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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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"ARE you Mr. T. Bolt?"
"Well, miss, that's about the size of it, I guess. I'm T. Bolt when I'm sober, and I'm usually sober. Wot kin I dew fur yew, miss?"
"I am in great trouble."
"Git out! air yew, now? Yew're much too purty a girltew git intew difficulties. Wot's the nature of yew're disease?"
"I have a brother, sir."
"Some girl's have 'em, I've heer'd. They 're ketchin', too."
"I believe that my brother has committed a crime, sir."
"Git out! has he? Well, he's been arrested, I s'pose, an' put into the Tombs, 'r some sich cheerful place, an' yew want me tew git him out, an' sort o' wash the brick-dust off'r his name by stickin' the crime that he probably committed, onto s'mother feller. Is that it?"
"No, sir."
"'Tain't, eh"
"No, sir."
"Wot, then?"
"My brother is suspected of a crime, and everything points to his guilt, but he has not been caught."
"Do yew want me tew ketch him?"
"No."
"Hum! Say, miss, would you mind tellin' me wot yew dew want?"
"I want to know whether he is guilty or innocent. If guilty, I want him punished; if innocent, I want him saved."
"Yew dew, eh? Wot's yew're opinion? is he guilty, or not guilty?"
"I believe that he is guilty."
"Whew! an' yew're his sister, too."
"I am."
"S'posen he is guilty, wot crime did he commit?"
"Murder."
"What?"
"Murder."
"When?"
"Four days ago."
"Who'd he kill?"
"My lover; the man who was to have become my husband next week."
"Wot was his name? your lover's, I mean?"
"Franklin Gates."
"Eh? Wot? Franklin Gates, eh? Why, then, yew must be Eleanor Crane."
"I am; and my brother's name is Montgomery Crane."
"Yes, I know now."
"You have heard of the matter, sir?"
"Well, yes. I have heer'd of it."
"Then I need not go into details."
"Oh, yes! I wanter hear all yew've gotter say, jest the same's though I'd never heer'd tell on yew. The particklers that you give me may be very differen' from them I've heer'd. Now s'posen your brother did kill Frank Gates, wot did he do it for, hey?"
"They had quarreled several times about me, Mr. Bolt, and this was the culmination of their difficulties."
"Exactly; but, Miss Crane, I'd like to ask yew jest one pinted question. How dew yew know that Frank Gates is dead?"
"I saw him."
"What?"
"I saw his dead body."
"Wait jest a minute, miss, cos this thing is gittin' interestin'. The story of the affair as it is known generally, and as the police knows it, is this:
"Two young men, your brother an' your lover, had a violent quarrel about seven o'clock in the evening, in Dennis O'Brien's saloon. During the row, Gates struck Crane in the face with his fist, knocking him down. I'm right so fur, ain't I?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yewer brother jumped up and pulled a pop, which he aimed at Gates' heart."
"Yes, sir."
"He held the pistol in that way fur about a minute, while the crowd stood around, scared to death, nobody darin' tew move, an' everybody expectin' that he was goin' tew shoot.
"But he didn't. Purty soon he smiled a little, and then he lowered the pistol an' put it in his pocket.
"Then he said these words:
"'Franklin Gates, I know you for what you are. The meanest animal on the face of the earth is a coyote. I would kill you now, only I can hurt you more in another way if you defy me. I will give you forty-eight hours to leave town. After that, if you are still here, I will betray you, and in the meantime, if you wish to live, you must not attempt to see my sister.'
"Then yewer brother walked out of the saloon. That was rather a remarkable speech fur a young man who had jest been knocked down, to make to the man who struck him, wasn't it?"
"It was."
"Dew yew know wot it meant?"
"No, sir; I do not."
"Dew yew know what a coyote is?"
"Yes, sir; it is a kind of wolf."
"Exactly. Thet's wot it is on the plains, but in New York it's a kind of man."
"Man!"
"Yes, that's wot I said. 'The Coyotes' is the name by which a gang of desperadoes of this city are known, an' yewer brother es much es accused young Gates o' bein' one of 'em; but I'll go on with my story.
"All that happened about seven o'clock. At half-past eight, Gates was with you in your parlor.
"Purty soon a carriage stopped at the door, and your brother came in. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"He was mad when he saw Gates there, an' he pulled his pop ag'in. Gates likewise pulled his'n, but before either one fired, yew fainted away. That's right ain't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, when the people who had heard shootin' goin' on, the servants and the policeman on the beat, when they rushed into the parlor, they found yew stretched upon the floor in a dead faint; they found yewer brother's revolver, yewer lover's hat an' a big blood-stain on the carpet jest where you admitted that Gates had been standin'.
"But both of the young men, whether dead 'r alive, were missin'. When they brought yew tew, yew didn't know nothin', 'cept wot I've told.
"They searched everywhere, an' they couldn't find nothin' else, but it got to be the belief that your brother had killed Gates, an' that, havin' a carriage at the door, he had carried the body to it an' druv away. In proof of that idee were found spots of blood leadin' from the parlor to the curb-stone, and yewer brother's cane, with blood on it, right where the carriage had stood.
"Now, as nearly as I kin compute the time when the people got to the parlor, after they heard the shots, it must have been a five 'r six minutes. A good deal kin happen in that much time, an' also, in another sense, a very little. All that I know about the case is wot I've read in the papers, an' there are several things that strike me as being very queer.
"But, young lady, the queerest thing of all is that you say that yew saw the dead body of Franklin Gates, after havin' told everybody else that you didn't see nothin."
"It is easily explained."
"How?"
"You are the first to whom I have told the truth of the matter."
"Hum!"
"I am very wealthy, as you have doubtless heard, Mr. Bolt, and I am willing to pay liberally for your services. If you will take charge of this matter, I will tell my story."
"I'm listenin'."
"When my brother entered the room, he was, as you said, very angry. He drew his revolver, and Mr. Gates also drew his. I leaped to my feet to prevent, if possible, that which seemed inevitable.
"It is true that I fainted, but not until I knew that my brother had pulled the trigger of his weapon, and that it had failed to explode the cartridge.
"Ah! What about the other one?"
"Mr. Gates did not fire while I was conscious. I saw him lower his weapon and step back. I believe the reaction was what made me faint.
"When I came to, which must have happened very soon, I at first believed that I was alone in the room.
"I got upon my feet, and suddenly, with a cry of horror, discovered the body of Franklin Gates lying upon the floor, only a few feet away from me.
"I started forward, for I could not see his face from where I stood, but I had not taken a step when I was seized from behind by somebody, a handkerchief was pressed over my nose and mouth, and I again became unconscious."
"Do you think that your brother did that?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because whoever it was who seized me, spoke, and the voice was not my brother's."
"What did he say?"
"He said: 'Forget that you have seen the dead body of Franklin Gates.'"
"That was all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well?"
"Then I became unconscious."
"Are you positive that it was the body of Gates that you saw?"
"Quite."
"And you believe that your brother shot him?"
"He was not shot."
"Eh?"
"He was stabbed."
"Stabbed?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you explain?"
"In that one brief glance that I had at the body before me, I plainly saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from Franklin Gates' breast, and there was blood upon his shirt-bosom and upon his coat. He was dead, for he had been stabbed through the heart."
"If he was stabbed, who fired the two pistol-shots?"
"I do not know, sir."
"How came a third person there?"
"I have thought that it might have been the driver of the carriage in which my brother—"
"Young lady, you've hit it, sure! In that one sentence you have told me more than in all the rest of your story."
"How, sir?"
"Yew'll see, bimeby. Yew say yew couldn't see Gates' face when he was on the floor, stabbed?"
"No."
"How dew yew know twas Gates?"
"By his general appearance, and by the color of his coat."
"What was that?"
"Gray."
"And your brother's?"
"Was black."
"When the feller grabbed you from behind and put the handkerchief over yewer mouth, did yew smell anything?"
"Yes, chloroform."
"How old be you, miss."
"Twenty seven."
"How old is your brother?"
"Twenty-four."
"And Gates?"
"Thirty-two, or three."
"You are wealthy, and the property has been in your own hands since you were twenty-one, I have heard."
"Yes, sir."
"And your brother?"
"Had the same amount left to him. In four years he has spent more than half of it."
"How much was it, originally?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
"Now, Miss Crane, I'm goin' tew ask yew an impertinent question, but I want an answer. How much money have yew spent, in various ways, in the same four years? I mean how much have yew got left now, out of your quarter of a million?"
"I have less than one hundred thousand dollars, sir."
NICK CARTER'S line of questioning may seem strange, but that he had a very well-defined object in view will develop in time.
"What has become of the balance of your money, miss?" he asked next.
"It has been lost chiefly in poor investments. I use the word lost, inadvisedly perhaps, for I have had, until the last few days, every confidence that I would recover the sum mentioned, with a very large profit."
"Ah! You have only altered your mind during the last few days?"
"Yes, sir."
"Since the death of Gates?"
"Yes, sir."
"It was Gates who invested your money for you, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you turn the amounts over to him in cash?"
"I did."
"And now that he is dead, what evidence have you that he had this money?"
"Only his receipts."
"Was the money invested in your name, or in his?"
"I do not know."
"Have you nothing to show for it?"
"His letters and receipts."
"Nothing more?"
"No."
"Will you get together what you have, so that I can look the papers over when I call upon you?"
"I will."
"You had unbounded confidence in Mr. Gates?"
"I had."
"Has that confidence ever been shaken?"
"Never."
