CHAPTER XIII.
NICK WIFFLES EXPLAINS A MYSTERY.
"So you found Ronald Mason prowling around the swamp, after you tracedSim Johnson down here from New York?" asked the broker's daughter,after the first salutations were over, and all were seated.
"We were under the impression that he had been making this house hisabode," replied Old King Brady, in some surprise.
"No, indeed. George, the caretaker, declares that nobody but he and hiswife have been in this house since you two gentlemen were here last."
"That is very strange," said the old detective.
"Why do you think so?" asked the girl, curiously.
"It puzzles me to account for Mason haunting the swamp and never comingnear this house. Why is he hanging around that dismal swamp? What isthe attraction that keeps him there with no friends or companions butthose two negroes?"
"Was the other masked man a negro?"
"Yes. I saw the rascal's black skin plainly."
"Perhaps he is in the swamp to avoid arrest."
"No, no. He would not select such a malarious hole when there are somany pleasanter places for him to abide in. There is a deeper reasonbehind it. We must find out what it is."
"When he learns I am here, Mr. Brady, he may take it into his head tocontinue his persecutions."
"Not while we are here to protect you."
"Then you will be my guests?" eagerly asked the girl.
"Nothing would afford us greater pleasure."
"That makes my mind feel much easier."
"If your father should yet be alive and they should have him concealedsomewhere around this swamp, it might account for their presence here."
"Yes, yes," she assented, eagerly. "You've proven conclusively that mypoor father was not the man found in the river."
"In view of the fact that the game is up, so far as Mason is concerned,I can't fathom any object he may have in keeping your father a prisonerany longer. That is, of course, presuming he really has your fatheralive and imprisoned anywhere."
"Well," said the girl, reflectively, "I cannot give an opinion on thatpoint at all. I can only keep on hoping that you may soon find myfather, dead or alive. It would end this dreadful suspense anduncertainty about his fate."
At this juncture George's wife stuck her kinky head in at the door andannounced that dinner was awaiting them.
The Bradys were shown to their rooms.
Having washed and made their toilets as best they could, they went downand joined Lizzie in the dining-room.
After that, several days and nights of hard work ensued.
The Bradys abandoned their disguises, merely wearing their top boots,and thoroughly scoured the swamp.
Not a trace of Mason or his two negroes was found.
It nettled the detectives, and finally drove them to the conclusionthat the rascally trio had gone away.
Assured of this, the Bradys searched Swamp Angel.
No one there had seen anything of the men in question.
It therefore seemed quite evident that they cleared out of thatneighborhood entirely, and assured of this, the Bradys started for homeafoot that night.
"We shall have to leave here to-morrow," said the old sleuth, "and getupon their track elsewhere, Harry."
"It's a question how to find their trail," the boy answered, dubiously.
"As they more than likely went by rail, we could easily make inquiriesof the passing train crews for some tidings of them."
Just then the pounding of horses' hoofs upon the road reached theirears, and they rushed behind a heap of rocks.
Parting some bushes growing there, they peered out.
The moon was rising in the cloudy sky, lighting up the dusty road, andthe detectives caught view of two men on horseback.
They were coming from the direction of Pine Creek, the next railroadstation beyond Swamp Angel, and carried bundles of provisions.
As Harry's glance fell upon the pair, he grasped Old King Brady's arm,and muttered in low, excited tones:
"It's Mason and Johnson, or some other negro."
"Hush! Keep quiet!" muttered Old King Brady.
Up came the horsemen, blissfully ignorant of the fact that thedetectives were watching them, and Mason was laughing and saying:
"The fools were searching the swamp for us during the past three days,Nick, and they couldn't find a sign of us."
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed the negro. "'Specs dey am not so smart as deyfink dey am. An' what's mo', dey nebber find us."
Just then the detectives sprang from their covert.
Landing in the road in front of the two startled men, they grasped thehorses' bridles at the bits, and the frightened beasts paused andreared up.
"Whoa!" yelled Mason. "What's that? Whoa!"
Old King Brady aimed a pistol up in his face.
"It's me!" he cried.
"Thunder!" roared the man.
"You throw your hands up."
"What for?"
"Because we want you!"
A sneering laugh pealed from Mason's lips.
He dug spurs into his horse's flanks, and the brute sprang forward,maddened with pain, and knocked the old detective down.
Over him bounded the horse, and the next moment it went galloping awayinto the woods a few yards ahead, and vanished.
Harry had been more fortunate.
As soon as he stopped the negro's horse, the black man raised a stickhe carried and aimed a blow at the boy's head.
"G'way f'om dar!" he yelled.
Harry bounded out of reach of the blow.
The descending stick hit the horse and it gave a sudden leap thatdismounted the man, and went plunging away at a furious rate.
The negro landed on his back on the ground.
In a moment Harry pounced upon him.
Pushing his pistol in the man's face, he cried:
"Surrender, you black fiend, or I'll bore you!"
"Don't shoot, boss!" roared the coon, frantically.
"Are you going to submit?"
"Yassah, yassah!"
"Without a fight?"
"Fo' sho' I is."
"Roll over on your face."
"Ober I go! Don't fire!" said the coon, turning over.
"Now, put your hands on your back."
"Heah dey am, boss!"
And the negro did as he was told.
Out came Harry's handcuffs, "click!" they snapped on his wrists, and inanother instant the man was a prisoner.
When Old King Brady reached the boy he was pulling a big navy revolverout of the man's hip pocket.
"Got him, Harry?"
"Safe, Old King Brady."
"Get him upon his feet."
They raised the man, and now got a good square look at him.
He was a short, heavily-built fellow, clad in rags, and had asvillainous a face as any they had ever seen.
The man was trembling with fear.
It was plain he was an arrant coward.
When the detectives looked him over, Old King Brady asked him:
"Say, what's your name?"
"Nick Wiffles."
"Where do you live?"
"In de swamp."
"Ain't you the man who built a bonfire on the railroad track some timeago, to stop a train from running into an obstruction?"
"I is."
"And you did it to stop the train?"
"He done telled me ter do it, boss."
"So you could steal a box containing Mr. Dalton's body from the baggagecar during the confusion?"
"Dat's about de size ob it."
"And you got Dalton's body out of the box and carried it into theswamp?"
"I did."
"Into the hut?"
"Yassah."
"Were you alone?"
"All alone."
"When you got the body in the hut, what did you do with it?"
"I ain't a-gwine ter tell yer."
"All this was prearranged between you and Mason, wasn't i
t?"
"Yassah."
Old King Brady smiled. He had cleared up another mystery.