DETECTIVES IN A TIGHT SPOT.
"Come," exclaimed Old Spicer, and, lightly springing from the table, he
and Rouse hurried from the room.
They rushed down-stairs, through the office, and overtook Quackenbush
just outside the hotel door.
"Where are they?" asked Old Spicer, breathlessly.
Quackenbush pointed them out just as they were turning the next corner
above.
"Go back and watch Bissell," he whispered. "Rouse and I will follow
them up."
Quackenbush returned to the hotel, while Old Spicer and Rouse followed
the murderers.
They walked across town till they reached Third Avenue, then taking the
elevated road, they proceeded to Grand Street, where they alighted.
Hurrying down Grand Street, they turned into a side street, and, after
walking some distance, stopped before a dingy-looking building; then,
with a hasty glance around, they entered the basement, which, to all
appearances, was fitted up as a saloon.
"Come," said Old Spicer, starting to descend the steps.
"Hold up a minute!" exclaimed Rouse, "I know this place. It's about the
worst in town."
"No matter, we must enter it."
"All right. But, if you're bound to go in, we'd better disguise
ourselves, and we'd better have help."
"That's reasonable enough."
"Then come around the corner. There's a cop that'll keep an eye on the
place till we get back."
"Beckon to him."
Rouse did so, and the policeman crossed the street to them.
An arrangement was soon made with him, and the two detectives hurried
away.
In less than ten minutes they were back, thoroughly disguised as
sailors, and accompanied by two friends--shipmates.
They now entered the saloon, and looked about them.
Not a soul did they see but a sleepy-looking boy sitting on a box
behind the bar.
"Got a place where we can sit down, and have a social glass?" asked Old
Spicer.
The boy looked up, considered for a moment, and then, pointing to a
door, nodded.
Old Spicer at once opened the door, and, followed by his party, entered
the inner room.
Here were about a dozen tables, each with four chairs about it.
Three of the tables were occupied; two of them with the full complement
of four, the other with but three men.
Two of these three men at the third table were Barney and Jake; their
companion was clearly the proprietor of the place.
Old Spicer selected the next table to that occupied by the trio, and
placed himself where he could both see and hear what was going on among
his nearest neighbors. His comrades quickly took the other seats.
The proprietor and his two friends at once ceased speaking, and
regarded the quartet of sailors with looks of suspicion and surprise.
"Where's that sleepy boy we saw in the cabin, and who ordered us into
this devil's hold?" demanded Old Spicer. "Is he going to keep us
waiting all night for our grog?"
The proprietor slowly arose to his feet.
"You want grog, do you?" he asked, drawing near their table.
"That's just what we want," answered Old Spicer, emphatically--"rum,
mind ye, cap'n, genuine St. Croix rum."
"That's it, shipmate," exclaimed Rouse; "no belly-wash for us."
"It's rum all around, is it?" asked the proprietor, eying each one of
the party in turn.
"It is that," answered Rouse. "And say, skipper, you may as well bring
a bottle."
"A bottle from which the cork has never been removed," added Old Spicer.
"All right, I have just what you want;" and the proprietor quietly left
the room.
Barney and Jake watched the quartet narrowly, but hardly spoke while
their friend was away.
Presently he returned with a bottle and four glasses on a good-sized
waiter.
"What!" exclaimed Old Spicer, as he set down the waiter, "ain't you
going to take a toothful with us for sociability's sake?"
"Why, of course, if you wish it," was the reply, and slipping over to
the other table, he took up his own glass, which was still partially
filled, and raised it to his lips.
"None of that!" cried Rouse, sharply. "Throw that stuff away and fill
fair of this bottle."
"Stuff?" retorted the proprietor, "Why, this is good French brandy,
man."
"The deuce it is! How cursed lonesome it must be!"
"Lonesome? Why?"
"Because it ain't likely there's another thimbleful in all America."
"What're givin' us? Do you mean to say that I haven't got plenty of
French brandy in my establishment?"
"I mean to say just this: There is more brandy used in the one city of
Paris alone than is manufactured in all France. How, then, is it likely
that much of the pure stuff can pass our custom-houses."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Barney, "if any of the Simon Pure could get as far
as the custom-houses, I'll warrant it wouldn't get any further. Our
government officials know too well what's expected of them to let it
slip through their fingers."
"Right, shipmate!" exclaimed Rouse, "they'd prefer to let it slip down
their insatiable throats."
