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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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NICK was sauntering in the direction of [???] Avenue, just at dusk, on a warm summer's evening
He was humming merrily, and his face wore an expression of satisfaction.
[???] detective himself in one of his many disguises had just completed the solution of a difficult case in solving the mystery connected with "Madge, the Queen of Crooks."
Suddenly the bootblack stopped whistling, and paused abruptly.
He had caught sight of a group of street urchins, who had joined hands, and were dancing in a ring around a middle-aged lady, whose face wore an expression of great distress. Tears stood in her eyes, as she strove in vain to push past her mocking tormentors.
"'Ere's a baby wot wants to find its mammy!" shouted one.
"Give us a kiss fur toll, my pretty," said another, with a sudden dash at the terrified woman.
With a bound the bootblack was in the midst of them. and in another moment they were scattered right and left, with one sweep of his powerful arm.
"Now, missy," he said, turning to the trembling lady, what kin dis chile do fur you? Shall I done fetch a cab?"
"Oh!" she said, breathlessly, fumbling for her purse, "if you will only show me my way, I will be so much obliged. I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't come up. I don't know what made them treat me so."
"Guess dey saw you's afraid of 'em," replied the darkey, shrewdly. "Better hab a cab, missy."
He saw that she was still weak from her fright, but she shook her head.
"No," she said; "no, I'll not have a cab. They—they're very expensive. I must be quite near to the house, now."
"What house, missy?"
"Mr. Nicholas Carter's," was the unexpected reply.
"Golly!" exclaimed the negro. "I'm done goin' dere my own se'f. Just you foller me, honey, an you'll fetch up all right."
Nick went on ahead, turned a corner, and stood before the door of his own house.
"Dis am de place, sho' nuff," he said, turning to the woman.
She had found her purse by this time, and now opened it and extracted a five cent piece, which she tendered to her guide.
"Poor as poverty," was Nick's first thought.
Then, as he glanced hastily into the well-filled purse, he changed his mind.
"Stingy," he muttered, inaudibly. "Wonder what she wants with me."
With another word of thanks, she went slowly up the steps and rang the bell, while Nick darted into the area and disappeared from sight.
Fifteen minutes later he was sitting face to face with his caller, who little dreamed that the middle-aged man before her was the bootblack from whom she had so recently parted.
She was a woman of fifty years or more, and was plainly, even shabbily dressed.
"And now, madam," said Nick, "what can I do for you?"
"I doubt if you can do anything," she replied, despairingly.
"I can, at least, hear what it is that you want done."
"I want you to find a fortune for me, amounting to more than a million dollars."
"Indeed!"
"There!" she said, with a certain mournful satisfaction; "you see how impossible it sounds. I suppose I am a fool to think of it."
"Perhaps not. Tell me about it."
"There is not much to tell. Mr. Carter, do you believe in dreams?"
"Well, I do not put implicit faith in them."
"I do; and I have had a strange experience lately."
"If it relates to the case in hand, tell me about it."
"It is the case in hand."
"Well?"
"Night before last I had a dream. I seemed to be asleep, when a bony, fleshless hand, the hand of a skeleton, shook me by the shoulder until I awoke."
"A ghostly dream."
"Yes, indeed. I arose in my dream, and, guided by the hand upon my shoulder, I walked straight to an old-fashioned secretary, or writing desk, which has been in our family for more than a hundred years.
"There the hand released my shoulder, and with one skeleton finger pointed to a small drawer at the right-hand side of the secretary.
"I opened the drawer, but it was empty.
"The finger, however, continued to go in the same direction, until, with a start, I awoke."
"To find yourself—"
"In my own bed."
"Exactly."
"Ah, you are smiling. I see you put no faith in my story."
"Pardon me; I do not doubt your dream in the least. But if you will permit me to say so, I do think that there is nothing about if to which you need give a second thought."
"And yet—"
"Well?"
"The same thing happened to me again last night."
"You probably brooded over your strange dream all day, yesterday, did you not?"
"I did."
"And you thoroughly examined the empty drawer more than once?"
"Many times."
"Without result?"
"Without the least result."
"And when night came you were nervous and excited, and almost afraid to go to sleep?"
"Yes; but how—"
"No wonder you had the same dream over again. The remarkable part would have been if you had escaped it."
She sighed heavily.
"I was sure you would put no faith in it, Mr. Carter, and yet—and yet I know the dream had some meaning, some message for me."
She spoke with peculiar emphasis, and the detective glanced keenly at her.
"You have some reason for your belief, beyond what you have told me," he said, quietly.
She hesitated.
"If you expect me to do anything for you, you must tell me all," he continued.
She paused a moment, and then replied slowly:
"I will tell you all, Mr. Carter, although the subject is, in many respects, a painful one to me, for in speaking of it I shall be obliged to reveal to you, a stranger, the curse of our family—the skeleton which has lain hidden for generations in our midst; the skeleton of greed—the curse of miserliness."
Her voice faltered, but she continued without pausing:
"We have all fallen under the ban of this curse; we have all struggled to escape from it; we have hidden it away—locked our family skeleton in its closet, only to see it leer with fiendish glee at us as we fell under the weight of some new temptation, and perjured our very souls for the sake of acquiring new possessions.
"I myself am a victim to the same passionate greed. It is inborn, and I— But," she added, with a sudden change of manner, "I have said enough upon this point. Now, to my story.
"My grandfather, Reginald Dare, was a miser, pure and simple. He was a dealer in precious stones, and did an immense business. So much we knew.
There has always been a conviction among us that he amassed a large fortune, but no one but himself ever knew the truth of the matter."
"When did your grandfather. die?"
"Fifty years ago; at least, he suddenly disappeared at that time, leaving not the slightest trace behind him."
"And has nothing been heard of him since?"
"Nothing."
"Nor of the fortune?"
"No one has ever seen a penny of it."
"Humph!"
"Nevertheless, I would stake my life that Reginald Dare left a fortune, and that it still exists somewhere."
"Ah! and you think that your dream has something to do with the solution of the mystery?"
"I do, most certainly."
"H'm!"
"I see that you do not."
"Being a practical man, I confess the case does not seem to me to be a particularly strong one."
"And yet, Mr. Carter, I want you to undertake it."
"I doubt my ability to shadow a ghost. I have tried most things, but this is the first time I was ever asked to—er—Miss —, I beg your pardon, but I have neglected to ask your name."
"My name is Dare, Anna Dare. I am the only child of Reginald Dare's only son. To the best of my belief, I am the last of my race, and with my death the family will become extinct. It will be small loss to the world for we have done nothing to make it better or happier."
"You have become morbid, Miss Dare, with brooding over this affair."
"I speak only the truth, Mr. Carter. But if I could only find this fortune, which is, I am convinced, lying hidden and waiting for an owner, I would do violence to my own instincts and those of my race; I would scatter it broadcast, give it where it would do the most good, if it tore my very heart strings to do it."
"The first thing is to find it," remarked Nick, practically. "Will you kindly tell me why you came to me with your story?"
"Because I have heard that you are the greatest living detective. Because I believe that if the fortune is in existence you can find it; and because I believe that my dream, or vision, is the first link in the chain, which will lead to the discovery of the money.
"If you succeed, you may name your own reward—provided it is not an exorbitant one," she added, cautiously.
Nick smiled.
"I will tell you what I will do," he said. "I will call upon you to-morrow morning, and if the vision has appeared to you for the third time, I will undertake the case, for I confess that you have succeeded in interesting me."
She gave him an address in the outskirts of Brooklyn, and left him almost without another word.
AT ten o'clock on the following morning Nick Carter ascended the wooden steps of an old-fashioned house on one of Brooklyn's new streets; a street which, not many years ago, was but a part of a farming country, lying miles beyond the sister cities of New York and Brooklyn.
His ring at the bell was answered by Miss Dare herself, who had evidently been watching for him.
Her face was pale and strained, and her eyes betrayed loss of sleep.
"Well," said the detective, "did the ghost put in an appearance last night?"
"Yes," she replied, briefly.
"Indeed, did he vary his maneuvers?"
"No."
Her earnestness impressed Nick, in spite of himself. He was half-inclined to laugh at his folly in undertaking such a shadowy case, based upon nothing more substantial than the dreams of an excitable woman, and a few misty family traditions, but, when in her presence, she almost succeeded in inspiring him with a portion of her own faith.
"Suppose we take a look at this piece of furniture," he said.
Without a word, she led the way to another room.
They stood before an article of furniture, the upper half of which was composed of three shelves, well filled with books, and protected by glass doors, behind whose small panes were hung curtains of thin, green silk.
Below these shelves were three small drawers, on a line with each other.
Under them was a projecting shelf which unfolded, and proved to be a velvet-covered desk.
Below this again came three large drawers, which reached nearly to the floor.
The workmanship was solid, and the whole thing had the substantial appearance so common to old-time furniture.
Miss Dare touched the right hand one of the three small drawers.
"This is the one at which the finger pointed," she said.
Nick opened it.
It was entirely empty, as she had said.
He drew it completely out, and examined it thoroughly.
He rapped upon the bottom and the sides. He sought for a secret spring. He took it to the window and looked for marks of pen or pencil.
He found nothing at all.
Then he turned his attention to the opening from which the drawer had been taken.
Again he rapped, and pulled, and pushed, but still without success.
He moved the secretary away from the wall, and carefully examined the back of it.
It was apparently as solid as the side of the house.
He stood upright, and looked at Miss Dare.
She was watching his every movement, and was pale with anxiety.
"Can you find nothing?" she asked.
"Absolutely nothing."
"Try again."
"Pardon me; I have looked everywhere."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands in her excitement, "you must find something, if we have to tear the thing to pieces to do it."
