AN INTRUDER IN THE HOME OF THE BATS.
We left Frank Mansfield standing in company with Detective Hook before
the fence of Trinity church-yard, beyond which moved the form of
the woman who had tracked his footsteps to the bank upon the night
previous--of his mother, whom both he and his companion knew to have
met her death in the upper room of the little rear house behind the
Donegal Shades.
It was for an instant only that the figure faced them.
Had the warning words spoken behind them proceeded from those pale, set
lips?
Such undoubtedly was the case.
And as if to make the matter still more plain, even as they gazed upon
the apparition through the palings of the graveyard fence, the words
were repeated again.
"Again I say to you, my son, seek not the parchment. Watch and wait,
for the day of vengeance is at hand."
Suddenly the figure of the woman had come to a halt.
Raising one thin hand aloft to the starlit sky above, these words
escaped her lips.
Then advancing with a gliding movement among the crumbling stones of
the old burial ground, the outline of her form seemed to fade away in
the darkness, to mingle with the shadows of the great church, of the
snow-capped tombs.
It was all the work of an instant. Not half the time was consumed in
the happening that has elapsed in telling the tale.
As though animated by a common thought, the detective and young Frank
Mansfield had leaped toward the church-yard wall.
The fence offered no obstacle.
They dropped in the snow among the headstones.
"After her, boy!" whispered Hook. "After her without an instant's
delay; there's some crooked work going on here, and it will go hard
with some one, but I'll find out what it is."
But Frank Mansfield did not heed him.
He no more believed in ghosts than did Caleb Hook.
If the woman by the side of whose dead body he had knelt in the house
on Catherine street had been his poor, insane mother, driven mad by
such a combination of afflictions as woman is seldom called upon to
bear, then who was this?
He needed no encouragement from the man by his side to spur him on to
solve the mystery for himself.
The day had been clear and more than unusually warm, causing the snow
to soften considerably, but as night had approached the thermometer had
fallen, forming a hard crust upon the smooth surface among the stones.
With a bound Frank reached the point in the church-yard at which the
apparition had appeared, Detective Hook pressing close behind.
It was unoccupied by human form.
The headstones were there, the shadows of the church were there, the
leafless branches of the great trees rattled gloomily above their heads.
But the woman whose warning words had fallen so plainly upon their ears
was nowhere to be seen.
She had disappeared--disappeared, leaving no trace behind.
There was not so much as the outline of her footsteps to be seen upon
the hardened crust of the snow.
"Come," whispered Hook, "this is the way she went, over toward the New
Church street wall. She cannot get out; there are but two gates, and
both are locked at night; it is twenty feet to the ground on the side
towards which she disappeared, to say nothing of the fence she would
have to climb."
They picked their way among the tombs to the rear of the church.
Here, in the cold starlight, the entire expanse of the church-yard was
plainly visible from the fence on the Rector street side to the wall of
the great Trinity Building at the upper end.
Not the faintest trace of the woman could be seen.
Footsteps there were in abundance, but the hardened crust had formed
over them, showing plainly that they were the footsteps of persons who
had passed over the snow some time before.
As it was Sunday, and service had been held in the Trinity Church twice
at least during the day, there was nothing strange in this.
A score of people might have amused themselves wandering about among
the moldering tombs, as the church-yard is free to all.
Detective Hook examined these footprints carefully.
Among them he recognized his own and those measured by him the night
before.
At one point he observed also many smaller than the rest, as though
made by the feet of boys; and these were particularly numerous in the
vicinity of a great flat tomb-stone, embedded apparently in the solid
earth, about which the snow had all been cleared away.
"Mr. Hook," whispered Frank, nervously, "what can this mean?"
"My boy, you have me there. I can't tell any more than yourself."
"It is very, very strange. I saw my mother as plainly as I see you now.
I heard her words spoken in her own voice."
"You are positive that it was your mother, Frank?" said the detective,
musingly, as he stood contemplating the great flat stone.
