six feet tall, uttered a fearful oath, sprung forward, threw the detective to one side, and drew a revolver.

The crowd instantly scattered.

But the detectives grappled with him, and Old Spicer coming up quickly, knocked the pistol out of his hand, while Maguire, striking him a blow in the side of the head, sent him headlong on the pavement.

In a twinkling of an eye he was on his feet again, but with a pair of steel bracelets on his wrists, and after a few hurried words between Old Spicer and the two detectives, he was marched away to Inspector Byrnes' office.

"That's all right," said Old Spicer, in a tone of quiet satisfaction, when they were gone. "Now I can attend to the other matter," and he took the Third Avenue elevated road to Harlem River.

Two hours and a half later he returned, and met Killett, Stark and Rouse in the inspector's office.

"I am very glad indeed to find you here," he said. "I was afraid I might have to leave without seeing you."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Killett, in a tone of wonder.

"I'm going to Connecticut," replied Spicer.

"What, and give up the chase for Bissell, Hawks and Bunce?"

"They will all be there by the time I am," said the old man, quietly.

"How's that?" asked Killett, in great surprise.

"They are all passengers on board the schooner Bouncing Betsey, which will land them in the neighborhood of Stony Creek, and I already have my men on the lookout for them there."

"You have done some pretty tall work to-day, to find out all that, and put matters into the shape you have."

"Yes, I have not been idle, neither last night nor to-day."

"When do you start for home?"

"On the next train."

"I believe I'll go with you. Bunce, of course, will have to be brought back here."

"Of course he will, and I wish you would bear me company."

"I suppose the authorities will hold Chamberlain and Taylor until the governor grants a requisition for their being taken out of the state?"

"Yes, all that has been arranged."

"And Cora Bell – what's to be done with her?"

"She will come up to Connecticut the moment I send for her. Stark or Rouse, I wish one of you, or if you can't get away, that Cosgrove would come up with her."

"All right, sir. We'll see to it."

"Well, then, I believe that's all. And now good-bye, my friends." And after shaking Silas and Reub by the hand, the old detective hurried away in company with Adam Killett.

CHAPTER XXIII.
ON BOARD THE BOUNCING BETSEY

The Bouncing Betsey was beating her way up the Sound in the face of a head wind, and hence her progress was aggravatingly slow. There were a goodly number of craft in sight, but none near enough to distinguish the persons of those on board the schooner, and so her three worthy passengers had ventured on deck.

Emory Bissell could not be said to be distinguished by either a very healthy or a very happy look. His face was ghastly pale and his step feeble.

Barney Hawks and Bill Bunce were seated on what might be called the quarter-deck. Bissell slowly approached, and when he had almost reached the couple, Barney pushed a camp-stool toward him.

The wounded man sank down upon it with a sigh.

"So Hen Chamberlain gave you a pretty considerable dig in the ribs, did he?" asked Barney, in the way of starting conversation.

"He did that, and if the knife hadn't glanced off exactly as it did, it would have been all over with me, as sure as you're born."

"What made the cub strike you? I know he's pretty hot-blooded, but I shouldn't have thought that of him."

"He resented what he termed my meddling with his business, I believe."

"And had you done so? I didn't even know that you two were acquainted."

"Oh, yes, I have always known Hen, and I have ventured to give him good advice now and then."

"It must have been good advice if you gave it to him."

"To be sure, it was so, if he had had the genius to profit by it."

"But what started you on the run? Didn't you dare to stay and face the music?"

"Why, you see, his attack upon me could but draw the attention of the public to me, and knowing the fact that he has called at my rooms several times, and remained an hour or so each time, would be sure to come out and be put down to my disadvantage, I concluded to dig out while I had an opportunity to do so."

"I am inclined to think you did wisely," said Barney, after some moments' reflection.

"But how the deuce did you manage it, in your condition?" asked Bill Bunce. "If I understood you rightly last night, there were officers in the house watching you, if not in your very room."

"It was a pretty sharp piece of work," returned Bissell, thoughtfully. "A detective was just outside my door – some one had called him out the moment before; two more – one of them Old Spicer himself – were in the office below, and another, I believe, was on the sidewalk watching the several entrances. But I knew well enough that my only chance had come, and I resolved to take it.