"Are you satisfied, in your own mind, that he is dead?"
"Yes, sir; oh, yes!" and for the first time, tears started to Eleanor Crane's eyes.
"Well, I hain't!" ejaculated Nick.
She leaped to her feet with a cry of joy.
"Oh, sir; do you think he lives?" she exclaimed.
"I do."
"You give me hope, sir; and yet—and yet—I saw his body with the knife-hilt protruding from it."
"I don't believe it."
"Sir, I—"
"Yes—yes, you saw a body, but I do not believe it was the body of Franklin Gates."
"Whose, then?"
"Your brother's."
"Oh, Heaven!"
"Exactly."
"Then—"
"Wait, Miss Crane. Don't yew specklate any further; jest leave it that way. It looks to me as though your brother was dead, an' as though Gates was and is an infernal scoundrel who first robbed your brother by leading him astray, who next robbed you by a system of clever fraud, and who then murdered your brother, and with devilish astuteness, played a trick by which he made you believe that he himself was dead, and that your brother was his murderer."
Under the arraignment made by Old Thunderbolt, Eleanor Crane broke down completely.
Up to that point she had been brave and calm, but the words of the detective opened her eyes suddenly to many things to which she had hitherto been blind.
"Did your brother ever say anything to you against Franklin Gates?"
"Only once."
"When was that?"
"Several months ago."
"What did he say, then?"
*He said a great deal, but I refused to listen, and forbade him ever to mention the subject again."
"But do you remember what he said?"
"Part of it."
"Tell me."
"He called Mr. Gates a scoundrel, a sharper, a member of a gang of thieves, and oh, sir, there was nothing that he did not say against him."
"Did he use the word coyote?"
"No."
"But he did use it in the barroom, when the quarrel occurred."
"I have heard so."
"Very good. I see by the papers that the police place very little confidence in the general belief that there was a murder."
"None whatever, I think, sir."
"They think there was a quarrel, and an attempt at murder; that somebody was wounded, and that the two finally escaped together to avoid arrest. The reporters take a different view, more for the sake of keeping up a sensation than because they really believe that somebody was killed. You believe that there was a murder because you saw the body which you think you recognized as Gates'. I believe that there was a murder, but that the victim was either your brother or somebody unknown to you, and all this diversity of opinion has been brought about by your failure to tell the police all that you have told me. Now, why did you not tell the police?"
"I was afraid to do so."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of the man who chloroformed me."
"Of the driver of the carriage, in other words."
"Yes."
"You believe it was the driver?"
"I do c Who else would be likely to be there, then?"
"Exactly. You also believe that your brother came to the house in the carriage?"
"Certainly."
"And that, in your mind, creates an additional point against your brother."
"I cannot help thinking so."
"Was he in the habit of coming home in a carriage?"
"He has done so."
"Often?"
"No, rarely."
"You are not positive that he did so that evening?"
"I am quite positive."
"Did he mention the fact in any way?"
"No."
"Then why are you positive?"
"Because I heard the carriage stop at the door, and immediately after that he came in."
"That is your only reason?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good: now you have engaged my services, and I have questioned you all that I care to for the present. Tell me exactly what you want me to do, and then I will tell you what I will do."
She hesitated a moment, and then she said, slowly:
"Franklin Gates was murdered. I am satisfied of that in my own mind. My brother drew a revolver with which to shoot him. He was not murdered with a bullet, but with a knife or dagger. I am certain that my brother owned or carried no such weapon. I know that there was a third man in the room. He may have had the dagger.
All three have disappeared, the body of the murdered man, my brother, and the unknown.
"I want you to find out what became of the body, and who it was that struck the blow with the dagger, my brother or the stranger. Whoever the murderer is, I want him brought to justice."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's quite a task."
"It is."
"Now, I'll tell you what I will do."
"Yes, sir."
"I will, I think, prove to you that Franklin Gates is alive—at least, that he was not murdered in your parlor, and that he is connected with a gang of the worst scoundrels in New York—a gang called the 'Coyotes.' Just that one word, uttered by your brother in the saloon, has given me the pointer where to look for him. At all events, I will unravel the mystery of this affair. That shall be my task, Miss Crane."
There was very little more said between them, and Eleanor Crane soon took her departure.
Ten minutes after she was gone, Patsy, the faithful lad who acted as Nick's servant, entered the office.
"Just in time, Patsy," said Nick. "I want to ask you some questions."
"Yessir."
"When you first entered my employ, you said something about a gang over on the east side who called themselves 'Coyotes.'"
"Yessir."
"I have heard of them often, but never happened to run against them, and I don't think the police have any faith in the existence of such a gang."
"No more do I, sir."
"Tell me what you know about them?"
"I know a lot."
"How do you happen to know a lot?"
"Cos I uster run errands for 'em."
"You did, eh?"
"Yessir."
"How many members has the gang?"
"Oh, a lot!"
"What do you mean by 'a lot?'"
"A hundred or more."
"Are you sure?"
"Yessir."
"Where do they hang out?"
"They've got four 'r five places."
"Ah! Do you know where they are?"
"Not exactly."
"Nearly?"
"Yessir."
"Well, where are they?"
"One of 'em's in South street somewhere near Grand street ferry."
"Well?"
"Another's in Harlem."
"In Harlem, eh? Well?"
"When I went there with a message once, I went to the end of the Third avenue road, and then walked through One Hundred and Twenty-third street to the river."
"What then?"
"When I got to the river, I stood still an' whistled 'Wait Till the Clouds Roll By,' an' purty soon a feller tapped me on the shoulder, and axed me if my name was Patsy. I gave him the message."
"Was it a written message?"
"Yessir."
"That makes two places. Can you locate the others?"
"Yessir."
"Do so."
"There's another somewhere near the Pennsylvania ferry on the Jersey side."
"Yes, and the other?"
"Is near the big New York Central grain elevators on the west side. I went there in a boat with two others, an' I don't know very near where 'twas, but I should think somewhere near Seventy-ninth street."
"Good! Now, what is their line?"
"They're all-around crooks. They've got all sorts of thieves workin' for 'em, an' they own a house somewhere."
"Own a house?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean?"
"I heard one of 'em say to another one, once: 'Meet me at the house to-morrow night at eight.'
"'Had we better start from there?' asked t'other one. 'We may give that snap away. It's the richest one we've got,' an' thats' all I heard."
"Have you any idea where this house is located?"
"No, sir."
"What kind of a looking man gave you the message?"
"The one who gave 'em to me oftenest?"
"Yes."
"He was tall an' thin, an' looked like a foreigner."
"Dark?"
"Yessir."
"That will do, Patsy. I think you have given me a
point or two."
"I hope so, sir."
"Stay. Put on your old togs. Go back to your old home and live, and see if you can't get more messages to carry for the 'Coyotes.'"
THREE days after the events related in the preceding chapters, a 'longshoreman, with bale-hook in hand, was reeling along South street, about three blocks below Grand-street ferry.
His face seemed to be bloated with drink, and one eye was discolored, showing that he had lately participated in a row of some kind, in which he had evidently got the worst of it.
He was about as repulsive in his appearance as a man could well be, and he seemed to have no care as to how many people he collided with, or how quickly he brought about another row.
Nevertheless he managed to avoid an outbreak with the few who objected to his conduct.
The time was just dusk, and presently he paused and leaned against an empty hogshead, which stood upon the curb, and leered around him with the complacent air of one who is drunk, and knows it.
Presently a ragged boy, dirty and unkempt, and with a blacking-box slung over his shoulder, came running down the street, pursued by a man who was evidently not only bent upon capturing the lad, but upon hurting him as well.
The boy saw the drunken 'longshoreman, and ran up to him, crying out for assistance.
"Stan' right thar, sonny, an' the bloke sha'n't hurt ye," said the man.
Then, as the pursuer reached out to seize the boy, he added:
"Git out o' this. Yer a purty pill, you are, to tackle a kid. W'y don't yer take somebody of yer size, ye duffer?"
"What is that to you?" shouted the other, angrily.
"Jest lay a finger on ther kid, an' ye'll find out!" retorted the 'longshoreman.
"I guess you want another black-eye, don't you?"
"Yes, if you kin give me one."
Without a word the new-comer struck out with his fist.
But he found that his blow was neatly parried, and the next instant he was sent sprawling upon his back by a blow from the 'longshoreman.
With an oath he leaped to his feet, and drew a murderous-looking knife.
Instantly he darted toward the man who had hit him, but instead of wreaking the vengeance that he sought, he was seized in a vise-like grip, and before he knew what had happened, he was sent head foremost into the open hogshead.
The 'longshoreman seemed to have become suddenly sober.
No sooner had he thrown his assailant into the hogshead, than he seized that also.
Quicker than thought he turned it over upon its side, and then bottom up upon the pavement.
The man who had been so unceremoniously treated was a prisoner, a fact which seemed to amuse the 'longshoreman very much.
He coolly leaped upon the good head of the huge barrel, and, taking a short, black clay pipe from his pocket, proceeded to fill and light it, totally unmindful of the chorus of yells and curses which came from the inside.
"Guess I've got him, sonny," he said, with a grin.
"Guess yer hev, mister," replied the boy."
"What was he chasin' ye fur?"
"I shined his boots."
"Yes."
"An' then he tried ter pump me."
"Bout wot?"
"'Bout suthin' that don't pump."
"Yer smart, ain't ye?"
"Yep."
"What's yer name, sonny?"
"Patsy."
"Patsy wot?"
"Patsy's nuff, aint' it?"
