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Secret Service
Old and Young King Brady, Detectives.
_Issued Weekly--By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second
Class Matter at the New York Post Office, by Frank Tousey._
No. 95. New York, November 16, 1900. Price 5 Cents.
THE BRADYS BEYOND THEIR DEPTH;
OR
THE GREAT SWAMP MYSTERY.
BY A NEW YORK DETECTIVE.
[Illustration: The two desperadoes were completely surprised by the
sudden appearance of the two noted detectives. "The jig is up, boys,"
said Old King Brady, as he covered his man.]
Good Watch for One Dollar!
A STEM WINDER AND STEM SETTER.
A Splendid Chance for "SECRET SERVICE"
Readers to get a good Time-piece.
This Watch usually retails for $3.00, but owing to the immense quantity
we have contracted for we procure them at such a low figure that we can
afford to dispose of them to readers of our publications at the
extremely low price of $1.00.
THIS IS A FAIRLY GOOD DESCRIPTION OF THE WATCH, ALTHOUGH IT HARDLY DOES
IT JUSTICE.
It is an American watch that _will keep accurate time_, and will not
get out of order. _This we guarantee._ _The Case_ is strongly made and
carefully fitted to exclude dust. It is _Open Face_ with heavy polished
bevel crystal. Case is heavily nickeled and presents a handsome
appearance. Weight of watch complete 4-1/2 oz. _The Movement_ combines
many patented devices, including American Lever, Lantern Pinion, Patent
Escapement, and is a stem winder and stem setter, the same as any
expensive watch. The cut, which falls far short of doing it justice,
exactly represents the watch three-fourths size.
HOW TO GET ONE OF THESE WATCHES.
A coupon will appear on this page of "Secret Service" every week. Cut
out _five_ of these coupons from any numbers of "Secret Service" and
send them to this office with $1.00 in money or postage stamps and we
will send you the watch by return mail.
THIS IS THE COUPON.
+-----------------------------------------+
| "SECRET SERVICE" Watch Coupon. |
| |
|Send us five of these Coupons cut from |
|any number of "Secret Service" and $1.00 |
|in money or Postage Stamps and you will |
|receive the watch by return mail.... |
+-----------------------------------------+
Address your envelope plainly to ...
FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,
24 Union Square, New York.
SECRET SERVICE.
OLD AND YOUNG KING BRADY, DETECTIVES.
_Issued Weekly--By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second
Class Matter at the New York, N.Y., Post Office, March 1, 1899.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1900, in the office
of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C., by Frank Tousey, 24
Union Square, New York._
No. 95. NEW YORK, November 16, 1900. Price 5 Cents.
THE BRADYS BEYOND THEIR DEPTH;
OR,
The Great Swamp Mystery.
BY A NEW YORK DETECTIVE.
CHAPTER I.
CAUGHT IN THE ACT.
"Help! Police! Murder!"
It was a dark, rainy night in March when this thrilling cry, in a man's
voice, came from a house in West Thirty-sixth street, New York.
Two detectives were passing along from Seventh avenue, toward Broadway,
when the wild appeal brought them to a sudden pause.
"Hark, Old King Brady!" one of them exclaimed. "Did you hear that cry?"
"Somebody in distress, Harry," replied the tall, gaunt old man, as he
shot a keen glance around. "This is a dangerous neighborhood."
The stylishly-dressed youth of twenty nodded, felt to see if he had a
revolver in his pocket, and pointed at an undertaker's wagon standing
in front of one of a row of houses opposite.
"Queer hour for that fellow to be doing business!" he remarked. "There
isn't a light in any of that row of houses, yet the undertaker must be
in one of them."
"Help! Help!" came the mysterious voice in smothered tones once more.
This time the Secret Service men located the sound.
It came from the house before which the wagon stood.
"By Jove, the undertaker must be making a job for himself!" exclaimed
Old King Brady, pushing his big white hat back, and exposing a
strong-featured, smooth-shaven face, in the light of a street lamp.
He unbuttoned the old blue frock-coat he wore, disclosing a standing
collar and stock, drew out his watch and fob, and added:
"It's just eight o'clock."
"Shall we go over and investigate those cries?" asked Harry Brady, the
youth.
"No, not yet. Get in this area. I see the house door opening."
They glided swiftly into the area of a flat house, and keenly watched
proceedings.
Old and Young King Brady, as the pair were called, were the two most
celebrated detectives in the Secret Service. They were not related.
On the contrary, they came of different families. But, since the time
James Brady took an interest in Harry, and taught him his profession,
they had been partners, and made themselves dreaded by all evil doers.
Both were shrewd, brave and daring to a fault, and Harry's ambition
made him strive to excel his tutor in every way.
The boy was first to catch view of a man in the open doorway opposite,
and he dimly observed that he was tall, thin, dressed in black, wore a
high hat, and had a mustache and a pair of bushy side-whiskers.
"Looks like an undertaker," Young King Brady commented in a whisper.
"He's carrying something," added the old detective. "Ah--it's a coffin,
ain't it?"
"A wooden box shaped like one. There's another man on the other end of
it," said Harry, whose interest was aroused. "They're coming out."
The second man was a short, roughly-clad negro.
As they staggered under the weight of the box, the detectives inferred
that it was heavy. The Bradys could now see a rope tied around it.
The two men carried it down to the wagon, the back doors of which stood
open.
Just as they shoved the box into the vehicle, Old King Brady darted
across the street, and tapped the tall, thin man on the arm.
He gave a start, a cry of alarm, and wheeled around, glaring at the
officer.
"What have you got in that box?" demanded the detective, abruptly.