"Fortunately, my room was connected with the next by a doorway cut through the inner wall of a closet, and the outlet to this room was upon a corridor running at right angles with that upon which mine opened.

"I could hear my keeper talking with some one just outside my door. Cautiously I raised myself in bed. The next moment I slipped out upon the floor.

"On my bureau was a bottle of brandy and a glass. I seized the bottle – "

"But didn't bother with the glass, I'll go bail," interrupted Barney, quickly.

"Not much, you bet. I uncorked the bottle, placed it to my lips, and took such a drink as I hadn't had before in a long time. Then, like a flash, I changed my coat and vest, seized a hat, and disappeared through the closet door.

"Crossing the adjoining room, I opened the door on to the corridor. A gentleman and lady were just passing. I merely bowed, and hurried toward the private staircase at the rear of the hall.

"I didn't see another soul until I had reached the floor below. Then two or three ladies and a gentleman came out of a large room and started toward the stairs. Before they had had a chance to see me I slipped into a sort of private reception-room, and, when they were well out of the way, rushed to the outside door, opened it, and the next minute was standing on the sidewalk.

"As good luck would have it, a cab was passing. I hailed it, the driver stopped, and I sprung inside.

"'Where to?' he asked.

"By Jove! I hadn't thought up to that moment where I wanted to go to, so I simply said, 'Straight ahead!'

"Fortunately he was headed eastward, and, as I didn't interfere, he kept on to the river. At sight of it, what we were talking about yesterday came over me like a flash of lightning, and thinks I, 'Why shouldn't I join Barney and Jake in their voyage to the Gulf of Mexico?' The next moment I decided to do it. And so I told the driver at what point I wanted to get out, and from there I found means to be conveyed to the schooner in the bay."

"Were you wise in letting the cabman take you where you did?" asked Barney, in a somewhat anxious tone.

"I suppose not," was the reply; "but I was far too weak to walk, and so had to risk it."

"It may prove a risk that will cost us all dear."

"As matters turned out, I don't think so, my friend."

"How's that?"

"Why, even if the detectives should happen to stumble upon that cabman, it isn't at all likely they'll ever unearth the man who conveyed me to the bay."

"Who was he?"

"Blessed if I know. I didn't take the trouble to ask."

"How did you happen to fall in with him?"

"He owned a pretty yacht, and was just going aboard of her, when he noticed me on the pier.

"'You seem to be looking for some one?' he said.

"'I was hoping to find an old man who hangs around this pier a good deal,' I replied, 'and who owns a small craft in which he takes parties to different points on the river.'

"'There's no such man about here just now,' said the gentleman.

"'So I see,' I returned, and I fancy I sighed.

"'You are sick and weak,' he exclaimed quickly.

"'Weak I surely am,' I said; 'but I'd be all right, I'm sure, if I could only get up the river a piece.'

"'Well, I'm going up the river. Come on board my yacht and welcome.'

"I thanked him warmly, and he landed me, as you know, on board this schooner."

"And why do you think the detectives won't find him?" asked Barney, eagerly.

"Because I drew out of him that he was on his way to Newport, from whence he was going to sail almost immediately to the Bermudas, otherwise I never would have let him come up alongside the Bouncing Betsey."

"Well, if he's off for the Bermudas, I reckon it's all right; for if we have any kind of luck, it's more than likely we shall be in the Gulf of Mexico, or even in Mexico itself, before he gets back to New York."

"That's the way I look at it."

"We've got to make better time than we're making now to get anywhere," growled Bill Bunce, discontentedly.

"You're right enough there, Bill," said Barney; "but I suppose the captain's doing the best he can, so there's no help for it."

"I suppose there isn't; but I've got it beat into me that this delay will cost us dear."

"I don't see how it can," said Bissell quickly. "Without the testimony of that yacht-owner they can't connect any one of us with the Bouncing Betsey."

"Perhaps not, but they'll do it all the same."

"Why, do you suspect that you and Barney were, or can be, traced to the schooner?"