"Mebby."
The longshoreman made a sign to the boy which caused him to grin with very evident pleasure.
Then he nodded vehemently, and made several rapid signals with his fingers.
The 'longshoreman nodded.
"Ye'd better git, now, sonny. Cos this feller's gittin' so noisy, I'm goin' ter let him out," he said. "Skip!"
Patsy skipped.
Then the 'longshoreman began a conversation with the man inside of the hogshead.
"Wanter git out?" he asked.
"Yes, curse you."
"Will yer be good?"
"I'll cut your heart out."
"Yer will, hey?"
"Yes, I will."
"Then I'll keep yer there. I see a cop a-comin'. I'll jest tell him that I saw ye robbin' the kid, an' he'll take ye in; see?"
"Let me out, will you?"
"Will you be good?"
"Yes."
"An' go about yer biz?"
"Yes."
"I didn't hurt ye much, did I?"
"No."
'An' ye forgive me?"
"Yes; confound it; let me out."
"Will ye go an' take a drink with me an' call it square?"
"Yes."
"Then out ye come!"
He leaped from the hogshead, and kicked it over, thus releasing the man who had been so strangely imprisoned.
"Now shake,' said the 'longshoreman, sticking out his hand. "I don't cherish no gore agin ye 'cos I knocked ye over. Come an' hev that drink."
"I ought to give you a thrashing."
""Mebby, but ye can't; see?"
"You're as strong as a giant."
"Betcher life! Let's go in here."
"All right."
The drinks were soon ordered and disposed of.
"Say," said the 'longshoreman., "Wot was ye chasin' the kid fur?"
"To catch him."
"No! honest?"
"Yes."
"Well, why didn't ye do it?"
"You got in the way."
"Betcher life!"
"Have another drink?"
"Betcher life!"
They took another.
"Say, said the 'longshoreman, in a mysterious whisper, "do you hang out around here?"
"Why?"
"Ye look like a feller I've seed afore."
"Who?"
"Well, I can't say the name, see? cos I don't know it. Ever been out West, mister?"
"What are you driving at, anyhow?"
"Well, out West they hev a kind of animile I'm lookin' fur here, see?"
"What kind of animal?"
The longshoreman leaned forward and whispered one word in the stranger's ear.
"Coyote," was the word he whispered.
It had a remarkable effect upon the stranger.
He took a hasty step backward, made a rapid sign, and then placed his hand upon the spot where he carried a weapon.
"Who are you?" he hissed, when he saw that his sign was not answered.
"My friends calls me Duffer Bill."
"Who are you?" repeated the man. Then he leaned forward and whispered:
"Are you a cop? If you are, I can give the whole snap away for a price."
He had hardly uttered the words when he was seized by the coat-collar and drawn toward the 'longshoreman with a strength that he could not resist.
"So! yer one o' them fellers wot'll give his pals away fur a price, are ye? Ef we wasn't in a barroom, blast me ef I wouldn't break yer head fur ye, fur sayin' that! Do I look like a cop? say!"
"No. Let go of me, or I'll slit you! I only said that to try you."
"To try me?"
"Yes."
"Well, ye've got a funny way of tryin' folks."
"Don't you catch on?"
"Blowed 'f I do."
"If you had been a cop you would have taken the bait."
"What bait?"
"Why, that I would sell out. You would have made an appointment with me and I, knowing that you were a cop, could have posted my friends, see?"
"I begin ter see. Good-night, stranger."
"Wait; have another drink?"
"Smother time. Good-night."
"What's your hurry?"
"Oh, I'm a-goin', thats' all."
"Wait; I want to ask you a question."
"Ax it."
"What did you mean by saying that you were looking for a coyote?"
"Nothin'."
"That's too thin."
"Is it?"
"Yes; you meant something."
"Mebby I did, an' ag'in, mebby I didn't."
"Why don't you talk to me?"
"Yer too familiar with ther cops."
"Bosh!"
"Too much flumerarity breeds despise. Ever hear that?"
"Something like it. Now, tell me what you wanted?"
"I did."
"What was it?"
"Say; mebby ye're a cop yerself."
"You're a fool, Duffer Bill."
Again the 'longshoreman seized the stranger and drew him toward him.
"I don't low no man ter call me names," he said, "an' ye kin jest take that back 'r I'll break yer face, see?"
"I'll take it back. Don't be so infernally quick to get mad."
"Yer a-playin' me."
"You're a—er—mistaken. I'll tell you a secret. You asked about the Coyotes. I know where they hang out, and if you've got anything important enough, I'll take you there."
"When?"
"Now."
"How do I know ye ain't a-lyin', jest ter ketch me?"
"You can take my word for it."
"I kin. eh? Well, I aint' sich a duffer's all that, mister man. I'll tell you wot I will do."
"What?"
"I'll go with you, an' ef ye prove that ye're O.K., I'll tell my story, see?"
"I won't take you, unless I know that it's worth while."
"All right. I won't tell ye nothin' 'cept this: Ye've lost the best chance to make a boodle that ye ever had, see?"
"What are you going to do?"
"Shake ye. Good-night."
The 'longshoreman turned, and unmindful of the fact that his companion called to him several times, left the saloon.
Once outside, he darted around a corner, and was quickly lost to view.
Five minutes later the stranger, to whom he had been talking, came out of the gin-mill and stood for a moment upon the door-step.
Then he turned and walked rapidly down South street.
Behind him, sauntering carelessly along, was a countryman, who seemed to be just a little the worse for too much liquor.
The stranger only went one block. There he entered a saloon where there were two negroes strumming upon banjos at the farther end of the room, keeping time with an instrument which was called a piano.
The countryman also entered the saloon, and, going to the bar, ordered a drink, but he kept the stranger in view, until he disappeared past a screen at the rear of the room, behind the negroes.
"I thought so," muttered the countryman. "Duffy's dive is the place for me to work first."
THE reader has, of course, recognized the famous detective, Nick Carter, in the character of the 'longshoreman as well in that of the countryman who followed the stranger into "Duffy's dive."
Patsy's sign to him, when sitting upon the hogshead, had been to tell him that the man who was imprisoned beneath it, was a Coyote.
The fact of their meeting there in that way had been purely accidental.
For three days, Patsy, in his old character of a gamin of the streets, had been lurking around the neighborhood of the Coyote's rendezvous, for the purpose of being selected to carry another message.
Nick had not seen him during that time, and had finally adopted the 'longshoreman disguise for the purpose of looking up the boy, and finding out what he had ascertained.
He had been in the street but a short time, when the incidents which have been related, happened.
Then he interested the man whom he had imprisoned, sufficiently to make him look for him again, after which he tracked him to "Duffy's dive," which he was at once satisfied was one of the Coyote's many resorts.
"Duffy's dive," on South street, was one of those famous resorts with which certain portions of New York are so replete.
As in many other cases, there were two distinct places in the one resort, both operated by the same proprietor.
One was open to the street, and to the casual observer, or transient customer; the long saloon with its dirty, sawdust-sprinkled floor, its fly-specked bar and hanging, and the orchestra (save the mark!) was all there was of it.
But to the steady customer, the frequenter of the place, and those who were brought there by the initiated, there was another part where interruption was not feared.
That was the basement, or more properly speaking, the cellar.
Down there were held nightly revels which the pen and decent language are inadequate to describe.
Sailors, longshoremen, thieves of all descriptions and women of the worst types that a great city affords, met there.
They caroused, they got drunk, they fought, they enticed unwary strangers into their clutches, and in short, they followed the bent of their wild inclinations without regard to the majesty of the law.
Many went into Duffy's dive, who never again came out.
Many a missing man had been traced to that uncanny spot, but, although the bartender inevitably remembered the man described, and swore positively that he had gone away again, he never could be tracked beyond that point.
As soon as Nick made up his mind that Duffy's dive was one of the resorts of the Coyotes, he decided upon the course that he would pursue.
That Franklin Gates was alive, he felt no manner of doubt, and that he was connected with the band of Coyotes he was equally certain, because of the remark which Montgomery Crane had made in O'Brien's saloon.
As soon as he had paid for his drink at the bar, he turned away, again seeking the seclusion of a dark alleyway where he speedily transformed himself back again to the character of Duffer Bill.
Then, he re-entered Duffy's dive.
He had heard of the cellar part of the place, and he went at once to the screen in the back part of the hall, where he found himself at the top of a spiral stair-case, leading down into impenetrable darkness.
He descended without hesitation, groping his way, for he was not at all sure of the path.
But ere he was half-way down, he heard an electric bell rattle, somewhere in the distance, and the next moment a narrow door was thrown open, and a big, brutal-looking fellow, beetle-browed and square-jawed, faced him.
"Watcher want here?" he demanded with a leer.
Nick saw that he was in a sort of ante-room to the main saloon beyond, from which he could hear the murmur of voices, shouts, and laughter.
"Wanter see the gals," he said.
"Ain't no gals here," said the bouncer, with an oath.
"Ain't, hey? Say, do I look like a jay?"
"Now, who said ye did?"
"Well, let me in, then. I've got some boodle an' I'm goin' ter spend it, see?"
"Who are ye?"
"Ever hear o' Duffer Bill?"
"Are ye Duffer Bill?"
"Betcher life!"
"Who clipped ye on de eye?"
"My ma, fur stayin' out too late."
"Well, come in; I guess ye'll do."
"Betcher life!"
The bouncer first closed the door which led from the little room in which they stood to the spiral stair-case.
