Out of a Labyrinth

by Lawrence L. Lynch

  CHAPTER XII.

  A BIG HAUL.

  When I awoke next morning, I was surprised to find my erraticbody-servant not in attendance.

  Carnes, for convenience, and because of lack of modern hotelaccommodations, occupied a cot in my room, which was the largest in thehouse, and sufficiently airy to serve for two. Usually, he was anythingbut a model serving man in the matter of rising and attending to duty,for, invariably, I was out of bed an hour before him, and had made mytoilet to the music of his nasal organ, long before he broke his morningnap.

  This morning, however, Carnes was not snoring peacefully on his cotunderneath the open north window, and I arose and made a hasty toilet,feeling sure that something unusual had called him from his bed thisearly.

  Wondering much, I descended to the office, where an animated buzz warnedme that something new and startling was under discussion.

  Usually at that hour this sanctum was untenanted, save for the youthwho served as a combination of porter and clerk, and perhaps a strayboarder or two, but this morning a motley crowd filled the room. Not anoisy, blustering crowd, but a gathering of startled, perplexed, angrylooking men, each seeming hopeful of hearing something, rather thandesirous of saying much.

  Jim Long, the idle, every-where-present Jim, stood near the outer door,looking as stolid and imperturbable as usual, and smoking, as a matterof course.

  I made my way to him at once.

  "What is it, Long," I asked, in a low tone; "something new, or--"

  "Nothin' _new_, by any means," interrupted Jim, sublimely indifferent tothe misfortune of his neighbors. "Nothin' new at all, Cap'n; the TraftonBandits have been at it again, that's all."

  "Nothin' new at all, Cap'n; the Trafton Bandits have beenat it again that's all."--page 140.]

  "Trafton Bandits! you mean--"

  "Thieves! Robbers! Ku Klux! They've made another big haul."

  "Last night?"

  "Last night, Cap'n."

  "Of what sort?"

  Jim chuckled wickedly.

  "The right sort to git money out of. Hopper's two-forty's, that was intrainin' for the races. Meacham's matched sorrels. 'Squire Brookhouse'sbay Morgans."

  "What! six blooded horses at one haul!"

  "Eggszactly."

  Jim's coolness was aggravating; I turned away from him, and mingledwith the group about the clerk's desk.

  "Meacham'll suicide; he refused a fancy price for them sorrels not twoweeks ago."

  "Wonder what old Brookhouse will do about it?"

  "There'll be some tall rewards offered."

  "Much good that'll do. We don't get back stolen horses so easy in thiscounty."

  "It'll break Hopper up; he had bet his pile on the two-forty's, and bidfair to win."

  "One of 'em was goin' to trot against Arch Brookhouse's mare, Polly, an'they had big bets up. Shouldn't wonder if Arch was glad to be let out soeasy. Polly never could outgo that gray four-year-old."

  "Think not?"

  "Brookhouse has telegraphed to his lawyers already, to send on a coupleof detectives."

  "Bully for Brookhouse."

  "Don't yell till yer out of the woods. Detectives ain't so much more'ncommon folks. I don't go much on 'em myself. What we want is vigilants."

  "Pooh! neither detectives nor vigilants can't cure Trafton."

  These and like remarks greeted my ears in quick succession, andfurnished me mental occupation. I lingered for half an hour among theeager, excited gossippers, and then betook myself to the dining-room andpartook of my morning meal in solitude. With my food for the body, I hadalso food for thought.

  Here, indeed, was work for the detective. I longed for the instantpresence of Carnes, that we might discuss the situation, and I felt nolittle annoyance at the thought of the two detectives who might come inupon us at the bidding of 'Squire Brookhouse.

  Carnes was in the office when I again entered it, and giving him a signto follow me, I went up to my room. It was situated in a wing of thebuilding most remote from the office, and the hum of many voices did notpenetrate so far.

  The stillness seemed more marked by contrast with the din I had justleft, as I sat waiting.

  Presently Carnes came in, alert, quick of movement, and having mergedthe talkative Irishman in the active, cautious detective.

  "This looks like business;" he began, dragging a chair forward, andseating himself close to me. "I chanced to wake up a little aftersunrise, and heard some men talking outside, near my window. They weregoing through the lane, and I only caught the words: "Yes, sir; stolenlast night; six of them." Somehow the tone, quite as much as the words,convinced me that something was wrong. I got up and hurried out,thinking it hardly worth while to disturb you until I had learned moreof the fellow's meaning. Well, sir, it's a fact; six valuable pieces ofhorseflesh have been taken from under our very noses."

  "Have you got any particulars?"

  "Well, yes, as much as is known, I think. Hopper, as you remember, liveson the hill just at the edge of the town. His man sleeps in the littleoffice adjoining the stable. It seems the fellow, having no valuables tolose, let the window swing open and slept near it. He was chloroformed,and is under the doctor's care this morning. Meacham's stable is verynear the house, but no one was disturbed by the robbers; they threw hisdog a huge piece of meat that kept his jaws occupied. I heard ArchBrookhouse talking with a lot of men; he says the Morgans were in aloose box near the rear door of the stable, and that two men weresleeping in the room above the front wing. He says they have telegraphedto the city for detectives."

