'A MERCYFUL DISPENSAYSHUN.'
As I left the Exposition grounds and came out upon Stony Island Avenue
I looked at my watch, for I had in mind much that I wished to
accomplish before night came on. It was nearing three o'clock, and I
hastened my steps.
Glancing about as I put away my watch, in the hope that I might see
Billy or Dave, as they from time to time shifted their place of
observation, I saw, to my annoyance, on the opposite side, but coming
toward me almost directly across the street, Mrs. Camp. Her eyes were
fixed upon me, and when she had reached the middle of the highway she
waved her arm in frantic gesture, which, in spite of my haste, brought
me to an instant standstill, knowing as I did that she was quite
capable of shouting out my name should her signal be ignored.
As she came nearer I saw that her eyes were staring wildly, and her
face wore a look so strange and excited that for a moment I feared
that the marvels of Chicago and the Fair had unsettled her reason, and
her first words did not altogether reassure me.
'If this ain't a mercyful dispensayshun,' she panted, stopping
squarely before me, 'then I don't know what is! I was goin' to hunt
ye up jest as fast as feet c'd travel, an' I never spected to be so
thankful for knowin' a perlece officer ez I be ter-day. My!' catching
her breath and hurrying on; 'if I couldn't 'a' seen to gittin' them
wretches arristed afore night, I'd 'a' had a nightmare sure, an' never
slep' a wink!'
'Mrs. Camp,' I broke in, 'not so loud, please.'
'Ugh!' The woman suddenly dropped her loud tone and looked nervously
around. She was trembling with excitement, and the colour came and
went in her tanned cheeks.
And now, to my surprise, I noted dangling from her arm beneath the
loose wrap, which she wore very much askew, a black something, which,
as she lifted her arm to pass her hand across her twitching lips, I
perceived was an ear-trumpet attached to a long black tube such as is
used by the deaf, and my fears for her sanity were increased.
'Mrs. Camp,' I said, in a soothing tone, 'you seem exhausted; let me
take you to your rooms, if they are not too far, and you can talk
after resting.'
Something in my tone or look must have enlightened her as to my
thoughts, for she suddenly broke into a short, nervous laugh.
'Oh, I ain't crazy! Though I don't blame ye if ye thought so,' she
said, with an attempt at composure. 'I was comin' to see ye, and it's
important. I was goin' to that Miss Jenrys, but I forgot the number
her aunt give me, and so I struck right out for that office where Adam
and me met ye that first time when I wanted ye arristed right off, ye
know. But, land! I be actin' like a plum fool. Come right along!' She
caught my arm and turned me about. 'My place ain't fur, and I s'pose
we can't talk in the streets.'
I began to fear that I should not easily escape her, and moved on
beside her, her hand still gripped upon my arm as if for support.
'I shan't open my head ag'in,' she said as we went, 'till we git
there.' And she did not, but when we had reached her door and I was
about to make an excuse, and after seeing her safe indoors hasten on
in my search for Dave, she said, much more like her usual self:
'Come right in now and find out what kind of a detective I'd make if I
had a chance. It's your business, too, I guess;' and then, as I seemed
to hesitate, 'an' it's about that counterfittin' man.'
Suddenly, somehow, the notion of her insanity vanished from my mind,
and I followed her into the house.
She opened a door near the entrance, and, after peeping in, threw it
wide.
'It's the parlour of the hull fambily,' she explained as I entered,
'and I'm thankful it ain't ockerpied jest now, for our room ain't
more'n half as big.'
It was the tiniest of parlours, but not ill-furnished, and the moment
she had dragged forward a chair for me, after the manner of the
country hostess, and had made sure that the door was close shut, she
drew a small 'rocker' close to my own seat and began eagerly:
'I've had an adventer to-day, a reg'lar story-book sort of one. It's
made me pretty nervous and excited like, and I hope you'll excuse
that; but I'm going to tell it to you the quickest way, for, 'nless
I'm awful mistook, them folks'll git out quick's they find out who I
be, or who I ain't, one or t'other.'
