“I never play for big stakes,” said Girard.
The men entered the house and Girard said:
“My gambling box is on the top floor. There I don’t annoy my neighbors.”
“All right,” said Oscar. Our hero was seemingly in a very complaisant mood. The men ascended to the top floor. Girard ushered his guests into a room which contained a full equipment for a game of draw. There were shaded lights, a polished table, and by touching a button he summoned a lackey to serve in attendance, and our seemingly half-boozed Oscar scanned the face of the lackey and perceived that indeed a very cunning game was being played. Cards, cigars, liquor, and all the paraphernalia were introduced, even to chips, and the game commenced. Our hero had started in to buy a big wad of chips, but he was restrained.
Indeed, the rascals were working the game for all it was worth in the way of a total blind, until the moment when they intended to open up.
The game had proceeded for about half an hour when the attendant entered the room and made a whispered announcement to Girard. The latter appeared to be annoyed, but said:
“All right, show them up;” and turning to his guests he added:
“It’s awful annoying, but a couple of my friends, knowing my habit, have dropped in. They will want to come in the game.”
“The more the merrier,” said Oscar.
Thus he spoke, but he realized all the same that the chances for his escape were lessening. Two more men would make it five against him, including the attendant, whom our hero had set down as a “stool” in disguise, and the inquiry arose in his mind:
“What can their game be? They have certainly gone carefully about it and have made great preparations to do me; but how do they intend to do it?”
The two men were introduced into the room. They came in seemingly in quite a merry mood, but a moment later one of them fixed his eyes on our hero, stared in a surprised way and finally asked:
“Girard, where did you come across that individual?”
There was a tableau at once.
“What do you mean? Of course you know the man.”
“Here, my good fellow, I’d like to know what you mean?” demanded Girard.
“Do you call that man your guest?”
“I do.”
“Do you know him well?”
Girard appeared very much confused and did not answer.
“Answer; do you know that man well?”
“No, I met him to-night.”
All this time Oscar sat silent, but really appeared like a man who had been detected in something mean.
“You don’t know him well?”
“I do not.”
“You met him to-night?”
“Yes.”
“Who introduced him to you?”
“No one. We became acquainted by chance. But see here, this gentleman is my guest and I want you to explain.”
“Oh, I’ll explain.”
“Please do.”
“I denounce that man.”
“You denounce him?”
“I do.”
“On what ground?”
“He is a spy and a sneak. He will report you for keeping a gambling house. He is a sort of detective pimp, does all their dirty work. That is the man you are entertaining. Let him deny it if he will.”
This was a bold accusation, and all the men glared at our hero, and finally Girard said:
“Dunne, what have you got to say for yourself? If this is false call that man a liar. It is your right, for he makes very grave charges against you.”
“With your permission,” said Oscar, “I will withdraw. That man’s charges are not entitled to a reply from me.”
“But see here, mister, that won’t do.”
“What won’t do?”
“If his charges are true you have been playing me.”
“I have been playing you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Well, you understand your purpose. I don’t. But one thing is certain: you must make a full confession, or I will hold you responsible for any interpretation I may put upon his charges.”
Oscar apparently began to sober up, and he said:
“I do not choose to make any explanations.”
“What do you know about this man?” demanded Girard, addressing the accuser.
“He is a reward seeker—a man who will ingratiate himself into the company of gentlemen. If he gets into a private game of cards he reports a gambling game and has gentlemen arrested. He is a general spy and sneak—a man who will go into court and perjure himself for a bribe, and he has made trouble for many a good fellow. He has hired witnesses, perjurers, at his beck and call. He is always up to some game. He is, in short, a lying, miserable rascal; that is what he is, and I know him.”
“These are very grave charges,” repeated Girard.
“Yes, and I will not remain to listen to them.”
“But you will remain.”
“I will?”
“Yes.”
“Who says so?”
“I do. You shall not steal into my house to spy and sneak on me, and get away.”
“What will you do about it?” asked Oscar coolly.
“What will I do about it?”
“That is my question.”
“Do you admit the charges?”
“I am too much of a gentleman to deny them: they are so gross.”
“Oh, you intend to get out of it that way, eh? Now who are you?”
As Girard spoke, he rose from the table and presented a pistol directly at our hero’s forehead. Oscar did not flinch, but asked:
“Do you intend to murder me?”
The detective was in the worst dilemma of his whole career. He knew the men were playing a game, that the chances were all against him, and that the possibilities were that under one pretext or another they intended to kill him.
“No, I don’t intend to murder you. I am no murderer, but I do not intend to let you get away with any sneaking purpose you may have had in working your way into this house. Are you a gentleman?”
“Yes, I am a gentleman.”
“Then you shall have a chance. I challenge you; yes, sir, you must fight me.”
“This is murder,” said Oscar.
