CLEVERLY CAUGHT.
The game of chance is played by all--
The rich, the poor, the great, the small;
Fate's hand the wheel of fortune drives,
And marks the epoch of our lives.
The street was one of the shortest in the city, extending only the one
block from Broadway to the Bowery, and the house itself was plain, dark
and unattractive, but Sam Lee led the way with an ease that betokened
much familiarity with the neighborhood.
Sir Frederic had thought it best to enlist the services of a detective
and now the four men entered the narrow hall and ascended a flight of
stairs as noiselessly as possible.
Sam Lee was still ahead, and arriving at the door above, he gave three
short, sharp raps, following these with a peculiar double knock that
could hardly be mistaken if once heard. Evidently the signal was so well
given that the wary watchman within did not doubt the friendship of the
executor and neglected to open the wicket as was his usual custom before
admitting any one. Instead, he opened the door a tiny bit while he put
his eye cautiously to the crack, but before he could get a satisfactory
glimpse of the new comers, Sam Lee's heavy, cork soled shoe was forced
into the narrow opening and four stalwart, determined shoulders were
braced against the door with a force that sent the careless watchman
spinning backward across the dimly lighted passage.
There were seven or eight men in the inner room when they entered, but
in less time than it takes to tell they had all disappeared but one, and
he, too, would have vanished had not Sam Lee darted into his very arms
and screamed like a parrot in his unintelligible gibberish. As quick as
flash, Sir Frederic and the detective grasped the rambler's arms, but
after the first wild rush, he made no attempt to escape but stood
silently before them as if surprised, but in no way alarmed, at their
somewhat extraordinary proceedings.
"This can not be the man," said Sir Frederic, doubtfully.
"Yes! Yes! Me know him!" yelled Sam Lee, over and over, while he held to
the victim's coat tails with a grasp of vengeance.
"We will soon see," said the detective, grimly, as without ceremony he
pulled both hat and hair from his prisoner's head.
With a movement as quick as lightning the man's hand flew back to his
pistol pocket and in another moment the detective would, in all
probability, have fallen, shot through the heart, had not Sam Lee, who
was still holding fast to the coat observed the rapid movement and
seized the would be murderer's arm with his wiry fingers. An awful
struggle followed. As if knowing well it was his last chance for life
and liberty, the man fought fiercely, with the strength of a lion, but
he was finally held and the all conquering irons snapped upon his
wrists. Then the false beard was removed and once more Sir Frederic
looked upon the face of Maurice Sinclair as he had seen him upon the
evening of that memorable reception. Older and more haggard he looked
beneath the light of the rusty chandelier, and rascal though he was, Sir
Frederic felt a thrill of pity for the reckless nature that should bring
its owner to such bitter degradation. Sir Frederic was the last to leave
the room and, as he reached the door, he looked again to note more
accurately the nature of the place.
Faro, seemed to be the inducement, and that the game was well patronized
was evident by the quantity of bills and silver strewn recklessly about
the floor during the precipitate retreat of the players.
Not a soul was visible when they descended the narrow stairs, and save
for the perpetual chatter of Sam Lee, no word was spoken during the
short walk that brought the prisoner within the protecting walls of
Police Headquarters. Whether or no the Mongolian's chatter was
understood by the silent prisoner could not be determined, for once
only, did he betray the slightest interest in his talk. Sam Lee had
evidently referred to some incident of the past, as the word "Calcutta"
was plainly recognized, and although the look accompanying his words
was dark and threatening, the effect upon the handcuffed man was only to
make him throw his head back and laugh long and heartily, as if well
pleased at the untimely recollection.
Not until he heard that laugh did Sir Frederic really believe in his
prisoner's identity. He had heard that musical, ringing laugh once
before in Mrs. Sinclair's parlor and now he was certain there was no
mistake. After seeing their charge safely guarded, Sir Frederic and Dr.
Seward left their cards and promised to supply all further information
the following day.
Sam Lee's dark face was still contorted with painful memories, and as
the three men rode slowly homeward, Sir Frederic tried to ascertain the
wrong which he felt positive the Chinaman had suffered at the hands of
the man they had just left. He learned enough from the broken English to
prove his vague surmise correct, for the words, "Calcutta Sister," and
"Revenge" were only too suggestive of the nature of Sam Lee's grievance.
"Sam Lee wait and wait," he said, "some time get revenge," and then
with the same warning shadow upon his face, he bade them set him down at
a quiet corner, and the two friends, sympathizing deeply with his
unmistakable sorrow, shook his taper fingers and drove rapidly homeward.