Again Nick peered into the place where the drawer had rested.
A moment later, he stood erect again.
"Have you a screwdriver?" he asked, quietly.
"Yes, yes; I will get it at once. Have you found nothing?"
"No, nothing."
He took the screwdriver, and with it removed two small screws which held in place one of the small pieces of wood upon which the drawer slid.
Then he unscrewed the one upon the other, or outer, side.
"Ah!" he murmured, softly.
Beneath it was a small, semi-circular indentation in the wood.
"What have you found?" she asked, breathlessly.
He did not reply at once. He placed his thumb-nail in the slight indentation, and pressed upon it.
The bottom of the aperture slid slowly toward the left, revealing a shallow receptacle, scarcely a half an inch in depth.
Lying in its secret hiding-place was a folded piece of paper, yellow with age, but covered with fine writing, which was plainly decipherable.
"Well! I'll be—shot," murmured Nick, as his eyes fell upon the paper, "if ever I disbelieve in dreams again. This is the ghostliest case I ever got hold of, and no mistake."
He drew out the paper, and turned toward Miss Dare.
She had quietly fainted, and was lying in a heap upon the floor.
Nick raised her in his strong arms, and bore her to a sofa, where she revived almost immediately.
"You must think me very weak," she said, pressing her hand to her head.
"Not at all," replied Nick. "I confess I felt a little queer myself."
"Have you read the paper?"
"Not yet."
"I must know what it says."
"Are you able to hear it?"
"Yes—yes."
"Then I will read it to you."
Nick, with great care, unfolded the thin, crackling paper.
"What is the signature?" asked Miss Dare.
Nick turned to the last page.
"There is none," he said. "The writing seems to have been broken off abruptly, in the midst of a sentence."
"Is it a letter?"
"It seems to be."
"What is the date?"
"June 27, 1841."
"Fifty years ago, the night I first had the dream," she murmured.
"This is uncanny," thought Nick. "I feel almost like a ghost myself."
Then, without further interruption, he read the letter aloud:
"My dear son Charles," it ran: "before you reach America I may be numbered among the dead, and I cannot let my secret die with me; I must write that which I had hoped to disclose to you by word of mouth. I am not an old man; I am only sixty, Charles: but the doctors have warned me that there is trouble with my heart, and that I may die suddenly. Therefore I write this, to be given to you upon your return, if I am no longer here to welcome you.
"My son, I have always passed for a poor man, but I am rich—richer than many a one who calls himself a millionaire.
"I have kept my wealth in my own hands, where I can gloat over it and caress it, without fear of losing it through the rascality or recklessness of others.
"I have made a hiding-place for it, Charles, where no one will think of looking for it, and I have told no one of it—no one at all. If it were not for this horrible fear of heart-disease, I would not now trust the secret to paper; but the fortune must be yours, Charles, your's and Baby Anna's, and I can afford to play no tricks with Fate. Teach the child to guard the money well when it comes to her, for it will be a princely inheritance.
"And now for the place where you will find this fortune, if I am not alive when you return.
"Go to the little room at the head of the great stairway.
"Enter the closet, and press with all your strength upon the panel directly opposite the door. The spring is stiff.
"The panel will yield sufficiently for you to insert your fingers in the opening.
"Press to the left, and it will slide, leaving room enough for you to enter.
"There you will find the savings of my lifetime.
"I shall give this letter to our good minister, Dr. Burton, to-morrow, to hold in trust until your return, when he will deliver it to you, if I am no longer living.
"And now, as the time—"
Here the letter came to an abrupt stop.
Nick and his client drew a long breath, and looked at each other.
"I told you so!" she said. "Will you take my case now?"
"Yes! I'll take it, and I'll find that fortune for you too, or my name is not Nick Carter."
She nodded.
"It's there, somewhere," she said.
"And now, Miss Dare, I must ask you a few questions."
"I am ready to answer them."
"Was your father the Charles referred to in this document?"
"He was."
"Where was he at the time it was written?"
"On a whaling vessel, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean."
"When he returned, was his father dead?"
"His father had mysteriously disappeared. There was a theory that he had drowned himself, but his body was never recovered."
"Is your father still living?"
"No; both my parents died before I was twenty."
"Were they in straitened circumstances?"
"No; they had money, but they were cursed with the same miserly nature that has always been in our blood. My father's whole life, from the time I was old enough to know anything, was embittered by the thought that the inheritance to which he had always looked forward had in some mysterious way, eluded his grasp."
"At the time this document was written, fifty years ago did Reginald Dare inhabit this house?"
"No; he lived all alone in the old homestead, out on Long Island, on the coast."
"Ah!"
"It was a large, rambling old place, and, after he disappeared, it got the name of being haunted."
"When your father returned, did he live there?"
"No; my mother always said the place gave her the horrors, so it remained vacant for a few years, and was finally sold."
"To its present owner?"
"I really do not know. I believe, however, that it has changed hands several times."
"Well, Miss Dare," said Nick, rising, "if you will give me the address, I think I will take a look at the old homestead. With your permission, I will take this paper with me, and I think before long we will lay hands upon the missing inheritance."
But when the great detective made this assertion, he little dreamed of the difficulties which lay in the path of victory.
ON the following morning, a seedy-looking individual, apparently about twenty-five years of age, might have been seen plodding along a dusty country road, near the eastern extremity of Long Island.
The road ran parallel with the southern shore of the island, about a half a mile inland, and the ocean could be seen at intervals, as the traveler ascended a slight eminence, or reached some place where the intervening country dropped below the level of the road.
At one of those spots he paused, and looked keenly around him, as he wiped his forehead with a gaudy red handkerchief.
"Whew!" he muttered. "It can't be much farther, thank goodness. It should be somewhere off here to the right."
A gnarled and twisted apple-tree grew by the side of the road. A spring and an agile twist of his lithe figure, and he was up among its branches.
He made his way swiftly to the top, where a limb on the seaward side had been torn off by some bygone hurricane, and through the opening thus made he swiftly took an observation.
Then he nodded with a grunt of satisfaction.
"Yonder, down on the shore of that little cove," he soliloquized, "are the few huts which comprise the village of Daresville. So far, correct.
"Back from them, on that bare, bleak hill, is tHe old homestead, where the fortune, if fortune there be, lies hidden. Good!
"What a God-forsaken place to be sure! Just the spot for a man who wanted to hide himself and his money, for no one would ever come down here in search of such a thing.
"Well, now for a nearer look. I must go down to that dismal little village, and see what I can pick up in the way of information."
He swung himself down from the apple tree, and struck off "across lots" in the direction of the group of weather-beaten houses on the shore.
The soil was sandy, and his improvised path was none of the smoothest, and by the time he had reached the one street of the village he was glad to seat himself upon the porch before the door of the store, and mop his forehead again with the red and yellow handkerchief.
"Hot, ain't it," remarked the storekeeper, apathetically, as he sauntered to the door, and leaned against it, slowly picking his teeth.
"You bet!" nodded the new arrival, who was, as the reader will have guessed, the great detective, Nick Carter.
"Come fur?" asked the other, reflectively observing Nick's well-worn shoes.
"From the tail-end o' Cape Cod."
"Sho!"
"Fact."
"Did ye tramp it all the way?"
"Not much. Got a lift now an' then."
"Whar ye goin'?"
"Wal, I did start in to go ter New York; make my fortune, ye know."
The man nodded.
"Given it up, eh?"
"Well, I sort o' got switched off. Fact is, I got a lift on one o' them boats that go back and forth on the Sound with freight. This one was bound for New York, an' I thought I was all hunky dory."
"Wal, why warn't ye?"
"Fell asleep on deck. Wind came up. Confounded boat tipped. I rolled into the water."
"Sho!"
"Fact."
"An' ye warn't drownded?"
"Not much. Two or three other things fell in with me. One was a stool. I clung to it, an' before morning the waves washed me on shore."
"Sho!"
"Fact. I dried off in the sun, an' started to find a house. Found one, and got some breakfast, and I'm blowed if this isn't the first time I've seen a house or a man, either, since then."
"Sho! hungry, be ye?"
"Well, I should smile."
Without another word, the storekeeper retreated, to emerge again with his hands full of crackers, cheese, and stale gingerbread.
"Thar!" he said. "Now, fill up."
Nick took him at his word, while the man swung one leg over the railing of the porch, and surveyed his visitor with mild curiosity.
This time, however, it was Nick who opened the conversation.
"What do the folks in this town do?" he asked.
"Do?"
"Yes; for a living."
"Oh! Wal, they fish—some."
"There ain't no farm land around here, is there?"
"Pretty poor pickin's. The squire's got a few good fields, but that's about all."
"Who's the squire?"
"Squire Smith, up thar in the Dare House."
"Where's that?"
"Back on the old road a piece. Didn't ye notice a long, low house, kinder tumblin' to pieces?"
"B'lieve I did, now I come to think of it. Who'd you say lives there?"
"Squire Smith."
"Old man?"
"No; forty, perhaps."
"Oh! Didn't s'pose a young man would live 'round here."
"Most of 'em won't. But he's queer—queerer'n Dick's hat-band."
"How?"
"Oh, he lives there with his daughter, as purty a gal as you'd want to see, an' he don't have no company from one year's end to t'other, an' even when he goes off on his journeys he won't take that poor, young critter with him, but leaves her in that old house with the servants for days at a time."
"Humph! Where does he go, them times?"
"Says he goes to New York on business."
"What's his business?"
"Goodness knows! I don't."
"Say!"
"What?"
"Is there any place round here to get a boat for fishing?"
"There ain't no spare boat, but one of the fellers'll take you out, if so be as you want to go."
