CHAPTER XXIII.
A DETECTIVE IN A BAD FIX.
Detective Hook flung his hand behind him.
Instantly a revolver, grasped firmly between his fingers, glittered inthe rays of the hanging lamp which shed its feeble light through thehall of the Cherry street tenement in which he now stood at bay.
"Stand off, there, you fellows!" he shouted, sternly. "One step forwardand some one bites the dust!"
Crack!
The warning was unheeded.
In the wild western towns the rule is, "Shoot first and explanationsafterward."
With fatal result Caleb Hook had chosen the course in direct reverse ofthis.
With the quickness of thought--in fact, even as the words had passedhis lips, a short, thick-set fellow, from the shelter of the doorwayconnecting the passage with the room from which the men had emerged,had drawn a revolver of the smallest caliber and discharged it at thedetective's head.
It made no more noise than an ordinary popgun, but, notwithstanding,accomplished its fatal work.
A low cry escaped the lips of Caleb Hook. The revolver dropped from hisnerveless hand.
With one arm outstretched he clutched at the banisters, missed them,clutched again, and pitched headlong to the foot of the stairs.
"Three cheers and a tiger for the man who fired that shot!" whisperedCallister, as all hands crowded about the inanimate form of the fallenman. "Sam Cutts, old man, there's some life left in you yet. Now,what's to be done with the carcass before the whole neighborhood comespiling in?"
"Into the room with him--quick!" exclaimed Billy Cutts. "We are safethere for a while, at all events. We do not even know that he is dead,meddling fool that he is."
His instructions were instantly obeyed.
The body of the unfortunate detective was unceremoniously dragged intothe room adjoining, the door of which was immediately bolted fromwithin.
"Is he dead?" asked Billy Cutts, hoarsely. "By thunder, father, Isuppose you had to do it, but his death will kick up a Satan's own rowupon the force. The chief of police will never rest night or day untilhe has run us down."
"Do it! Why, of course I had to do it!" replied the elder Cutts--agrizzled reproduction of his hopeful son in appearance. "It's mybelief, gents, that that there iron lifter dropped down upon us bymistake. He knew it, and was off to give us and the whole business awayto the captain of the nearest station before we had time to escape."
"Sam's about right," growled Reuben Tisdale. "I tell you, boys, thisis a serious snap. We've doctored this spy with a leaden pill, but whocan tell how many more of the same kind of cattle there is in hiding inthat room overhead? Who lives up there, anyway? Does any one know? Whywere we not told of that stovepipe hole?"
"Blest if I know," said Callister. "Cutts, you ought to be able totell--these are your rooms."
"Tell! I don't know no more about them what lives in the house than thedead. I reckon it would pay to have some on us slip up and see."
"No, no!" whispered Callister, breathlessly. "What's done is done, andcan't be helped. It is my opinion the whole scheme has been overheardthrough that confounded hole in the floor."
"Hold on, you fellows," put in Billy Cutts. "I'll go up-stairs andreconnoiter. I'm a detective, don't you know, and if I catch on toanything in the shape of the police I'll knock with my heel once hardupon the floor. If you hear the signal light out, every mother's sonof you. Of course they won't think anything strange at seeing me comesnooping round."
Silently unbolting the door, he crept up the stairs, the otherslistening breathlessly for the signal he proposed to give.
Through their own door--open on the crack--they could hear Cutts openthe door of the room above.
Evidently he had met with no opposition, for the sound of his footstepscould be heard overhead walking about the room.
"Blame me if I don't think it was this cuss that was up there alone,and no one else," muttered the elder Cutts, indicating the detective,who lay white and still, dead to all appearance, in the midst of thelittle group.
"He's wrong, Lije," whispered Tisdale to the stock-broker, who stoodby his side, a little apart from the rest. "I heard the footsteps oftwo persons, at least, overhead there before that iron thing came down.Luck has deserted us since my--my--you know what. I'm doomed to be theJonah of the gang."
"Hush, Rube, for Heaven's sake! Can't you let up on your infernalcroaking even in a strait like this? If the police are upon us, why,we'll do the best thing that offers. If it's only this fellow, Hook,why, Sam Cutts' bullet has settled him. But not another word now.Here's Billy coming back."
The young detective, if one so unfaithful to his trust can truthfullybe so termed, entered at this moment with a smile of satisfaction onhis face.
"It's all right," he exclaimed, closing the door. "There ain't a soulin the room up-stairs. It's fixed up roughly to look like housekeeping,but it's my belief that it was hired by Hook for the simple purpose ofcatching us. It's a common method with the profesh."
"Hadn't some one better inquire of the agent on the first floor?" putin one of the men who had not spoken before.
"Some other time will do for that," said Callister, hurriedly. "What wewant to do now is to dispose of this body without further delay. We caninvestigate later on."
"Well, and how do you propose to do it?"