Then they traversed the length of the hall-way, which took them quite to the front of the building, and there they passed through another door into a large hall, which was in reality the principal feature of Duffy's dive.
At the farther end of the hall was a stage, and when Nick entered, a creature in tights was screeching out a ribald song to an audience which was entirely inattentive.
There were round tables scattered about the room, at which men and women were smoking, drinking, laughing, and shouting.
The scene was typical of one of the worst phases of New York life.
Nick had seen many such, and was not unprepared for this one.
Yet he was rather surprised when he took particular note of the majority of the men who were present.
There were very few of the character that he represented, most of them evidently being clerks, teamsters, and moderately well-dressed loafers.
One glance told him that he was in a very nest of thieves, but also that they were by no means all Coyotes.
"The gang that I am after has other quarters," he thought; "but unless I am greatly mistaken, their place of rendezvous is in some way connected with this."
Suddenly, not far distant, he espied the very man whom but a short while before he had imprisoned beneath the hogshead.
He was sitting at a table apart from the others, and with him was a tall, fine-looking man with an Italian face.
He looked out of place there, for his clothing was of the finest texture and in the latest style.
Diamonds sparkled in his shirt-bosom, and upon his fingers.
Yet he seemed perfectly at home and thoroughly conversant with his surroundings.
He was engaged in earnest conversation with Nick's old enemy, and each seemed to be paying close attention to what the other said.
Nick dropped into a chair at one of the tables, and had scarcely seated himself when one of the women of the place seated herself near him.
"That's a fine-lookin' eye you've got," she said. "You owe me a treat on that eye, honey."
"Betcher life! W'at'll ye have?"
"Brandy."
Nick pulled out a huge roll of bills, and selecting one, which proved to be a "tenner," motioned to a waiter.
The woman's eyes glistened with avarice when she saw the money that the 'longshoreman so recklessly displayed.
"Say, honey," she said, when the drinks were ordered, "you're a duffer!"
"That's me name, sweetheart. I'm Duffer Bill, I am. Who are you?"
"I'm Pearl."
"Pearl, eh? Now, w'y'd ye call me a duffer?"
"Cos you showed your wad in here."
"Well, it's mine, ain't it?"
"I s'pose 'tis—now."
"What d'ye mean by that?"
"I mean that you'll catch a 'knockerout' if you show that wad to the crowd. I wouldn't give that for your life," and she snapped her finger and thumb together.
"I wasn't borned yesterday, Pearl."
"No; but you'll be dead to-morrow if you don't keep that shady."
"Say, Pearl."
"What?"
"Do you come here every night?"
"Yes."
"Then what d'ye wanter warn me fur, hey? Why didn't ye lay fur my ghost an' git away with the pile, eh?"
"I don't know. I jest felt like it, that's all."
"Well, yer a purty good gal, an' not a bad looker, either. Here come's his nibs with the change. You kin keep it, 'f ye'll jest look out fur me 'f I git too full, see?"
"Yes," eagerly.
"Say, Pearl."
"What?"
"Ye warned me, didn't ye?"
"Yes."
"Does that mean that ye wouldn't make a stake ef ye got a chance?"
"No, it don't."
"Well, ye lay in, an' mebby I'll give ye a chance, see?"
"No."
"I know a duffer that I kin rope in, only I want help, He's a jay from Jaytown, see?"
"Got a wad?"
"Bigger'n yer head."
"Where is he?"
"Up town."
"When'll you bring him?"
"To-morrow night, mebby."
"I'm in it, Duffer Bill."
"All right. Say, Pearl."
"What?"
"Who's the swell-bloke?"
"Sh-h-h!"
"Wot's the matter?"
"That's the prince."
"Wot prince?"
"Wot he says, goes in here."
"Does, eh? I've met the feller that's wid him. Wot's his name?"
"Barney."
"Why d'ye call t'other feller prince?"
"I tell you he's boss here."
"'Tain't Duffy, is it?"
"No. Duffy ain't in it with him, even in his own place."
"Oh, I tumble."
"To what?"
"To the prince."
"What d'ye mean?"
"He's the boss Coyote," whispered Nick, bending forward a little.
"I don't understand what you mean by that," said the woman, drawing back.
"Don't try. Say, Pearl."
"What?"
"Have another drink?"
"I'll go you, Duffer Bill."
"That's right. Hello, yer friend Barney's motionin' to you."
"That's so. You wait here."
"Betcher life!"
The woman Pearl left Nick and joined the two men at the other table, where they held an animated conversation in a low tone.
PEARL soon returned to the table where Nick was waiting for her.
"Barney wants you," she said.
"Wants me?"
"Yes."
"Wot fur?"
"Give it up."
"Why didn't ye ax him?"
"Tho't you'd better do it."
"All right; say, Pearl."
"What?"
"See you later."
Nick went over to the table where Barney and the prince were sitting.
"Hello, Duffer Bill," exclaimed Barney.
"Hello yerself."
"How did you get in here?"
"Walked."
"Did you know I was here?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Saw you."
"Pshaw! I mean before you entered."
"Well, I ain't quite pure enough in heart to see through brick walls yet."
"I want to introduce you to this gentleman. He is Mr. Cotton from Chicago."
"Otherwise the prince, hey?" said Nick, with a laugh. "Say, Barney, you fellows must think I'm a duffer sure enough. I'm no more a 'longshoreman than you are."
Both men started, and placed their hands significantly in their pockets.
Nick's complete change in tone and manner astonished them beyond measure, and they realized at once that they were talking with a man who wore a disguise.
"You play it pretty well, anyhow," said Barney, "and you've come to just the right place to make an explanation."
"That's what I came for."
"Fire away, then."
"Three words will give you the tip."
"What are they?"
"Byrnes wants me."
"Then he'll get you."
"Not much, he won't! Not alive!"
"Dead, then. He'll have you one way or the other. You fooled me, though, I swear."
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad of that."
"What are you wanted for?"
"I've been cashier in a downtown office, and the other night the safe was robbed."
"Oh!"
"I was suspected."
"I see."
"Chiefly because I was missing."
"Good! How much did you collar?"
"About twelve thousand."
"Got it with you?"
"Barney, I believe I asked you once before if I looked like a jay. Do I?"
"No."
"Well, I'm not one. I wouldn't-be quite such an idiot as to bring all that here with me, would I?"
"I suppose not."
"How did you know enough to ask Barney about the Coyotes?" asked the prince.
"I didn't. It was just guess-work."
"Well you guessed pretty close."
"It was my third attempt."
"Your third attempt?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I had put the same question to two others in the same way before I tackled Barney. They didn't know what I was talking about, and I turned it off as a joke. Barney did know, and I followed him. He came in here; then I waited and came in, too."
"What do you want of the Coyotes?"
"Want to join."
"What do you know about them?"
"Nothing."
"Where did you hear of them?"
"From a young fellow I used to travel with."
"Where?"
"Here in New York."
"What did he know about them?"
"Precious little."
"Well, what?"
"He'd had a row with some fellow that I didn't know. They got drunk together, or something of that kind, and his friend had said more than he ought. Anyhow, my friend got onto the fact that his friend was connected in some way with an organization by that name, and when they quarreled he gave it out to me."
"Go on, please."
"When I got into trouble, I remembered what he'd told me, and I concluded that the Coyotes were good enough for me, so I came down this way to look for them."
"What was your friend's name?"
"Monte Crane."
Nick was holding his glass to his lips when he mentioned the name, but he was peering through the bottom at the face of the prince.
He saw him give an almost perceptible start, after which he calmly raised his own glass and drained it.
Nick chuckled inwardly.
"I'm onto your royal highness," he thought.
"Where is your friend now?" asked the prince.
"Skipped."
"Skipped! What for?"
"Murder."
"Eh?"
"He shot the fellow I've been talking about."
"Killed him?"
"I suppose so."
"Suppose so!"
"Yes, I don't know much about it, and nobody else does either, I guess."
"Tell me what you do know."
"Crane had a pretty sister, and Crane's friend—"
"What was his name?"
"Gates. He was in love with her. Crane didn't like the idea much; he often told me so. One night about nine o'clock he went into his parlor, and Gates was there with his sister. He shot him and killed him, and then while his sister was unconscious, he carried away the body of the man he had killed, and neither of them has been seen since."
"But how do they know that Gates was killed?"
"The sister came to long enough to see the dead body on the floor, with a bullet-hole in the forehead. Then she fainted again, and when she came to a second time the body was gone."
"So now the police are looking for Crane, eh?"
"I suppose so. I know I am."
"You are!"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"Well, I liked him. He's in trouble and so am I. I had an idea that he would skip for the Coyotes, and so I did the same. I sha'n't look very far. If he isn't here, all right. If he is, I'd like to meet him."
"You're a cool one."
"Well, I don't get rattled very easy."
"What is your name?"
"My name is Duffer Bill. I've dropped the old one. And now look here, I take it that you are the biggest Coyote in the pack, aren't you?"
"Well, what if I am?"
"I want to join."
"Why?"
"Simply because my neck isn't safe outside. I've come down here to join the Coyotes. I'll be a valuable man if you take me, prince, and a dangerous one if you don't."
"That sounds like a threat."
"You can take it just as you please."
"Men who threaten me, die."
"Bah! Will you take me, or won't you?"
"How will we benefit by taking you?"
"I can put you onto one snap that is worth a hundred thousand."
"Where?"
"When I'm a Coyote, I'll tell you."
"Will you give me your right name?"
"No."
"How do I know that you are not a detective on the track of the Coyotes."