'My time----' I began, hoping to hasten her story, but she went on
hurriedly:
'Ye see, Camp has got so sot and took up with them machines, and
windmills, and dead folks, and dry bones down to'rds that south pond
that he ain't no company for nobody no more; so this afternoon--we
didn't neither one go out this mornin', for we'd been to see Buffaler
Bill las' night, and we was tuckered all out--so this afternoon I
went with Camp down street instead of goin' the t'other way, for he
thought 'twould be a good idee to go in a new gate; but somehow when
we got there I didn't feel much like goin' in, seemed like 'twould be
sich a long tramp, and I jest left him at the gate and sa'ntered back,
thinkin' I'd rest like an' be fresh for a good long day to-morrer.'
'Yes,' I said, as she seemed waiting for my comment, 'I see.'
'Wal, I come along slow, and right down by--wall, I'll show you the
place, I'm awful bad 'bout rememberin' names; but when I'd got more'n
half-way home, an' was 'most up to a house that stood close to the
street, I see the door begin to open, real careful at first, an' then
quick; an' then out of the house came a tall man. He didn't look back,
but I c'd see there was some one behind him, an' then the door shet.
The man come down the steps, an' then he seemed to see me, an' a'most
stopped. I tell ye I was glad then that I had on these.'
She thrust her hand into her pocket and drew out a pair of those
smoked-glass spectacles so much affected by sight-seers at the Fair,
and I was forced to smile at the strange metamorphosis of her face
when she put them on and turned it toward me. With the small, sharp
eyes, her most characteristic feature, concealed, the face became
almost a nonentity.
'Would you 'a' knowed me?' she demanded.
'I think not.'
'Wal, I guess he didn't; anyhow, he give me a sort of inquirin' look
an' started off ahead of me. An' who d'ye s'pose he was?'
I shook my head, anxious only that she should get on with the story.
'Wal, as sure as my name's Hanner Camp, 'twas that feller 't changed
the money fer Camp; the furriner one that I see in that Cayrow house;
the one with the hands!'
'But--you said----'
'Yes, I know I did; but I studied it all over, an' I wa'n't mistook,
not a mite! That feller jest went through an' out the back door, and
changed his clo's somewhar, an' came back playin' gentleman. But, I
tell ye, I knowed them hands! 'Twas him I seen come out of that door
to-day.'
'Are you sure?'
'Sartin sure!'
'Then--wait one moment. Did you see him go far? Where did you see him
last?'
'Wal, there--there was an alley next to the house, and acrost that was
another house, and then a saloon. He went into the saloon.'
'Oh!' This was the answer I had hoped for. 'Pray go on, Mrs. Camp.'
'I'm goin' to. You know I said there was a man come and shet the door;
wal, I got jest a glimpse of him at the door, and it kind o' started
me, and I came by real slow, a-lookin' at the house. I noticed that
every winder in the front was shet, and the curtains down, all but
one, and that was the front one next the alley; that was open half-way
and the curtain was up. I couldn't see inside, but jest as I came
oppersite the winder a man's face popped right out of it for jest a
minit, lookin' the way the other feller went, and then it popped out
o' sight ag'in; but I had seen it square!'
'Who was it?' I demanded, now thoroughly aroused.
'It was that feller that was so perlite to Camp and me the time you
was arristed; the Sunday-school feller.'
I started to my feet, and sat down again. She had been doing detective
work indeed! I thought I could understand it all. This was the house
we had for days suspected and watched, but the only one ever seen to
enter it had been Greenback Bob. Doubtless the murder of the brunette
made them so uneasy that, contrary to custom, Delbras had ventured out
by day, probably to learn what he could of the movements of the
officers. I turned to Mrs. Camp.
'Mrs. Camp,' I began earnestly, 'I am going to confide in you. Those
men belong to a gang of robbers and murderers; we have been watching
them for weeks. Fortunately, you have come upon them in such a way as
to locate their hiding-place; you can help us very much if you will
try to recall everything just as you saw it there, and will answer a
few questions, when you have told your story. Or--is this all?'