"I'd kinder like to have a try at it. I'm quite a dabster at fishing when I'm to home, down on the Cape."
"Wal, there's some o' the boys down on the shore now, mending the big net."
'All right. I'll go and find them. How much do I owe you for this spread?"
"Not one cent, stranger. I've been hungry myself, an' I know how it feels. Hallo!" he added, suddenly.
"What's the matter?"
"Jewhitaker!"
He gazed wildly up the dusty street, and Nick, springing to his feet, followed his example.
As far up the glaring road as the eye could reach, there was a thick cloud of dust, which was not raised by the gentle breeze then blowing.
In the midst of it could be dimly seen a swaying black mass, which gradually drew nearer, and resolved itself into a pair of maddened horses, who were tearing along the road at breakneck speed.
In the light carriage behind them sat a young fellow, clinging with all his strength to the dashboard, and shouting vociferously to the runaways, who paid not the slightest attention to him.
"Squire Smith's team," gasped the storekeeper, excitedly. By this time the runaways were nearly abreast of the store, and Nick could see that the reins were dragging upon the ground, out of the reach of the frightened occupant of the carriage.
With one bound he cleared the steps upon which he was seated, and another carried him to the middle of the road, just as the horses dashed along.
He sprung to their heads, and with all his gigantic strength sought to stop them.
At first it seemed as though he would not succeed. He was lifted into the air, and carried along several feet, still clinging to the horses' bits.
But the tremendous strain was too much for them. Little by little they slackened their speed, until finally they faltered and stopped.
By this time the driver had sprung out, and he now approached Nick with both hands extended.
"Shake!" he said. "You're a brick."
"Thanks!" replied Nick, coolly, as he surveyed his hands, which were cut and bleeding. "I ain't in a condition to shake, I guess."
"By thunder!" continued the other, excitedly, "you saved my life, young feller, an' Sam Larkin ain't the man to forget a thing o' that kind."
"I didn't do nothin' much," replied Nick, modestly, wiping his forehead again with the red handkerchief.
"Nothin' much?"
"No; 'twarn't nothin' to brag on."
"Wal, mebbe you look at it that way, but personally speakin', I look upon my life as worth savin' an', if you ever want a friend, just call on Sam Larkin."
"Thanks! What's your address?"
"Oh, I live up to Squire Smith's! I'm his hired man. Ben Handy, there, kin tell you about me an' the squire, too."
He nodded toward the storekeeper, who was staring at them with great interest.
"Say, do you mean it?" asked Nick, suddenly.
"Mean what?"
"What you just said."
"Bout my life bein' worth savin'? You bet!"
"No. 'Bout being willing to do me a good turn."
"Certain."
"Then I'll tell you what to do."
"What?"
"Get me some kind of a job up to your place."
"What? Up to the squire's?"
"Yes."
"You're in the nick o' time, my boy. He always keeps a servant to wait on him. A valley, he calls him. He dismissed the last one two weeks ago, and has been in an awful taking to get another."
"Just the thing, Samuel."
"Kin you do it? He's awful fussy, an' has got the devil's own temper."
"Bring him on. Do it? Of course I can. Just the kind of a job I've been lookin' for."
"Jump up, then. What's your name?"
"Dick Robinson."
"Well, Dick, in five minutes we will be there, and then, if you really want the place, I'll do my prettiest to back you up."
They both entered the carriage, and the spirited horses were soon bearing them swiftly toward Reginald Dare's old homestead.
"SO you want to enter my service, do you?"
The speaker was Squire Smith, a tall, striking-looking man with light hair, deep-set black eyes, and a smooth-shaven face.
"Yes, sir," replied Nick.
"But I don't know anything about you."
"Oh, you'll soon learn, Sir."
"I don't think you'll suit."
The squire turned abruptly away, to find himself face to face with his daughter, a tall, slender, beautiful girl.
"Wait, papa," she said.
"What for?"
"Why don't you try him?"
"I don't know anything about him. Besides, he's impudent."
"That was more ignorance than impudence, papa."
"Nonsense, Nannie, you know nothing about it."
"But, papa, just consider how uncomfortable you have been since Jim left, and how impossible it is for you to find any one who is willing to live down here."
"Girl, do you want me to take a total stranger into the house?"
"But Sam said he knew him. Didn't you, Sam?"
"Yes, ma'am. Known him from a baby. Born an' brought up in the next house to him."
"There! you hear, papa? And you know him to be honest, and all that, don't you, Sam?"
"As honest as—as the babe unborn, miss. An' knows his business like a book."
"Papa, he was led here by the hand of Providence. Do take him."
The squire hesitated. His daughter had spoken the truth. It was almost an impossibility to induce a competent body-servant to come to that remote place.
"I'll tell you what I will do, Dick," he said, at last.
"Yes, sir?"
"I'll try you for a week."
"Thanky, sir."
"But I warn you I am a hard man to get along with, and I will put up with no impudence."
"Yes, sir."
"I expect implicit obedience."
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, I am busy now. Come to me in an hour, in the library."
Nick touched his hat, and strolled toward the barn with Sam.
"Say!" said the latter, "did I do it up brown?"
"Bet your life! we are quits now."
"How do you like the squire?"
"Oh, he'll do! But Sam—"
"What?"
"I want you to tell me something."
"Well?"
"Why was that pretty girl so anxious to have me get the job?"
"Because her dear papa leads her a dog's life when he is out of temper, an' he's always out of temper, when he hasn't got a valley to wait on him."
"Oh, I see!"
"Exactly."
"How long has the squire owned this place?"
"Ten years; mebbe more."
"Who owned it before him?"
"Man by the name of Barrow."
"How long had he owned it?"
"I dunno. What's up? Be you studying ancient history?"
"No."
"Oh!"
"I asked cos I thought it was called the Dare place, an' I wanted to find out why."
"There was an old miser of the name of Dare lived here years an' years ago. Folks do say he was drowned, and I've even heard that he used to haunt the place, but that's all bosh."
"Why?"
"Why? because there isn't no such things as ghosts."
"Sure?
"Ye—yes. Ain't you?"
"No. I believe in ghosts."
"Ever seen one?"
"Yes."
"Honest?"
"True's you live. All in white, with shiny eyes. Ugh!"
"Wal, I never saw old Reginald Dare's ghost, an' what's more, I don't want to."
"Nor I nuther. Well, good-bye for now, Sam. I'm goin' to take a look around before I go in."
Nick strolled out to the road, and took a keen, quick survey of his surroundings.
The house covered a great deal of ground, for it was low, and made up in length for what it lacked in height. There were no signs of occupancy, except in the main part of the building. There was an ell at each end, but they looked closed and deserted.
The front door stood wide open, and Nick entered.
A wide hall went from front to rear of the house, and there was a door at the other end, which also stood wide open.
A broad staircase was at the right, half-way down the hall, and Nick strolled quietly toward it.
This was without doubt the great staircase mentioned in Reginald Dare's letter.
He looked up, but there was a landing half-way up, and then a turn, beyond which he could not see.
"Almost reached my goal," he thought.
"Let me once be alone in the little room at the head of those stairs, and I will soon know the truth."
Just then a door at the farther end of the hall opened, and Nick's new employer stepped out.
"Ah, there you are?" he said. Just come here now, will you? I want to talk with you."
Nick followed him into a bare, comfortless room, containing a large library table, two or three book-cases, and a few straight, cane-seated chairs.
"We may as well understand each other at once," he said. "I want a man who will obey my orders, whether he understands the reasons for them or not. Can you do that?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are to be ready at any hour of the day or night to do any thing that I require."
"Yes, sir."
"I am often called away suddenly to New York. At such times you will remain here, in readiness to receive any orders that I may send you."
"Yes, sir."
"That will do for the present. At five o'clock you may come to me. I shall want to send you to the post-office."
Nick's quarters, as well as those of his master, were upon the ground floor of the rambling old house, and he found no opportunity during the afternoon and evening of making his way to the upper part of the house.
Waiting, therefore, until the house was quiet, he speedily transformed himself into a burglar, half-mask and all.
"Safer, in case I'm seen," he thought.
He had taken the precaution to oil the hinges of his door that evening, and, before he left his room, he opened the window and drew down the curtain.
Then he noiselessly opened the door, and, going quietly along the hall to the front door, he unlocked and unbolted it.
Having thus prepared a way of retreat, he proceeded lightly up the creaking old staircase.
Several times he paused and listened, thinking he heard a movement behind him, but finally he reached the top of the stairway, and, opening his little pocket lantern, took a brief survey of his surroundings.
Then he shut off the light, and stood lost in thought.
He carried Reginald Dare's letter in his pocket, but he did not need to refer to it. He knew it by heart.
Here behind him was the great staircase, the only one in the house which could properly be thus designated, as he had already ascertained.
At the head of this stairway, according to the letter, there was a small room, in which was situated the all-important closet.
But the trusty little lantern had made an unexpected revelation.
There was no room at the head of the staircase.
Nick found himself standing in a broad, open space, facing two windows, which looked out upon the front of the house.
The moon was shining brightly, but everything beyond the two windows was in deep shadow. There was no other window visible.
Suddenly Nick fancied he detected a stealthy noise behind him.
With a quick, silent spring. he placed himself in the dense shadow, out of reach of the moonbeams.
Again and yet again he heard the same slight sounds, and presently the old stairway began to creak at regular intervals.
"Has some one seen me," thought Nick, "or is this the genuine article, of which I am only an imitation?"
He kept perfectly still, with every sense on the alert.
At length a man's head came into view in the uncertain light, then the shoulders, and finally the whole figure.
He walked with the assured step of one who knew what he was about. He turned to the right, and approached Nick.