"You don't look like a fool."
"Be careful what you say, sir."
"You wouldn't like it if I should say that you do look like one."
"Curse your impudence."
"Hold on, prince, you know that the police are not onto the Coyotes at all, and therefore are not looking for them. In the second place, there isn't a detective living that's got the nerve to come down here and give himself up to you. You look as though you might be a match for any of them."
"Thanks."
"Will you take me?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"To-night."
"Where do you meet?"
"Here."
"Not in this room?"
"No; but close by."
"You'll never be sorry for taking me, prince. I can put you up to two or three good things."
"We have an initiation."
"I'm ready."
"It's a tough one."
"Bah! other's have lived through it."
"Yes."
"Then so can I."
"Is your nerve pretty good?"
"I've got a little."
"Will you go through as Duffer Bill?"
"Yes."
"And in that rig?"
"Yes."
"Come, then, the time is up. We will go in now."
"I'm ready."
The three men rose from the table and started toward the rear of the room.
As Nick was passing the table where Pearl sat, she motioned to him.
He paused a moment beside her.
"Well?" he asked.
"Where are you going?"
"With the prince and Barney."
"Have they seen your wad?"
"No."
"Don't let 'em."
"Don't ye worry, Pearl."
"Say."
"Well?"
"You had better leave it with me."
Nick winked one eye knowingly.
"Tell you what I will do, Pearl."
"What?"
"Wait here till I come back, an' I'll give you a tenner."
"Honor bright?"
"Yes."
"I'll go you."
"All right."
"How long will you be away?"
"Long enough to be initiated."
"Are you going to join?"
"Yes."
"You're a fool, Duffer Bill."
"Why?"
"Because you are."
"Tell me why."
"You'll find out before I see you again."
"How so?"
"Ask Barney to show you his left arm before you go in."
"What for?"
"Bah! you're a fool."
"Will you wait for me?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll be two fools together, won't we, hey?"
Then he followed the prince and Barney.
THERE have been so many descriptions written of the initiation of detectives into criminal organizations, that an author feels as though he were imposing upon the credulity of his reader when he attempts anything of the kind. However, our purpose in relating the experience of Nick Carter, is to keep to facts, and the scene which follows gives a better idea of the wonderful nerve of this remarkable man, than anything else could.
Nick knew perfectly well that he was about to face an ordeal that would require the exercise of all of his endurance.
But, in order to accomplish the purpose in hand, it was necessary for him to go ahead.
He must become a Coyote; there was no other way.
Events proved how wise his determination was.
Instead of leaving the room by the way he had entered it, Nick followed the prince and Barney toward the stage.
Around at one side was a little door which led beneath the platform, and they passed through it into intense darkness.
But as soon as the door was closed behind them, Barney produced a light, and they passed on, through an ill-smelling cellar.
Then, down a short flight of steps and on again, along a narrow passage-way, dug through the earth, and reeking with dampness and mold.
Presently they paused before a heavy door, which the prince opened with a key, and then they ascended another flight of steps of about the same length as those that they had descended upon leaving the hall in Duffy's dive.
It admitted them to another cellar, and Nick knew that they had passed beneath the yard back of Duffy's, and were under the house which fronted upon the next street.
He watched the prince narrowly, and saw him touch a button which evidently communicated with an electric bell.
The button seemed to be affixed to the brick wall which formed an abutment for the support of the building above them.
Near it was the mouth of a speaking-tube, and immediately after pressing the button, the prince placed his mouth to that, and carried on a low-toned conversation with some person at the other end.
Nick was, however, prevented from hearing what it was by the fact that Barney kept up a conversation with him, evidently for that very purpose.
Then the prince closed the speaking-tube, and all three crossed the cellar to the opposite side.
There they paused before an ordinary board partition, and Nick could hear a rumbling noise from far overhead, which gradually came nearer, until it ceased, directly in front of them.
Soon the innocent-looking partition opened mysteriously, disclosing what was nothing more nor less than an ordinary dumb-waiter, made a little larger than those employed in restaurants.
It was an elevator which was worked by hand.
A rude contrivance, which was, however, very effectual for the uses to which the Coyotes put it.
"Get in, Duffer Bill," said the prince, and Nick obeyed.
He was followed by the others, and presently they began to ascend with that jerky motion which proved that the elevator was worked by hand.
Up, up, up!
There was no way of telling how many floors were passed, but at last the elevator stopped, a door opened, and they stepped out.
Before them, waiting in evident expectation of their coming, were seven men.
Barney pushed Nick toward them, and one of them stepped quickly forward.
He told Nick to hold his arms close at his sides, and then, with a quick motion, he placed a leather jacket around the detective, and buckled it behind.
His arms were thus held firmly down, more tightly and more immovably than any rope could have done it.
So far as the use of his hands and arms was concerned, Nick was rendered absolutely powerless by the leather jacket.
"Now, my man," said the prince, "you wished to become a Coyote, and we are going to make one of you. It isn't a pleasant operation that of being changed from a man to a beast, and if you don't like the idea, say so now."
"If I had had any idea of backing out, I would have kept out," replied Nick.
"Well said; if you had answered otherwise, you would have been dead now. Jasper!"
"Here."
"Search the candidate."
It was fortunate for Nick that he had planned for this very ceremony of searching.
Had the paraphernalia for his various disguises been found upon him, his identity would have been suspected at once, and then—
Who knows what then?
The search was very thorough.
Every pocket was examined. The lining of his clothes was prodded with pins, and no murderer, when first taken to the Tombs, was ever more thoroughly "gone through" than Nick was, then and there.
The jacket was loosened long enough to allow his coat and vest to meet the fate of the rest of his apparel, and was then fastened on again as before.
Then the wig that he wore was pulled away, and the paint was washed from his face.
In five minutes, so far as his features were concerned, he stood revealed, Nick Carter in propria persona.
Never before had he so thoroughly realized the advantage of maintaining his real appearance a secret.
As he appeared, then, without any disguise at all, very few people in the world knew him, and certainly not a crook.
He stood before them, simply an extremely handsome and athletic young man, upon whom they all cast an involuntary glance of admiration, not so much because of his real appearance as for the perfection of the disguise that he had assumed.
"Well, gentlemen?" he said, coolly, "what have you discovered?"
"Everything but your name?" said the prince.
"That you will never know."
"We must know it."
"I will not reveal it."
"Why?"
"Because it is a good name, and is borne by many who live in this city upon whom I will not bring any disgrace."
"Our rules demand that you tell your true name."
"I will not do so."
"Death is the penalty for refusal to comply."
"I will not tell it."
"Why?"
"I have answered that."
"Will you tell me?"
"No."
"You must."
"I will not."
"You are determined?"
"Yes."
"In what way could it harm you?"
"In no way, for I shall not tell it."
"We will force you to do so."
"You cannot."
"You do not know us."
"I am beginning to get acquainted."
"True. You shall know us better."
"That is why I am here."
"Inside with him, Jasper."
Nick was simply working a point of finesse in being so stubborn about his name.
It would have been easy enough to have given a fictitious one, and to have supported the statement by a well-told story.
But the Little Giant was a good judge of men.
He knew that if he stuck to his determination, they would think only the more of him, but he little knew the ordeal which such a determination entailed.
He was taken into a large room, which he judged was at the rear of the house upon the top floor.
There were about thirty men in the room when he entered, besides those who accompanied him.
Some were playing cards, some were drinking, and all were smoking, so that the place was almost stifling.
The room was furnished with tables and chairs, and was carpeted, probably more for the purpose of deadening the noise of their feet upon the floor, than for any other reason.
At one end was a raised platform, large enough to accommodate one chair, in which the prince at once seated himself.
He struck a little marble slab sharply with a gavel, instantly enjoining silence upon the Coyotes.
"We have a candidate with us to-night," he said, "who wishes to become a Coyote and be one of us.
"He has been asked to give his true name, and has refused."
Instantly there was a loud clapping of hands from every man in the room, and a murmur of approval went up from them all.
Nick wondered why, but he was soon to find out.
"Shall we begin the ceremony?" asked the prince.
"Yes," came the answer.
"Bring in the rook."
Three men sprang to one corner of the room and brought forth a strange-looking apparatus, made of hard wood.
Nick gazed at it curiously.
There were two upright boards fastened to a pedestal with iron braces.
In each board was a round hole, at about the height of a man's shoulders.
Nick was told to step upon the pedestal between the two boards.
He did so, being obliged to place his feet in two holes in the pedestal, provided for that purpose.
Instantly, iron braces were fitted around his ankles and fastened to the pedestal by means of thumb-screws, so that it was utterly impossible for him to move his feet.
Then the leather jacket was removed; also his coat and vest. The sleeves of his shirts were rolled up to his shoulders, and he was told to put his arms through the holes in the upright boards.
When he had done so, iron bracelets were locked upon his wrists and fastened to the pedestal with steel chains.
Then two pieces of boards, made after the style of old-fashioned stocks were fitted upon his neck and bolted to the uprights, and the great detective was, for once, absolutely powerless.
"I AM certainly at their mercy now," thought Nick. "I cannot move hand or foot—not even my head, and they can do with me as they please. Well, I'm in it, and now I've got to see it through."
"Will you tell your name?" asked the prince from the platform.
"No."
"Proceed, men."
The man who had been called Jasper approached with a huge pair of scissors, and Nick's clothing was literally torn and cut away from him until he was naked to his waist.
"Will you tell your name?"
"No."
