CHAMBERLAIN'S MYSTERIOUS FRIEND--A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
"Of course, I'm making myself at home here," Chamberlain was saying.
"Why shouldn't I, I'd like to know?"
"Well," returned another voice--Bissell's--"the fact is, when a
gentleman goes out, he likes to feel that his private room is held
sacred, even by his friends. I don't see what the landlord could have
been thinking of to let you come up here."
"Why, he knew me--knew that whenever you were stopping here I had been
in the habit of coming and going as I pleased; and so, when I told him
I was tired and would like to come up here and rest while waiting for
you, he made no objection. That's how it was."
"Well, I don't know that any great damage has been done this time, but
I wish, Hen, as a general thing, you'd keep out of my room when I am
not in it."
"Look here, Em Bissell, ain't you putting on more frills than your
shirt front'll carry?"
"I fancy I know my business, sir. And now permit me to ask to what
fortunate circumstance I am indebted for the pleasure of your company
to-day?"
"Thunder! What's come over you, Em? Don't your food agree with you,
man?"
"_I_'m all right; but to be plain with you, I should like to be alone."
"Oho! that's the way the wind sets, is it? Well, so far as I'm
concerned, you'll be alone pretty blamed sudden. We've a little matter
of business to transact first, however."
"What is it--if I may ask?"
"What is it! You know blamed well what it is. Just fork over that money
I gave you the other day."
"Money? What money?"
"Look here, Em Bissell, don't you undertake to play any of your funny
business on _me_. I gave you $22,000 on Monday to keep for me. I want
it now, and by the Eternal! I'll have it, if I have to cut your black
heart out to get it!"
Old Spicer turned to Killett, and a look of deep meaning passed between
them.
"Move from your tracks, or lift a finger, Hen Chamberlain, and I ring
this bell," exclaimed Bissell hastily, "and as sure as I do, I give you
up as a murderer!"
"Pshaw! what do I care for your cursed bell and your threats? There's a
dozen ways out of this hotel, and before a man could get to the top of
one flight of stairs, I'd be at the bottom of another, and lost in the
crowd on the avenue."
"Well, sir, if you are not out of this room inside of two minutes, you
will have a chance to try that experiment provided you're alive to try
it."
"Oho! you threaten my life, do you? See here, Bissell, before we go
any further, just tell me why you have pretended to take such an
interest in me during all these years; why you have nursed all my evil
inclinations; why you have tempted me to commit crime after crime, and
why, now that I have, at your suggestion, committed one that puts a
noose about my neck, you turn against me?"
"Why does any man do such things?"
"From self-interest, I suppose, or, perhaps more often, to revenge some
wrong."
"Exactly, and those two are the motives that have influenced me."
"But great Scott! man--I never injured you."
"Personally, you have not."
"Then what do you want to bring me to ruin for?"
"I want to strike another through you."
"Who, in the fiend's name?"
"Who do you suppose?"
"I can't think. There are but two persons on earth who care a tinker's
button what becomes of me."
"And who are those two?"
"My father and mother."
"Who do you mean when you say your father and mother?"
"Why, Henry A. Chamberlain and his wife."
"The worthy couple who live at No. 10 Franklin Street, New Haven?"
"Certainly."
"Do you really think they are your father and mother?"
"They are all the father and mother I have ever known."
"Ha! ha! Well, I might tell you that they are no more your parents than
they are mine. I might tell you that your name is not Chamberlain,
but Curtis. I might tell you that there are certain persons--one in
particular--who are deeply interested in your welfare. But what's the
use? I will only tell you that there is one person whom, for years,
it has been my aim and purpose to crush; that I saw I could best
accomplish my end by striking at you; that, therefore, I sought you out
when you were but a mere lad at Eton school; that I took you in hand
and led you, step by step, to----"
"The devil! I see it all now, curse you!"
"Ah! you do see it at last, do you?"
"I do; and now give me my money before I tear you limb from limb."
"Nonsense, boy: don't you see that I wheedled the money out of you on
purpose, so that you might not have the means to escape from justice?
Why, my revenge wouldn't be complete if you escaped the gallows. And do
you think I will deliberately give you the means to escape?"
"Look out, man. You'll drive me too far if you ain't careful."
"Why, Hen, I planned every move you made, and you never moved but to
put the halter more surely about your neck. Can't you guess now why
I introduced you to Cora Bell? Can't you see why I took you to Jim
Taylor's place? A good fellow enough, Jim is; but I knew mighty well
that if he worked with you all he'd want would be a little squeeze from
somebody to give you away as quick as chain-lightning. See if I'm not
right."
"You're an infernal villain!"
"Oh, may be so; but I can afford to be whatever I please. You nor no
living soul on earth can touch me."
"Can't, eh?" and there was a rush forward, a yell, a loud ringing of
bells, the sound of hurrying feet, and general confusion.
Old Spicer and Killett sprung from their chairs to the table, from the
table to the floor, and rushing from the room, flew to the stairs,
and descended without hardly touching a step. In another moment they
were at the entrance to No. 24, where quite a little crowd had already
gathered.