The latter felt for his trusty little pistols, which he wore concealed in his sleeves, and with which he could make such wonderful snap shots.
But a second thought convinced him that he would only betray himself by using them, and thus ruin every chance of carrying out his purpose.
The man came nearer. Another step, and he stood beside Nick, so close that their sleeves almost touched.
Then he stopped. There was a slight click, an almost imperceptible rumble, and the man disappeared.
It seemed as if he had melted into the side of the house.
But in that final brief moment Nick had recognized him more by instinct than by sight.
It was the owner of the house; the man who was called Squire Smith. Nick waited several moments, but there was no further sound, Then he once more opened the slide of his little lantern.
He was standing in the angle of the wall. On his right were the two windows at the head of the stairs. Before him, across the wide, open space, was the stairway itself.
The wall behind him was a continuation of that in which the windows were set, and was of plaster, covered with the large-figured wallpaper so much in vogue long ago.
The wall on his left, also covered with the remarkable paper, was broken at intervals by doors, of which he counted four.
The first one was at least seven feet from where he stood, and it was an utter impossibility for the squire to have entered it, for he had not moved two feet from Nick's left elbow.
He passed his lantern carefully along the wall, scrutinizing intently the green and brown landscape upon it.
He felt carefully over the wall with his hands, but could find nothing which indicated a secret door.
The squire had passed beyond him into the shadow, but had not gone beyond arm's length. Of that he was positive.
"I'll find out where you went, my fine fellow, if it takes me all night," he muttered.
As he bent toward the wall once more, his half-mask became displaced, and, as he attempted to arrange it with his left hand, he in some way unfastened it, and it fell to the floor.
He stooped to pick it up, and, as he did so, his eye was caught by something which would not ordinarily have attracted his attention.
Now, however, even trifles acquired new importance, and he stopped to investigate this one.
It was only a small wire nail, sticking up from the floor about half its length, close to the mop-board.
He took hold of it, but it did not yield to his pull.
Then he pushed against it.
Suddenly he heard the same slight rumble, and a section of the wall, barely large enough to admit his body, rolled aside.
He released the nail; and the wall immediately closed.
Again he opened it, this time taking the precaution to hold it with his hand, so that it could not shut.
Then he raised his lantern, and threw the rays into the opening.
Had he found Reginald Dare's secret treasure house, after all?
AS Nick threw the rays of his little lantern into the mysterious opening in the wall he half expected to see before him a mass of glittering treasure, the long-lost fortune of Reginald Dare.
Instead, he saw a narrow passage-way, which turned abruptly to the left.
He stepped inside.
On his left was the reverse side of the plaster wall—the laths and timbers which composed its frame-work.
On his right was another wall, also plastered, but unpapered.
Before him was the angle in the wall, forming one corner of the front of the main part of the house.
He released the small door, and it immediately slid back into place.
Then, lantern in hand, he cautiously advanced.
Turning the corner, he walked for a few steps along a narrow passage, which led in the direction of the windows at the head of the stairs.
Before long, however, the passage came to an abrupt end, and he saw before him the top of a flight of steps.
Without hesitation he descended them, counting the steps as he did so.
There were thirty, and he knew when he reached the bottom that he must be some distance below the surface of the ground.
Before him stretched a tunnel, dug out of the solid earth, and propped with all due attention to safety.
It was high enough to permit him to walk erect, and he immediately took his way along it, noting as he did so that the ground beneath his feet was beaten perfectly hard and smooth, as if with constant use.
The tunnel changed its direction once or twice, and finally the ground made a sharp descent.
Then Nick met with a sudden obstacle.
The path came to an end. Before him was a door of heavy timbers, which refused to yield to his hand.
A slight search, however, revealed a spring which caused the door to swing noiselessly upon its hinges, and Nick drew a long breath as he emerged into the warm night air.
Before him was a tangled thicket of undergrowth, apparently impassable, but he soon saw traces of a narrow path which led in and out, until finally it came to the edge of the thicket.
He found himself upon the seashore, and far off to the right he could dimly distinguish the group of low houses, which he knew to be Daresville.
There was no trace of Squire Smith. A rowboat was, however, drawn up upon the beach near by, and Nick decided to keep his eye upon it for a while.
He therefore retreated once more into the thicket, choosing a position in dense shadow, from which he could watch both the shore and the narrow path.
Two hours passed without a sound, and Nick was in the act of rising to stretch his cramped limbs, when he fancied he heard voices.
He instantly crouched down again, and, a moment later, he saw two figures approaching through the gloom.
One was Squire Smith, and the other was a short, broad-shouldered fellow, with a slouching gait and a hoarse voice.
"Now," said the squire, as they drew nearer, you are perfectly sure?"
"Dead sure, boss."
"You have made mistakes before now, you know."
"I ain't making no mistake this time. I've got it straight. She'll be here day after to-morrow, 'bout eleven o'clock at night."
"Very well; we'll strip her in a hurry," replied the squire, coolly, as he turned on his heel.
"Say, boss!" called the man, anxiously.
"Well?"
"You'll be here?"
"Certainly."
"You won't send the—the other one?"
"Not this time; no."
"Cause t'aint safe."
"Bill Barney," said the squire, suddenly retracing his steps, and pointing a pistol at the head of his companion, "this may as well be settled here and now. Who is captain of this thing?"
"You are," replied the man, sullenly.
"Whose orders are to be obeyed?"
"Yours."
"If I choose to send some one in my place, what then?"
"Nothing, if the men don't find it out."
"The men won't find it out. Good-night."
He disappeared in the thicket, and, a moment later, Nick heard the click of the latch, as the heavy door swung to behind him.
The man Bill stood looking after him, with a scowl on his face.
"Curse you!" he muttered, "you think you've got us all under your thumb; but just wait till the men find out what I know, that's all. I've half a mind to tell 'em myself, only it would be cutting off my nose to spite my face."
With a shake of his fist in the direction of the thicket, he turned and slouched off toward the boat, and was soon pulling with long, steady strokes toward the village.
Nick, keeping in the shadow, made his way to the top of the low bluff behind him.
The Dare homestead was barely a quarter of a mile away, and he hurried toward it, hoping to reach it before the squire.
He went straight to the window of his room.
As he reached it, a light flashed up for a moment in the one adjoining, which was occupied by the squire.
"Just in time," thought Nick, as he swung himself through the window, and, hastily throwing off his clothes, sprang into bed.
"I was to be ready for orders day or night, I believe. Well, here I am."
"I wonder what sort of a nest I've struck, anyhow. I haven't found the fortune, and unless that letter was a lie from beginning to end, the hiding-place has been spirited away, as well as the money.
"But if I'm not much mistaken, I've struck something which will prove to be equally interesting. I'm blowed if I know what it is, though.
"Well, my fine master, I'll keep that little appointment for night after next, as well as you, and perhaps I'll know more than I do now."
With a yawn, he dropped the puzzle, and in another moment was sound asleep.
Scarcely had he begun to breathe with deep regularity, however, when the latch of his door was softly raised, and the face of the master of the house was thrust through the opening.
"Stupid as all the rest," he muttered, with a slow, satisfied smile, as he listened to the regular breathing. "Perhaps he'll do, after all."
And then quiet reigned for the remainder of the night in the old Dare homestead.
On the following day Nick's services were constantly in demand. He found that he had an exacting master, who gave him during the day no opportunity for prosecuting the search which was the real object of his sojourn there.
After the household had retired for the night, however, he started out upon another tour of investigation.
His preparations were unique, and when he was attired to his satisfaction, he threw over all a long black cloak, of which he had taken possession during the day.
His goal was the mysterious region at the head of the staircase.
He felt that he was upon the track of some important discovery concerning the master of the house, and he wanted more information with regard to the secret passage and the rooms beyond it.
He walked noiselessly, except for the creaking boards beneath his feet, and gained the upper story in safety.
He tried the door of the first room upon the right, but it was securely locked.
He knew that the family and servants all slept down stairs, so he had no hesitation in applying his wonderful pick-lock to the door.
It opened at once, and he stepped inside.
The room was perfectly bare. It contained not even a chair or a table.
There was a door of communication between this room and the next. It was not locked, and Nick passed through.
The room was bare and empty, like the other, but as Nick turned the light of his lantern to and fro, his eye was caught by a scrap of paper upon the floor.
Upon it was printed the name of a Parisian firm, who happened to be well-known to Nick as dealers in silks and laces.
"Aha!" he muttered, "I fancy I am onto your little game, Squire Smith. We will see to-morrow night if I am right."
The other two rooms contained nothing to reward, and he was in the act of unlocking a door which would lead him into one of the unusual [c]ells, when he caught sight of the feeble rays of a lantern flickering upon the staircase.
The detective did not pause to investigate.
Like a flash, he unfastened the door, and darted through, locking it after him.
He found himself at the foot of three steps, which led to a long, low room, partly filled with old lumber and worn-out furniture.
He carefully took his bearings, and then stopped, with his ear to the keyhole.
Two men were standing outside. One was the squire, and the other Sam Larkin, the hired man.
"You see, Sam," the squire was saying, "that you were mistaken. There is no one here."
"Don't seem to be, surely. But I swear to man, squire, I'll take my Bible oath I saw a light in this here room when I came across from the barn, not ten minutes ago. You see, somethin' ailed the old farrer cow—"
"Yes—yes, I understand. Never mind that. Did you see a person as well as a light?"
"Nary a person. There warn't nothin' ere but a light, an' it danced around like a will-o'-the-wisp all by itself."
"Nonsense! lights don't go around without people to carry them. If you saw a light, there was some one there with it. Open this next door."
"I dassent, squire: reelly I dassent. Say!"
