CHAPTER X.
ON THE WATCH.
Sam Slade and Chip had been comrades at arms for almost two years. Manya dashing capture had they made Adventures and hair-breadth escapeswere of frequent occurrence with the two "dare-devils," as the forcehad dubbed them, and before now each had saved the other's life by somebold stroke or skillful strategy.
Satisfied that Chip was in danger, if not of his life at least of hisliberty, Sam hastened to his room, and with the aid of soap and waterresumed his natural appearance. The jaunty-looking Irish lad, BarneyO'Hara, would never be recognized in the young gentleman who looked atyou through gold-rimmed spectacles, with soft gray eyes, and whosesober demeanor and grave countenance bore the stamp of the student orminister.
It was this metamorphized individual that walked languidly to thebreakfast table and responded in gentle tones to the woman'ssalutations which greeted him. Breakfast served and over, Sam againsought his room. His boarding-house had been selected entirely onaccount of this room. The room had once been occupied by a physician ashis office, and, standing on the corner of two streets, had a sideentrance to it besides the entrance from the main portion of the house.
Thus the detective could slip in and out entirely unobserved by theboarders or his landlady, the latter supposing him to be a man ofenough means to enable him to live without daily labor.
Sam had given her this idea, and supplemented it by stating he wasengaged in literary pursuits.
Reaching his room, Sam wrote out a full report for the last twenty-fourhours (this constituted his literary labors) to be forwarded to Mr.Pinkerton in Chicago.
After his report was finished, he hastily threw off his clothing, andreplaced his sober suit of gray by the flashy costume of a man abouttown, he stood before his mirror to make up his face.
No actor was more clever than Sam in artistic and realistic disguises.His smooth face was skillfully covered by a beard, short-cropped, hisnose was given the slightest rosy tint, and putting on a lightovercoat, the studious young gentleman of half an hour ago wastransformed into a howling swell.
Tan-colored gloves and a heavy, silver-headed cane completed hiscostume. Thus arrayed he sallied forth.
It was now nearly noon. The streets were crowded, and Sam kept his eyeswell opened, carelessly but keenly scrutinizing every man he met.
One saloon after another was visited, but no sight of the mysteriousmen who had downed Chip could be obtained.
He had carefully noted his bearings when he left the alley in themorning, so he had no trouble in finding the correct locality again.
His hat was tipped rakishly over his left eye as he swaggered up thealley and entered a beer vault for which the alley was really theentrance. By good luck, no customers were present, and Sam engaged in alively conversation with the bartender.
Skillful pumping, judiciously mixed with high-priced drinks, soon gaveSam the entire history of the denizens of the locality.
It was beside the shed door of the beer vault that Sam had kept hissolitary watch and ward the previous night, so that somewhere aboutthis point Chip had been carried by his captors.
Gazing through the window, Sam saw a mass of debris; old cans, ashesand the like were scattered in the center of the court or alley, whileon both sides, near the buildings, a narrow board walk was laid.
Now, Sam knew that when he entered the place he was on the right-handside, immediately behind his game.
If they had crossed over to the side on which the beer vault stood, thecrunching of the ashes or the noise of the old cans, which would bevery apt to be moved, would have advised him of that fact.
Putting these facts together, Sam was almost certain that they had notentered the beer cellar.
Just opposite stood a half-open door, which, flush with the court,would have accounted for the sudden disappearance of the men if theyhad turned suddenly and entered it. These observations were made by thedetective while he was engaged in a lively and pungent conversationwith the burly bar-keeper.
The saloon made a good post of observation, and Sam settled himself foran all-day patron if necessary. Taking a seat near the window, hecalled for a glass of beer, and tilting back his chair took a carefulsurvey of the premises.
The alley was what is termed a "blind alley." On each side were lowdoors entering the basements of the houses, and the populationconsisted of rag-pickers, second-hand clothiers and one pawnshop. Itwas just such a place as one would expect to meet the lowest types ofhumanity. Dirty children were playing in the half-deserted place, theirblue lips and pinched faces speaking eloquently of their poverty.Italian hand-organ grinders were sitting on their door-steps, andslatternly women were leaning from their windows, exchanging gossip inloud, shrill tones. Occasionally a man would walk hurriedly up thenarrow walk, carrying a suspicious bundle, and eyeing nervously everyperson he might meet, dodging suddenly into some one of the doors. Allthis Sam saw, but his eyes seldom left the half-open door immediatelyopposite.
He had been at his post nearly an hour, smoking a cigar or supping hisliquor, the bar-keeper not caring what his customer did or what he was,so long as he ordered and paid for an occasional drink, when thereappeared at the door of the house which the detective was so closelywatching a tall, dark-complexioned woman. Her eyes, strikinglybrilliant, swept the place, but the shadows of the beer-cellarprevented her seeing the interested person who noted every movement shemade. The woman, after gazing up and down the court, threw her shawlover her head, and with long, gliding steps, walked toward the street.
The bar-keeper who was standing beside Sam, as the female passed downthe court, said with an outward jerk of his thumb:
"Rum old gal that."
"Friend of yours?" lazily inquired the detective.
"Naw. I don't have nothin' to do with her, nor she with me. She's afortune-teller, she is."
"One of them kind that lays out the cards, and spells out your fortune,eh?"
"I dunno. I never was in her den."
"Wonder if she could give me a luck charm?" asked Sam.
"If you've got the dust, she can make you anything. Them as livesaround here says she's a witch. Maybe so. I think she's some cursedhalf-breed, myself. None too good now, I tell you."
