A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
On the next day the bindery was opened as usual, but Mr. Islen did not
appear, having gone to Philadelphia. Jerry worked throughout the day,
wondering what Alexander Slocum had thought and done after he had
discovered the escape. Little did the young oarsman dream of what the real
estate dealer was then doing.
Our hero was proving himself to be skillful at the work assigned to him
and the foreman often praised him.
"You'll be worth a raise in wages," he said. "I never saw a boy take hold
as you do."
Jerry never delayed after the day's work was over. He washed up, put on
his coat, and hurried forth to his boarding place.
When Jerry reached the house he found little Dottie on the stoop, with
Tommy in her arms. Tommy was crying for something to eat, and the little
girl was having her hands full with him.
"Where is Miss Nellie?" asked our hero in surprise.
"I don't know," returned the girl. "She sent me out with Tommy after
dinner, and when I tried to get in after a while the door was locked and
she was gone."
"And you have been sitting here ever since?"
"Yes."
"Come up. I'll open the door."
Jerry led the way, and with a night key opened the door to the kitchen.
A cry of surprise burst from his lips. Everywhere were the signs of a
desperate struggle. Two of the chairs were overturned, the table-cloth
hung half off the table, and Nellie Ardell's sewing was strewn in all
directions.
"This is Slocum's work!"
Those were the words which arose to the youth's lips as he surveyed the
situation in the kitchen.
Alexander Slocum had tried to get him out of the way, and now he had tried
the same plan upon Nellie Ardell.
There had been a fierce struggle, of that there was not the slightest
doubt.
But the girl had been overpowered in the end and taken off.
To where?
That was the all important question.
While our hero was gazing around the room, little Tommy was crying at the
top of his lungs.
To quiet him, Jerry gave him his bowl of bread and milk, and also gave
Dottie her supper.
Then Jerry began a minute examination of the rooms.
There was mud on the oil-cloth--the tracks of four boots.
"Slocum and Casey, his book-keeper," he said to himself.
Going below he interviewed Mrs. Flannigan, a good-natured Irish woman who
lived on the nest floor.
"Did you see Miss Ardell this afternoon?"
"Sure, an' Oi did not Oi was out," she replied.
He next tried the janitress, who lived in the basement. She was a peppery
old woman who seldom had a pleasant word for anybody.
"Did I see her? Yes, she went out with two men about two hours ago," she
said.
"What sort of looking men?"
"I can't say--I'm not taking notice of everybody who comes and goes."
"But this is important, Mrs. Foley. I am afraid something has happened to
Miss Ardell."
"They were tall men, and I guess both had big black mustaches and
beards."
"Where did she go with them?"
"Into a carriage. All of 'em seemed to be in a big hurry."
"Which way did the carriage go?"
"Down towards the Brooklyn ferry."
In a thoughtful mood, the young oarsman walked back upstairs. He met Mrs.
Flannigan outside of the door.
"What's wrong, Mr. Upton?"
"That is what I am trying to find out. Miss Ardell is missing. If I go
out, will you look after the children?"
"Sure, Oi will, bless the dears," she said. Her heart was as large as her
ruddy, full-blown face.
Without waiting longer, Jerry ran down into the street and endeavored to
trace the carriage down to the ferry. In this he was successful, and
learned that the turnout containing two men and a young lady, who appeared
to be ill, had crossed to Brooklyn.
By this time night had set in, and all efforts to follow the carriage
proved unsuccessful. Yet unwilling to give up, Jerry spent over two hours
in Brooklyn, hunting in every direction for a clew.
Our hero had never been across the East River before, and in hunting
around it was but natural that he should get lost. At the end of the
search he found himself a good distance from the river, in a neighborhood
that looked anything but respectable.
"It's time I got back," thought the youth, and started to make inquiries.
"You're a dozen blocks out of your way," said a man. "Go down that way
three blocks, and turn to your left."
As Jerry walked along a somewhat gloomy street, he noticed three men
walking ahead of him. One was a tall, finely built man, wearing a large
round hat, of the western type.
The other men were short fellows, each with a red mustache. They carried
heavy canes and walked on either side of the tall individual.
"Aren't we almost there?" Jerry heard the tall man ask, as he drew closer
to the trio.
"Yes, it ain't but a step further," was the reply from one of the short
men.
"You are certain this Crazy Jim is the man I am after?"
"Oh, yes."
The mentioning of Crazy Jim's name interested Jerry. Crazy Jim was still
up on Blackwell's Island. It was possible, however, that they referred to
some other individual.
To hear what further they might have to say the young oarsman kept close
to the party.
"It's been a long hunt for me, gentlemen," said the tall man, and by his
speech Jerry felt sure he was a westerner. "But if I am on the right
trail, things will soon come out right."
"What do you want to find Crazy Jim for?" asked one of the short men.
"I'm not saying any thing about that just now," was the cool response.
"Oh, excuse me, of course not." The short fellow looked around, but failed
to catch sight of our hero. "Jack, how about a smoke?" he said to the
other short fellow.
"Strike a light," was the answer.
The words were evidently a secret signal, for hardly were they spoken when
one of the short men caught the westerner from behind and held his arms.
"Here, what's the meaning of this?" cried the man, in alarm.
"Keep still, old man, and we won't hurt you. Raise a row and you'll get
knocked out. Quick, Pete, with his diamond pin and that roll of bills in
his left pocket!"
At this command the man in front rushed in and caught hold of the man's
pin. Out it came in his hand, a beautiful affair, worth at least a hundred
dollars.
"Stop! stop!" yelled the westerner. "Police! police!"
"Shut up!" hissed the man who held him. "Pete, crack him over the head. We
can't afford to take any chances here."
Thus ordered, the man who held the diamond pin slipped it into his pocket.
Then he raised his heavy cane and started to do as bidden when Jerry
rushed at him.
"Stop! Don't hit that man!"
The rascal was surprised.
"Who are you? Oh, it's only a boy. Clear out of here!"
"I won't! You let that man alone."
"Don't leave me," pleaded the victim. "They want to rob me. He has my
diamond pin!"
"Shut up!" howled the man in the rear. "Crack him, Pete, and crack the
boy, too."
Once more the heavy cane was raised. Our hero caught it in the center, and
by a dexterous twist wrenched it from the rascal's hand.
With a howl of baffled rage the rascal turned and caught Jerry by the
throat.
"Give me that stick, boy, or I'll choke the life out of you!" he hissed
into the youth's ear.