Again Jasper came forward, and this time he held in his hand a soldering-pot such as plumbers use. Within it glowed a bright fire of charcoal.
Standing where Nick could see every move that he made, he placed a peculiarly shaped iron among the coals and allowed it to heat.
Then, when it was red-hot, he held it up before Nick's eyes and told him to look at it.
"Can you read backward?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What is this?"
"The letter 'N.'"
"Right."
The next instant the red-hot iron was pressed against the flesh of his left arm.
For an instant, the agony was intense.
He could hear his own flesh sizzling, and detect the odor of it as it burned.
But he did not wince, or murmur.
A shout of admiration went up from the men who were looking on, when they saw how he bore the ordeal.
In the meantime Jasper was busily engaged in heating another iron, and presently he held that up.
"What is that?" he asked.
"The letter 'O.'"
"Right."
Again was the red-hot iron pressed upon his arm, and again Nick maintained his composure of countenance so perfectly that looking upon his face, one would never have thought that he was suffering.
Once more a shout of approval told how the men admired his pluck.
"Will you tell your name?" asked the prince from his platform.
"No," replied Nick, calmly.
He would have answered yes, then, had he believed that it would do any good, but he plainly saw that to back out now from the course that he had adopted would only make matters worse for him.
There was only one course open, and that was to see the thing out on the lines he had chosen.
Again was an iron heated, and this time it was not shown to him.
But it was pressed against his arm just the same, and the sickening odor of burning flesh filled the room.
It was withdrawn, and yet another iron was heated, and he was branded with it in the same manner.
Then Jasper picked up the soldering-pot, and went away.
The prince arose in his place upon the platform.
"Those who give their true names when they join us," he said, "have them entered in a book, and a number placed against them, but those who refuse to give their true names have the number branded upon the left arm, as has been your experience. You are now numbered ninety-three, and as such you will be known upon the records against the name you have given us, Duffer Bill."
"Correct," said Nick, lightly.
"There is yet another mark that you must bear."
"What is that?"
"The head of a coyote."
"Is that also branded on?"
"No; it is tattooed upon you."
"Where?"
"Upon your left breast."
"Well, fire away. If I have got to wear that sort of thing, I have, that's all. If I had known that you were going to disfigure me, I'd have kept out, prince; not on account of the pain, but because of the disfigurement. Have you got these things on you?"
"I have the coyote's head."
"But not the brand?"
"No. My true name is in the book."
"Which you keep, eh?"
"The tattooer is here. He will now proceed."
The operation lasted but a short time, the sensation being much the same as that of branding, but in a much less degree.
When it was done, the prince struck with his gavel upon the little marble slab.
The stocks were then loosened, and Nick was permitted to again descend to the floor.
"You are not through yet, Duffer Bill," said the prince. "The last and greatest ordeal through which you must pass is one which every Coyote has to meet before he is admitted to the full confidence of our order. It is also one, which places every man here in the power of every other man, in one sense, and absolutely in mine. You constantly hear of strange disappearances, do you not?"
"Yes."
"Men from the country, city merchants, boys, girls, women, young and old, and babies just big enough to run around. They disappear, and cannot be found."
"Yes."
"Do you see that door yonder?"
"Yes."
"Many of them pass through there."
"Ah!
"Those who do, never return."
"What becomes of them?"
"They are sacrificed to the coyotes."
"Sacrificed!"
"Yes."
"Do you mean murdered?"
"Precisely."
"By whom?"
"By a coyote."
"Ah!"
"Coyotes feed on flesh; coyotes prey upon human kind, when they can. Every Coyote must be one who has committed the crime of deliberate murder. Your turn has come."
"Must I commit a murder?"
"Yes."
"When and how?"
"Now, and with this knife."
He held up a large knife as he spoke.
"Where is the victim?"
"In yonder."
"Waiting for me?"
"Yes, but sleeping."
"Sleeping!"
"Yes; under the influence of chloroform. In one sense, Duffer Bill, you are fortunate to-night."
"How so?"
"You have escaped a fight."
"I would have liked that."
"The pleasure is deprived you."
"Will you explain?"
"Yes. When the intended victim is a man, the candidate has to fight him, the victim being unarmed."
"A one-sided fight."
"When it is a woman, she is chloroformed just enough to make her sleep."
"But where do you procure your victims?"
"From all sources."
"Will you tell me?"
"A Coyote entices a man to Duffy's to rob him. We put him in the strong room, and save him for an initiation when he is butchered."
Nick shuddered as he listened to the cold-blooded declaration.
"A Coyote passes a woman upon the street with whom he at once falls in love. She is enticed here, or chloroformed and brought here, as the case may be. Later, when he is done with her, she is turned over to the committee on sacrifices. Dead women, as well as dead men, tell no tales. She is placed in yonder room, and the next candidate murders her with this knife. It happens that a woman falls to your portion, Duffer Bill. Sometimes we have a candidate and no sacrifice."
"What happens, then?"
"The committee is sent out. It finds a young man, or, perhaps, steals a child and brings it here. It is always an easy matter to procure victims for the ceremony."
"And that knife kills them all?"
"Yes."
"In yonder room?"
"Yes."
"You said my number is 93."
"Yes."
"Do you mean to tell me that yonder room has already been the scene of ninety-two murders?"
"It has; the ninety-third is about to be perpetrated."
"By me?"
"By you."
"What if I refuse?"
"You will be slain, and you will not save the victim, either."
"Why?"
"She will be murdered by the man who brought you here. Such are our rules."
"Yourself?"
"Yes."
"And who will murder me?"
"We will all take a hand."
"Indeed. Hand me the knife."
Every man present drew a revolver, and after cocking them, aimed them at Nick.
Then the knife was tossed to him.
"Take it," said the prince; "but do not attempt to use it, except in the way that you have been directed. Yonder is the room. Do your duty as a Coyote."
Nick saw that he could not hope to fight them all with any chance of success, and he resolved to appear to carry out the purpose to which they had assigned him.
"And this knife has been the instrument of ninety-two murders," he mused.
"It has," said the prince.
"It shall do its duty again," he continued, as though not heeding the prince's remark.
He started towards the door.
In his heart he was determined to sacrifice his own life, rather than to perpetrate the foul crime which was commanded of him.
He thought that there must be some way of escape from the consequences of his presence there, but, as yet, he could see no way out of it, except to fight.
The Coyotes were all armed with revolvers, and they stood ready to use them at the least sign of faltering on his part.
To fight meant to die.
Nick knew that perfectly well.
But death was far preferable to the guilt of a crime like that which they would have him commit.
He strode forward toward the door of that room of horror, and the Coyotes followed him, keeping, however, at a respectful distance, for there was something about the manner in which he carried himself, and the flash of his eyes that awed even that blood-thirsty crowd of human demons.
He reached the door and threw it open.
Then he uttered an exclamation of rage.
Upon a couch in the center of the room lay the figure of Eleanor Crane.
IT was, indeed, Eleanor Crane whom he saw.
He had never seen her but once in his life, but he well remembered that beautiful face, the curling auburn hair, and the exquisitely shaped, pouting lips, then so red, but now so white and bloodless.
Just that one exclamation escaped him.
Then he was rigid, and, to all appearance, emotionless again.
"Do you know her, Duffer Bill?" asked the prince, coldly.
"No."
"But you cried out as though you did."
"Her beauty astonished me."
"It might well do so. Do you remember the story that you told me in Duffy's dive?"
"What story?"
"About your friend Crane?"
"Yes."
"Yonder lies his sister."
"And I am to kill her?"
"Yes."
"Lay aside your pistols and let each man draw a knife. I will with this knife in my hand fight the whole crowd of you, rather than use it upon her."
"Impossible, Duffer Bill. Where is the nerve of which you boasted? Strike! Yonder is your victim."
"Do you call it nerve to strike a defenseless person with a dagger, and that person a woman?"
"It is a cowardly act, is it not?"
"Yes."
"For a brave man to commit a cowardly act requires more nerve than for a coward to be valorous."
"Ah!"
"Coyotes are cowardly by nature."
"I see."
"You must do the deed."
While Nick was talking, he had not once taken his eyes from the figure upon the couch.
Suddenly he smiled.
"Does this end the initiation?" he asked; or is there more to do?"
"This is all."
"I must stab yonder woman?"
"Yes, to the heart."
"And then—"
"Then you will be a Coyote."
"Let me look at her first."
He took a step forward, but the sharp voice of the prince stopped him.
"Halt!" he cried.
Nick paused.
"Listen," said the prince. "You are not permitted to touch your victim, except with the knife. When you are ready to do the deed, you must rush forward and do it, and the moment that you have struck, you must turn away, and go back to the big room. If you deviate from these directions, you will be shot."
Nick turned and faced the prince.
He was standing a little in advance of his men.
All held revolvers, and Nick ran his eye over the group.
He had determined upon a coup.
It was risky, but then he was accustomed to taking chances.
Suddenly he leaped forward, and before one of those men could fire, he seized the prince in his iron grasp and held him in front of him as a shield.
Then he wrenched the revolver from the chief Coyote's grasp.
The prince struggled like a madman, but he could not escape from the iron grip of the detective.
Holding him so that the men did not dare to fire, Nick backed toward the couch whereon lay the figure of Eleanor Crane.
He passed beyond it, securing a position where he could see all that he wanted to.
"The first man who attempts to approach me, dies!" he cried, as soon as he had wrenched the revolver from the prince, and had it ready to use.
The men murmured and swore.
The prince cursed.
But it was of no avail.