"Lived here long?"
"Who? Me?"
"No, the woman."
"I've been here five years, and she was here before me."
"I suppose she has plenty of customers, eh?"
"You bet she has. The fool-killer ought to lay around here for a while.There were two dandy blokes come out of there this morning."
Sam started, and inwardly cursed his stupidity in letting his game getaway from him. The two men of which the bar-keeper spoke, were probablythe very persons he wanted, so, in an indifferent tone, he inquired:
"What's her office hours?"
"Any time night or day I reckon. The two swells came out about 10, Iguess. Maybe later."
"She don't throw on much style?"
"Don't she though. Silks ain't nothin' to her. She's a clipper when sheagonizes."
Fearing, if he kept up the conversation much longer, that thebar-keeper would suspect his game, Sam called for another cigar, andpicking up a deck of cards which lay on the table, suggested a game of"seven up." The bar-keeper seated himself with his back to the window,Sam still holding his post of survey.
The game was only just begun, when the fortune-teller, carrying a smallbottle, apparently of medicine, returned and entered the door.
Sam's interest in the game died out shortly after, and patronsbeginning to appear, the bar-keeper took his accustomed place behindthe bar.
The room gradually filled up, and taking advantage of a little crowdnear the door, Sam quietly slipped through the door and walked straightacross to the fortune-teller's house.
As he entered, the inner door was opened and the dark woman herselfappeared.
With inimitable assurance the detective removed his hat and advancedtoward her.
Drawing her
self up to her full height, the sibyl in a deep, solemnvoice said:
"What brings you here?"
"I'm in hard luck. Got scooped up to the White Elephant and want you togive me a luck charm."
The eyes of the hag glittered greedily as Sam held out a five-dollarbill, and throwing the door wide open she bade him enter.
As Sam did so his experienced eye took in the whole room, the skull,charts, bottles and even the cards did not escape his gaze.
Nance pushed forward a chair, and telling him under pain of breakingthe spell not to utter a word, she retired behind the curtain.
Left alone Sam took a more deliberate survey of the apartment and couldhardly repress an exclamation of satisfaction as he saw lying on thefloor the old slouch hat which Chip had worn the preceding day. Hisface, however, showed nothing as Nance reappeared bearing in one hand apeculiar lamp, scrolled and formed in a fanciful pattern and in theother a large book bound in parchment, covered with hieroglyphics.Putting the lamp on the table she extinguished the gas, and thepale-blue flame of the alcohol in the lamp cast its ghastly beams overthe strange place.
Muttering rapidly to herself she threw powder on the flame, causing agreen flash to appear each time, with her eyes fastened on the openpages of the book.
Amused at the hollow fraud, Sam looked on, very much interested andracking his brain to devise some means of gaining a further entrance tothe house. From its outside appearance he knew he must be in one of therear rooms, and if Chip was not behind the curtain he must be in anupper story. While he was thus occupied the fortune-teller had finishedher incantations, and, taking from a drawer a small amulet sewed in oilskin, handed it to the detective.
"Take this, my son--the stars are auspicious. It will bring you andkeep near you good luck and high fortune. Now, depart in peace, for Iam weary and would fain seek rest."
His answer surprised her, for, rising abruptly, he struck a match, and,lighting the gas jet, pushed aside the curtains.
With a scream of rage, Nance sprang forward.
"Go but another step, and I'll tear your heart out!"
Disregarding her, the detective pushed forward and threw open the doorleading to the ascending stairs.
In a trice he had mounted them and turning to the right, entered aroom. His astonishment was so great that he half stopped, for theapartment was furnished in almost regal style; richly-upholsteredfurniture and oil paintings contrasted so vividly with the squalor andmisery of the lower part of the house that the audacious detectivecould scarcely believe his senses.
A smothered cry of rage and terror behind him warned him, and turningswiftly he beheld Nance, with wild eyes and disheveled hair, springingtoward him. In her uplifted hand gleamed the glittering blade of astilletto, and like a fury she rushed upon the bold intruder.
The trained hand flew to the pocket and the ready revolver leaped forth.
Nance staggered back, the dagger falling from her nerveless hand, as inabject terror she crouched on a chair.
"Don't shoot! don't shoot! See, I won't hurt you," she moaned.
Grasping her by the wrist, and pressing the revolver to her head, Samsaid, sternly, and in a voice that would brook no delay:
"What have you done with the man brought here last night?"
Nance pointed to the next room, too frightened to speak, and thrustingher forward, Sam continued his search.
Chip, his head covered with a bandage, and still somewhat confused,recognized his comrade as he entered the room. His mind was clearenough, however, to appreciate the situation, when the terror-strickenhag, pointing her long skinny finger at him, quivered in a tremulousvoice: "He's alive; don't you see he's alive?"
Overjoyed at finding Chip safe and still alive, Sam clasped his hands.
"Can you walk, Chip?" he asked,
"I don't know, Sam. I had a devilish close call," and Chip threw backthe covers and essayed to step from the bed. His limbs trembled, andthrowing up his hands despairingly, he sank back again. A flask ofbrandy stood on the table, and in an instant Sam had the cork out andhad poured some of its contents down his friend's throat.
The generous fluid warmed the blood and revived the strength of thewounded detective, who, making another attempt, stood on his feet.
Throwing his arm around Chip's waist, Sam bade the thoroughly cowedwoman to go before him, and was moving slowly to the door when a sharp,stern voice commanded:
"Stop!"
The detectives looked up, and standing in the open door, a revolver ineach hand, stood Jim Cummings.