CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH FRANK MANSFIELD MAKES AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY.
Had it occurred to Officer Schneider to remain quietly in the precisespot at which his prisoner had disappeared until the Trinity Churchclock struck the hour of four, his patience would have been rewarded byseeing the iron door in the grave-yard wall cautiously open, and thehead and shoulders of a boy thrust out into the silent street.
But as neither that exceedingly astute member of the New York policeforce--the finest in America, we believe it has been said--nor any oneelse was about at the time, the head and shoulders were followed by awell-developed pair of arms and legs, and a boy stepped out upon thesnow.
Instantly this boy was followed by another, after which the iron doorwas softly closed from within.
Turning their faces toward the north, both boys started upon the deadrun up New Church street, and whipping around the corner of Cedarstreet like a flash, suddenly slackened their steps, and began slowlyto ascend the hill in the direction of Broadway.
In the stillness of the Sabbath morning not a sound is to be heard.
The great city sleeps, its ceaseless roar is hushed.
Even as the virtue of charity covereth a multitude of sins, so hascovered the pure snow everything in and about these silent streets withan unbroken mantle of white.
Let us glance at these two solitary travelers as they move along, andseek to learn who and what they may be.
As to the larger of the pair there can be no doubt.
Frank Mansfield disguised or Frank Mansfield in his usual dress mustto the reader, who has free admission to all our secrets, be FrankMansfield still.
And we find him now clad in a rough, well-worn suit of clothes, with ablue woolen shirt and a low, slouch, felt hat, not unlike the garmentswhich a few hours since we saw adorning the person of Barney, thebootblack, one of the "bats" in the vault of the church-yard wall.
But his hands are free--there is no doubt of that, for he has oneinserted in each side-pocket of his short monkey-coat as he hurriesalong by the side of his companion through the snow.
And for this relief, one may as well say right here, Frank had to thanka sharp file, procured by one of his new-found friends and MasterBarney's strength of arm.
As to the second boy, he is likewise a "bat from the wall."
The special "bat," in fact, mentioned by Barney in his graphicdescription of the robbery of the Webster Bank as having taken uponhimself to track the burglars to their home.
He was a well-built fellow of some eighteen or nineteen years, roughand uncouth in his dress and speech, but immeasurably superior, ascould be seen at a glance, to either of his companions encountered byFrank in the vault.
He rejoiced among his fellow "bats" in the short and easily-rememberedappellation of "Jerry Buck."
"Are you sure you'd know the place again, Jerry?" asked Frank, as theywalked along.
It was for the purpose of pointing out the house into which the threebank-robbers had disappeared that the two boys had now sallied forth.
"Positive," replied the boy, quickly. "It was down in Cherry street,just behind the Catherine Market. I never let up on 'em till I seed 'emgo in."
"There were three of them, you say?"
"Yes--one big feller with a carpet-bag, his head all tied up in acomforter, and two others, one with a big bag over his shoulder, an'the other with nothin' at all."
As Frank said nothing further, and his companion evinced an equaldisinclination to talk, the boys, having now turned into Broadway,moved along in silence until they reached the newspaper offices whichline the right-hand side of Park Row and Printing House Square.
At each one of these they made a halt, Jerry Buck entering at thebasement doors, and elbowing his way among a crowd of men and boys,emerged with an ever increasing bundle of morning papers under his arm.
For Jerry was a newsboy as well as a "bat in the wall," and had hisliving to get on Sunday as upon the other days of the week.
"Now, we won't stop no more," he said briefly, as his complement ofpapers was completed at last. "Let's hurry up, for as soon as it'slight I've got to get to work."
He turned into Frankfort street as he spoke, and leading the way pastthe great arches of the Brooklyn Bridge, entered Cherry street at itsjunction with Franklin square.
Continuing along that thoroughfare, clean to the eye at least for once,the boys passed the end of the Catherine Market, and at a sign fromJerry came to a halt before a dirty brick tenement.
"That's the place," he said. "I saw them all three go in that door."
"You are sure?"
"Certain. I can't make no mistake about it, for I used to live in thathouse once myself."
"And I suppose they are there now, the miserable scoundrels," exclaimedFrank, looking up at the house. "Jerry, I think the best thing I can dois to go directly and inform the police."
"Maybe it is. You've got education and ought to know better than I, butthere's another road out of this place by way of the alley in the rear.Perhaps I'd better show you that first."
He led the way around the corner into Catherine street, and pausedbefore an old tumble-down rookery bearing the sign "The Donegal Shades,by P. Slattery," above the door.
Here in the neighborhood of the busy market there were signs ofabundant life.
Men, women and boys were moving up and down the sidewalk, to and fro,bent on their various affairs.
"That's the place," said Jerry, pointing toward an alley leading to therear of the saloon.
As Frank raised his eyes in response to the sign a man sprang towardthem with a loud shout.
It was the detective who had arrested him at the bank that night.
By the light of a neighboring street-lamp Frank recognized him at aglance.
With an exclamation he sprang away just as the man's hand was stretchedout to grasp his coat, and, followed by Jerry Buck, who did notcomprehend the situation at all, dashed up the street with the speed ofthe wind, without pausing to look behind.
But Jerry was possessed of no such fears as at that moment filled ourhero's breast.
As they turned the corner of Cherry street he shot a hurried glancebehind him and beheld the singular accident already described, whichserved to bring the detective to a sudden halt.
"Hist! hist!" he whispered, seizing Frank by the arm. "He's down, andthere comes one of the bank burglars now!"
Even as he spoke the man who had dropped the basket of fish dashedround the corner and past them up Cherry street at the top of his speed.
"That's the one wot carried the bag!" whispered the boy, excitedly."Who's the feller that made you cut an' run?"
"The detective what arrested me--I don't know his name."
"The deuce? Well, you don't want him to see you, and there's no dangerof it. I can give him the slip twenty times in this neighborhood--neveryou fear. If yer a-goin' to give yerself up you' better do it. Don'tlet that fellow take you in, or they won't believe a word you say."
But the detective on whom their eyes were fixed from around the cornerof the building by the side of which they stood, showed no dispositionto follow.
On the contrary.
He remained stooping over the basket dropped by the flying man in thesnow.
As the boys watched him there emerged from the alley at the side ofthe Donegal Shades two men, who, moving unobserved through the crowdwhich had now gathered about the building, hurried up Catherine street,passed within two feet of the spot where the boys now were.
"I know the big fellow," whispered Jerry Buck, seizing Frank by thearm. "That's another of them--that's the fellow who carried thecarpet-bag away from the bank."
But Frank Mansfield made no response.
He stood staring at the vanishing forms like one in a trance.
If the larger of the two men was one of the robbers of the WebsterBank, what was his companion doing in such company as his?
For the man who walked by the burglar's side was the
old-time friendof the boy himself--was the father of the girl he loved--that mostrespectable stock operator and member of the Tenth Baptist Church,Elijah Callister, and no one else!