The Best American Mystery Stories of the Nineteenth Century

by Penzler, Otto

  Early the next morning (Saturday), I met the landlord; and, as I shook hands with him, I said, quietly:

  “Don’t talk with me, nor let any one know who I am. I want to get some more evidence against those counterfeiters, and don’t wish any one to know me. I may be here for two or three days; so, please keep mum for the present.”

  “All right,” said he, and after taking a drink with me, he moved off.

  I placed more confidence in the clerk than in the landlord, but I thought best to tell him the same story. I then lounged about the hall, and saw every one who came to breakfast; but none of the parties I was seeking made their appearance.

  About ten o’clock, I went over to the stage barn, to see what information might be learned about Sloan. After a time, I made the acquaintance of the driver who had taken Sloan and Alice to Janesville. By treating him to whisky and cigars, I succeeded in making him talkative and friendly; then, I ventured to ask after Sloan.

  “Oh! Sloan went up to Janesville with me Thursday week,” said the driver. “He had a mighty fine girl with him, and she will make him a splendid wife; but, after all, he is a very shiftless fellow, and it is a pity to see such a nice girl throw herself away on him. To my mind, she is sick of her bargain, already. Why, she never spoke to him during the whole trip.”

  “So, you took them to Janesville, did you?”

  “Yes; that’s my run. I saw Sloan yesterday, and shall see him the next time I go up. Who shall I say was asking for him?”

  I pretended not to hear his question; since, if I should give my real name, Sloan would immediately take the alarm; and, if I gave a fictitious name, it would almost certainly be strange to Sloan, and his suspicions might be excited. I, therefore, tided over the difficulty by asking the driver to take another drink; and, as the dinner hour had arrived, I bade him good-day and walked away.

  I ate dinner very slowly and kept my seat until all the other boarders had finished. I carefully scrutinized the features of every one, but saw no one that would correspond to the description of Blake, or Mary.

  My reticence and my strict rule against letting any one know my business, made my search slower and more difficult—but, at the same time, more certain—than as if I had taken the landlord or clerk into my confidence. But I was determined not to risk even the possibility of giving Blake the alarm; so, I worked entirely unassisted.

  I knew where there was a gambling saloon on the east side of the river, and I decided to pay it a visit. I, accordingly, walked to it, entered the bar-room, and sat down, ordering a glass of whisky and a cigar. There was a crowd in the bar-room, but I sat quietly smoking and listening to the talk around me. The afternoon slipped away without any new developments; and, as it began to grow dark, the crowd gradually thinned out, until I was almost alone.

  Finally my patience was rewarded. Shortly after five o’clock, four men came down from the gambling rooms which, I knew, were up stairs. I immediately picked out one of them as Blake. He answered the description perfectly. His fine appearance and showy jewelry were unmistakable, and I knew that the man I was seeking, was before me. He was a representative specimen of the professional gambler. His companions were not professionals, but wealthy men who gambled for amusement. They called for drinks at the bar, and then two of them went out, leaving Blake and the remaining member of the party sipping their liquor, with their backs turned toward me. By this time, I was sitting back, apparently sound asleep; and, though I was quite near them, they took no notice of me, so that I was able to overhear their remarks.

  “Call at ten o’clock,” said Blake, “and I will have all arranged. She will be asleep by that time.”

  Good Heavens! could I have heard aright! Blake was deliberately planning to give his pure and innocent victim into the power of another lustful brute!

  “By the Eternal! I will end it now!” I muttered, as I started to my feet. But the folly of my course flashed across me instantly, and I sat down again, fortunately unobserved by them. It would not do to act in my then excited state.

  “Ten o’clock?” said Blake’s companion. “All right; I will be there without fail.”