'All! I guess it ain't all; an' I guess you won't need to ask many
questions when I get through!' I nodded, and she went on rapidly:
'When I see that feller dodge back and shet the winder, I remembered
what you had said about him and the others, and 'bout their tellin'
me, to that office, how you was a detective yourself; and I jest sez
to myself, says I, "I'm goin' to try an' git another look at that
house;" so I went on past it till I come to a little store, and I went
in an' bought ten cents' worth of green tea, and when I comes out I
goes back, jest as if I was going home with my shoppin'. By the way,
you ain't seemed to notice these new clo's.'
I had noted the black gown and cape-like mantle she wore, both plain,
but neat and not an ill fit; and I had also wondered how she had
happened to discard her old straw hat with the lopping green bows for
the simple dark bonnet she wore, but she did not wait for my
criticism.
'I'll tell you how't come,' she went on. 'I ain't blind, and I'd been
a-noticin' the difference 'twixt my clo's and some of the rest of
'em; and I was specially took with them plain gownds them ladies wore
that you interduced me to that day; an' I jest studied on it, and sort
o' calkalated the expense, and then went up to the stores. I wanted a
gray rig, like that Miss Ross had on, but I couldn't get none to fit,
an' the young lady told me 't black was dredful fash'nable now, so I
got this rig; an' 'twas lucky I did ter-day.'
What could she mean by this diversion? I was growing uneasy when she
uttered the last words. 'Yes?' I said feebly.
'I s'pose you wonder what I'm drivin' at?' she queried. 'Well, it's
comin'. Ye see, I was wearin' these clo's, and the goggles, as I call
'em, when I went sa'nterin' past that house; but I hadn't got to it,
nor even to the s'loon yet, when a cab--one of them two-wheeled
things, you know, with the man settin' up behind to drive.'
I nodded.
'Wal, it drove up, an' the man opened the door, right in front of that
house, an' out got a woman; she was bigger than me, and all drest in
black, an' she looked sort of familiar, an' jest as I was wonderin'
who she made me think of, an' she was a-paying the driver, up comes
another cab, tearin', and out hopped two fat, red-faced perlecemen,
an' there was a little squabble like, an' the woman flung herself
round so't I could see her face, an' then I knew her.'
She paused as if for comment, but I was now too much amazed for words.
'I knew her in a minit,' she resumed, 'an' it was that woman that come
stridin' into that rug place in Cayrow Street that day. She hadn't no
long swingin' veil on this time, and she didn't look nigh so big
'longside them big perlecemen. She had give up quiet enough when she
seen she had to; an' they put her into the cab an' drove away, with
t'other one behind 'em. I walked pretty slow, so as not to come right
into the rumpus, an' I thought, as I come acrost the alley, that I see
somethin' a-layin' by the side-walk on the outside. I looked round,
and seein' that every last winder was as dark as black, I stooped down
to look at the things, an' here they air.' And she shook out with one
hand a long black veil which she had drawn from her pocket, and held
out with the other the snake-like speaking-tube.
'I c'n see you're in a hurry,' she said, dropping the veil and tube
into her lap, 'an' I'll git to the pint now, right off. I wa'n't never
no coward, and I jest ached to find out what them fellows was up to.
Mebbe if I'd stopped to think I wouldn't have run the risk, but while
I stood there with them things in my hand a idee popped into my mind.
I looked round; there wasn't a soul near me, an' the winders was all
dark, so't nobody could see me from the house, and of course they
hadn't seen the woman git arristed an' took away. We didn't look much
alike, but I thought mebbe they'd let me in, thinkin' 'twas her; and
when I got in I'd tell 'em I'd found the trumpet at their door, and
p'r'aps, if I felt like it, I'd say I'd seen a gentleman to the winder
that I was 'quainted with; that is if he didn't come to the door.
Anyhow, I thought I'd try to make sure it 'twas him I see at the
winder.'
I shuddered at her cool recital of such a daring venture; and yet I
could see how, with her country training, she would see nothing so
very serious or dangerous in thus thrusting herself into a strange
house, gossip-like, 'to find out what was goin' on.' She took up the
trumpet.
'I was used to these things,' she said, 'for my aunt on my mother's
side used to live with me; she was a old maid an' she used one.
