ON THE TRAIL.
It looked as though Bangs, in carrying out his plot to secure the
chest, had overreached himself in one important particular. The
expressman he hired to carry the iron chest to the house in St. Peters
Street had a stand near the railroad station, close to the levee, and
it was here that Matt and Dick found him.
Prudence in carrying out his treachery should have made Bangs wary
about hiring an expressman who could be found so easily. However, Bangs
had probably but little time to spare, and no doubt he expected to be
away from the St. Peters Street house before any one could suspect what
he was up to and follow him there.
"You're the fellow who came to Stuyvesant Dock about half-past ten this
morning and took away an iron chest, aren't you?" inquired Dick, facing
the expressman.
"Ah reckons you-all's got de wrong pig by de ear, boss," said the
darky. "Ah didn't tote no iron chest fo' nobody."
"Stow it!" cried Dick, looking at the man keenly. "You're the swab, all
right."
"Positive of it, Dick?" put in Matt.
"I'd take my solemn Alfred he's the man!"
"Then," went on Matt, quietly, "Bangs has probably paid him something
to keep still! I'll watch him, Dick, while you go and get a policeman."
At that, the darky rolled up the whites of his eyes, and showed other
signs of trepidation.
"Hol' up dar, cap'n," he called to Dick, who had started away. "Doan'
go an' hurry off daterway. Mebby Ah was de feller. What ob it?"
"Now you're talking sensibly," said Matt. "Do you remember where you
took the chest?"
"Ah doan jis' riccolect," the negro answered, scratching his woolly
head. "Ah wisht Ah did, sah, if it would be any help t' yo, but mah
mem'ry is dat sho't Ah done kain't seem tuh remembah nuffin'."
This was so plainly a falsehood that Matt turned to Dick.
"Go on after the officer, Dick," said he. "This fellow don't intend to
play fair with us. Perhaps we can take him to jail and make him talk."
"Wait, dar!" cried the darky. "You-all is so quick tuh go off an do
somefin'. Yassuh, Ah reckons Ah kin remembah de place. Hit was in
Toulouse Street. Ah'll take yo' dar if yo' wants tuh go."
"We'll go," answered Matt. "Get into the wagon, Dick."
The darky drove over his former course, but instead of keeping on to
St. Peters he turned to the left at Toulouse, and brought up before a
building two blocks from Royal.
"Dar's de bery place," said he, pointing to the building with his stump
of a whip.
Matt had one of his swift "hunches" that the darky was still trying to
fool them.
"You stay here with him, Dick," said he, starting to get down from the
wagon. "It won't take me long to find out whether or not the chest is
in that house. If it isn't there, we'll know we haven't been brought to
the right place, and then we can call in the officer."
"Ah reckon yo' bettah sot right down ag'in, boss," said the expressman
to Matt. "Dishyer ain't de place. Hit's on St. Peters Street, an' dis
time I'll take yo' dar, hones'. 'Clar tuh goodness, Ah nebber seen sich
fellers as you-all tuh stick an' hang. Now, den, we's goin' tuh de
right place."
He started up his mules again.
"You're going to run foul of a lot of trouble if you keep trying to
fool us," warned Dick.
"Ah ain't gwine tuh try hit no mo'," returned the darky, earnestly.
"How much did Bangs give you to keep still about that iron chest?"
queried Matt.
"Bangs?" echoed the darky. "Whaffur yo' call him Bangs, boss? Dat
feller's name is Proctor."
"Well, Proctor, then. How much did he give you?"
"He done gib me five dollahs. Yo' ain't expectin' tuh take hit away
from me, is yo'?"
"If we find you're still trying to fool us," answered Matt, severely,
"we'll not only have the money taken from you, but your license, as
well."
"Ah's gwine tuh do de right thing now, boss," was the earnest response.
"You-all kin bank on dat."
A little later he stopped at the right place, and Matt and Dick got
down from the wagon. The praline woman had repaired the damage Carl had
caused her stock in trade and was still in the doorway.
"How long have you been here, aunty?" Matt asked, dropping a quarter in
the negress' lap.
"All day, boss," was the answer.
"Did you see a man and a boy go in here with a big iron box?"
"'Deed Ah did, sah!" said the woman, vehemently. "De fat boy done
slipped on de walk an' squashed down en mah basket ob pralines. I was
paid fo' dat, dough, an' dey went on into de house."
"The trail's getting hot," spoke up Dick.
"Who lives in the house?" asked Matt.
"M'sieu Rigolette."
Matt turned and pulled a bell at the door. After a minute or two some
one came out on an iron balcony over the door and looked down. It was
the creole gentleman, still in his bare feet and wearing his tattered
trousers and flannel shirt. There was a wild, apprehensive look in his
face, and he would have withdrawn as suddenly as he had appeared if
Dick had not caught sight of him and given a yell.