  “The door will be locked; but you knock, and I will let you in,” said Blake, as his friend went out.1

  Blake conversed a few minutes with the bar-keeper, paid for the drinks, and walked out. I allowed him to go some distance ahead of me, and then kept him in sight. He walked to the Washington House and entered the hall door. I quickened my pace and ran up the steps only a moment behind him. I hurried into the bar-room, but he was not there. I then went up stairs and found number five, which was a suite of rooms, with two doors opening into the hall. Before I could get out of the way, Blake opened his door and looked out. I was obliged to walk into a room, the door of which was fortunately unlocked, and pretend that it was my room. I waited there until all was quiet, and then slipped out, noiselessly. It was now nearly six o’clock, and I went to my own room to reflect upon what course to pursue.

  At this moment, I recollected that I had no warrant upon which to arrest Blake. I had a justice’s warrant, issued in Coldwater, Michigan, for the arrest of Blake and Sloan; but this paper was useless in Illinois. Nevertheless, I had heard the bargain made to let a brute into Mary’s room that night, and I determined that that crime should never be permitted. I would arrest Blake or die in the attempt.

  I confess that I had never been so excited before. I had been deeply affected by William’s story; I had heard of Mary’s sale to King in Belvidere; and, now that the incarnate fiend was about to give her over to another man, I was ready to take the law in my own hands, if necessary, to prevent the outrage.

  I had no one to assist me in making the arrest. It is true, I had many friends in Rockford; but they all lived across the river, and I had not been in West Rockford during the day. I decided to arrest Blake at once, however, relying on the justice of my case. After supper, therefore, I wrote a note to the sheriff, with whom I was slightly acquainted, asking him to come immediately to the Washington House, on very important business. I sent the note by a safe messenger and then went to my room to get my pistols. I put one in each pocket of my pantaloons and went down stairs, taking a position in front of the hotel. I was now perfectly cool, and was only awaiting the arrival of the sheriff, to assist me in arresting Blake.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE MINUTES SLIPPED rapidly away, and by half-past eight o’clock, I began to get excited again. Time was precious; Blake’s appointment had been made for ten o’clock; but the man might come earlier. I had no overcoat on; so, I went into the hotel, to wait for the sheriff. In a few minutes, I resolved to take some decisive action soon.

  I walked upstairs and opened the door of number five. Blake stood in the middle of the room, beside a table, and was engaged in pouring some liquid from a bottle into a tumbler. He had evidently just finished writing a letter, as one lay on the table unsealed. A lady sat in the shadow near the window. As soon as Blake saw me, he walked towards me.

  “Oh! I beg pardon,” I said; “I was looking for number seventeen.”

  “It is not here,” he said, in a hoarse voice.

  “Please excuse me,” I added, as I backed out of the room and closed the door.

  In a second, I heard him bolt it.

  “That is bad,” thought I; “but I know they are there, and that Blake’s friend has not arrived.”

  I had just obtained a glimpse of Mary. She looked very haggard, and was terribly changed, as compared with the rosy, beautiful girl who had been described to me.

  I then walked down to the street, but could see no signs of the sheriff. I walked as far as the bridge, but could not see him coming.

  “I will end the matter now,” I muttered; “or he will end me, one of the two. I must have the girl out of danger before ten o’clock.”

  It was then half-past nine. The landlord was behind his desk, as I entered the office, and I called him to one side.

  “I’ll tell you what I am h
ere for,” I said. “I have some business with Mr. Blake, in number five. You may possibly hear some noise, but don’t mind it. If I break anything, I will pay for it. I have sent for the sheriff, and I expect him every minute. When he comes, send him up to the room; but let no one else come up, until I call.”

  “All right, Pink.,” said he; “I know you will do only what is right.”

  I had a light coat on, and was unencumbered with anything which could place me at a disadvantage in a struggle; so I walked straight up to number five.

  I gave a light knock. Blake evidently thought his friend had come, for I heard him moving across the room. The thought flashed into my mind:

  “Perhaps Mary is already drugged! I hope not.”

  Blake opened the door. In a second, I pushed into the room, locked the door, and dropped the key into my pocket. I then pointed my pistol at his head.

  “You are my prisoner!” I said, in a stern voice.

  The betrayer and the avenger were, now, face to face.

