ON THE SCENT.
Fritz had been stunned a little, even after tumbling off from the
yelping Irishman; still, he had sense enough to struggle to his feet
on seeing the smugglers rush from the building.
"Shut oop!" he cried, addressing Grogan. "The smugglers are upon us!
Draw your wippons, if you have any, and fire!"
"Dom tha wippons!" Grogan howled, refusing to hear to reason. "Och!
holy Vargin! it's kilt sure I am ontirely!"
"Helloo! what the devil is the matter here?" the captain shouted,
waving his lantern on high. "Who is it that's making all this noise?"
"Spies--detectives!" suggested one of his companions. "Shoot 'em
down!"
"Hurrah! Death to the spy!" cried a third, and then they made a rush
forward and seized upon Pat, despite his lively use of his "bit o'
buckthorn" on the defensive.
Perceiving that he was not seen, Fritz crawled softly away to a safe
distance, and then paused to gaze back.
The yelling had ceased in the vicinity of the house, and the lantern
light had disappeared from view, leaving naught but blank darkness and
the pouring rain, which came down monotonously but heavily.
"I'll bet a half-dollar dot they've choked der life oud off dot duke's
son-off-a-gun," Fritz muttered, creeping under the cover of a dense
tree. "I vonder off I proke any of his pones ven I lit on him. By
shimminy! he must haff a gonstitution like a mule, or I'd 'a' smashed
him all to sausage meat."
Evidently something was to pay, for, except the sound of the storm and
the dashing of the ocean against the bluff, all was quiet. The
smugglers had either killed Grogan on the spot or taken him back into
the house with them.
And poor Hartly--what had become of him?
That was the question which troubled Fritz far more than the fate of
the lean man from Kilkenny.
"He vas a gone-up goose now anyhow, und I don'd suppose id vil do some
great deal off good to vorry apoud him, only I vish I could haff saved
him," he mused.
It was a wild night at the best, and Fritz heartily wished that he was
back in Philadelphia, sitting in the old pawnbroker-shop, beside his
girl, Rebecca.
Still, he would not willingly have given up what he had learned in
reference to the smugglers' league for a good deal, and he was
resolved to hang to the matter attentively, until he should be able to
trip and trap the rogues and break up their existence as an
organization.
Knowing of no other available shelter in the vicinity, he resolved to
linger under the tree until the smugglers should leave the building,
when he would once more take possession.
The night was well advanced, however, when he heard them leave in a
body, and start off down the lonely road.
On first thought, he was tempted to follow them, but a cold blast of
wind from off the ocean warned him that he was wet to the skin, and
the best thing he could do would be to get under roof and dry off.
He accordingly went back into the deserted house, and sat down in the
lower hall. Though not cowardly, he had no desire to keep further
company with the grinning skull of the late lamented Budge, whoever
he may have been.
Rolling up one end of the old carpet he converted it into a sort of
pillow, and lay down, out of the draft.
Sleep soon came to his relief, and he slept soundly until morning,
when he was awakened by the sun shining in his face, through a rear
hall window.
Rising, he went out-of-doors to reconnoiter, and consider what was
best to do next.
It was a clear, glorious morning after the storm; the sun shone
brightly, and a soft salt breeze blew off from the ocean, which was at
once refreshing and invigorating.
But it was not this sort of refreshment that Fritz now yearned for. He
had had nothing to eat since the previous morning, and was decidedly
hungry and faint.
"Dose fellers don'd vas can live a good vays from here, vot I saw,
last night," he mused, "but, ten to one uff I ask 'em for somedings to
eat, dey bounce me oud."
He advanced to the northern edge of the bluff, and took a look in that
direction.
To his surprise he saw, not more than a half mile away, a little
village, nestling near the beach.
This village, for charity's sake, we will call Millburg, as that name
will answer quite us well as any other.
There might have been a hundred buildings, all told, and it was
evidently a fishing hamlet, as a number of small boats, and smacks,
were drawn up along the beach.
Just outside the breakers, an ocean steamship, of small size and trim
build, was anchored. Upon her sides was painted in large letters the
word, "Countess."
"I don'd know petter I go down there, or not," Fritz muttered, gazing
down upon the village. "I don'd vas know, neider, vich job I better
look to, first--der smuggler pizness, or der girl pizness. For der
latter I haff der bromise of five t'ousand dollars--for der former, I
like ash not get paid off mit a proken head. Still I don'd vant to
leave dis blace ondil I trip und trap der game, und turn id over to
der law, for dis is der whole game, sure!"
After some deliberation he decided to go down to the village. The
people would not offer him any molestation, probably, unless he gave
them cause to suspect him, and he resolved to be constantly upon his
guard.
Descending from the bluff, he walked along the beach, and finally
entered the little burg.
It was rather a rough-looking place, built up of weather-worn wooden
shanties, a few stores, and a sort of tavern.
There were, however, two imposing residences, on opposite sides of the
only street, which were built of stone, and set down in large shaded
lawns.