"Well," exclaimed Old Spicer, suddenly, "pure or impure, I see you've
disposed of your brandy at last, landlord, and so now come over and
help us out with our rum."
The landlord, drawing his chair after him, joined them at their table.
Rouse filled his glass, gave a toast, and was careful to see that the
old man drank it off. Then a suspicion that the liquor might have been
tampered with was removed.
"What ship do you fellows belong to?" asked the proprietor, while Rouse
was refilling his glass.
"No ship at all," was the answer.
"What craft, then?"
"The three-masted schooner Miranda, in the West Indian trade."
"Oh! ah! that's why you think so much of St. Croix rum, eh?"
"Exactly. We know the taste, and we know how much of the stuff we can
stand, don't you see?"
"I see; but it seems to me you are confoundedly cautious for sailors."
"May be so; but they say a burnt child dreads the fire, and we've been
caught a time or two."
"Been taken in and done for, eh?"
"Yes, but no matter, you're an honest-looking set here, and seeing that
the grog's good, we'll throw caution to the wind and enjoy ourselves,"
and the bottle circulated freely, indeed, so freely that it was soon
empty and another ordered.
The landlord being now convinced that the sailors were all right, and
better, that they were getting very drunk, returned to Barney and Jake,
who had remained all this time quietly at the other table.
At first they conversed in low tones, but soon almost all they said
reached the ears of the detectives.
"Yes, old pal," were the first words Old Spicer distinctly heard, "I
think I can manage the matter for you. I don't know the chap, but from
the description you've given of him, and the directions as to where he
may be found, I think I can get at him, and produce him in the place
you name."
"And you will do it?"
"If you think it worth the sum I want."
"It's a tamned pig brice, Pill Punce," exclaimed Jake.
"Ay," was the reply: "but if we can manage to give the detective the
slip, I'll warrant he'll be willing enough to pay it."
"Of course, of course," assented Barney; "we won't dispute your price,
Bill."
"Then we understand each other, do we?"
"I suppose so; but to make certain just go over the programme, will
you?"
"Well, after I've found this fellow, Chamberlain, I'm to get him over
to the bay, where the Bouncing Betsy lies, and where you will meet us.
In case we don't find you at old Flipper's, I am to take the lad on
board the schooner at once, which, when you're all aboard, will sail
for the quarries, eh?"
"Yes, for the island, so-called."
"Correct. And there, in Canter's Hole, all will be safe till the
schooner sails for the Gulf, when you can all get out of the country
without any one's dreaming how it was managed."
"Right, by Jove! that is----" And here Barney came to an abrupt pause.
At this time there were not less than a dozen men in the place, besides
the four detectives, every one of them desperate characters, and warm
friends of Bill Bunce, the proprietor.
At the moment Barney paused his eye happened to rest on the quartet at
the next table, and he was struck by the eager interest depicted on one
or two of the faces.
"What's the matter?" demanded Bunce, turning sharply round.
"The matter is," cried Barney, starting to his feet and drawing a
couple of revolvers, "that these fellows are a pack of cursed spies,
and I know it!"
"Spies!" echoed every man in the room. "Spies! Kill the bloody
wretches! don't let one of 'em escape!"
"We're in for it, by Jove!" exclaimed Rouse. "Let us keep well
together, and shoot to kill."
"Ay!" said Old Spicer, "but I should awfully hate to have the gallows
cheated of its lawful prey. I wish I could take those two villains back
with me unharmed."
By this time Bill Bunce and his friends had got between the detectives
and the outlets, and were preparing for a deadly fight.
"Do you really mean to say that you will be so rash as to fire upon
us?" asked Old Spicer. "You must know that sooner or later you will
have to pay dearly for it if you do."
"We know mighty well that we shall have to pay for it devilish soon if
we don't," retorted Bunce; "and that's enough for us to know. Let 'em
have it, boys!" and at least half a dozen shots were fired, and one of
the detectives was slightly wounded.
"Fire!" exclaimed Old Spicer, in a determined voice, and as each
detective had two revolvers, eight shots rang out, and two of the enemy
fell dead, while four more were wounded, Jake Klinkhammer being among
the latter.
The firing now became general, and it was difficult to say who was
getting the best of it, when the door from the saloon was suddenly
thrown open and the boy's voice was heard to exclaim:
"Scatter! the cops are coming!"
Almost in an instant the place was cleared of Bunce's men, and a moment
later a sergeant of police, followed by six men, entered.