  He started back, with an amazed look, and made a quick motion towards his pocket, as if to draw a weapon.

  “Raise your hands over your head, and go to the other side of the room,” I commanded. “I will kill you if you attempt to draw your pistol.”

  He did not move.

  “Will you go back?” I asked, in a determined tone. “If you don’t go this instant, you’re a dead man. I know you are armed. Go back!”

  He went. From that moment, I knew he was a coward. I had awed him by my commanding tone and resolute look.

  As he moved back, Mary rushed toward me.

  “Oh! save me! save me!” she exclaimed. “May Heaven protect you! Oh! where is my father! where is my mother!”

  As she spoke, she fainted away at my feet; but I could not attend to her then.

  “Let me come to her, I will revive her,” said Blake; and he dropped his hands by his side.

  “Throw your hands over your head and keep them there,” I again commanded; he quickly obeyed.

  At this instant, I recollected that I had brought no hand-cuffs with me. They are almost indispensable in my business; yet I had forgotten them.

  “Blake,” I said, “keep your right hand over your head, take out your pistol with your left hand, and lay it on the table. If you make a single suspicious move, I shall kill you. I am a sure shot, and, on the least provocation, a ball will go crashing through your brain.”

  “Who are you who dare talk to me in this way?” he asked. “This is my room; that lady is my wife; what business have you in here?”

  “Pshaw! that lady your wife? That lady is Mary Wells, whom you have abducted, you scoundrel. Lay down your pistol, or take the consequences. One hand only; keep the other over your head,” I continued, as he began to lower both hands.

  He then slipped his revolver out of his pocket and laid it on the table.

  “Back again, now,” I said; and he obeyed. I stepped to the table and put his pistol into my pocket.

  “You see that I have the advantage of you,” I went on; “I have three pistols while you have none.”

  Then, glancing at Mary, who was just recovering consciousness, I said:

  “Raise yourself, Miss Wells; I cannot help you, as I must look out for Blake.”

  She raised herself and moved toward me.

  “Don’t touch me, now,” I said; “I don’t want to give Blake a chance of escape. I will talk to you bye-and-bye.”

  Mary staggered back and fell into a chair, as a low knock was heard at the door.

  “Who is there?” I asked; but there was no answer. “Who is there?” I repeated, thinking it might be the sheriff.

  A fiendish expression of delight came into Blake’s face, and then, the thought flashed into my mind that it was Blake’s friend, who had been told to call at ten o’clock.

  “Blake,” I said, “that is your friend, to whom you agreed to deliver Mary at ten o’clock. He can come in, if he likes, as I have pistols enough for both of you. You are a beast, not a man.”

  “How the h—l did you know a man was to have been here at ten o’clock?” he asked, in a surly, but surprised tone.

  “Because I heard you make the bargain with him. Mary was to have been asleep.”

  “How long are you going to keep me with my hands over my head?” he asked.

  “Until the sheriff comes to take you to jail; then, Mary, I will be ready to talk to you.”

  “I may as well give up,” he muttered. “Your d—d pistol settled me. If I had got mine out first, it would have been very different; but I admit it was a fair game, and I am caught. I know that I have wronged Mary; that I have ruined her; but I could not help it.”

  Mary attempted to speak.

  “No, Miss Wells,” I said; “don’t talk now.”

  Blake continued:

  “I will do all in my power to atone for my crime. I have done wrong, indeed. This will kill my wife. I may as well go to jail quietly.”

  I had given up all hope of the sheriff’s arrival; I therefore decided that I had better take Blake to jail myself. It was my intention, then, to come back, to get all the information possible from Mary. I further expected to start for Janesville early the next morning, to rescue Alice and capture Sloan.

  I glanced hastily at Mary. Her appearance was pitiable in the extreme; her face was perfectly livid, and she seemed absolutely helpless.

  “Blake,” I said, “if I thought I could trust you to go quietly, I would take you over to the jail, myself.”