Passing up the street, Fritz was the target for many curious glances
of rough-looking men, who sat in their doorways, but, paying no
attention to them, he entered the tavern and purchased his breakfast,
to which he was able to do full justice.
Afterward he came out in the bar-room and sat down.
A half a dozen rough-looking fellows were lounging about, who, to
judge from their looks, were in the habit of ingulfing more grog than
was good for them.
Then the landlord, who kept a close watch over them, was the fattest
specimen of manhood Fritz had seen; his girth was something enormous.
He was not a villainous-looking man, like the rest, and this fact
impressed Fritz more favorably than anything else he saw about the
premises.
During the forenoon a well-dressed, fine-looking man, with iron-gray
hair and mustache, galloped up to the tavern on horseback. He looked
as if he had been reared in luxury, for there was that haughtiness of
mien that betokened the arrogant aristocrat.
"Good-morning, John," he said, as the tavern-keeper waddled to the
door. "Will you send up a basket of champagne during the day, and a
barrel of good ale--the champy for her ladyship, the countess, you
know, and the ale for the villagers. Going to have a sort of a
jollification at the lawn to-night, you know, in honor of the arrival
of the countess, and want you all to turn out."
Then he galloped on, quite as airily as he had come.
"Who vas dot big-feelin' rooster?" Fritz asked, when John re-entered
the tavern.
"That? Why, that's Honorable Granby Greyville," the fat man
replied--"the rich haristocrat who owns most of the land hereabouts. A
right big-feeling man, too, as you say."
"Granby Greyville, eh?" Fritz commented, under his breath. "Vel, dot
ish funny. I thought sure dot was Captain Gregg, der smuggler, und I
don'd vas so much foolished apoud it yet. I'll pet a half-dollar I
find oud somedings pefore I leave der blace."
Resolved to remain a few days in the village for the purpose of
prospecting, Fritz made himself at home about the hotel.
One suspicion after another was gradually occurring to him, and he was
not slow to give them a thorough consideration prior to putting them
to test.
Of all things, he was desirous of attending the "jollification," as
the horseman had termed it, with a view of seeing the countess, who,
he learned, had lately arrived from England, in her own steamship, for
a few weeks' stay upon the Atlantic coast, and a visit to her
prospective husband, Greyville.
During the afternoon a man entered the tavern, who evidently had
"blood in his eye." His whole appearance seemed to indicate that he
was anxious to have a fight with some one, and was not particular who
it was.
He was a large, raw-boned fellow, with great muscular development; his
face was large, with a bristling stubble of black beard upon the lower
portion; his eyes were dark and wild, his hair silvered with broad
streaks of white, and worn in a shaggy, unkempt mass.
His mouth was large, and his teeth projected beyond his lips, in a
horrible manner.
His attire, too, was ragged and greasy, with clumsy, stogy boots upon
his feet, and a dilapidated hat upon his head.
On entering the room, he paused and glared around him, as if in search
of some one on whom to vent his wrath.
"Well, Bully Jake, what'll ye have!" the tavern-keeper demanded, with
a frown, for the ruffian was evidently an unwelcome intruder.
"Waal, I don't keer ef I do take a drap o' likker!" the man growled,
glaring around.
"You to blazes! I mean, what d'ye want here?" Fat John grunted.
"A fureigner--a fureigner! Ye know I'm death on 'em, an' thar can't
none o' 'em can stay around hyar, while I hev things _my_ way."
"What foreigner is there here, now?"
"A Dutch cuss, blarst his eyes! Thar he sets," and he indicated Fritz
who was tipped back in one corner. "Oh! but I'll go through him,
though! I'll pulverize and sow him to the seven winds of the earth."
Then, with a tragic stride, he made for Fritz, pausing but a few paces
away from him, and shaking his fist fairly in his face.
"You, look!" the ruffian cried. "D'ye know who I am?"
"Vel, I dinks I don'd vas haff made your acquaintance!" Fritz replied,
retaining his seat, but on guard for an attack, if one was made.
"Ho! ho! I reckon not, an' ye'll wish ye never had, afore I git
through with yer!" Bully Jake declared. "Behold in me, my furin
rooster, Jake Jogagog, commonly known as Bully Jake, the Terror o'
ther Coast. I'm a cyclone, I am. Then, I'm prime minister ter his
honor, Granby Greyville, an' from him I hev orders to demolish every
furin craft wot sots anchor in his domains. Therefore, ef ye wanter
escape teetotal annihilation, I'd advise ye ter _git_! Ef ye ain't
seen goin' in less'n two seconds, I'll stamp ye out o' existence."
"Vel, when I gits ready to go, den I vil go, und not pefore!" Fritz
retorted. "Uff you makes me any droubles, I plack your eye for you!"
"Oh! ye wull, hey? Oh! snortin' walrusses an' white-haired whales!"
roared the bully, and sprung savagely upon the young detective, as if
bent on his certain destruction, Fritz clinched with him.
It was to be a struggle of brute strength now.