"Well?"
"Do you s'pose it—it—"
"Well, what? out with it."
"You know folks do say—"
"If you've got anything to say, say it. If not, open that door."
"Oh, squire, that leads straight to the ell—"
"Any one would thing it lead straight to hell, by the fuss you make."
"Well, they do say as how old Reginald Dare walks."
"Oh, it's out at last, eh? Well, let's go in and see if we can catch him at it. Open that door."
"Squire, it's prob'ly as much as my place is wuth to go ag'in ye, but I—I'm darned if I'll open that door, or go in, either."
"You great fool! Give me those keys?"
Nick silently retreated up the steps, and took his position behind a high-backed chair half-way down the room.
But while he had been listening, he had not been idle.
As he stood waiting, he dropped the dark cloak, and stood revealed in orthodox ghostly attire.
He wore a silvery wig and beard, and a long white garment, glittering here and there with marks of a preparation of phosphorus which enveloped his entire form.
More phosphorus upon his face and hands gave him a weird appearance, which was enough to shake the nerves of a believer in ghosts.
As the door opened, he moved slightly forward, and stood motionless.
Squire Smith came first, holding a lantern, whose rays shone in his own face, making it difficult for him to see distinctly.
Behind him, frightened half out of his wits, and yet not daring to stay alone, came Sam Larkin, his teeth chattering, and his hands holding tightly his master's coattails.
"Don't go no farther," he entreated, in a hoarse whisper, as they ascended the steps. "There ain't no one here. See? Come back now. Oh, lordy massy, kingdom come! Oh, glory be to goodness, there it is now!"
He had seen the white, gleaming figure, and was almost beside himself with terror, as the ghost raised one arm and pointed threateningly at him.
Squire Smith also saw it, and sharply drew his pistol, but Sam gave him no chance to use it.
Clinging to his coat with both hands, he fairly dragged his irate master backward with him.
"Curse you!" shouted the squire; "what are you doing? you—"
A heavy fall, a ringing pistol-shot, a deep groan, and then darkness as the lantern fell to the floor and was extinguished.
"YOU have done it now," groaned the squire, savagely. "Go and call that fellow Dick, and send him to me, and then ride for the doctor, as if the devil was after you."
As Nick heard these words he moved swiftly and noiselessly toward a door at the farther end of the room, taking off his ghostly trappings as he went, and tucking them in behind a heap of rubbish.
He knew that he had no time to lose, if he wanted to reach his own room before Sam Larkin got there. If he did not succeed in doing so, discovery was certain.
The door at the end of the room was fortunately unlocked, and, which was still more remarkable, it did not creak on its hinges.
The room beyond was small, and was evidently the last one in that part of the house, for it had windows on three sides.
Nick opened one of these, and squeezed himself out, reaching the ground by the help of a stout lightning-rod.
A minute more, and he was at his own open window.
Another minute, and he was covered up in bed, with all traces of his recent performance gone from his face and hands.
Scarcely had he drawn the clothes over him when his door was hastily opened, and Sam Larkin stood beside him, flashing the rays of a lantern into his face.
"Git out!" muttered Nick, still with his eyes shut. "Sun's awful bright this morning."
And he turned over and drew the bed-clothes still more tightly around him.
"Dick, Dick! said Sam, hoarsely, "get up."
"What for?"
"Get up, I say."
"You lemme alone."
"The squire's hurt awful bad."
"Eh?"
Nick turned over at this, and opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at the bright light.
"Squire's hurt bad, an' you're to go to him quicker'n Jack Robinson."
"Hurt? Who hurt him?"
"The ghost. Get up, can't you?"
But Nick had good reasons for not caring to get up while Sam was looking on, for he had tumbled into bed fully dressed.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"The ghost?"
"No; the squire."
"Up in the west ell. Can you find it for yourself? I've got to go six miles for the doctor."
"Yes; I can find it. Don't lose any more time."
"Correct. Then I'll go. Gracious! I haven't got over that ghost yet. All in white, ye know, with rattling bones an' nothing but holes for eyes."
"Ugh."
"Yes; an' then the lantern went out, and I had to go to the barn for another before I could come for you, and the squire lying there and groaning all this time, Why don't you get up?"
"Why don' t you go for the doctor?"
"Well, I'm off. You'd better hurry."
In a few minutes Nick stood once more before the door that led into the ell.
It was open this time, and on the other side of it at the foot of the three steps, Squire Smith was lying.
But he was not groaning now. His face was white and still, for he had fainted.
Nick applied such restoratives as were within reach, but at first they were without avail.
During the process, however, Nick made a discovery.
The squire's blonde hair was a perfectly fitting wig, which became displaced beneath his valet's manipulations, disclosing close-cropped, waving brown hair beneath.
"Wonder what that's for," thought the detective. "Looks queer."
The squire was lying with his left arm bent beneath him.
As Nick lifted him and drew it out, his trained intelligence told him at once that the arm was broken in two places.
Just then the wounded squire regained his consciousness.
"Confound you!" he said. "Why did t you come sooner?"
"I did," replied Nick calmly; "but you had fainted, and didn't know I was here."
"Well, help me get out of this. I have broken my arm, and I think I have shot myself in the leg, too."
"Then you can't walk?"
"No, not a step. What cursed luck, just now."
Nick bent over him, and, raising him as easily as if he had been a baby, bore him swiftly to his room, and laid him on the bed.
By this time the whole household was awake, having been aroused by the pistol shot and the subsequent commotion, and the squire's daughter quietly took her place beside her father.
"Cursed bad luck, Nanny," he groaned, scowling at Nick, who was skillfully busying himself over the broken arm.
"Yes, papa."
"If it could only have happened a few days later."
"Never mind, papa, that will be all right."
She was evidently afraid that he would betray something to the gaping servants at the door, and to the new valet beside him.
But he was not to be quieted.
"This will ruin everything," he muttered.
"Oh, no; it won't, papa."
"I tell you it will, girl."
"You forget that there is a way out of it. It will be all right. Don't think of it again."
But the fever was rising, and he could bear no opposition.
"I tell you," he said, fiercely, "the men are beginning to—"
She put her hand firmly over has mouth.
"Hush!" she said.
The tone was low and quiet, but there was an emphasis about it which he recognized at once.
He said no more, but lay moving his head uneasily from side to side until the doctor arrived.
"Pretty sick man," was his verdict. "Bad break, nasty pistol wound, considerable fever. Who nurses him?"
"I do," replied his daughter, "with the help of this man," indicating Nick.
"Can you keep from talking?"
"Yes."
"He mustn't be excited in any way. His mind must be kept perfectly easy."
"I've got to be up and out to-morrow, doctor," said the squire fiercely.
"You can't do.
"I must."
"Well, keep still now, then," and the doctor proceeded in a business-like way to perform the duties required of him. Then, as he was departing, he said:
"He must be kept still, if you have to give him opiates to do it. He's all right for the present. I'll call again toward night to-morrow, or rather to-day, for the night is over. Keep him quiet, and keep his mind easy."
"Here's a pretty mess," thought Nick. "The girl knows all about that appointment for to-night, and she'll take good care that I'm kept busy here with her father.
"On the other hand, I must be on the shore at eleven o'clock, if I want to get to the bottom of the crooked work that I feel sure is going on there.
"Have I time to send for Chick? I need him, and he will be on the lookout for a summons. The question is, can he get here in time to be of use?
"I'll risk it. And now to catch that doctor before he starts off."
The doctor was just stepping into his carriage when Nick suddenly appeared beside him.
"Doctor," he said, "do you go near a telegraph office?"
"Within three minutes' walk of one."
"Will you send a telegram for me?"
"Certainly."
Nick scribbled a few words on the leaf of a note-book, and, tearing it out, gave it to the doctor.
The message read as follows:
"Tell mother I am well. Will write."
It was the form agreed upon between him and his assistant, Chick, and signified:
"Come to me at once with all possible speed and caution."
"You see," explained Nick, volubly, "my folks don't none of 'em know exactly where I am, and my mother'll worry if she don't hear something from me to-day. She's been in New York for quite a spell now, an' I was calc'lating to jine her there, but now I—"
"Yes—yes," said the doctor, taking up the reins impatiently; "I see; I'll send your telegram as soon as I get home. And mind you keep the squire quiet. He mustn't hear any talking."
"Correct," replied Nick.
"And now," he muttered, as he returned to the house, "if Chick gets here in time; I am all right; if not—well, we will see."
All day long the sick man moaned and muttered, his fever-clouded brain seeming to be burdened with one idea, which drove him nearly to frenzy at times.
All day long his daughter remained by his side, doing her best to soothe him, and striving to keep him from betraying in so many words the secret trouble which oppressed him.
And all day long Nick hovered near, listening for some incautious word which should give him a more definite clew to the work which was on hand for that night.
But he gathered nothing more than he knew already.
As evening drew near, he became absorbed in calculations as to the time when Chick could arrive, in case he had received the telegram in season to start that day.
Eight o'clock came, and there was no sign of him.
Nine o'clock brought the doctor, whose face lengthened as he saw the signs of excitement upon the squire's face, and heard his imperious demands to be allowed to get up.
"This won't do," he said, sternly; and he forthwith administered a powder which took effect almost immediately, sending the sick man into a deep, quiet sleep.
After he had gone, the squire's daughter beckoned Nick to the door.
"I am tired out," she said, "and must get some rest, or I shall be good for nothing to-morrow."
"Yes'm," replied Nick.
"Can you take charge of him until three o'clock?"
"Bet your swe— That is—er—certainly, ma'am."
"You may come to my room at that hour and call me. Until then I am not to be disturbed."
"Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am."