"My dear sir, really, that is none of your business," replied the
other.
"You are mistaken," said Old King Brady, exhibiting his badge. "I am an
officer. We heard cries of murder emanate from that building, and this
is a singular hour for an undertaker to be removing a corpse."
The tall, thin man nodded, and smiled blandly.
Taking something from his pocket, he handed it to the officer.
"My card, sir," he said, politely. "Name of Solomon Gloom. This is a
case of smallpox. House has been quarantined. Here's my Health Board
permit to remove the corpse. The rule is to take 'em at night."
He handed over a permit, but it was too dark for Old King Brady to read
it.
"Well," said the officer, hesitatingly, "that part may be all right.
Who is dead?"
"Albert Reid, the old cotton broker, sir. Got him in a metallic casket
in this box. Going to take him to the crematory at Fresh Pond."
"Did he live here?"
"Yes, sir. You can get the particulars inside, if you like."
"How do you account for those yells for help?"
"Came from old Reid's crazy son. He didn't want us to cart away the
body. Had a regular fight with him to drive him away. He yelled and
fought like a tiger. Really, I thought he'd arouse the whole
neighborhood. Had to lock him in a closet."
"Who's in the house with him?"
"No one. We are coming back later, to release him."
"Just wait here. I'll go in and question him."
"Certainly, my dear sir, certainly. Sim, wait in the wagon for me a
moment and I'll go up and show the gentleman in. But really, sir,
you're running a great risk. It's a contagious disease, and----"
"Oh, I'll chance it," quietly said Old King Brady, as he took a chew of
tobacco, and eyed Harry, who was still lurking in the area, opposite.
"As you please, sir. Come ahead," said Mr. Gloom, and as they went up
the steps into the big front yard, the man called Sim swung himself up
on the driver's seat, and took the whip and reins in his hands.
Beside the undertaker, Old King Brady mounted the front stoop.
Mr. Gloom seized the knob, pushed open the door and said, affably:
"Go right in, sir. The hall is dark, but----"
"Oh, I ain't afraid of that," said the old detective. "I've got
matches."
He stepped into the gloomy vestibule ahead of the undertaker, when Mr.
Gloom suddenly struck him in the back with both hands.
The old detective was knocked forward, plunged into the hall and fell
upon his hands and knees.
Quick as a flash the undertaker darted back, slammed the door shut,
fastened it with a key already in the lock and rushed down the steps.
"Go like fury!" he cried, as he sprang upon the wagon.
But Harry had seen him lock Old King Brady in the house, and was at
that moment rushing across the street toward them, crying:
"Stop, you scoundrels, or I'll shoot you!"
He had his pistol in his hand.
The undertaker saw him and whipped a revolver out of his hip-pocket.
"Perdition! There's another of them!" he hissed in tones of alarm.
The next moment he aimed his weapon at Young King Brady and fired.
Bang!
The shot echoed loudly through the silent street.
Up went Harry's hands, and he fell prostrate, with blood streaming from
a wound on the side of his head.
The driver lashed the horse furiously.
With a snort, the galled beast sprang forward and raced madly along the
street toward Broadway, from whence a policeman was running.
"Hello!" yelled the patrolman. "Who fired that shot?"
"Man lying wounded up the street!" shouted the undertaker.
Away dashed the policeman to investigate and the wagon kept on to Sixth
avenue, swung around the corner and dashed downtown, under the elevated
road.
In the meantime, Old King Brady had risen to his feet.
Realizing that he had been victimized by Mr. Gloom, he tried to open
the door.
Finding that it resisted all his efforts, he lit a match, and going
hastily into the house, he was astonished to find it empty and
untenanted.
In the middle of the parlor floor lay a curious-looking dagger, which
looked as if it had been buried in a human body, and the bare boards
were stained with the same life fluid.
"There's been a murder committed here," flashed through the detective's
mind, as he picked up the knife and put it in his pocket, "and those
men have carried away their victim's body in that box!"
He rushed to one of the parlor windows and flung it open, just in time
to see Harry get shot. The sight made Old King Brady frantic with fury.
"They've killed the boy and escaped!" he roared.
Then he sprang out the window and landed on his feet in the yard.
It only took him a moment to reach his pupil's side, and lifting the
limp form in his arms, carried him to the sidewalk, under the
lamp-post.
Here he examined Harry's wound very carefully.
It was only scalp deep, and the rain beating down on his face revived
him.
Before the policeman reached the boy, he had regained his senses, and
found Old King Brady wiping his face and sticking court-plaster over
the cut.
Most of the neighbors had their heads out their windows to see what
caused the pistol shot, and the policeman came up panting.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, recognizing the detectives. "It's the Bradys."
"Yes. We had a fuss with the driver of an undertaker's wagon," the old
detective explained. "Harry got shot, but it's only a flesh wound."
"I see. How are you feeling now, Young King Brady?"
"A little sore, but otherwise all right," replied the boy, pluckily
suppressing a faint feeling, and getting upon his feet. "Where are
they?"
"I saw that wagon swing into Broadway and dash downtown," said the
policeman.
"Are you able to pursue it, Harry?" asked Old King Brady, in restless
tones.
"I think so," the boy replied. "Ride, if you can. It's a suspicious
case, Old King Brady. They wouldn't attempt murder to prevent us from
prying into this affair, unless they had a powerful reason for it. The
policeman had better search that house while we are gone."
"Come on then, my boy. I've got evidence that a dark crime was just
committed in that empty house. We'd better verify my suspicions."
And they hastened over to Broadway, boarded a car and were rapidly
carried to Fourteenth street, where they alighted to make inquiries.