With the prince in his grasp, and the revolver over his shoulder ready for instant use, Nick, alone, held forty men at bay.
In one minute, he saw all that he cared to see.
He was satisfied now that the discovery that he had thought he had made was correct.
Instantly he decided what to do.
"Coyotes," he cried. "I have seized the prince to let you see that I have got nerve enough for anything. There are forty of you and I am only one, and yet you dare not approach."
"Dare not!" cried one of them.
"No. Six of you would be dead besides the prince before you could reach me. Try it, and I will prove what I say."
"Traitor!" hissed the prince.
"You know better than that, prince," retorted Nick. "I am ready to kill the girl now, if you will call it square."
"I will kill you when you release me, Duffer Bill."
"Then I would be a fool to do so, wouldn't I? I will let you go, and I will kill the girl if you will forget this scene. Is it a bargain?"
"Yes."
Nick strode back to where he had seized the prince, and released him.
"You are free," he said.
The prince bounded away from him.
"Kill the girl and I will forgive you," he cried. "We will wait just one minute."
"Done."
Nick turned, and with a bound reached the side of the couch.
Then, with quick and sure aim, he plunged the knife into the body of the figure, striking exactly where the heart should have been.
As soon as he struck, he turned his back to the figure, and threw the knife clattering upon the floor at the prince's feet.
"There!" he cried, "are you satisfied?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe that I have nerve?"
"Wonderful nerve."
"You are fools! all fools!" he cried.
They scowled, then laughed.
"You're too sharp fer us!" cried one.
"Am I a Coyote?"
"Yes—yes!" they yelled in chorus.
"What do you do with the corpse?" asked Nick.
"Save it for the next candidate," said the prince.
"It is very clever. Who made it?"
"I."
"Are you a worker in wax, prince?"
"Yes. I have made many figures for the Eden Musee."
"This figure would fool most anybody."
"It fooled you until you struck it with the knife."
"Yes."
"Then you knew?"
"Then I knew."
"Come, you are a Coyote now. Your initiation is over. You are one of us, and we have work for you to do."
"Give me some clothes first. You have ruined mine."
"Will you dress again as Duffer Bill?"
"Yes."
It did not take long for Nick to reassume the disguise of Duffer Bill.
His arm smarted where he had been branded with the hot irons, and the place where he had been tattooed, was sore and sensitive, but he cared very little for either.
The men returned to their cards, after drinking at Nick's expense.
Many of them went out, and the prince and Barney descended once more to Duffy's dive.
Before going, however, Nick was made acquainted with all of the signals of the Coyotes, of which they had a thorough code.
Again in Duffy's, they sought a quiet corner, where Nick, whose money had been returned to him, ordered a bottle of wine, which the three proceeded to drink.
The work on hand, which they wanted Nick to do, was to assist them in the abduction of a young girl, the daughter of a wealthy man, who resided on Madison avenue.
Nick entered into the scheme with seeming zest.
All of the preliminaries were talked over, and it was agreed that the final arrangements should be made the following night.
It was two o'clock in the morning when Nick rose to go, leaving the prince and Barney still at the table.
Pearl was there yet, sitting at a table with a man who was in the last stages of intoxication.
Nick paused and whispered in her ear.
"I'll come again to-morrow night, Pearl."
"You promised to stake me when you come back."
"I'll do it to-morrow, in handsome shape."
"How?"
"I'll bring the jay with me."
"Yes, you will."
"Honest. You kin work him fur a big wad, too, Pearl."
"How'll you work it?"
"He's me uncle, see?"
"And thinks you're an angel."
"Yes."
"Fetch him along."
"It's gotter be a square divvy, Pearl."
"No fear of me, Duffer Bill, I'll divvy, O. K."
"Well, if ye don't, esk!" and Nick drew his hand suggestively across his throat.
Then he turned away, and was soon in the street.
There, he acted very strangely.
After one hurried glance around, he darted away at a half-run.
Ten minutes later, he was changed to a negro, and was around in the next street, loitering.
NICK CARTER did not believe that the man who was called the prince would remain in Duffy's dive much longer, after he had left it.
He was also confident, that in leaving it, he would take the route beneath the stage, go through the underground passage, and so, out into the adjoining street, in order to avoid being followed.
It was rather a difficult matter to tell which house he would come out of, as well as to recognize him when he did come out, for he was certain that the prince would alter his appearance in order to avoid detection.
He was not mistaken.
There was the usual complement of saloons, all of which the detective passed, at length pausing before two houses that were dark and deserted.
While he stood there waiting, a lad darted rapidly past him, and ran up the steps of one of the houses.
Nick recognized him instantly.
It was Patsy.
In a low tone he called to him.
Instantly the boy turned and retraced his steps.
"Who be you?" he demanded.
"Don't you know me, Patsy?"
"Faith I do, but I didn't."
"Where are you going?"
"In there."
"What for?"
"To carry a message."
"To the Coyotes?"
"I don't know."
"Who gave you the message?"
"A fellow up at the ferry."
"Tell me about it."
"He said, 'Be you Patsy?' 'I am,' says I.' 'I want you to carry a message for me,' says he; 'all right,' says I.
"Then he gave me this address an' told me to ring the bell four times, then wait an' ring it once more. He said a man would come to the door after a while."
"Did he tell you the man's name?"
"Yes, Jasper."
"Good! Go on."
"I was to ask him if he was Jasper."
"Well?"
"If he said 'yes, I am Jasper,' I was to give him the message."
"Is the message written?"
"No."
"You were to speak it?"
"Yessir."
"What was it?"
"'We've got the gal.'"
"Ah! Anything more?"
"No, that's all."
"Well, go ahead. I'll wait."
Patsy rang the bell as directed, and then spent about five minutes in waiting.
At the end of that time the door was opened, and Nick saw and recognized the man who had branded him with the hot irons.
Patsy gave the message, the door closed, and the boy returned to the street.
"Go up to the corner, Patsy," said the detective, "and wait there. When I leave here, follow me."
"You bet!"
Nick spent about half an hour in waiting.
Then the door opened again, and a woman, heavily veiled, came out.
She was tall, and dressed entirely in black.
For a moment, Nick hesitated about following her.
Then he suddenly decided to do so.
"It can be no other than the prince," he mused, "and this is the disguise that he adopts."
The woman turned down the street, and continued along it until she reached Roosevelt street. There she turned westward, and made her way directly to the Bowery, where she took a Second-avenue car.
Nick had recourse to his old and favorite dodge.
He saw a hack standing near, and he climbed upon the box beside the driver.
"Hello, boss," he said; "see dat?"
It was a five-dollar bill, and the driver recognized it at once.
"Jes' low me ter dribe de hosses, an' dat William am yourn," he said.
The driver handed Nick the reins without a word, while nimble Patsy, having seen what was taking place, opened the hack-door and leaped inside.
Nick kept the hack in such a position that he could watch the veiled woman inside the car.
She did not, however, make a motion as though even cognizant of her surroundings until Fifteenth street was reached.
There she stopped the car, and descending, started away toward First avenue at a brisk walk. Nick handed the five-dollar bill to the driver, and leaped to the ground, Patsy following.
The street was light, and he kept the veiled woman well in view.
She continued on her way until nearly to First avenue. when she ascended the steps of a high-stoop, brown-stone front house, and admitted herself with a night-key.
When she disappeared, Nick was directly opposite.
For several moments he remained in deep thought.
"Patsy," he said, "go home and get Chick. Bring him here and tell him to wait outside until he gets a signal from me."
"Are you going into that house?"
"Yes. Run now!"
The boy was off like a shot.
Then Nick took a walk toward First avenue.
He paused in an area-way, when he found one that suited his purpose, and for nearly ten minutes was hidden from view.
When he came forth again, his appearance was so altered that even Patsy would not have known him.
The street was deserted, and he stole rapidly along until he reached the house into which the veiled woman had disappeared.
There, he ascended the steps and produced his wonderful little "pick-lock," a tool that had been designed by himself, and before which all ordinary locks were useless barriers.
He soon shot back the bolt and pushed the door open.
But it came to a sudden stop.
The chain bolt had been put up.
Chain-bolts are supposed to be effective impediments to burglars, but a greater mistake was never made.
Nick returned the pick-lock to his pocket, and brought forth a pair of nippers.
With the nippers, he speedily made two parts of the chain-bolt.
Then stepping inside, he quickly adjusted a half-mask to his face, drew his bull's-eye lantern, and was ready to proceed, a perfect representation of a burglar.
One flash of the lantern was sufficient to give him the bearings of the place he was in. Then he closed it again.
Reaching the second floor, he tried the door of the rear room.
It was unlocked, and he entered.
There was nobody there, although with the aid of his lantern, he saw that the room was one that was lived in.
He must mount still higher.
When he reached the landing at the head of the second flight of stairs, he heard voices.
He listened, and detected the voice of a man and a woman in conversation.
"I will starve first," he heard the woman exclaim. "If you come one step nearer to me, I will take my life."
"Don't be a fool, Eleanor," replied the man's voice, and Nick recognized it as belonging to the prince.
Instantly he became aware of another fact.
The prince and Franklin Gates were one.
"I have been a fool, because I have been your dupe," retorted Eleanor; "but you shall never so much as touch me again while I live."
"Eleanor," said Gates, slowly, "do you realize that you are in my power?"
"For the present, yes."
"You cannot escape."
"I have one friend who will rescue me."
"Who?"
"Nick Carter."
"What!"
"You heard me, Franklin Gates."