"If he becomes restless, give him another powder at once. Do not let him talk. Do you understand?"
"Yes'm. Don't you worry, ma'am. You just go to sleep. I'll see he's all right, ma'am."
"I suppose I need not tell you that you must not leave him for a moment."
"Correct, ma'am. Don't you worry about him, not one mite."
She turned as if reluctantly, and left the room, and Nick's stereotyped expression of respectful cheerfulness gave way to a look of deep anxiety as he crossed the darkened room, and drew aside the curtain.
Ten o'clock, and no Chick.
The rendezvous upon the beach was for eleven o'clock. Unless Chick came within the next half-hour, he would be too late.
In that case—well, a powerful soporific would keep the sick man quiet, and Nick would have to trust to his proverbial luck to hide the fact that he had been absent from his post for several hours of the night.
But hark! A whip-poor-will was singing in the distance, plaintively but distinctly.
Again, and nearer.
A third time; and, like a shadow, Nick slipped out of the window and glided in the direction from which the sound had approached.
It was the signal agreed upon between him and his assistant.
Chick was there, and in time, and in a moment more the two detectives had clasped hands, and were exchanging hurried questions and answers.
"YOU haven't a moment to lose, Chick."
"All right; what am I to do first?"
"Come into my room through this window, and make yourself up to look exactly as I look now.
"And then?"
"Then you are to take my place beside the squire. He is under the influence of an opiate now. If he rouses at all, give him another."
"How long will you be away?"
"There's some crooked work going on down at the shore, and I must see it out. I fancy it will take three or four hours."
"And until you come, I am to simply keep him quiet with the powders?"
"Yes."
"Is anyone likely to see me?"
"The squire's daughter, Nannie, may come in, but it is not probable. The only other one who might look in upon you is Sam Larkin, the hired man. If he does, don't encourage him to talk, and you will be all right."
"Very well; I catch on. Is this rig all right?"
"Capital! couldn't be better. And now come with me to the sick-room. One moment, though."
"Well?"
"If I am not here at three o'clock, you are to call the daughter, whose room is the third beyond this. But I do not anticipate being obliged to remain until then.
"Now, are you ready?"
Nick glanced at his watch. The hands pointed to five minutes after eleven, and he knew that he had no time to lose.
As he was now acquainted with the place of rendezvous, he chose the open-air route, and, while keeping as much as possible in the shadow, he made his way with all possible speed toward the shore.
But before he reached it he paused, and, dropping flat upon the ground, he worked his way slowly and noiselessly along until he lay at the very edge of the bluff, beneath which was the secret entrance to the underground passage.
The place was apparently deserted. Not a sound was to be heard, nor a person seen, and Nick began to think that the accident to the squire had broken up the whole scheme, whatever it was, when he heard an indistinct murmur of voices.
At first he could not make out from whence they came, but, in another moment, he saw the faint flash of a lantern, and heard the heavy door beneath him swing back into place.
Nick watched eagerly for the newcomers to appear in sight.
They had extinguished their lantern, but the moon was rising, and by its light the detective got a good view of the two men as they passed out from beneath the shadow of the bluff.
He nearly betrayed himself by a low whistle of astonishment as he recognized them.
One was Sam Larkin, the hired man, and the other was—Squire Smith.
How had he escaped from Chick?
How could he, who, a half-hour before, had apparently been buried in a deep sleep, be walking about, a well man in the possession of all his faculties?
How could he be walking at all, with that pistol-wound in his leg? And what had become of the bandages about his broken arm?
There was but one solution of the mystery.
"H'm!" thought Nick. "So Squire Smith and I have each a double. Well, that's no more than fair. But who is playing his part down yonder? Whoever he is, he has the walk and attitude to perfection.
"This grows interesting. Nick, my boy, suppose we get a little nearer. I want to hear what they say."
He swung himself softly over the cliff, and followed in the footsteps of the two before him. They had paused at the edge of the thicket, and Nick again stretched himself flat on the ground, in the dense shadow of the undergrowth.
"I don't see what makes them so late," remarked the one who personated Squire Smith.
"They are kinder late," replied Sam.
"Bill said we might expect them about eleven. I wish they would come."
"Oh, they'll be here all right!"
"Yes, I suppose so; but—Sam, are you sure that man Dick will stick to his post?"
"Like a porous plaster. Don't you fret. I peeked through the windy at him, last thing afore we started, an' there he was, a-settin' an' a-noddin' more'n half-asleep. Bless you, he's all O.K."
"Well, I hope so. But, Sam, don't you see a sail out there, away off to the left?"
"True's you're born. Now, do be keerful, won't ye?"
"Certainly."
"Don't let any o' them fellers suspect—"
"Sam, you are talking nonsense. Why should they suspect? Haven't I often done this?"
"Yes; but Bill Barney said as some of 'em had their suspicions last time, an'—"
"Let them! They can prove nothing."
"Yes; but they're desp'rit characters, them fellers are. They ain't in the mood to stand no nonsense, an' they'd never forgive the boss, if they believed that he would allow—"
"There, Sam, that will do. You had better go down on the beach now, and be ready to help them land. I will stay here and wait for them."
Something in the way these last words were spoken gave Nick the clew he wanted.
"Ah!" he muttered. "I am to call you at three, am I, Miss Nannie, and you are to remain undisturbed until then. Very good. You play the part well, but you can't deceive Nick Carter.
"But here come the men. Now for the explanation of this little business.
"Aha! Just as I thought. Squire Smith and his fair daughter are nothing more nor less than the leaders of a gang of smugglers.
"Just look at the load that first man is carrying. I wonder what is inside of those wrappings. Dry goods, that's evident. Why, it's our friend Sam."
Nick crouched lower than ever, as two or three men passed him, loaded down with heavy packages.
As they reached the squire's representative, they received short, sharp orders, to which they listened in silence. Then they passed on, and disappeared from sight.
It was a long half-hour before they returned, and during that time the squire's daughter paced slowly back and forth, lost in thought.
At length the men came back, tramping in silence through the underbrush.
They went once more to the shore, and returned laden.
Another long interval, and then they appeared again.
"Is this all?" asked their leader.
One of the men, the same one whom Nick had seen on the previous night, answered sullenly:
"Yes, this here's all."
Then as the others passed along, he lingered.
"See here!" he muttered, when he and the squire's daughter were left alone, "this little game will be played once too often. You tell the squire from me, Bill Barney, that if he can't attend to biz himself, and let the stuff alone—"
"You are mistaken. My father has had an accident."
"Oh, yes; the usual kind of an accident! You can't fool me. The old man's been drinking again. If he don't quit—"
"Will you hold your tongue?"
The tone was keen and clear, and, as she spoke, she suddenly raised a pistol, and pointed it at him.
With an oath, he struck it swiftly from her hand, and it fell among the underbrush with a thud.
"Think you kin scare Bill Barney, do you?" he sneered. "You're nothin' but a gal, anyway, an' I, for one, have had enough o' your impudence. I ain't going ter be under the orders o' no woman, you hear me!"
"And you hear me!" interposed another voice, the voice of Sam Larkin, who had just returned from the beach. "If you don't shut up, Bill Barney, you'll be sorry."
"Oh! what's the matter with you?"
"I know what's the matter with you. You've had more than a drop too much, an' you want a lesson."
Sam Larkin's fist shot out, and the fellow went sprawling into the bushes, where, to his intense astonishment, he fell prone upon the body of Nick Carter.
"Hul-lo!" he ejaculated, and, with the instinct of brute strength, he clung desperately to his find.
He was a powerful man, and Nick's first attempt to shake him off was unsuccessful.
Before he could make a second effort, the other two were upon him, and in a twinkling a long rope was wound round and round his body, until he was helpless. He had not even had time to draw his revolver, so sudden and unlooked for had been the attack.
"Wal!" said Sam Larkin, dryly, as he stood panting from his exertions, "that 'ere was quite a snake you found a in the grass, Bill. Haul him out here, an' lets see what we've got, anyhow."
They drew him out into the path, where the moonlight flickered down, and then all three bent eagerly over him.
"Dick Robinson!" ejaculated Sam. "Wal, I'll be jiggered!"
"What are you doing here?" asked the squire's daughter, sternly.
Nick did not reply, nor did she seem to expect him to. His occupation was self-evident.
"Say the word, an' I'll put a bullet through him now, whoever he is," said Bill, drawing a pistol.
"No," said Nannie, raising her hand quickly, "don't kill him."
"But he knows all our secrets by this time. He knows enough to send us all to prison. It's us or him, that's wot it is."
"I cannot have him murdered in cold blood like this," said the girl. "I must wait until I can consult my father. Bill Barney, put up that pistol.
"I know, of course, that he is a spy. I know that you speak the truth when you say that we are in danger from him, and I promise you faithfully that I will put him where he cannot get away and keep him securely until my father is able to deal with him. More than that I will not consent to. Put that pistol away, Bill Barney."
"Yes, put it up, Bill," added Sam. "I'm crooked enough, the Lord knows, but I never yet stood by an' seen a man murdered, an' I don't calc'late to begin to-night. You hear me."
"Take him up, boys," continued the girl. "and follow me."
Without another word the two men lifted the helpless detective, and bore him into the secret passage.
With swift steps the girl led them on, until they reached the long flight of stairs.
But, instead of ascending them, she passed around behind them, and touched a secret spring.
A heavy door swung open, and she entered a low room, or vault, whose walls and floor were strongly cemented.
There was a beam across the centre of the floor, and in it was fastened an iron ring.
To this ring they securely knotted the rope with which Nick was bound, and then the girl led the way to the door.
"I will leave you here," she said, coldly. "until my father decides upon your fate. This is the way we treat spies."