  “You have the advantage,” said he, “and, of course, you will keep it. I shall make no resistance.”

  “I’ll do it,” said I; “but mind! Just as surely as you attempt to escape, I will shoot you down, like a dog. I shall have no mercy on you; and if you attempt any treachery, you will be a dead man the next instant; be assured of that.”

  “I will go peaceably,” he said, “there is no use in trying to resist; moreover, I want to keep the affair quiet for the sake of my wife and the girls.”

  “Get your hat and come along, then.”

  “Will you allow me to get an overcoat?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, as I knew the more clothing he had on, the more powerless he would be.

  On that account, I always have made it a practice to go without an overcoat, and have hardened myself to stand a great deal of cold without suffering.

  I stood with my back against the door, while Blake went into the adjoining room to get his overcoat. Mary said, in a quick, excited manner:

  “He will make his escape from that room, and he has a knife in his pocket.”

  I sprang to the door connecting the two rooms, and said:

  “Come in here! What knife was that you put in your pocket?”

  “It is a lie,” he replied; “I did not put a knife in my pocket.”

  “Lay your coat down on the table,” I said.

  He did not obey, but looked as if he would like to rebel.

  “Blake, lay your coat down and raise your hands above your head.”

  He saw, by my eye, that I was not to be trifled with, and he obeyed. I examined the coat, but found no knife.

  “Blake, what have you done with your knife?” I asked.

  “She is a liar; I have no knife,” he answered.

  Mary raised her head, and said:

  “Yes, he has; it is concealed in the pocket of his pants. He means to kill either you or me with it.”

  “Hand me that knife,” I said, firmly, “or I will spatter the room with your brains.”

  With a sullen oath, he drew a fine bowie-knife from his pocket, and pitched it toward me.

  “Have a care, Blake,” said I. “You should not throw a knife in that way. I know you wouldn’t hurt me for the world, but I advise you to be more polite in future.”

  I picked up the knife and handed it to Mary.

  “Keep that until I come back,” I said. “I shall return in three-quarters of an hour, and you had better keep the
door locked, while I am gone.”

  The man whom Blake had agreed to let in, had been gone for some time. I, therefore, apprehended no attempt at a rescue, unless Blake should get help in passing some of the saloons. Many of these drinking holes were still open, it being Saturday night, and only a little after ten o’clock. Still I did not fear any such attempt. Blake then put on his overcoat; I grasped him by the right arm with my left hand, and held my revolver in my right hand, ready to give him the contents, if he attempted to escape. He was a muscular, powerful man, and I did not propose to give him a chance to grapple with me.

  We met no one on the stairs, as we went down, but I saw about a dozen persons in the bar-room. The hotel was raised three or four steps above the sidewalk, and, as we passed out of the hall door, Blake went down the steps so quickly as to make me jump the whole distance, in order to keep hold of him.

  “If you make another attempt to escape,” I said, “you must take the consequences.”

  “I wasn’t trying to escape,” he replied; “I don’t wish to be seen by any of the boarders.”

  A short distance down the street, we passed two men, and I heard one of them say:

  “The river is rising rapidly, and it will sweep away the bridge before morning.”

  “Good God!” I thought, “what shall I do, if I can’t cross the bridge!”

  In a few moments, we came in sight of the bridge; I then saw that two of the spans had already been washed away, and that communication was kept up by a single plank, thrown across from pier to pier. I, afterwards, learned that the two spans had been washed away about two weeks before. This night, however, there was danger that even the foot-planks might be carried off.

  CHAPTER 13

  AS WE NEARED the river I said: “Blake, we cannot cross.”

  While I was in the act of speaking, Blake swung himself quickly around, facing me, and struck me a tremendous blow between the eyes. I should have fallen, had I not seized the lapel of his coat. Although it tore off, as he darted away, I kept my footing by means of the pull; but, for a second, I could see nothing but fire. Then the shock passed off, and I saw Blake rushing swiftly up the street. I dashed after him, instantly, leaving my hat behind, and shouted: