MULBERRY BILLY’S “FIND.”
Margie Marne came out of the hospital shortly after her terrible
experience in the house guarded by Nora.
Her escape had bordered on the miraculous, and the girl was glad to get
back to the humble home she occupied.
Her first thought was of the woman who had been her jaileress and she
wondered if Nora herself had escaped the flames.
Having a fair acquaintance with Billy, the street Arab, she sought out
the boy, and fortunately found him.
Billy had heard of Nora’s suicide, and he at once posted Margie.
“By the way,” said the little fellow, “I’ve made a find.”
“You? What have you discovered, Billy?”
“Something that I am going to show to Mr. Carter just as soon as I find
him.”
“It may amount to nothing.”
“But you don’t know where I found it,” cried the boy.
“Tell me.”
Billy came closer, and dropped his voice to a whisper as he laid his
hand upon the girl’s arm.
“I found it in Mother Flintstone’s den,” said he. “Look here, Margie.”
He produced a flat package, which looked like it had been stored away
for years, but the moment the girl’s eyes alighted on it she uttered a
little scream.
“It’s the will, Billy!” she exclaimed.
“What had Mother Flintstone to will away, I’d like to know?” said the
boy.
“More than you think. Let me see the packet.”
Billy laid it on the table, and watched Margie closely.
The girl seemed to be afraid to touch the package, but at last she
picked it up.
Opening the envelope, which looked nearly ready to fall to pieces, she
drew forth a paper and opened it.
The first line startled her.
“What is it?” asked the boy.
Margie said nothing, but her eyes dilated.
“It’s a will, you said, Margie?”
“It’s more than that, Billy. It’s the true story of Mother Flintstone’s
life.”
“Then it is important, sure enough.”
Margie read on, her face changing color, and at last she reached the
end of the page.
“Mother Flintstone left behind her an important document,” she remarked.
“That’s what the dark-faced man was looking for when he sounded the
walls.”
“No doubt of that.”
“P’r’aps that’s why they killed her.”
“They, Billy? Do you think more than one hand was at work that night?”
“I do, Miss Margie,” cried the boy, confidently. “There are two hands
in this mystery. Mr. Carter will trip them up in time, see if he don’t.”
“Yes, Billy, there is more than a will,” and Margie held the package
up before the street boy. “As I’ve told you, it is also the story of
Mother Flintstone’s life. Where did you find it, boy?”
“Under the hearth.”
“The place was not examined by the dark-faced man?”
“Exactly! He looked every place else. I found it there safe from him
and the rats. Keep it, Margie. No, hide it from that man. He’ll have it
or your life if he knows you have it.”
Margie placed the packet in her bosom, and looked gratefully at the
street boy.
“I’ll see that you’re paid for this find,” said she.
“I don’t want a penny. I only want ter get ahead of George Richmond and
his chum, Claude Lamont, the young sport. They’re into the biggest game
of their lives, but we’ll balk ’em all the same, Margie.”
The girl expressed the hope that it would turn out thus, and in a short
time she was in another part of the city.
She wanted to avoid the man into whose hands she had fallen at the
Trocadero. She was now confident that this personage was Claude Lamont
himself, and she had seen enough of his villainy.
Margie Marne carried the precious package home, where she hid it
carefully, believing that no human eye could find it, and was satisfied.
Night was coming on, and she quitted her humble lodgings, with her hood
pulled over her face so as to hide it.
She had a visit to make, and soon she reached the room occupied by
Carter.
Her raps were not answered, and she looked disappointed.
When she again reached the street the lamps had been lit, and the girl
looked all about her.
Thinking of the package she started home, but on a corner not far from
Carter’s rooms a hand fell upon her arm.
Margie started, and uttered a little cry. She looked around at the same
time and into the face of a man, who leered at her with a half-vicious
look.
“Don’t fly so fast, my bird,” laughed the fellow. “I don’t intend to
soil your plumage. You’re Miss Margie Marne, aren’t you?”
“What if I am?”
“Then you’re the very person I want to see.”
“But I don’t want to see any one.”
“I suppose not. That’s the way with some girls. I’m Caddy.”
“Who’s Caddy?” demanded Margie.
“I’m the ‘mixer’ at the Trocadero.”
The mention of that name sent a chill through the girl’s nerves, and
she fell back.
“Don’t mention that horrid place!” she exclaimed.
“I know you had a rather unpleasant experience there, but, you see, it
wasn’t my fault. I can tell you something that may give you a chance to
get even.”
“Speak quick, if you can. What is it?”
“Let’s drop in here,” and the little man pointed toward a
decent-looking restaurant.
Eager to learn something more about the man who had decoyed her to the
Trocadero, Margie went with the fellow, and he guided her to a little
table in the darkest corner of the place.
“Why don’t you bleed him?” were the first words when they had seated
themselves.
“Is that your suggestion? Do you want to make a blackmailer out of me?”
exclaimed the girl.
“No; it wouldn’t be blackmail in this case,” explained Caddy. “It would
simply be getting pay for the indignity.”
“I’ll get even with him some other way,” said Margie. “You know him, do
you?”
“Why, of course. Ha, ha, nobody comes to the Trocadero whom I don’t
catch on to. Beat Caddy out of the game, if you can! You don’t want to
make him pay the fiddler, then?”
“Not in the manner you’ve suggested.”
“You’re a fool!” cried the little man. “See here, I’ll help you all
I can. I’ll go halves with you, and you won’t have to take any risk.
He’ll milk.”
“But I’m not in that business.”
Caddy at once changed color.
His round face became positively hideous.
He leaned across the table like a thoroughbred villain and his teeth
seemed to snap together.
“If you don’t bleed him you’ll get into the net again,” he suddenly
cried.
“Which means, I suppose, that you’ll help get me there?”
“I didn’t say I would, but I won’t help keep you out.”
Margie flushed.
“You miserable wretch, keep your distance!” she exclaimed, and would
have left the table but for the clutch of the little man’s hand.
“When you can’t cajole you threaten. It won’t pay, sir.”
“I’ll see that it does pay!” laughed the mixer of the Trocadero,
unabashed. “I know my business. Sit down.”
Margie was thrust back into her chair, and the fellow leered at her
again.
“If you don’t want to milk the young sport himself, bleed the old man.
He’s a bird with golden plumage.”
“What’s his name?”
“Gad, don’t you know? It’s Perry Lamont. Lives on one of the avenues
and has mints of wealth at his command. He’s a pigeon worth plucking,
girl.”
“No, let others do that.”
“Where did you get your scruples, I’d like to know?” sneered Caddy.
“You’re one in ten thousand. Why, you can feather your nest in fine
shape----”
Margie broke loose from the fellow’s grasp and fell back.
He arose at the same time and came around the table.
“Don’t touch me, serpent!” cried the girl. “You can’t use me in any of
your schemes. I try to be honest.”
“You do, eh? Oh, you’ll get over it in time. Get a few more years on
you and you’ll be as tough----”
“Here, what’s that? That’s an honest girl, sir,” put in a man eating
quietly at another table. “Don’t touch her, you little sinner, or I’ll
break your neck.”
The speaker arose and came forward, gazed at by Caddy with feelings of
fear, while Margie thanked him mutely for his interference.
“I don’t know you, miss, but I’ve seen this man,” continued the
stranger, who was tall and broad-shouldered. “I guess it’s not the
first time for him. Get out.”
He pushed Caddy down the aisle with his large hand, and the little
drink mixer went without much urging.
“I’ll see you later!” he flashed at Margie.
“No threats!” cried the other man. “Get out, I say, and the sooner the
better.”
Then the tall man turned to Margie and said:
“Pardon me, but I thought I heard him call you Margie. It cannot be
Miss Margie Marne whom I address?”
“That’s my full name, sir,” said the girl, dropping her eyes.
“My name is McDonald--Jerry McDonald. I own a little business property
in this city. The man who just left is a little rascal. I suppose he
decoyed you hither?”
Margie told the story of her coming to the place, and McDonald said:
“He’s revengeful, and you will do well to look after him. If you ever
need my assistance in any way don’t hesitate to command it,” and he
handed the girl his card.
In another moment the still astonished girl was alone.