The door swung to, and Nick was left in total darkness.
IT was three o'clock.
Chick rose from his post by the sleeping squire, and, opening the door, passed out into the hall.
It was in complete darkness.
He went softly along until he reached the third door, and then he rapped.
There was no answer.
Again and yet again he knocked, with the same result.
Then he tried the door.
It was securely fastened.
As he stood irresolute, not knowing what was best to do, he heard voices.
Looking up, he saw a light at the top of the stairway, and in a moment two men came down.
Chick did not wait until they reached the bottom. He glided noiselessly back into the squire's room, and seated himself beside the bed, leaving the door ajar.
The newcomers paused in the hall, and he heard one of them say:
"I must see how he is. He has been alone for hours."
Then the door was pushed open, and Chick, looking up, saw a facsimile of the face upon the pillow beside him.
Nannie stood motionless with surprise.
"You!" she gasped at length; "you! how—how did you get here?"
"How did I get here?"
"Yes; how did you escape? I—I do not understand. There has been some treachery here. Sam!"
Her words were inexplicable to Chick, but he gathered from them that something was seriously amiss with Nick, and every sense was on the alert.
Before she had ceased speaking, the hired man appeared at the door.
No sooner, however, had he caught sight of Chick, than he uttered a dismal groan and turned as if to flee.
Nannie caught him by the shoulder.
"What is the matter with you?" she exclaimed. "Is this your doing, Sam Larkin?"
"My doing! Oh Lordy, here's another! The house is full of em! let me go; let me go! Oh, what have I done that ghosts should foller me like this. One last night an' another now! It's a judgment on me fur joinin' in that pesky tradin', an' I ain't goin' to do it no more, so help me!"
The hand that rested on his shoulder closed upon it sharply, and Sam Larkin was shaken until his teeth chattered.
"You fool!" said his captor, between her clenched teeth, "did you release the prisoner?"
"No—no! so help me, I didn't!"
"Then who did?"
"It seems to me," drawled Chick, who now had a fair idea of the situation, "that it's 'bout time I put in a word here. You want to know who I be, do you? Well; I'm Dick Robinson, an' I've been settin' here all night, and I'm thunderin' hungry. That's who I be."
"You have been here all the time?"
"Every blessed minute since you left me. Leastwise, I s'pose 'twas you left me, tho' ye didn't look just that way then."
She paid no attention to his last words.
"Then who—who is the other one?"
"What other one?"
"Your double; the spy we captured to-night."
"I ain't got no double."
"You lie!"
"That so?"
Without another word she turned from him, and went to her own room.
Chick was lost in anxious thought.
"Let's see," he mused, "I've got to think this thing out straight, and quick, too, if I'm going to be of any use.
"That fine young fellow who just informed me I was a liar, must be the squire's daughter Nannie, that Nick told me about.
"She's been masquerading in his clothes, taking his place while he's sick.
"She has, of course, been down to the shore, taking part in the 'crooked work' that Nick was running to earth.
"And from a remark that our friend Sam let drop just now, that work is evidently nothing more nor less than smuggling.
"Nick was down there spying upon them. She acknowledges to having captured a spy, and speaks of a prisoner, believing at first that I am he.
"Nick has been taken, and is now a captive somewhere in this house. He must be here, for there is no other place where he could have been taken.
"These people came from up stairs. Query: Is Nick up there?
"I think I must work that servant a little. He can tell me all I want to know, if I can only make him.
"Ah, here he comes now."
With a cautious glance behind him, Sam advanced toward Chick, bearing a small tray, on which was a huge wedge of pie and a plateful of doughnuts.
"Thar!" he said, softly closing the door, "didn't you say you war hungry?"
"You bet I did, Sam."
"Well, help yourself."
Chick needed no second invitation. He seized upon the pie with avidity, and ate up every crumb. Then he began upon the doughnuts.
Sam watched him eagerly, his face broadening with smiles at every mouthful. Finally he could contain himself no longer.
"Shake!" he exclaimed, extending both hands, and fairly dancing up and down.
Chick reluctantly put down his fourth doughnut, and did as requested.
"Certainly," he said. politely. "Be you often taken this way, Sam?"
"Don't you see, man? don't you see?" returned the other. "If you war a ghost, you wouldn't eat. I made up my mind I'd test you, an' so I took everything I could lay my hands on, and by Gorry! it's 'most gone a-ready. You're no ghost, you ain't!"
"I ain't laid no claim to bein' one, that I can remember," remarked Chick, mildly.
"No—no, more you ain't. That's so! but see here, Dick."
"Well?"
"You saved my life."
"Did I?"
"Did you? Didn't it make no more impression on you than that? Well, I haven't forgotten it, if you have."
"Oh—well, 'twarn't wuth makin' a fuss about."
"Humph! Wal, you did it, an' I ain't the feller to forget a thing like that. What I want to say is—"
"Sh-h-h!"
The door opened, and the squire's daughter entered the room.
She looked surprised at seeing Sam there, but when her glance fell upon the remnants of food, she seemed satisfied.
"You may go to bed now, Dick," she said, coldly. "I will stay with my father. Come to me in the morning at nine o'clock. I want to talk with you. Go now; and Sam, let me advise you to get some rest also. Its nearly morning."
"Where can we talk without being overheard?" whispered Chick, as the two men left the room together.
"Out in the barn? There ain't no one there."
"Come on, then; I've got something to say to you."
A few moments later they were sitting in the hay-loft secure from interruption.
By the early morning light they could see each other's faces plainly, and there was a determination in Chick's which Sam vaguely recognized.
"Now," said the detective, briskly, "you and I are going to have a little business talk, Sam."
"Oh, we air—air we? Well, fire away."
"You have said that I saved your life."
"Yes."
"And I take it you are not the kind of a fellow to forget a thing of that kind."
"Not much."
"Now then, Sam, I have a favor to ask of you in return."
"Hev you?"
"Yes."
"What may it be?"
"It's about that fellow you caught last night."
"Oh! do you know him?"
"I am not sure, but—did he look like me?"
"As like as two peas."
"I knew it; I was sure of it."
"Sure of wot?"
"That it was him."
"Who?"
"My twin brother."
"Je-rusalem!"
"Yes, I've got a twin brother. Don't know whether I've mentioned him before or not."
"No, you haven't."
"All right; you know it now."
"But how did he come here?"
"To see me. I sent him word where I was."
"Oh!"
"Yes."
"Well, what was he a-doin', sneakin' along on the ground, down there by the shore?"
"I dunno. Maybe he heard something queer, and wanted to know what was goin' on."
"Humph! had he been up here to the House?"
"No."
"Humph! queer business, Dick."
"Maybe so. He's a queer cuss, anyhow. But for all that, he's my brother, and I won't stand by and see him get into trouble."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to let him out o' that place where you put him a while ago."
"Out of the question, Dick. Can't do it, really."
"Oh, yes, you can!"
"What! an' get Miss Nannie down on me? Not by a long shot."
"Not after what I did for you?
"Ask me anything else, Dick—anything in reason, an' I'll do it. But I dassent do that, so help me!"
"He's my brother, Sam."
"Yes; but—"
"And I can't let him-die—"
"He ain't dead yet.
"But they may kill him."
"Prob'ly will. The squire won't take no risks."
"See here, Sam!"
"Well?"
"If you are so scary about letting him out, tell me where he is, and let me do it. You needn't know anything about it, you know."
"It can't be did, I tell you. Your brother can't be let go free, arter what he's seen and heard."
"Oho! that's the way the wind blows, is it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Well, now, Sam Larkin, I've got just one more argument to use."
"'Tain't no use, I tell you, I—"
"This is the argument."
And Sam Larkin found himself looking into the shining muzzle of a revolver.
"Gosh! he ejaculated, dodging. "What ails ye, Dick What's that for?"
"For instance! Look here, Sam Larkin, I've fooled with you long enough. Now, listen to me!"
"I'm—I'm listenin'!"
"Don't be scared. I won't blow your brains out if you do as I tell you.
"You are to lead me now, this moment, to the place where my brother is kept a prisoner.
"You are to do this quietly, and without attempting to speak to any one on the way. And, if you mislead me, or attempt to betray me, I will blow your brains out on the spot, so help me God!"
Sam cowered before the quick, stern tones and the shining revolver.
"I'll take you there," he muttered; "but if you ever tell the folks at the house what I've done, they'll kill me, sure."
"All right! Now, lead ahead." Chick expected Sam to enter the house, and go upstairs, but instead he turned in the direction of the shore.
"No monkey-work, now!" said the detective, sharply.
Sam nodded, and continued on his way. He led Chick to the secret door below the bluff, and along the narrow underground passage.
"Miss Nannie'd kill me, if she knew," he muttered, as he made his way to the secret door behind the stairs.
"He's in there," he added, sullenly, as he kicked the door. "Now, let me go!"
"NOT much. I don't let you go just yet, my fine fellow," said Chick. "Now, show me how to open this door."
"I don't know how."
"You don't?"
"No."
"What's the use of telling a lie like that?"
"'Tain't a lie."
"Open that door, Sam Larkin."
"I can't. I don't know how."
"Open that door, or I'll shoot you."
"Oh, mercy! I would if I could. Reelly I would if I could, but I can't. No one but Miss Nannie knows how to open that door."
His terror was genuine, and Chick, against his will, was convinced that the fellow told the truth.
Keeping him covered with the pistol with one hand, with the other he quietly drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and, before Sam knew what had happened, they were fastened upon his wrists.
Next a pair of anklets was produced, and the terrified man was securely fettered.
"There!" said Chick, grimly. "Now, I guess you'll stay where I want you."