Stone-deef she was, a'most, but I didn't think then o' usin' this.
When I got onto the top step I felt 'most like runnin' off all of a
sudden, but I set my teeth and give the bell a jerk. 'Twa'n't long
before the door opened jest a crack, and I see an eye lookin' out. I
meant to git inside before I said anything, so I kind o' give the
speakin' trumpet, hangin' over my arm, a shake; it was 'most hid under
the veil, you know; and then the door opened wider, and I see a woman.
My! the palest, woe-begon'dest woman I'd ever see, 'most. "Oh!" she
says, in a shaky, scairt sort o' voice, "come in quick." She looked so
peaked and strange I jest stood starin' at her a minit, and all to
once she reached out her hand and motioned to me; and as I stepped in
she caught hold of the big end of the speakin' trumpet, and then I see
that she thought I was deef; and quick as a wink it come to me to play
deef 's long as I could--deef folks are allus makin' blunders--and
then to 'polergize an' git out. So I stuck the tube to my ear.
'"You're the nurse?" she says through it, but not very loud, for a
deef person, that is. "Louder," sez I. So she sed it real loud, an' I
nodded.
'Then she motioned me to come into the room to the front, that I had
seen the man look out of. It was 'most dark there, only there was a
winder on the alley that 'peared to be all boarded up, only jest a
slit to the top to let a little streak of light in. "Set down a
minit," she says; an' when she let go of the trumpet her hand shook
so't I could see it. She opened the door in the back of the room, an'
I see there was a screen on the other side so I couldn't see the room,
but I got up an' tiptoed to the door. The carpet was awful thick there
an' in the hall, though it was old enough too.
'She hadn't shet the door tight, an' I heard her say, "Wake up, Bob."
An' then a sort of question; an' she says ag'in, "The nurse has come
after all, and you can go and sleep now." Then I heard a man say,
"What made the old gal so late, blast her eyes! I'd go an' give her a
good old blessin' if she wasn't sech a crank-mouthed jade." An' then
he seemed to be stirrin', an' I 'most thought he was comin' in; but
then he says, "Git her in here, an' then git me somethin' ter eat. I
can't sleep when I'm so holler." "Won't you come in an' speak to her,
Bob?" says the woman, "an' tell her 'bout the med'cin'; I'm so tired."
'Then I was scairt ag'in, though I declare I felt sorry fer that poor
crittur of a woman.
'But the man snarled at her, and says, "Naw, I won't; I'm tired's you
be. Hustle now, an' bring me the grub mighty quick."
'I scooted back to my chair then, and in a minit or so she come in an'
motioned me to come into the other room. I see they had mistook me for
some deef nurse, an' I begun to think I'd grabbed more'n I could hold,
an' to wish I was out. But I went in, an' if ever a woman was struck
all of a heap, 'twas me.'
She paused as if mentally reviewing the scene once more, and I fairly
quivered with anticipation and anxiety for what the next words might
develop.
'I had noticed that there was three winders on the alley side of the
house,' she resumed, 'an' there bein' only one in the front room, of
course I looked to see one sure in this, an' mebbe two, but there
wasn't a winder; the wall on that side was smooth, only at the winder
place was a kind of cubbard arrangement like, an' the room was lit by
a kerosene lamp. It was furnished quite good, too; but in a corner on
the bed laid a young man, as good-lookin' about as they make 'em; only
he was dretful pale an' thin, an' he 'peared to be sleepin'.
'"There's yer patient," says the woman, through the tube. "There ain't
nothin' to do now only ter give him drink, an' not let him talk if he
wakes. He sleeps a good deal, an' when he wakes up he's out of his
head, an' 'magines he's somebody else, an' ain't in his own house, an'
all sorts of nonsense." She went to the bed an' stood lookin' at the
sick man in a queer sort of way, an' she give a big long breath, as if
she felt awful bad, an' then went out by a door that I knew went to
the hall, an' I heard noises in a minit more, as if they come from the
kitchin stove.