"Do you expect Nick Carter to rescue you?" asked Gates.
"I know that he will."
"Then listen. When he finds you, you will be my wife, or-"
"Or what?"
"Or worse. There are many things that are worse. Death is one."
"You are mistaken."
"Will you consent?"
"No."
"By Heaven you shall!"
Nick had crept to the door through which the voices came.
It was open about an inch, but, like the front-door of the house, was provided on the inside with a chain-bolt, which was fixed in place.
Nick drew his nippers and held them ready, and their sharp edges were pressed upon the links of the chain, ready to cut when Gates uttered the last remark.
Then he stepped forward toward her.
"Back!" she cried. "Don't you dare to come nearer!"
Nevertheless he kept on.
"Back!" she cried again.
Nick pressed the nippers.
The chain was of steel instead of brass, and of unusual quality.
The nippers were not strong enough to bear the strain and they snapped short off.
The noise attracted the attention of Gates.
He turned like a flash and faced the door, just as Nick threw himself against it.
At the first onslaught, the door refused to yield.
Simultaneously with the noise made by throwing himself against it, Nick heard the loud report of a pistol from within the room.
Then he kicked the door with all his might.
The chain broke, and the door flew open.
Nick bounded into the room.
Eleanor Crane was just struggling to her feet, while a tiny stream of blood dripped from one of her ears upon her shoulder.
Gates had disappeared.
"Who are you?" she cried, seeing Nick's half-mask.
"I am Nick Carter. Are you hurt?"
"He tried to kill me. The ball cut my ear, I think."
"Where is he?"
She pointed toward the mantle.
Nick leaped forward and seized it.
It swung out easily, disclosing a narrow and steep flight of steps, which descended between the partitions.
"Let him go," said Nick; "I can find him when I want him. Now, Miss Crane, how did you get here?"
"I received a note which I thought came from my brother."
"It asked you to come here?"
"Yes."
"When was that?"
"Eleven o'clock."
"You were conducted to this room?"
"Yes."
"And locked in?"
"Yes."
"Thank God that I followed that scoundrel to-night. It was only by chance that I did so; but I got here in time to save you, Miss Crane."
"Ay, from a fate worse than death. But he has escaped."
"I can find him again. Do you still believe your brother to be a murderer, Miss Crane?"
"Thank God, I know that he is not!"
"He was right when he warned you against Franklin Gates."
"He was. Oh, that he were alive now!"
For the first time, she broke down and wept, as a woman should who had passed through all that she had undergone.
"CHICK!"
"Yes, Nick."
"Go and put on the Old Thunderbolt togs."
"Am I to do thet part?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
"I am Duffer Bill."
"Are you going to arrest Gates to-night?"
"Yes, and put an end to Duffy's dive."
"Anybody else in it?"
"Five from headquarters."
"Where are they to be?"
"Scattered about in the saloon."
"And the house on Front street?"
"Will be watched from the outside. Nobody will get away, Chick."
"We'll have a scrimmage."
"I shouldn't wonder."
The above conversation took place at ten o'clock on the night following the events related in the preceding chapter.
A few minutes later the two detectives left the house.
Nick was dressed as Duffer Bill, while Chick wore the Old Thunderbolt disguise.
It was twelve o'clock when they reached Duffy's dive.
Nick gave the necessary signal to the bartender, walked past him with a knowing wink, and a leer at the countryman who accompanied him, and disappeared behind the screen.
They were soon in the dive proper, where Nick had met the prince and Barney on the preceding night.
Pearl, the woman who was interested in the arrival of the countryman, was alone at a table, patiently waiting, and she grinned avariciously when she saw that Duffer Bill had kept his word.
"Pearl, this is my Uncle Josh. I wantcher ter treat him well, too, see?"
"Yes, trust me for that, Duffer."
"Don't make no mistake now, Pearl. Uncle Josh looks kinder green, but he's fly, he is, an' doncher furgit it, either, see?"
"Yes."
"Uncle Josh, Pearl's a dandy, ain't she?"
"William, dew yew happen to see any other charming feminines around here?"
"Lot's of 'em."
"Then s'posen yew find one, William, an' leave me here with Ruby."
"My name is Pearl, Mr. Josh."
"Git out! is it? Wal, they're both precious stuns, I take it. Ef yew can't git any precious stuns any other way, yew have 'em in yewer name, don't yew?"
"Yes."
"Waiter, fetch me a glass of whisky. 'I don't s'pose yew drink, dew yew, Amethyst?"
"Don't I, though?"
"Git out, dew yew? Two whiskys, waiter. This 'ere's a real nice place, ain't it, Emerald? Say!"
"Well?"
"This beats any o' the places out in Beaver Dams."
"Does it?"
"Yew bet! say!"
"Well?"
"Hev yew knowed Bill long?"
"Oh, yes; years."
"He's kinder goin' tew the bad, ain't he?"
"He? oh, no; he's just as good as they make 'em."
"Git out! is he now?"
"Sure!"
"Well—well! I'm right glad to hear it. Hello, say!"
"What?"
"Wot be them fellers goin' tew dew?"
"Where?"
"On that platform."
"Oh, on the stage!"
"Is that a stage? Where's the hosses?"
"They're going to spar."
"Wot! the hosses?"
"No, the pugilists."
"Now, look here, Cameo, I don't know wot pugilist an' spar means.'
"It means that those two duffers are going to slug each other, see?"
"Oh, fight."
"Yes."
"Betcher I kin lick 'em both."
"Well, "I'm not going to let you try."
Duffer Bill had, in the meantime, gone over to a table in the corner where Barney was sitting all alone.
"Where's the prince?" he asked.
"Up stairs."
"Is he coming down?"
"Bimeby. You won't know him, though."
"Why or?
"He's gone under cover."
"What for?"
"He was pretty near coppered last night."
"When?"
"After you left."
"How?"
'Nick Carter's after him."
"The devil he is!"
"He is the devil, sure."
"So the prince is under cover?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"A woman."
"Honest?"
"Yes."
"Can he do it?"
"Like a book."
"I wouldn't think it."
"Say, Duffer; I'll let you into a secret."
"Do."
"The prince is a woman."
"What!"
"Fact! and she's my wife, too."
"Well, I'm blowed."
"The boys all know it, so I thought I'd tell you."
"Thanks."
"Here she comes now."
Nick glanced up toward the rear of the room, and saw that two people had entered from the direction of the Coyote's den.
One of them was unmistakably the Italian looking person whom, on the preceding night, he had known as the prince.
The other was a woman, and, at the first glance, she appeared to be the same one that he had followed to Fifteenth street, who had afterward turned out to be Gates.
But as Nick looked more closely, he perceived that she was taller and heavier than the other.
Instantly he saw through the ruse.
"A very clever scheme," he muttered; "but I am too old a bird to be caught with chaff. The prince is the prince, whether man or woman, and the woman is my old friend Jasper.
"The whole thing means that the prince suspects that I am the chap that followed him last night, and unless I am greatly mistaken, others will follow them in."
He was not mistaken.
A few moments later, two more appeared, a man and a woman. Then two more, and so on until a score, or ten couples—had entered, all of the women being men in disguise.
When the prince and his companion first made their appearance, Nick turned again to Barney.
"That is the prince," he said.
"No; it is Jasper got up like him."
"And the prince is the woman?"
"Yes."
"Your wife?"
"Yes."
"There come some more. What is it all for?"
"They're looking for the cop."
"What cop?"
"The one who followed the prince last night."
"Did one follow him?"
"Yes."
"When he left here?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who it was?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Nick Carter."
"Well, he isn't here, is he?"
"We think he will be."
"Oh?
The prince and his companion came to the table where Nick was seated with Barney.
The prince sat down and the woman continued on to the next table.
Then the fourth chair was filled by another man.
Over at the table with Pearl, Chick was still seated, carrying on the meaningless conversation which was meant to kill time.
Chick was waiting for the signal from Nick to begin work.
But the signal came from an unexpected quarter, and was given just as soon as the Coyotes had entered and seated themselves.
Pearl was the one who gave the signal.
She said something to Chick, and he answered lightly.
She pretended to take offense, and he laughed at her.
Then came the signal.
She leaped to her feet with an exclamation of anger, overturning her chair in the act. Then she uttered the warning cry of the Coyotes; the cry which told them to look out for a cop.
Instantly following the signal, a dozen revolvers were discharged.
Nick felt a bullet graze his head, but he turned and struck the prince a terrible blow with his beer-glass, sending him to the floor unconscious.
Chick went down at the first fire, but he was instantly upon his feet again.
With loud cries, the Coyotes rushed from every quarter upon the two detectives.
But help was at hand.
When the prince planned the master stroke to capture and kill the detective who was upon his track, he had no idea that a squad of Inspector Byrnes' men would be there also.
But they were, and they made their presence felt.
For a moment the firing was general.
Chairs and cuspidors flew through the air, followed by glasses and bottles.
Then another cry was heard. and instantly the lights went out.
But the detectives had their bull's-eye lanterns.
They opened them as quickly as possible, but the room was deserted, save for themselves and four dead bodies on the floor, and the prince, who was unconscious.
Then the raid was made complete.
The houses were ransacked from top to bottom, and in the cellar of the Coyotes den was found the body of Montgomery Crane.
The murder was proven against Gates, and he answered for it in due time.
Eleanor never recovered her money.
Gates had used all that had come into his hands.
But she was satisfied in having proved her brother's innocence, and in having escaped from the clutches of the prince of the Coyotes of New York.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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