  "Yes, I'm sorry for that, but it's to be expected."

  "What shall we do about it?"

  "As we are working for our own satisfaction and have little at stake, Iam in favor of keeping quiet until we see who they bring down. If it'ssome of our own fellows, or _any one_ that we know to be skillful, wecan then turn in and help them, or retire from the field without makingourselves known, as we think best. If the fellows are strangers--"

  "Then we will try the merits of the case with them," broke in Carnes. "Itell you, old man, I hate to quit the field now."

  "So do I," I acknowledged. "We must manage to know when these newexperts arrive, and until we have found them out, can do little but keepour eyes and ears open. It won't do to betray too much interest justyet."

  Carnes wheeled about in his chair and turned his eyes toward the street.

  "I wish this thing had not happened just yet," he said, moodily. "Lastnight our plans were laid so smoothly. I don't see how we can evenfollow up this grave-robbing business, until these confounded detectiveshave shown their hand."

  "Carnes," I replied, solemnly, "do be a philosopher. If ever twoconceited detectives got themselves into a charming muddle, we're thosetwo, at present. If we don't come out of this escapade covered withconfusion, we shall have cause to be thankful."

  My homily had its intended effect. Carnes wheeled upon me with scornupon his countenance.

  "The mischief fly away wid yer croakin'," he cried. "An' it's lyin' yeknow ye are. Is it covered wid confusion ye'd be afther havin' us, badcess to ye? Av we quit this nest we'd be drappin' the natest job twolads ever tackled. Ye can quit av ye like, but I'm shtayin', avan if theould boy himself comes down to look intil the bizness."

  By "the ould boy," Carnes meant our Chief, and not, as might besupposed, his Satanic majesty.

  I smiled at the notion of our Chief in the midst of these Traftonperplexities, and, letting Carnes' tirade remain unanswered, took frommy pocket the before mentioned note book and began a new mentalcalculation.

  "There goes the ould identical Mephistophiles I used to see in my fairybook," broke out Carnes from his station by the window, where he hadstood for some moments silently contemplating whatever might presentitself to view in the street below. "Look at 'im now! Av I were anartist, wouldn't I ax 'im to sit for 'Satan'."

  I looked out and saw 'Squire Brookhouse passing on the opposite side ofthe street, and looking closer, I deci
ded that Carnes' comparison wasnot inapt.

  In the days of his youth 'Squire Brookhouse might have been a handsomeman, when his regular features were rounded and colored by twenty-twoSummers, or perhaps more; but he must have grown old while yet young,for his cadaverous cheeks were the color of most ancient parchment; hisblack eyes were set in hollow, dusky caverns; his mouth was sunken, thethin lips being drawn and colorless. His upper lip was smooth shaven,but the chin was decorated by a beard, long but thin, and of a peculiarlifeless black. His eyebrows were long and drooped above the cavernouseyes. His hair was straight and thin, matching the beard in color, andhe wore it so long that it touched the collar of his coat, the endsfluttering dismally in the least gust of wind. He was tall, and angularto emaciation, with narrow, stooping shoulders, and the slow, glidinggait of an Indian. He was uniformly solemn, it would be a mistake to saydignified; preternaturally silent, going and coming like a shadow amonghis loquacious neighbors; always intent upon his own business andshowing not the least interest in anything that did not in some wayconcern himself. Living plainly, dressing shabbily, hoarding his riches,grinding his tenants, superintending the business of his largestock-farm, he held himself aloof from society, and had never been seenwithin the walls of a church.

  And yet this silent, unsocial man was a power in Trafton; his word ofcommendation was eagerly sought for; his frown was a thing to bedreaded; his displeasure to be feared. Whom he would be elected tooffice, and whom he would not, came somehow to be disapproved by allTrafton.

  "He has certainly an uncommon _ensemble_," I said, looking out overCarnes' shoulder, "not a handsome man, to be sure, but one toward whomyou would turn in a crowd to take the second look at. I wonder where JimLong would place him in the scale of Trafton weights and measures?"

  "Not under the head of the model Traftonite," replied Carnes, stillgazing after the receding figure. "He's guiltless of the small hands andfeet, perfumed locks and 'more frill to the square yard of shirt front'required by Jim for the making of his model. By-the-by, what the 'Squirelacks is amply made up by the son. When Jim pictured the modelTraftonite, I think he must have had Arch Brookhouse in his eye."

  "I think so, too; a nature such as Jim's would be naturally antagonisticto any form of dandyism. Young Brookhouse is a fastidious dresser, and,I should say, a thoroughly good fellow."

  "As good fellows go," said Carnes, sententiously. "But dropping thedandy, tell me what are we going to do with Jim Long?"

  "It's a question I've been asking myself," responded I, turning awayfrom the window, "Jim is not an easy conundrum to solve."

  "About as easy as a Chinese puzzle," grumbled Carnes, discontentedly."Nevertheless, I tell you, old man, before we get much further on ourway we've got to take his measure."

  "I quite agree with you, and the moment the way seems clear, we must dosomething more."

  "What's that?"

  "We must explore that south road, every foot of it, for twenty miles atleast."