Quackenbush and two other detectives were in the room. Bissell was
stretched upon the bed, to all appearance dangerously wounded.
Chamberlain was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Chamberlain?" asked Old Spicer, eagerly.
"Got away," answered Quackenbush.
"Got away! In the name of the great Lecoq, how did he manage it?"
"Knocked me down, threw a hall-porter on top of me, and was gone before
I could get the fool off."
"But these men, what were they doing?"
"Lord! I don't know."
"I was at the head of the stairs yonder. We were attracting too much
attention standing here together," explained Crowley.
"And I," said the third detective, "was at the back stairs."
"Did he make off in that direction?"
"Yes, sir."
"You tried to stop him, of course?"
"I did."
"What did he do?"
"Why, just knocked me clean down the stairs, that's all."
"You were there, then, when he came down."
"Yes; but I didn't feel much like stopping him just then."
"I suppose not. Well, Quackenbush, clear the room, and let Crowley go
for a doctor. Frank, you stay here. This man is quite as important a
prisoner as either Chamberlain or Taylor."
The wounded man slightly raised his head and pricked up his ears, at
this announcement.
It is a great pity that some of the detectives did not detect this
movement.
Old Spicer and Killett drew a little to one side, and conversed in
eager whispers.
"Chamberlain must be captured at once," said Old Spicer, emphatically.
"He shall be!" returned Killett, decidedly. "This man is badly wounded,
no doubt; so we can spare two of the three we have with us, and I'll
telephone to Byrnes to send out Maguire and Frank Mangin; they'll find
him, if anybody can."
Quackenbush and Frank Starr were sent out on the hunt, and Killett went
down to the office, to telephone to headquarters.
Crowley now came back, and announced that a surgeon had been summoned,
and would shortly arrive.
Old Spicer, who had for some time been anxious to get a message to
Stricket and Morgan, merely said:
"All right; stay here for a few moments, please," and hurried
down-stairs.
Crowley stepped softly to the bed, and took a look at the wounded
prisoner.
"Asleep, or unconscious," he said to himself; and then, taking up a
newspaper and seating himself by the window, he prepared to take it
easy, till Old Spicer and Killett should return.
Just then some one knocked on the door; and, not wishing to disturb
Bissell, he quietly arose, crossed the room, and opened the door.
The caller was one of those society fiends yclept a reporter.
"Hello, officer!" he exclaimed, briskly; "I understand there's been
something of a row up here. Let's know the merits of the case."
"I don't know them myself," returned Crowley, evasively, at the same
time slipping out into the corridor and closing the door behind him.
"Oh, pshaw!" urged the reporter, "you must know something about it.
Tell me what you do know."
"What little I know isn't worth telling. Just wait till Old Spicer and
Killett come up, then you can question them all you've a mind to--if
they'll let you."
"What! is Old Spicer in this hotel?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Down in the office, I believe."
"Did you say he was coming up here soon?"
"Yes; but if you want to see him, perhaps you'd better go down to the
office."
"No, I reckon I'd better wait here till he comes up."
"Very well, then you'll excuse me for leaving you, for I must go in and
look after my prisoner."
"Hold up a moment! What's his name?"
"Bissell."
"Emory E. Bissell--is that it?"
"Yes."
"Badly wounded, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Who did it?"
"I'm not sure that I know."
"Who do you think?"
"I don't know that I am at liberty to tell you that."
"The landlord says he let a fellow named Chamberlain come up here
while Bissell was out, and that he was still waiting for him when he
returned. Was that the man?"
"It's possible."
"Don't you know he was the fellow?"
"How the deuce can I be certain about it? I never saw Chamberlain enter
the room."
"But didn't you see him come out of it?"
"No, I did not."
"They say he burst out of the room like a mad bull, and knocked three
of you fellows down."
"Well, if he did, I wasn't one of them."
"Where were you?"
"Standing over by the main staircase yonder."
"Then he didn't attempt to get away in that direction?"
"No."
"Where, then?"
"By the back stairs, I have heard."
"Know what the trouble was between Bissell and Chamberlain?"
"No."
"Is Bissell badly wounded?"
"I should suppose so."
"Is he unconscious?"
"Yes."
"Just let me take a look at him, will you?"
"I can't do that."
"For goodness' sake, why not? I won't eat the man."
"It's against orders to admit any one but the doctor."
"Well, is this the doctor coming?"
"Yes."
"Who's that with him?"
"Old Spicer."
"The deuce it is! But, yes; I would have known him by the descriptions
I have seen of him. Queer looking cuss, ain't he?"
"He's--well, he's rather slender, to say the least."
"A sort of Wm. M. Evarts. Ah! good-day, Mr. Spicer. Good-day, doctor;
glad to see you, gentlemen," and as the great detective and the surgeon
entered the room with Crowley, the reporter followed after them, as a
matter of course.
"Why, Crowley, where's your prisoner?" demanded Old Spicer, in startled
tones, after a single glance at the blood-stained bed.
"He's--Great Scott! He's gone!"
"Gone?" exclaimed the reporter, in his usual brisk way. "How the devil
did he manage to get away?"