"No, I don't think that; for after we got away from the detectives at my place, we disguised ourselves so thoroughly that our own mothers never would have known us, and we took the most roundabout way to the bay, and came on board at midnight."

"Then I don't see what there is to fear."

"Nor I, so far as caution is concerned. But that cursed detective they call Old Spicer is like no other man alive, I believe; and before we know it he'll drop down upon us – you'll see."

"Come, come, old fellow, cheer up, or you'll give us all the horrors, and that's useless."

Presently the wind changed, then it became fair, and the Bouncing Betsy bounded over the waves at a lively rate.

Even Bill Bunce, who had so much to make him sad, became cheerful, and in some measure forgot his somber forebodings.

CHAPTER XXIV.
IN NO MAN'S BAY – MAG'S HOVEL

The day passed, the night came on, and out of the gloom the passenger on board the schooner caught glimpses of the many islands that go to make up the Thimble group.

Then, indistinctly, the main land came into view, and at last the schooner came to anchor in the little bay behind No Man's Island.

As the great sails were lowered, a shrill whistle from the shore reached them. The captain answered it promptly; and presently the sound of oars working in rowlocks was heard.

"That's Pete Coffey," whispered Barney. Then, as the boat came into view, "I wonder who he's got with him?"

No one spoke again until the boat was alongside the schooner.

"Here, take the painter," called out Pete, "and make it fast," and he threw the end of the rope on board.

A sailor caught it and fastened it accordingly.

"Clarky," then said Pete to his companion in the boat, "you stay here," and the next moment he himself was on board the schooner.

He seemed astonished to see Barney and Bissell, and looked upon Bunce with some show of suspicion.

"What's up with you fellows?" he asked. "And who is this chap?"

"We've been driven out of New York, and have got to skip the country," answered Barney.

"And the long and short of it is," Bissell hastened to add, "you must find some safe place in which to secrete us until the schooner is ready for sea."

"Hum! I don't know about you, Mr. Bissell."

"Don't know about me! What do you mean, sir?"

"I don't think it's particularly safe to have anything to do with you. I've noticed that whoever has worked with you, or for you, has been fetched up with a round turn sooner or later, and that you always get off scot-free."

"Come, come, Pete," said Barney hastily, "if you've got any grudge against Emory, it's no time to show it now, when we're all in serious trouble. Just lay it aside till we're in smooth water again."

"Well, for your sake, Barney, I suppose I must do what I can for the crowd; but I tell you what, old fellow, it goes awfully against the grain to do anything for that smooth-tongued traitor."

"Come, come, Pete," said Bissell, in his most plausible tone, "if I've offended you in any way I'm ready and willing to make it all right with you. And now tell us, where can you put us for a night and a day?"

"First, I want to know who this stranger is. You'll please to remember that I haven't been introduced to him yet."

"Excuse me, Pete," Barney hastened to say. "It's Bill Bunce, a friend of mine; you've heard me speak of him;" and then he explained how he happened to be with them.

Pete heard him through to the end; then, with some show of interest, he asked:

"Do I understand you to say that that slippery Jew, Jake Klinkhammer, has really passed in his checks at last?"

"Yes, poor Jake got something in his stomach that he couldn't very well digest, and so he was obliged to throw up the sponge."

"The deuce! whose turn will it be next, I wonder? Do you know, Barney, they're after me, hot and heavy, for that little job in the Stony Creek railway station?"

"They are! But they can't fasten anything on to you."

"I don't know about that; they've got half a dozen men on my track, and if they can't find any evidence against me, they'll manufacture some. Leave the hounds alone for that."

"Is it really so bad, Pete?"

"You just bet it is. And, by the way, cap'n, one thing I came out to say is, that for your sake, as well as my own, I daresn't help you land the liquor or store it away to-night."

"Thunder!" exclaimed the captain, "what'll I do, then?"

"I've got two friends – safe fellows, who are working in the quarry as a blind; they'll help you, and do whatever I could do myself."

"Ah! but where are they now?"

"Waiting in my boat-house – you know the spot."

"Yes, where we usually land, ain't it?"

