THE RESCUE.
“Evelyn Grimm!”
Old King Brady repeated the name with a horrified gasp. Both detectives
rubbed their eyes.
“Did I hear you aright?” asked the old detective. “Did you say the name
was Grimm?”
“Yes, sir.”
The young girl looked at him wonderingly.
“You lived in Westchester?”
“That is my home.”
“Do you know Napoleon Blood?”
The young girl shuddered.
“He is my uncle,” she said. “He it was who declared I was insane and had
me brought here!”
Old King Brady began to see his way through the fog.
The vile plot in all its intricacies was now exposed to him.
“That was the way of it,” he said. “Then you did not keep an appointment
in Union Square on a certain evening?”
“Never!”
“Nor you were not murdered and burned up in a Fifteenth street house?”
The young girl looked astonished.
“I do not understand you,” she said.
“I do not wonder,” said the old detective. “I will explain. That is the
story of your mysterious disappearance as given to the world by your
uncle.”
“Well, it is false!”
“Even traces of your clothing were found and other clews to show that
you were burned in that dwelling.”
“That is strange.”
“Yes, it is part of the plot.”
“Plot?”
“Yes, young lady, you are the victim of a villainous plot.”
“I think you are right,” said Evelyn, with conviction. “And I believe my
uncle is at the bottom of it. I know he always hated me and he wanted my
heritage.”
“Now you have it right,” said Old King Brady. “He tried to hang young
Allerton Banks for the supposed crime, but an alibi was proved.”
A cry of horror and indignation escaped the young girl.
“The scoundrel!” she said, intensely. “He always hated Allerton. Oh,
sir, who are you? Surely you do not keep this dreadful place?”
“Sh!” said Old King Brady, in a whisper. “We must be careful. No, my
dear young lady, we do not. We are New York detectives, of the Secret
Service. We are in quest of the villains who were supposed to be your
murderers!”
Evelyn Grimm was plainly surprised and delighted.
“Oh, heaven be praised!” she said, ardently. “You will save me. You will
take me back to New York. In another year my heritage will be mine. I
shall contest my uncle’s right to put me in an insane asylum.”
“And well you may. It is as you say, only a scheme to beat you out of
your inheritance.”
“Uncle Napoleon will pay for it.”
“We promise you he will. But now let us consider what is to be done.
Very naturally you are anxious to escape.”
“Yes.”
“But there are many things to consider. In the first place there is a
terrible risk!”
“Indeed!”
“You see the gang of villains with whom your uncle is in league are here
to-night. We want to entrap them.”
“Then I must wait?”
“Perhaps so. Or—it might be as well for us to liberate you now. But you
must be very careful and not betray us.”
“Oh, I will promise.”
“Very well.”
The detectives now lifted the iron bar and opened the cell door.
It creaked a bit, but after listening carefully the detectives were
convinced that they were not betrayed.
In another moment Evelyn Grimm, the supposed victim of the Fifteenth
street crime, walked out safe and well.
The Bradys felt that they had made a great step toward the winning of
this remarkable case.
While they knew that the crime charged against the trio was thus
disproved, yet there was sufficient evidence against the gang to hold
them for the law.
So they did not deem the case by any means ended, with the liberation of
Evelyn Grimm.
Along the corridor to the end of the wing they now all crept.
It had been decided by the Bradys what was to be done.
At the end of the wing there was an iron fire-escape.
It would be easy to descend by this to the ground.
Luckily Evelyn knew the use of snowshoes. Harry was to accompany her to
the Paine farm house.
Then he was to organize a band of the farmers, armed, and return. The
asylum would be surrounded.
It seemed that this must be a certain way of capturing the gang.
“Queer, isn’t it?” said Harry. “The charred remains of a body were found
in the ruins of that Fifteenth street fire.”
“Very good.”
“Well, now we find Evelyn Grimm alive.”
“Yes.”
“But I cannot see that that disproves the crime of murder. A murder must
have been enacted.”
“Beyond a doubt.”
“But who was the victim?”
“That remains to be seen. It certainly was not Evelyn Grimm.”
“No.”
“I can see the gist of the whole diabolical plot,” said Harry. “Old
Blood thought he could bury his niece forever in this asylum. The
evidences of her presence in the burning dwelling would blind everybody
and make them believe that she was burned to death.”
“That is true.”
“But she is very much alive.”
“Well, I should rather think so. Ah, here we are!”
They had now reached the window opening out upon the fire-escape.
Harry softly raised the sash.
Then he descended and assisted the young girl down. The snowshoes were
found in the kitchen which luckily was deserted and Harry quickly
appeared with them.
They were put on and then Harry and his fair charge walked away across
the white fields.
Old King Brady closed the window down and went back along the corridor.
He could not help wondering at the unexpected outcome of the case.
“Indeed, people will be surprised beyond measure when they learn that
Evelyn Grimm is alive!” he mused. “It will prove a great sensation.”
But the old detective had no idea of remaining idle while Harry was
absent.
There was work before him.
Somewhere in the asylum he knew that a council of villainy was being
held.
He was desirous of becoming a listener to the same. He proceeded,
however, with extreme caution.
He made his way carefully to the head of a flight of stairs.
Down these he crept to a floor below.
Still further below he now heard the murmur of voices. The light in the
corridor was dim.
But far below he saw a bright gleam which seemed to come from the
reception room of the asylum.
The place was unusually quiet.
Some of the boisterous patients had been drugged to keep them quiet. It
was a villainous practice, but yet of common occurrence.
Old King Brady had half expected to run across Isaac or some one of the
other keepers in the corridors.
But good fortune favored him.
He did not come across any of them. Down the stairs he glided.
The door of the reception room was half open.
The old detective peered in.
The scene which met his gaze at once interested him.
There were the five precious villains. At a table sat the Tough Trio.
Beside them were Doctor Scraggs and Napoleon Blood.
On the table were a number of papers.
“You know, curse ye, that ye agreed to keep the girl until she dies,”
said Blood, in an angry tone. “And now you want to back out.”
“I never had any luck with women patients,” said Scraggs, persistently,
“and I know what I’m talking about. You must pay me good money to keep
her here.”
“Why more for her than any other patient?” growled Blood.
“She gives us more trouble.”
“Bah! You’re over nice!”
“Not a bit of it. But confound ’em! I never had any luck with women.”
“Ye’ve got to keep her! She’ll die before long.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Collins, sourly. “Why don’t ye make it a sure thing
right off?”
“What do ye mean?”
“You want the gal out of the way?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the safest way is the best.”
“What?”
“Kill her!”
Blood shivered. He drew his cloak closer about him.
“That’s work for a man younger than I am,” he said. “I’m too old to
cover up the job.”
“Pshaw! We’ll do it for you!”
“All right. What is your price?”
“The girl and money!”
Blood gave a violent start.
He glanced at Collins.
“The girl?” he repeated.
“Yes, the gal!”
“What do you want of her? You will only have her dead body?”
“That is just it,” said Collins, with a leer, “we could get a good price
fer the body.”
“Who will pay it?”
“Her lover—or perhaps her friends.”
Blood sneered scornfully.
“You are cracked!” he declared. “But if you want her you can have her.
That settles it.”
“Very well, then,” said Burke. “It is understood.”
“Yes.”
“We are to put the gal out of the way. You don’t care so long as she
never puts in an appearance ag’in’?”
“No! Curse her!” gritted Blood. “She has been nothing but a source of
trouble to me. See that you make the job sure.”
“Trust the trio fer that,” said Burke with a horrible leer. “Come on,
boys! The dainty female is ours.”