"I rather guess we can fix that if we can get it through the alleyto the Donegal Shades--eh, Rube?" replied the broker, with a smile."After we've finished with Mr. Hook, he'll trouble us no more, I fancy.It's too bad to deprive the New York police force of such a bright andshining light, but then he had better have minded his own affairs."
"So I say," growled another of the gang--a rough-looking fellow. "Theseblamed detectives don't give a hard working man no kinder show."
"Better be sure he's actually croaked before we bury him," grumbledTisdale, in his characteristic way.
"That's soon done," returned Callister. "I guess I'm doctor enough forthat."
He knelt beside the body and unbuttoned the coat and vest.
Placing his ear upon the detective's breast, he listened to the beatingof the heart.
But the heart of Caleb Hook had apparently ceased to beat. Nor did hispulse give sign of any movement whatever.
"Dead as a door nail!" said the broker, laconically. "Say, Sam Cutts,have you got such a thing as a big bag?"
"No, an' you don't want it," answered Cutts. "To carry that bodydown-stairs in a bag! You must be crazy, man. That would never do atall. We'll take him by the shoulders, two of us, and drag him along asthough he was blind drunk--paralyzed, don't you see--then no one willsuspect anything at all."
"Good! That's the very scheme. Now, then, gents, as it ain't alwaysbest for a man to know too much, you had better say good-night, andleave the management of this affair to Rube, Cutts and myself. I feelsure that we have nothing to be afraid of now, for I am confident thatthis fellow was working alone. If I find that I am wrong, some of uswill notify you, you may rest assured. Meanwhile, the appointmentremains the same as before, unless you hear to the contrary--Cagney'ssanctum, day after to-morrow night."
Several of the men now silently withdrew, leaving the two Cutts--fatherand son--Callister and Tisdale with their victim.
The sound of their footsteps had scarce died away upon the carpetlessstairs when the stock-broker spoke again.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes," answered Cutts, the elder; "I should say we were."
"Then you slip round and give Pat the tip. We mustn't lose a moment,once we start, and you are to see that all is prepared."
Billy Cutts, opening the door cautiously, left the room without a word.
For the space of perhaps ten minutes the three men stood motionless,listening to every sound.
Overhead all was silent. There was no unusual noise about the house.
"That pop of yours is a daisy, Sam," whispered Callister. "It's myopinion that the report of that shot was not heard on this f
loor. Come,time's up. You take one arm, Rube, and I'll attend to the other. Samcan give us a lift down the stairs."
Two minutes later a peculiar but by no means unusual sight might havebeen observed in the alley leading from the side of the Cherry streettenement through, by means of the gate pointed out by Jerry Buck toFrank Mansfield, to the rear of the Donegal Shades on Catherine street,opposite the old market building.
It was two men dragging between them a third, apparently in a stateof helpless intoxication, while a fourth man--a short, thick-setfellow--brought up the rear.
If they were observed by any of the dwellers in the adjoiningtenements, it is safe to say that their appearance attracted noattention at all, for such sights are far too common in that part ofthe city to excite even passing remark.
The passage of the alley was made in safety--the gate was opened byCutts--in another moment they had entered the yard facing the residenceof the unfortunate Mrs. Marley, and in the rear of the Donegal Shades.
Two men stood ready to receive them by the side of a little flight ofsteps leading down to an open cellar door.
One was Billy Cutts, the other P. Slattery, the proprietor of thesaloon, whose fiery shock of hair betrayed his identity at a glance.
"All O. K., Pat?" said Callister, in a whisper.
"You're right, it is; run him down, an' I'm wid yez in a jiffy. Begobs!if it ain't that fly detective what shook me up on the Sunday morningpoor Mrs. Marley was murdered--an' phat ails you, Mister Tisdale? HowlyMother, but you're as white as though you'd seen a ghost!"
"Hold your jaw and lead the way!" muttered the burglar, fiercely.
Slattery made no attempt at reply.
Running down the cellar steps, he motioned to the others to followwithout a word.
No sooner had they entered than he closed and locked the door, andproducing a match, lit a lantern which he held in his hand.
"This way, gents," he said, briefly, advancing through the cellar amonga heterogeneous mass of barrels and boxes and rubbish of all kinds.
Dragging the body of the detective between them, the others followed.
Suddenly the man Slattery paused, and stooping down, seized a greatiron ring in the floor.
A trap-door was lifted, disclosing a dark opening leading to unknowndepths below, out of which rushed a noisome stench causing the men byits side to draw back with exclamations of disgust.
"Now, then, down wid him," whispered the proprietor of the DonegalShades. "It's as putty a grave as wan might ax for. Drop him in, byes,an' it's done nice an' handy, only there's niver a praste to shrivehim--worse luck. We must bury the poor cuss widout book nor bell."
Raising the inanimate form of the detective between them, Callister,Tisdale and Cutts dropped it into the darkness of the open trap, whileP. Slattery, letting go the iron ring, jumped heavily upon the lid.