"That's the place."

"Well, is everything clear to get to work now?"

"Yes, I've given my regular attendants the slip to-night, and you can go ahead with your work as soon as you've a-mind to, and I'll go ahead with mine. Now, then, gentlemen, I'm ready to pilot you to a safe place whenever you're ready to accompany me."

"We're ready now," said Barney, with alacrity. "Let's get into the boat without a moment's delay."

"All right, jump in," and Barney quickly clambered over the schooner's gunwale, and slipped down into the boat.

"Are you sure it's safe for us to land – sure there's no one on the lookout for us?" asked Bissell, nervously.

"Sure as I can be of anything," answered Pete. "At any rate, it's safer than it is for you to stay here, so go ahead," and Bissell let himself down into the boat, and was quickly followed by Bill Bunce, Pete himself bringing up in the rear.

"Where's your togs, gentlemen?" asked Pete, looking about the bottom of the boat as he took his seat.

"What we managed to get away with, we've left on board the schooner," answered Barney. "She expects to get to sea to-morrow night, you know, and we thought it wouldn't be worth while to bring anything ashore for so short a time."

"All right, you ought to know best, but I can't fit you all out with clean shirts and collars, understand."

"Oh, don't let that worry you, my good friend," said Bissell, with a good deal of effusion, "we will excuse you, and do very well, I have no doubt."

Clarky remained silent – indeed, he hardly spoke even when Pete addressed him, but worked away at his oar as if his very life depended upon it.

Presently they reached the shore and landed.

Pete addressed a few words to Clarky in a low tone, and then turning to his other companion, said:

"All ready; come on," and at once started up a narrow pathway, at some distance from the main road.

Bissell, with some curiosity, looked back.

He saw Clarky haul the boat well up out of the water and fasten it to a stake. He then saw him start toward a little clump of trees, where the faint outlines of a boat-house could just be seen.

Pete walked on rapidly, and it was all his friends could do to keep up with him.

They kept on in this way for almost half an hour, when they came to what appeared to be a deserted stone-quarry.

Pete now turned to the left, and they skirted this quarry for some distance until they came to a little cluster of huts or shanties, most of them, like the quarry, deserted.

One or two of the shanties were set well back against a side hill, and into the largest of these Pete conducted his companions.

The place contained two good-sized rooms, one a general living-room, and the other a bedroom.

The first was empty, the other occupied, as was evident, when a woman's voice, in querulous tones, demanded to know who was there.

"It's me, Mag," answered Pete. "Don't fret yourself."

"Don't fret myself! You uneasy, restless villain; you're enough to fret a saint. What're you up to at this time o' night, anyway? Why ain't ye at home and in bed, where you ought to be?"

"I've got business to attend to, and some friends to look after; I shall stow them away inside for twenty-four hours. There's plenty of food in there, I suppose?"

"I suppose there is. If there ain't there ought to be, and that's all I know about it."

"And beds fit to sleep on?"

"How many is there with you?"

"Three."

"Then there are beds enough, so that each one can have two. And now will you let me go to sleep, Pete Coffey?"

"Yes, unless you want a little taste of the Bouncing Betsey's West Indian rum."

"The Bouncing Betsey! West Indian rum, eh? Bring it right here, Pete, like a good fellow."

"I'm coming, my dear."

"That's right, come on. Oh! a friend in need is a friend indeed. I was just longing for some good, pure spirits; and now, here you come to me, like an angel of mercy!"

By this time Pete was in the bedroom and had found his way to the side of the bed.

"Where is it, Pete?" asked the old woman, eagerly stretching out her hand.

He handed her one of several bottles the captain had given him just before he had got into his boat.

She uncorked it and placed the nozzle to her lips; then she took a good, long, hearty pull.

"There! let up!" exclaimed Pete, at last.

But it was hard to induce the old gal to take her lips from the bottle after she had once got them fastened to it.

Pete, understanding the situation, waited patiently, and when at length she stopped to breathe, drew the bottle gently away.

She resigned it with a sigh.

"Good-night, Mag. Sorry I can't leave it with you," and Pete returned to those who were modestly waiting in the other room.