"Who in thunder are you, anyway?" gasped Sam.
"You'll find out before I'm through with you," replied Chick, coolly. "Now, the next thing is to open this door."
He went close up to it, and knocked with the butt of his revolver.
There was no response.
"Nick? he called. "Nick, are you there?"
Still there was no reply.
Chick turned fiercely upon the manacled man beside him.
"You have deceived me," he said. "He is not there."
"You lie!" retorted Sam, sullenly. "Leastwise, he was there three hours ago."
Chick put his ear to the door, and listened intently.
This time he fancied he heard a slight noise.
"Nick!" he called again. "Nick! Answer me."
"Hallo!" came the reply, in Nick's well-known tones.
"Come nearer to the door."
"Can't. They have bound me."
"Ah! Well, do you remember how this door works?"
"I did not see distinctly, but I imagine there is a secret spring."
"There must be. There is neither knob nor lock. Do you know where to look for the spring?"
"Try the right-hand lower corner. I was not in a position to take observations, but I think I am correct."
Chick stooped and examined the corner indicated, and after a little search found the spring.
As he touched it the door swung open, and Nick cried out:
"Chick, my boy, you are a trump! Have I been in this infernal hole more than a week?"
"You have been here just about three hours."
"You mean days!"
"No. Here, let me cut that rope. They did you up well, didn't they?"
"You bet we did?" observed Sam, grimly.
Nick sat up, as the rope fell away from him, and stared with interest at the unfortunate hired man.
"What does this mean?" he asked. "What has happened?"
"Nothing, except that I had to show my hand pretty openly before I could convince this fellow that he was beaten."
"I should think so! What do you mean to do next?"
"That is for you to say, Nick. This is your little game, you know."
"Where is the squire's daughter?"
"She is with her father."
Sam chuckled, and Nick voluntarily followed the direction of his eyes.
The squire's daughter was standing on the stairs overhead, and gazing down into the group below her.
"Now, we'll catch it—all on us," muttered Larkin, with another chuckle.
She continued slowly to descend the stairs until she stood before them.
"Who has done this?" she demanded, her face white with anger.
"Sam Larkin, you knew where this man was hidden; you have betrayed me."
In her left hand she carried a lantern, and in her right was a revolver. As she spoke, she raised it and pointed it at Sam.
Then, for the first time, she noticed his fetters.
"My God!" she exclaimed, under her breath. "What does this mean?"
"It means," said Sam, eager to justify himself, "that I am innocent of all this. I ain't nothin' but a tool. I was dragged here at the p'int of a pistol by that that ruffian yonder. I wouldn't betray ye for a farm, Miss Nannie. I—"
He paused, and his speech trailed off into an indistinct murmur, for she had ceased to listen. She was speaking to Nick.
"By what right have you dared to manacle my servant? And who are you two, who look so much alike, and have forced yourselves into our quiet home? I have half a mind to shoot you both as you stand there, and be rid of such vermin."
"Better not, ma'am," said Nick, coolly. He made a slight sign to Chick as he spoke, and the latter deftly possessed himself of the girl's pistol.
"There," continued Nick. "Now we can talk more comfortably."
She had turned as pale as death.
"Who are you?" she asked again.
"Who am I?"
"Yes; you and—this other."
"We are detectives."
"Ah!"
"Do you want to know what we mean to do?"
"Yes."
"We mean to arrest you and your father for smuggling."
"No—no!"
"And we do not propose to let you out of our sight, until we have delivered you to the proper authorities."
"You—you have no proof."
"Pardon me, I believe we can find the best of proof in the rooms at the head of yonder staircase."
"And you mean to arrest us?"
"Yes."
"And take us to prison?"
"Yes."
"Then God help my father! I cannot save him; but there is yet a way of escape for myself, and I will never be taken alive. I have sworn it."
With a swift movement, which neither of the detectives could foresee, she detached the cameo of a ring which she wore from its gold circlet, and extracted a small, round pellet, which she put in her mouth and crushed between her teeth.
Then she looked at them with a slow, defiant smile.
"I have escaped you," she said. "Better death at once, now, in my youth, than a life of ignominy dragged out in a felon's cell. I am young in years, but my face is not unknown to the police. Thank heaven, I have escaped them!
"As for you, I wish you might never find the secret exit from this place. I wish you might die here like rats in a hole. I—"
She gasped, fell to the floor, and died without another sound.
"A FINE character gone to waste," murmured Nick, as he stood looking down upon the dead body of the squire's daughter.
"Come, Chick," he added, "there is work for us to do yet. We will leave this fellow here for the present, while we examine those rooms up stairs. He is safe here until we can get a warrant for his arrest."
They turned to go, but a howl from the terrified Larkin, stopped them.
"Are yor goin' ter leave me here with that?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What! in the dark?"
"No; we will leave the lantern."
"Don't leave me! Don't ye do it! I shall go mad!"
"Oh, no, you won't. We will be back before long."
"Take me upstairs with you."
"Don't want you. You are safer here."
"But I can't stay with that. Mercy, mercy!"
"Would you rather stay in that den I just came from?"
"Yes— yes! if you will leave me the lantern, and shut the door tight!"
With a look of contempt for his cowardice, the detective thrust him into the low vault, and shut the door upon him.
Then, without more words, they quickly ascended the stairs.
But once at the top, they were completely at fault.
Nick had never opened the secret door from the inner side, and they searched in vain for the spring.
"We might go through the passage to the shore, and back through the house," suggested Chick.
"A long way around, lad. Suppose, instead, you and I put our shoulders to this wall, and see what we can do. It is not a part of the original building. It is very plainly to be seen that it has been added later, probably to form this retreat for the smugglers. We ought to be able to start it."
The united strength of the two men was something tremendous, and the slightly built partition could not withstand it.
A yawning gap gave them the egress they desired, but the shock of the fall had had an unlooked-for effect.
It had brought down some of the plastering from the other wall of the secret passage.
This wall was the outer, or main wall of that side of the house, and a great sheet of plastering falling off disclosed the fact that the wall was paneled beneath it.
Chick was about to step through the opening, when Nick stopped him.
"Wait," he said. "Tell me, is not the spot where that plastering fell opposite the top of the great staircase?"
"Very nearly, yes."
"Bring your lantern here."
Nick drew Reginald Dare's last letter from his pocket, and read a portion of it attentively.
"The little room at the head of the great stairway," he muttered. "There is no room now. It has evidently been torn away, to make room for this secret passage.
"'Enter the closet.' Neither is there any closet now. That, too, has been torn out.
"'Press with all your strength upon the panel directly opposite the door.'
"And now to see if my conjecture is correct. If it is, one of the panels concealed by this plastering should be the one that was formerly on the inside of the closet referred to.
"Chick, help me to tear away some more of this stuff."
They soon had several panels uncovered, and Nick pressed heavily upon each in turn.
He fancied that the third one yielded a little.
Chick added his strength and the panel retreated an inch or two.
Nick put his fingers in the opening, and pressed to the left.
Slowly, grudgingly, as though loth to give up the secret it had guarded for so many years, it slid back from its place.
Beyond all was intense blackness.
"Hold the lantern here, Chick," said Nick, briefly. Chick complied without a word.
The two were strangely excited at the thought of what they might find beyond that sliding panel.
Was Reginald Dare's wealth there? Had it lain hidden all these years, or had some one been before them?
Chick held the lantern, so that its light shone directly through the aperture, and then both men uttered a horrified exclamation.
Before them was a narrow, closet-like opening. It was not more than four feet wide, and was possibly six feet in length.
Upon the floor, stretched at full length, was a human skeleton, its grinning skull seeming to mock at the intruders.
Beneath it was a small, iron-bound box, and one of the fleshless hands still clasped the brass handle upon the top.
The dead miser was holding his treasure with a grip which had lasted for fifty years.
It was with the greatest difficulty that the two detectives detached the locked fingers from the box, but at length they succeeded, and, drawing it from its hiding-place, they pried open the lid.
Inside they found a fortune, indeed. Diamonds and rubies, emeralds and turquoises flashed back the rays of the lantern, and told the tale of Reginald Dare's secret wealth.
*
Our story is told.
Squire Smith was under arrest, and delivered to the authorities as soon as his injuries permitted him to be moved.
He proved to be a man who had formerly been notorious as an all-around crook. He had figured in bank-burglaries, train robberies, a noted case of forgery, and had even been wanted by the police in connection with a mysterious murder.
But for the last ten years he had totally disappeared.
Now, he came to light once more, partially disguised by a blonde wig, etc., but still easily recognizable as the same man, and this time he posed as the leading spirit of a band of smugglers who carried on an extensive business in the free importation of silks and laces, and whose head-quarters had long been a mystery to the custom-house officials.
The squire was wanted upon enough charges to keep him behind prison bars for the rest of his life, but his daughter, who had been associated with him in all his dealings ever since she was old enough to be trusted with a secret, had dared to take her fate in her own hands, and escape the consequences of her misdeeds.
Sam Larkin's arrest seemed to be a positive relief to his mind, after the terrors he had suffered when he was left alone in the underground vault, near the dead body of his mistress.
The Dare homestead had been altered and arranged by the squire to suit his own purposes, when he bought it ten years before.
In tearing away the little room at the head of the stairway he had barely missed laying his hands upon more wealth than he had ever dreamed of possessing.
As it was, the fortune was handed over to Miss Anna Dare, the sole descendant of old Reginald.
She had dreamed to some purpose, on the nights when the bony finger had pointed out to her the resting-place of the letter, which was to be the means of discovering the hiding-place of her grandfather's fortune.
The skeleton in the closet was brought to light at last, and after fifty years the dead man's grip was unloosed.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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