Our hero believed his last moment had arrived. He had braved fate too far in his enthusiasm. He had walked into a trap from which there was no escape. The duel which had been proposed he knew would only be a pretense in order to murder him. He knew he had walked right into a trap, but he determined to die game. Yes, even at that moment he did not wholly despair. These men did not know his mettle, and could he once get a weapon in his hands he would make a desperate fight. He was armed, but thought that possibly the men might go through the farce of a duel. This would give him a chance. He had his club and he knew he must take them by a grand dash, a magnificent surprise. He had encountered as many men on several occasions in desperate conflict, but these men had the “bulge” on him. They were prepared and on the alert. The chances were that every man was well armed and ready to “pull.” He must get a vantage ground from where he could take them by surprise—throw them off their guard; but even then the chances were against him, for these were no ordinary men. They were a lot of cool, nervy criminals, well prepared, as stated—men who had their plans well arranged, their signals also. Possibly each man had his appointed work. They were men who could and would carry out their orders. It was a desperate moment, and all the chances were against him.
It was at this most critical moment that an extraordinary incident occurred. Oscar saw but little chance; still, as intimated, he was determined to make a desperate fight even in face of the odds against him, and there
he sat revolving the matter in his mind when suddenly there sounded a little tick-tick like the tick-tick of a telegraph machine. The men did not notice the tick-tick, it was so low and sounded like the involuntary cracking that is sometimes heard from dried furniture when a fire is first ignited in a room. To our hero, though, this very singular tick-tick came with a wonderful significance; indeed, to him it was a language. It was a telegraphic message, and he knew that he was all right. Indeed, he received full instructions as to what he might expect; he learned when and how he was to give a signal at the extreme moment when he needed help. We will not at present attempt to describe his surprise and his admiration of the faithful one who like his shadow must have followed on his track to do the succor act when succor was needed. Oscar did not change his demeanor. He acted as though he still feared the terrible ordeal which confronted him.
“You must fight me,” said Girard, “and I show you great mercy in giving you a chance for your life.”
“Why must I fight you?”
“You are a sneak. You have imposed upon my confidence. You have forced your way into my rooms, having in mind a treacherous purpose.”
“I did not seek you. No, sir, you sought me; you invited me here. I declined to come. You forced yourself upon me. I did not force myself in here.”
“I thought you were a gentleman.”
“I am a gentleman.”
“You must fight me all the same.”
“I can see,” said Oscar, “you men are a gang of confidence men—robbers. You have inveigled me here to rob me. I will not be robbed. I will yell for the police.”
One of the men aimed a revolver at our hero and said:
“Open your mouth to utter one cry and you are a dead man.”
“You men dare to threaten me?”
“Yes, we dare to threaten. You shall not betray us.”
“Aha! I see my conclusions are correct. You are thieves and fear betrayal.”
“We only fear being belied by a rascal like you. We’re all gentlemen; we have reputations. We do not desire to rest under a false imputation of being gamblers. Now then you have one chance. Tell us just who you are and your purpose and we may spare you; otherwise—” The man stopped.
“What will you do otherwise?”
“Kill you.”
“See here; you men cannot double-bank me. I am not here to be robbed. I see through this farce. You rascals cannot scare me.”
“Hear!” exclaimed one of the men. “He is insulting.”
“Yes, he has insulted every one of us. He must fight.”
Oscar laughed and asked:
“Do you wish me to fight the whole gang?”
“Hear him! he denominates us ‘the gang’!”
“Certainly, you are a gang of thieves. I can see that I have been inveigled in here. This is a trumped-up charge against me; but I repeat, I defy you. Do your worst.”
“Get the swords,” called Girard.
“Who will fight him?”
“I will,” said the attendant suddenly stepping forward. “Yes, gentlemen, I will fight him. It is not proper that gentlemen like you should besmirch yourselves by fighting with a low-bred scoundrel like this fellow. I am his match; he belongs to my class. He and I will meet on equal terms. I will settle him, gentlemen, and afford you some rich and excellent amusement.”
“Henri,” said Girard, “you are not a swordsman.”
“I will prove to you, my master, that I am swordsman enough to fight this wretch who has forced himself into your presence to act as a spy. Yes, sir, I will teach him a lesson.”
Oscar could not discern what the real purpose of the men was. It appeared somewhat like a farce to him, and yet their trick was one that has often been played. They could in case of need make out that it was a case of assault, where one man had sought the life of another. Indeed, there had been several cases of a like character in New York. In one case the men had claimed that a duel had been forced upon another; and again a case had been known where it was made to appear that there had been a murderous assault, and of course there were plenty of witnesses, and the law is compelled to accept the testimony of unimpeached witnesses. While in both cases alluded to the police were convinced a cold-blooded murder had been committed, they were unable to prove it, however, and the assassins went free. Here were four men who could testify as they chose, and the chances were that as far as the courts were concerned they were reputable witnesses. The latter was the game our hero calculated the men meant to work on him. They had deliberately planned his murder, and the chances would have been dead against him but for the little tick-tick, and that singular tick-tick told a wondrous story; but even with this in his favor the chances were against Oscar when he conceived a plan as cunning as the one that was being played against him.
