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. 84. NEW YORK, August 31, 1900. Price 5 Cents.
The Bradys’ Race for Life;
OR,
ROUNDING UP A TOUGH TRIO.
A Detective Story of Life.
BY A NEW YORK DETECTIVE.
Van and Burke fought like tigers, but were finally overpowered. “You are
trapped, my fine birds,” cried Old King Brady jubilantly. But at this
moment Ah Ling appeared on the scene. The uproar had attracted him. With
white, scared face he stared at the detectives.
CHAPTER I.
A MYSTERIOUS CRIME.
“Help! Help!”
This thrilling cry rang out upon the night air in one of the side
streets of New York City.
The few pedestrians in the bleak, storm-swept vicinity paused and
instinctively looked for the cause of this blood-curdling appeal.
Someone was in trouble.
That was certain.
But who was it and what was the nature of the trouble?
As usual, no officer chanced to be within call. Two men who were on
their way home from business, however crossed the street with long
strides and plunged into a dingy area.
It was illy lighted by a gaslight over the door of a wretched tenement.
No person could be seen in the area, but one of the men, whose name was
Mortimer Smith, bent over and cried:
“My soul! This looks as if murder had been done!”
His companion, a merchant named Benjamin Hanks, echoed:
“Murder beyond a doubt!”
The snow in the area was trodden and saturated with blood. All the
ghostly evidences of a crime save the body of the victim were there.
The trail of blood led to the door of the wretched dwelling.
The two men noted this, and for a moment seemed about to enter the
dwelling. But Smith said:
“We had better call the police.”
“Yes.”
“Undoubtedly they have taken the body of the victim into that house.”
“That is true.”
“Let us give the alarm.”
These two well-meaning and worthy citizens started for an officer. They
reached the nearest corner and found a patrolman just pulling in an
electric call.
Upon their statement of the case the officer made it a hurry call, and
then hastily returned to the area with them.
He tried the door of the tenement.
It was locked.
He pressed his weight upon the door and forced it in.
A dark hallway was seen. All was silence of the tomb.
Naturally the guardian of the peace hesitated ere entering the place
alone and in the dark.
It was a rough quarter where crimes were of common occurrence.
But just at this moment the hurry wagon arrived with more officers.
A quick consultation was held.
The police captain at once surrounded the house. That is, men went to
the alley in its rear while the place was entered from the front.
The two citizens, Smith and Hanks, were held as witnesses.
But just as the officers with dark-lanterns entered the tenement they
were met by a sudden wall of smoke.
The crackling of flames was heard.
“Fire!” cried the police captain.
The word was echoed by the others. The inference was easy.
The criminals had sought to conceal the evidences of their crime by
means of the flames.
The fire alarm was given and into the street now there dashed the fire
companies.
Lines of hose were quickly run into the building and preparations made
to subdue the fire.
Not one of the inmates of the place had thus far put in an appearance.
Indeed, it seemed deserted.
But while the police had been hesitating about entering the smoke-filled
dwelling, two men had joined them.
“Hello! What is wrong here?” said one of them, a tall, strong-framed
man, dressed in a tightly-buttoned blue coat, old-fashioned stock collar
and wide-brimmed slouch hat.
“Ah, Old King Brady!” cried the police captain. “Here is a case for you.
It looks like murder and attempt to conceal it by means of arson.”
“Who has entered the place?”
“Nobody as yet.”
“Is anybody in there?”
“We do not know.”
“Humph! What are you waiting for?”
“The smoke is so dense that it is not safe. The firemen will soon have
the blaze under control.”
“Bah!” cried Old King Brady. “By that time evidence of the crime will be
missing. Come on, Harry!”
This to his younger companion. The officers were startled and the police
captain cried:
“Why, Brady, you don’t think of entering that place?”
“Yes, I do!”
“Why, that is foolhardy. You’ll not come out alive!”
“No matter. It is my duty!”
“You must not attempt it!”
The man with the wide-brimmed hat laughed sardonically.
“Come on, Harry,” he said to his young companion, “this is work for us.”
“All right, partner.”
And then before the police could recover from their surprise, both
plunged into the dark hallway and the smoke.
“Here, stop them!” cried the police captain. “They are going to their
death.”
But it was too late.
The Bradys, detectives of the first class, and the best in the Secret
Service, were out of sight.
The men in that police squad were what might be ordinarily termed brave
men.
But not one of them cared to follow the two detectives.
But Old King Brady, Gotham’s greatest detective, and his protege and
pupil, Harry Brady, knew that if the mystery was to be solved, great
risk must be incurred.
So they plunged unhesitatingly into the burning dwelling. The
possibility of death never deterred either from exact fulfillment of
duty.
They dashed through the smoke and reached the foot of a flight of
stairs.
As near as he could, Old King Brady located the fire.
He believed that it was confined to a point in the rear of the tenement
and had, as yet, not extended beyond one room.
Each of the detectives carried a dark-lantern.
It could hardly furnish light enough to penetrate the pall of stifling
smoke, but yet enabled them to find their way up the stairs.
Choking and gasping they made their way bravely from room to room.
The dwelling was humbly furnished.
It was plainly the abode of people of small means. It was dingy and
meagre.
The Bradys looked for a clew to the supposed crime.
Suddenly Harry went down on his knees and focused his lantern on the
floor.
He cried excitedly:
“Ah, here is the clew!”
A trail of blood marked the floor. In the trail lay a white handkerchief
of dainty texture.
The detectives examined it closely. Harry gave an exclamation.
On one corner in ink was marked a name:
“Evelyn Grimm.”
This was the name.
It was a clew.
The detectives realized this. At once they began to follow the trail of
blood.
They felt certain of a sure revelation of the mystery. The blood trail
led to the door of a room at the end of the corridor.
This door was closed and locked.
What was beyond it, the detectives could only guess.
But in their mind’s-eye they saw the mangled remains of the murderer’s
victim. So they threw themselves against the door.
And beneath their combined weight it gave way.
As it crashed in, however, they were met by an impassable barrier.
Flames and smoke filled the doorway and forbade their entrance. They
were driven back.
In fact it now became a question of self-preservation.
The old building was like a tinder-box.
The Bradys seemed to be literally penned in by the fire and smoke.
There was no time to lose.
“No use, Harry!” cried Old King Brady. “We are beaten for just now. We
must get out of here.”
The detectives reached the stairs. But escape in this direction was cut
off. Flames were in their faces.
At the other end of the corridor was a window opening upon the street.
The detectives made a rush for this.
They reached it just as the sash was carried away by a stream of water
from the firemen’s hose. This gave the detectives a chance.
Drawing a deep breath of fresh air they felt returning strength.
Harry vaulted lightly over the sill. It was fifteen feet to the area
below. The firemen shouted, but Harry dropped to the flagging.
Old King Brady followed.
In another moment they were safe within the fire lines.
By this time a great crowd was in the street, attracted in spite of the
driving storm.
The firemen were badly handicapped by the snow, but yet fought their way
bravely while the rickety tenement was being consumed.
The fire was not allowed to spread, but the tenement was reduced to
ashes.
Then the crowd dispersed.
The detectives left the scene and returned to their lodgings for the
night.
One thing was certain.
A tragedy had been enacted, which the flames concealed and the only clew
which the Bradys had secured was the delicate lady’s handkerchief.
This alone could furnish the only suggestion to be gained in any way
from the affair.
Whether it would prove a sufficient means for the complete revelation of
the mystery or not, remained to be seen.
The detectives hoped it would.