THE COTTAGE BEYOND THE HARLEM
Sometimes things do not run quite as smoothly as we hope for.
The best laid plans of mice and men often go wrong—there’s many a slip
‘twixt the cup and the lip.
So it happened on the present occasion.
It was all owing to a certain clock which had taken a notion to get ahead
of its fellows and was some ten minutes fast.
A lamp set Chicago on fire.
So this unlucky clock upset the beautiful plans of the wily detective, as
he believed, and came near leaving him in the lurch.
By chance he was down near the corner when suddenly he saw a female
hurrying that way.
A long cloak concealed her figure, but a handsome dress of white silk
peeped below—a heavy veil had been snatched up to hide her face and serve
in lieu of a hat at the same time.
Where she came from he hardly knew, but a terrible fear almost palsied
him.
It was Lillian!
She had come ahead of time—Joe would not be ready, and as a result
confusion must ensue.
Luckily the detective was a man able to grasp an emergency.
He never yet had seen the time when he was so taken by surprise that his
mind refused to do its work.
Just then there was need of quick thought, and action must follow on its
heels.
Hardly had the woman paused upon the corner than a dark figure sprang out
of the shadows near by.
“Paul!” she whispered.
“Good heavens! you are ten minutes ahead of time, darling. I would have
met you at the place appointed had—” the rush of a train drowned what
else he said.
Then the detective saw him assist the now shrinking figure toward the
carriage.
“He will be furious,” he heard her say, as she looked apprehensively
around, as though anticipating the appearance of an enraged husband on
the scene.
If these were her sensations now, what of the future—remorse must soon
kill her.
“He had better keep his hands off, or I will teach him a lesson! The
cowardly cur, to bully you so. Enter, darling—you are safe with me.”
Eric’s first impulse was for blood.
He felt strongly inclined to spring forward and grapple with this
boaster, who breathed such lies of Joe in his wife’s ears.
Then another thought came.
Such a public scene would immediately collect a crowd at the corner, and
Lillian’s name would be dragged in the dust.
The world has no mercy upon a woman who leaves her husband and runs away
with another man—the latter loses no caste, but she, poor creature, can
never climb up again.
That is the law of human justice—woman was given a nobler, purer nature
than man, and when she sins it is unpardonable.
It has been so ever since the world was, and will be the same always.
While Eric struggled between what he desired to do and what policy
dictated, the choice was taken from him altogether.
Fate decided.
Prescott had placed his charge in the hack and entered himself.
The driver slammed the door, and mounted nimbly to his box.
If Eric meant to act it must be now, or the chance was gone forever.
Already the vehicle was moving.
Now or never!
Obeying a sudden impulse to make the most of a bad bargain, he ran after
the hack.
It had not gained much headway as yet, and Eric caught on behind.
Here he conceived another one of those sudden fancies, and saw an
opportunity to climb up on top of the vehicle.
Fortunately for his purpose it presented good opportunities for such
gymnastic feats.
No one but a boy or an exceedingly agile man could have accomplished this
thing; but the detective certainly filled the bill so far as the latter
condition was concerned.
He pulled himself up—his feet secured a hold upon the springs, and his
hands grasped a clutch above.
Then he drew himself upon the top.
A few boys along the pavement noticed this but they only supposed this
was some peculiar way in which a man could gain a seat beside the driver.
Those inside were too busily engaged in exchanging confidences to notice
anything.
As for the jehu, he was so much taken up with his horses, avoiding
obstructions for which Third Avenue is notorious, that he never dreamed
of the odd passenger he had picked up, until Eric plumped down on the box
beside him.
“Great Scott! where did you drop from?” he ejaculated is dismay, looking
up as if he really suspected the unknown had rained down.
“Don’t worry yourself—I only climbed up over the back,” returned Eric
coolly.
“Then just you climb down again in a hurry, or I’ll toss you over,” and
the man, firing up after his sudden scare, looked ugly enough to carry
his threat into execution.
“Some other time, old fellow—just now this place suits me as well as any,
and here I stay.”
The rattle of the swiftly moving vehicle over the granite blocks would
prevent any one from hearing this interesting dialogue—the parties
interested were shouting in each other’s ears.
Perhaps there was something about Eric that aroused a spirit of animosity
in the other; but if so there must also have been that which warned him
to be exceedingly careful.
He showed signs of anger, and yet dared not raise his hand in open
rebellion
“What d’ye mean stealing a ride this way?”
