OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
by
LAWRENCE L. LYNCH,
(Of the Secret Service.)
Author of "Shadowed by Three," "Madeline Payne,""Dangerous Ground," "The Diamond Coterie,"etc., etc.
Chicago:Alex. T. Loyd & Co.1885.
Copyright, 1885, byALEX. T. LOYD & CO.,CHICAGO.
Copyright, 1882, byDONNELLEY, LOYD & CO.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter I. A Bad Beginning. Chapter II. The Enemy Makes a Move. Chapter III. Scenting a Mystery. Chapter IV. Chartering a Dummy. Chapter V. En Route for Trafton. Chapter VI. Jim Long. Chapter VII. We Organize. Chapter VIII. A Resurrection. Chapter IX. Mob Law. Chapter X. Two Fair Champions. Chapter XI. A Cup of Tea. Chapter XII. A Big Haul. Chapter XIII. 'Squire Brookhouse Makes a Call. Chapter XIV. Mrs. Ballou's Pistol Practice. Chapter XV. Preparations of War. Chapter XVI. Fly Crooks in Trafton. Chapter XVII. Southward to Clyde. Chapter XVIII. A Sewing Machine Agent. Chapter XIX. Haunted by a Face. Chapter XX. Some Bits Of Personal History. Chapter XXI. "Evolving a Theory." Chapter XXII. Two Departures. Chapter XXIII. A Shot in the Dark. Chapter XXIV. Jim Long Shows His Hand. Chapter XXV. In Which I Take Jim on Trust. Chapter XXVI. The Trail of the Assassin. Chapter XXVII. An Angry Heiress. Chapter XXVIII. Jim Gives Bail. Chapter XXIX. Vigilants. Chapter XXX. A Chapter of Telegrams. Chapter XXXI. Carnes Tells His Story. Chapter XXXII. Amy Holmes Confesses. Chapter XXXIII. Johnny La Porte is Brought to Book. Chapter XXXIV. How Bethel was Warned. Chapter XXXV. We Prepare For a "Party." Chapter XXXVI. Something the Moon Failed to See. Chapter XXXVII. Caught in the Act. Chapter XXXVIII. "The Counterfeiter's Daughter." Chapter XXXIX. "Louise Barnard's Friendship." Chapter XL. The Story Of Harvey James. Chapter XLI. A Gathering of the Fragments. Chapter XLII. In Conclusion.
OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
CHAPTER I.
A BAD BEGINNING.
It was a June day; breezy, yet somewhat too warm. The slow going oldpassenger train on the slow going mail route, that shall be nameless inthese chronicles, seemed in less of a hurry than usual, and I, stretchedlazily across two seats, with my left arm in a sling, was beginning toyield to the prevailing atmosphere of stupidity, when we rumbled up to avillage station, and took on board a single passenger.
I was returning from a fruitless mission; and had stepped on board theeastward-bound train in anything but an enviable frame of mind; and nowonder! I, who prided myself upon my skill in my profession; _I_, whowas counted by my chief the "best detective on the force, sir,"--hadstarted, less than a week before, for a little farming settlement in oneof the interior States, confident of my ability to unravel soon, andeasily, a knotty problem.
I had taken every precaution to conceal my identity, and believed myselfin a fair way to unveil the mystery that had brought grief andconsternation into the midst of those comfortable, easy-going farmers;and I had been _spotted_ at the very outset! I had been first warned, ina gentlemanly but anonymous fashion, to leave the neighborhood, andthen, because I did not avail myself of the very first opportunity todecamp, had been shot from behind a hedge!
And this is how it happened:
Groveland, so called, doubtless, because of the total absence ofanything bearing closer resemblance to a grove than the thrifty orchardsscattered here and there, is a thriving township, not a town.
Its inhabitants reside in the midst of their own farms, and, save thefarm buildings, the low, rambling, sometimes picturesque farm houses, ornewer, more imposing, "improved" and often exquisitely ugly, whitepainted dwellings; the blacksmith shop, operated by a thrifty farmer andhis hard-fisted sons; the post-office, kept in one corner of the "frontroom" by a sour-visaged old farmer's wife; and the "deestrict"school-house, then in a state of quiescence,--town institutions therewere none in Groveland.
The nearest village, and that an exceedingly small one, was five mileswest of Groveland's western boundary line; and the nearest railroad townlay ten miles east of the eastern boundary.
So the Grovelanders were a community unto themselves, and were seldomdisturbed by a ripple from the outside world.
It was a well-to-do community. Most of its inhabitants had "squatted"there when the land was cheap and uncultivated, and they were poor andyoung.
Time, railroads, and the grand march of civilization had increased thevalue of their acres; and their own industry had reared for thempleasant homes, overflowing granaries, barns "good enough to live in,"orchards, vineyards, all manner of comforts and blessings. Strong sonsand fair daughters had grown up around them; every man knew hisneighbor, and had known him for years. They shared in their neighborhoodjoys and griefs, and made common cause at weddings, funerals,threshings, huskings, cider makings, everything.
One would suppose it difficult to have a secret in Groveland, and yet amystery had come among them.