'Now I knowed she took me for a nurse and all that, but all the same I
begun to think I'd better git out. I couldn't play nurse an' ask about
that Sunday-school feller too, an' I thought I'd jest made a big
blunder, an' I'd better git out 'thout waitin' for her to come back;
an' jest then I heard a little noise, an' I looked round, an' the sick
man had rolled over an' was lookin' at me straight, an' when he
ketched my eye, he says, "Come here, madam, please." 'Twas a real
pleasant voice, though weak, an' I went right up to the bed. He looked
at me real sharp, an' sort of wishful, and then he says, "You look
like a good woman."
'I didn't say nothin', an' he kep' right on, sort of hurried like. "I
was not asleep when you entered," he says, "and I heard that poor
woman. I am not insane, and this is not my home. You have come here to
nurse me, but if you want money you can earn a hundred nurses' fees by
going to a telegraph office and telegraphin' to----"
'Jest then there was a noise in the hall, an' he stopped, an' I picked
up a fan an' stood as if I was a-fannin' away a couple of little moths
that the lamp had drawed.
'Nobody came in, so I went to the door an' listened. Seemed as if I
heard a door shet upstairs, an' I guessed the woman was taking up the
cross man's dinner. So I went back to the bed. He laid still for a
bit, and seemed listenin'; then he says:
'"I am a prisoner, and have been half-killed first, an' then drugged
to keep me so. My people are wealthy. They will pay you royally if
you'll help me; if you'll go to the nearest police-station an' give
'em a paper I will give yer, with my father's name, an'----" He
stopped ag'in, an' shet his eyes quick as lightnin'; an' the next
minit the pale woman came in quick, an' lookin' awful anxious. She
went to the bed an' looked at the sick young feller, an' then she took
hold of the trumpet and motioned me to listen. "Can you hear?" she
says into it, not very loud. I nodded, an' looked to'rds the bed. "He
sleeps real sound," she says, "and won't be likely to wake up, anyhow;
I can't leave him alone to talk to you in another room. There's
somethin' I forgot, an' some of them may come in any time now. Will
you do a wretched woman a small kindness?" She looked at me awful
wishful when she said that, an' I nodded my head ag'in.
'"They told me not to let you in unless you gave me a card, and I--I
am so troubled I forgot to ask you for it at the door. Will you give
me the card now, an' please not give me away to the boys? I can't
stand no more trouble. I--I think it was your being so late made me
forget. Why was it?"
'For a minit I was stumped, an' then an idee come to me. "Ter tell the
truth," I says, as bold as you please, "I've been in a little trouble,
an' I forgot that card. You see, I had to put off comin' here on
account of a couple of perlecemen that was on the look-out fer me.
I've only jest give 'em the slip." You see I thought when she heard
that she'd make 'lowance fer the card, an' I wanted to talk more with
that sick boy, fer I b'leeved he was tellin' the truth. But, my! she
jumps up, lookin' scairt to pieces, an' she says:
'"The perlece! Do you think they will follow you? can they? Merciful
goodness! we can't risk it. I'm almost broke down, but I'll call up
Bob, an' you must go right away. Don't you see it won't do?" She
snatched a key out of her pocket. "Come," she says. "Mercy, what a
risk!" I had took off my glasses and laid 'em down on the table by the
bed. I picked up the black veil I had dropped on the chair, and jest
as she went to take the key out of the hall-door--she had to turn her
back to do it--I went to the table and took up my glasses, and tried
to ketch that poor boy's eye and make him a sign; but, my! he laid
there with his eyes shet, an' sech a look of misery upon his poor
face, an' all at once it struck me that I hadn't spoke once, an' that
he hadn't noticed the trumpet till the woman come in, and then he
thought he'd been a-beggin' help of a deef woman. But I hadn't no
chance then, an' as soon as she'd picked out the key, she says, "I'll
have to let yer out front. It won't do to risk your being seen coming
out by any other way."
'The way was clear when I got out; but I most dreaded meeting one of
them men som'ers, and I jest started straight to find you.'
'One moment,' I said hurriedly, as she now ceased. 'You spoke of Miss
Jenrys--why did you think of going to her?'
'Why, she was nearest of anybody, an' I thought you was as likely as
not to be there.'