CHAPTER VI
Oscar Conceives a Plan and a Remarkable Denouement Follows—Coolness and Pluck Win Against Schemes and Cunning.
Our hero finally decided upon a plan. He determined to convert an impending tragedy into a farce.
The detective smiled when the lackey volunteered to “do him up,” and said:
“I see you wish a little amusement, you fellows. You shall have it. Get the swords. I am a gentleman and I will enjoy slaughtering this ambitious cocky-doodle-doo. He wishes to become mincemeat; I will gratify him. Yes, gentleman, get the swords and the fun shall begin.”
The men stared. This was a turn in the affair they had not anticipated, but they were evidently prepared to meet the emergency.
“Who will act as this fellow’s second?” asked Girard.
“You need not trouble yourselves, gentlemen.”
“Oh, no, you must have a second. Although you are not entitled to any consideration this affair shall be conducted as though you were really a gentleman. Thatford, will you act as the fellow’s second?”
“I must respectfully decline,” said Thatford. “I am not acting as second in an affair of honor for a low-bred spy and sneak.”
The lackey meantime had prepared himself for the affray, and Girard had produced two dueling swords. It looked serious indeed, but there was also an element of farce in the whole affair.
“I will excuse Mr. Thatford from acting as my second.”
“Will you accept me?” demanded Girard.
“No, I will not accept you. I anticipated that you fellows might be part of a gang of thieves and I prepared to meet you. No, no, gentlemen, you have not got this all your own way. I do not propose to be murdered like a caged rat, I assure you.”
The men glared. There had come a complete change over our hero, and indeed Oscar had laid out his whole campaign.
“You fellows are thieves,” he said, “thieves and murderers. I believe you are the parties who murdered a young man who has been missing for some months, and I further believe he was made a victim in some such way as you planned to make a victim of me; but, my dear rascals, I won’t have it.”
The men began to assume menacing attitudes, while exchanging glances.
It was evident they were surprised, but a greater surprise was in store for them as our hero exclaimed:
“The opening act is over. We will now bring on the tragedy.”
Oscar stamped his foot, the door opened, and to the surprise of the men a boyish-looking youth stepped in the room. Indeed they did stare, and Oscar said:
“See, I anticipated your moves. Here is my second; this young man will see that I have fair play.”
Girard here spoke up and demanded:
“Who are you? How dare you enter my house uninvited and unannounced?”
The youth assumed a merry demeanor and said:
“I thought there was going to be some fun here and I dropped in; that’s all. I like a fight—a good square fight.”
; The men were evidently unmanned. There was something going on that they evidently did not understand. They were very shrewd men—great schemers. They believed they had played a good trick, but suddenly there came a change in their belief. There had followed a succession of strange and remarkable developments which they did not understand. The mystery paralyzed them; the boldness of the move terrorized them. Indeed, Thatford, who was usually a pretty nervy man, edged toward the door, but Oscar called out:
“Hold on, mister, don’t go. Remember this lackey here was to afford you some excellent amusement. He looks as though he were just the man to keep his word. He shall keep it, and afford you the amusement he promised. I will aid him. See, he is all ready; he is stripped for the fun. I do not need to strip. Give him a sword, give me a sword and we’ll have gore; yes, we’ll have gore. I will punish him, and then, gentlemen, I will be prepared to mix the gore. Yes, we shall have lots of amusement; it will be a roaring farce.”
One of the men appeared to recover his nerve and said:
“Say, mister, you call us thieves, but I reckon you are a thief. You have undoubtedly arranged a good little game of your own.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve arranged a good little game. I invited yonder fellow to my house to engage in a game of draw. I had three dummies ready to run on and make a trumped-up accusation. I attempted to force a duel on the man I had inveigled into my house. I had a disguised swordsman in the garb of a lackey to do the murder act. Oh, yes, I am a thief, and I planned well—so well that I have you gentlemen all at my mercy. Just witness how well I planned.”
Again Oscar stamped his foot on the floor and three men entered the room, and they were fully equal to the part they were called upon to play. The rascals thus overmatched realized the neat manner in which they had been beaten. Terror filled their hearts, for they did not at the moment know how well they had been trailed down. One fact was patent to them, and that was that they had put up, as they supposed, a great trick on a detective and had been outwitted in the most complete manner. There was no way out of the hole for them. Bad as they were, they knew they were not a match for the five individuals who faced them. The three men who had entered the room last were Jim terrors right on their looks, and their easy, offhand manner froze the blood in the veins of the conspirators. Girard attempted to face the matter by a display of nerve, but his attempt was pitiful in view of the situation as it at the moment confronted him.
The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK ™: 20 Modern and Classic Tales of Female Detectives Page 164