'Squire Ewing, 'squire by courtesy, lived in a fine new white house on afine farm in the very center of the township. His family consisted ofhis wife, two daughters, the eldest, eighteen, the younger, fifteen, andtwo sons, boys of twelve and ten.
The daughters of 'Squire Ewing were counted among the brightest andprettiest in Groveland, and they were not lacking in accomplishments, asaccomplishments go in such communities. Much learning was not considereda necessity among the Groveland young ladies, but they had been smittenwith the piano-playing mania, and every Winter the district school-housewas given over, for one night in the week, to the singing school.
The Misses Ewing were ranked among the best "musicians" of Groveland,and they had also profited for a time by the instructions of the nearestseminary, or young ladies' school.
One evening, just as the sun was setting, Ellen, or Nell Ewing, as shewas familiarly called, mounted her pony and cantered blithely away, topass the night with a girl friend.
It was nothing unusual for the daughters of one farmer to ride or drivemiles and pass the night or a longer time with the daughters of another,and Nellie's destination was only four miles away.
The night passed and half of the ensuing day, but the eldest daughter ofFarmer Ewing did not return.
However, there was no cause for alarm in this, and 'Squire Ewing ate hisevening meal in peace, confident that his daughter would return beforethe night had closed in. But a second night came and went, and still shedid not come.
Then the good farmer became impatient, and early on the morning of thesecond day he dispatched his eldest son to hasten the return of thetardy one.
But the boy came back alone, and in breathless agitation. Nellie hadnot been seen by the Ballous since the night she left home. She hadcomplained of a headache, and had decided to return home again. She hadremained at Mrs. Ballou's only an hour; it was not yet dark when sherode away.
Well, Nellie Ewing was never seen after that, and not a clue to herhiding-place, or her fate, could be discovered.
Detectives were employed; every possible and impossible theory was"evolved" and worked upon, but with no other result than failure.
Groveland was in a state of feverish excitement; conjectures the mosthorrible and most absurd were afloat; nothing was talked of save themysterious disappearance of Nellie Ewing.
And so nearly three months passed. At the end of that time anotherthunderbolt fell.
Mamie Rutger, the only daughter of a prosperous German farmer; wildlittle Mamie, who rode the wickedest colts, climbed the tallest trees,sang loudest in the singing-school, and laughed oftenest at themerry-makings, also vanished. At first they thought it one of her jokes,for she was given to practical joking; but she did not come back
. Notrace of her could be found.
At twilight one June evening she was flitting about the door-yard,sometimes singing gayly, sometimes bending over a rosebush, sometimessnatching down handfuls of early cherries. After that she was seen nomore.
Then ensued another search, and a panic possessed that once quietcommunity. The country was scoured. Every foot of road, every acre ofground, every hedge or clump of trees, every stream, every deserted orshut-up building for miles around was faithfully searched.
And then Farmer Rutger and 'Squire Ewing closeted themselves together,took counsel of each other, and decided to call in the aid of a citydetective. They came together to our office and laid their case beforeour chief.
"If any man can clear up this matter, it's Bathurst," said that bluffold fellow.
And so I was called into the consultation.
It was a very long and very earnest one. Questions were asked that wouldhave done credit to the brightest lawyer. Every phase of the affair, orthe two affairs, was closely examined from different standpoints. Everypossibility weighed; copious notes taken.
Before the two men left us, I had in my mind's eye a tolerably fair mapof Groveland, and in my memory, safely stowed away, the names of manyGrovelanders, together with various minute, and seemingly irrelevant,items concerning the families, and nearest friends and neighbors, of thetwo bereaved fathers.
They fully perceived the necessity for perfect secrecy, and greatcaution. And I felt assured that no word or sign from them would betraymy identity and actual business when, a few days later, I should appearin Groveland.
It was a strange case; one of the sort that had a wonderful fascinationfor me; one of the sort that once entered upon, absorbed me soul andbody, sleeping or waking, day and night, for I was an enthusiast in myprofession.
After waiting a few days I set out for the scene of the mystery. I didnot take the most direct route to reach my destination, but went by acircuitous way to a small town west of the place, and so tramped intoit, coming, not from the city, but from the opposite direction.
My arrival was as unobtrusive as I could make it, and I carried mywardrobe in a somewhat dusty bundle, swung across my shoulder by astrap.
I had assumed the character of a Swede in search of employment, and myaccent and general _ensemble_ were perfect in their way.
Perseveringly I trudged from farm to farm, meeting sometimes withkindness, and being as often very briefly dismissed, or ordered off fora tramp. But no one was in need of a man until I arrived at the widowBallou's.
This good woman, who was a better farmer than some of her maleneighbors, and who evidently had an eye to the saving of dollars andcents, listened quite indifferently to my little story while I told howlong I had looked for work, and how I had been willing to labor for verysmall wages. But when I arrived at the point where I represented myselfas now willing to work for my board until I could do better, her eyesbrightened, she suddenly found my monotone more interesting, decidedthat I "looked honest," and, herself, escorted me to the kitchen anddealt me out a bountiful supper, for I had reached the Ballou farmhouseat sundown.
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