“Just because I please. Look down here and you’ll see something.”
The quarrelsome jehu obeyed.
He looked—and wilted.
“Jupiter!”
This man was not the first who ever felt his courage ooze from his finger
ends at sight of a revolver.
“Understand me,” said the detective, sternly, “that is for you if you
give me any trouble.”
“A crazy man escaping—a burglar at large!”
“No, sir, a detective running down his game. We understand each other, I
hope. I want a ride on your vehicle, and if you give me any trouble I’ll
land you in the Tombs double quick as accessory to a murder.”
The word was quite enough.
It blanched the man’s cheeks and from that time on the detective knew he
would not have any trouble with him.
The horses were doing their prettiest.
To the surprise of the detective, instead of starting down Third Avenue,
the course was up it.
Evidently then the artist did not mean to go either to his studio or
lodgings.
He had other plans in view.
Now Eric was given a chance to think, and he improved it well.
So suddenly had this crisis been sprung upon the detective that he had
thus far only acted from impulse.
He must shape some sort of plan, in order to yet win the game.
Those inside the hack had not the slightest suspicion of his presence.
The rattle of the vehicle and their own agitation would prevent their
paying any attention to anything happening outside.
As the night air was cool, all the openings had the glass in them—this
was another point in the detective’s favor.
No doubt Paul Prescott was thrilled with the great victory he had won,
and believed nothing could keep him from accomplishing the end toward
which he had planned so long, little suspecting the danger hovering near.
On went the vehicle.
Harlem was gained, that new city that has of late years sprung up beside
the river, a part of New York, and yet really distinct from it.
Darrell had once more become the cool man as of yore, ready to grapple
with this burning question, and throttle the hydra headed monster that
had crossed the track of Joe Leslie’s wife.
He smiled to think what poor Joe must be doing just then—finding Lillian
really gone and the detective not on hand. Had he given the whole thing
away? Would all his guests know that his wife had deserted him for
another?
This was a possibility that made Eric grit his teeth and feel angry at
the peculiar chance that had cheated him of his prey. If things had only
worked as they should, the wheels would have gone along nicely. However,
Eric had learned long ago the folly of crying over spilt milk, and when a
disaster occurred he generally set about retrieving his fortunes as well
as possible.
They were nearing the Harlem.
Would the vehicle cross the bridge and proceed up into the country
beyond?
Pursuit—it was folly to think of any one being able to pursue them, at
least for some time to come, and a trail grows cold with waiting. No
wonder then the artist felt jolly.
He believed his plan had been a complete success, and that the prize was
his own.
Ah! the Harlem at last.
Those curved lines of lights indicated the bridge that stretched across.
The horses’ feet fall upon the planking—their course then was over the
river.
As for Eric, he was quite indifferent now whither they took him.
He had made up his mind to see this thing through and to save Lillian for
his friend and it did not matter whether the climax came to pass in the
city or country.
He meant it should be severe.
As Joe Leslie’s best friend he would teach this masher a lesson he would
never forget if he survived it. The driver once or twice tried to strike
up a conversation with him, but Eric ordered him to pay no attention to
anything but his horses. Then a thought coming to him, he told the man
that if the gentleman inside should notice his presence and demand to
know who he was, that the driver should claim him as a friend and let it
pass.
This the man said he would do—he had a horror of being concerned in a
murder trial, and this was what the other threatened him with.
They crossed the bridge and continued on—houses were plenty, gas lamps
dispelled the darkness at intervals, but at the same time there seemed to
be something of the country about them—the great metropolis with its two
millions of inhabitants, its bustle and electric lights lay behind them.
For a short time longer the night ride was continued, and then, to the
satisfaction of the detective, it ended.
They came to a quiet street.
The artist poked his head out of the window which he had dropped in the
door.
“To the left—first house you come to.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Hello, there! who the deuce have you with you, driver?” as he caught
sight of Eric.
“A friend, sir. Thought it’d be a lonely ride back, and took him for
company,” replied jehu.
“All right, I suppose.”
That was over then, and no damage done. Now for the next.
The hack drew up in front of a picturesque cottage, just back from the
road—as far as Eric could see it was bowered in vines and just the place
an artist might be supposed to select, if he used his artistic taste at
all.
Lights were in the rooms.
They must be expected.
Down jumped the driver—Eric followed close upon his heels, for he did not
mean to give the fellow any chance to betray him, and he knew it would be
human nature for the jehu to endeavor to warn his liberal patron.