"Ahoy there, you!"
"Vat you vant?" came the query.
"Your name Rigolette?"
"_Oui_--yes. Why?"
"Come down here," said Matt. "We want to talk with you."
"I haf done nozzing wrong," returned Rigolette, in a whining,
apologetic voice.
"We don't say you have," answered Matt, fully convinced now that
something unusual had taken place in the house, "and all we want you to
do is to come down and talk with us."
The fellow disappeared from the balcony and presently showed himself in
the door.
"Vat eet ees?" he inquired.
There was fear in his shifty eyes as he flashed them over Matt and Carl.
"Is there a man named Townsend in your house?" returned Matt.
"_Non_--no. Zere ees no man lak dat.'
"A man named Jurgens, then?"
Rigolette started and hunched his shoulders.
"No, Jurgens ees not here, m'sieu."
"He's talking double, Matt," struck in Dick; "I can see it in his eyes."
"Zere ees no sooch man," cried Rigollette, "_non_, I swear eet!"
"Or Proctor?"
Rigolette quailed under Matt's steady look. The creole, with a groan,
flung out his hands.
"_Oui_--yes," he murmured, "zey was here, _mais_ not no more. Zat ees
ze trut'."
"Where are they? And where is the German boy who came with Proctor? And
the iron chest they brought with them?"
"Zat ees ze puzzle--ze riddle, wat you call. Ze chest, ah, ha, I show
heem; _mais_ ze boy, Proctair an' Jurgens, zey haf gone. One by one
zey go, run down ze stairs lak ze wild man, zen t'roo de court and out
ze door, and away. Zey was cr-r-razy, an' zey keel ze P'tit Joujou!"
Rigolette wrung his hands. "Ze P'tit Joujou," he wailed.
"The more he talks," said Dick, "the less we know."
"Take us to the chest," ordered Matt, turning to the creole.
"Zen _allons_!" returned the owner of the house. "I haf done nozzing
wrong, for I be ver' good Frenchmans, creole Frenchmans," he called
over his shoulder.
"Something has happened, we can be jolly sure of that, matey," remarked
Dick, moving along at Matt's side.
"That's an easy guess, Dick," said Matt. "The question is, what's
happened?"
In the court the creole paused beside a black shape lying on the
ground. It was a monkey, and the monkey, as could be seen at a glance,
was dead. Its hairy arms were embracing the head of Obboney, holding it
in such a position that the beady eyes stared upward into the faces of
the boys.
"Wow-whoosh!" gulped Dick, starting back. "Keelhaul me if I ever saw
anything like that before. Br-r-r! It sends the cold shivers up and
down my spine. What do you make of it, Matt?"
Matt, an odd, uncanny feeling racing through him, bent down and
examined the head.
"It looks like the head of some heathen idol, Dick," he replied. "What
killed the monkey, Rigolette?" he asked.
"Zat I do not know, m'sieu," whimpered the creole. "Ze poor P'tit
Joujou!"
"I smell something that's powerful strong," observed Dick, lifting his
head and sniffing. "Don't you, mate?"
"Yes," said Matt, "and it's something that makes me dizzy. Where did
that head come from, Rigolette?"
"Me, I do not know, m'sieu. Ze hor-r-rible head! Ou, ai, I don't like
zat to be here, but I plenty scare' to take heem away from ze P'tit
Joujou."
"Well," and Matt turned away, "where's the chest? Take us to the chest,
Rigolette."
The creole led the way to the stairs and up to the room on the first
balcony.
"Here ees w'ere zey breeng ze chest," said he, "an' zere you see heem."
With the last words he stepped into the room and pointed.
The chest, with the lid thrown back, lay to one side of the room. Near
it was the pile of sawdust. Dick, catching sight of something near the
heap of sawdust, stepped forward and picked the object up.
"Carl's cap!" exclaimed Matt.
"Right-o!" returned Dick. "But why should the cap be here and not Carl?
We're in deep waters, matey. Look at that raffle of cord on the floor.
Some one's been tied, here, and slipped the lashings. Sink me, but it
must have been Carl!"
Matt whirled on the creole.
"Did Proctor and Jurgens make the boy a prisoner?" he demanded.
"I know nozzing, m'sieu," replied the creole; "I haf done nozzing
wrong."
"Did you----"
Just at that moment a door opened--a door opposite the one leading upon
the gallery that overlooked the court.
"Bangs!" shouted Dick, pointing to a wild figure that appeared in the
doorway.
With a snarl like that of an angry panther, the figure turned and
leaped for an open window. Matt and Dick both sprang in pursuit.