"Positive? Of course I am. It is almost enough to make me feel that I
am going mad myself. I should doubt my own vision, my hearing even, had
you not both seen and heard too."
"There is nothing to doubt," replied Hook with sudden emphasis, turning
his gaze at the same time upon the boy, who stood trembling with
excitement before him.
"What you saw I saw, what you heard was heard also by me. No, no, my
boy, there is no madness in this case. If you are positive that the
woman murdered in Catherine street was your mother, that the woman I
followed through the streets last night was your mother, then, although
I am an utter disbeliever in spiritual manifestations of all kinds, I
see but one conclusion to draw----"
As the detective paused, staring about the church-yard in deep
perplexity, Frank felt a shudder pass through his frame from his head
to his feet.
If the man by his side did not believe in ghosts, no more did he.
And yet----
Well, the woman seen by them both was gone, and that was all there was
to it.
The whole expanse of the rear of the Trinity church-yard, toward which
she had moved, now lay spread out before them.
If her gliding figure had vanished into thin air it could not have
disappeared more effectually than it had.
"Come," said Hook, abruptly moving at the same time toward the low wall
on the Rector street side, "there's no use in remaining longer; we
shall learn nothing here to-night."
Gaining the fence, he vaulted lightly to the street.
Frank, following his example, stood by his side.
"Well, which way are you going?" asked the detective. "I am tired, and
off for home."
"Oh, I stay with some friends to-night."
"Friends! What friends? Be careful. If we are going to work together,
you must follow my instructions to the letter. Are you sure of these
friends of yours? Won't they give you away?"
"I have no fear of that," replied the boy, quietly. "I've had some
experience with treacherous friends. I know that I can depend on these."
"Very well. Go to them, then, and meet me--let me see--you can meet me
to-morrow at my house at four o'clock, if you don't see me before that
time. Meanwhile, I'll keep this box and these papers, including your
grandfather's will. We'll lay out a regular course of action together
next time we meet. If we only had that parchment, the way would be
plain; but it seems that we are obliged to follow the advice we have
received so strangely to-night, whether we want to or not--to watch and
wait."
Pressing Frank warmly by the hand, Caleb Hook turned abruptly and
walked off up Broadway.
He did not look behind him, nor even turn his head.
Passing Trinity Church and the grave-yard beyond, his form was
presently lost to view among the high buildings which line either side
of the street.
And not until then did Frank Mansfield move from the place where the
detective had left him, but remained leaning against the iron fence at
the corner of Rector street and Broadway.
No sooner had Caleb Hook disappeared, than he turned, and keeping
close within the shadow of the wall, moved down Rector street in the
direction of New Church.
As he passed opposite the Webster Bank he turned and gazed upon it with
feelings of mingled shame and an utter despisal of himself.
If he had had no hand in the robbery, he had at least been ready to
betray the secrets of those who had trusted him for hope of paltry gain.
Within the banking-room lights were burning, and the boy could see his
fellow clerks poring over books and papers in the endeavor to discover
the extent of the bank's loss before opening for business next day.
Deeply depressed, and with a sense of utter self-contempt strong upon
him, Frank slunk by those lighted windows, and turning the corner of
New Church street, still keeping close to the grave-yard wall, paused
before the great iron door.
Leaning against it, he cast a hasty glance up and down.
The street was deserted. Not a soul was anywhere visible.
But stay!
It might have been fancy, but as he looked a second time it seemed to
the boy, in his excited state of mind, that a woman's form at that
moment turned the corner of Rector street upon the opposite side of the
way and disappeared from view.
Darting to the corner at the top of his speed, he swept the short
street at one glance.
That he had been mistaken was evident.
From Broadway above to the river front below not a living thing was to
be seen.
"If this thing keeps up I shall go mad myself," he muttered, brokenly.
"I see my dead mother now at every turn."
Pausing once more in front of the iron door in the church-yard wall,
he gave utterance to a peculiar bat-like cry.
Presently, as though from a great distance, the cry was repeated.
Whether from above or below no one could have told.
Indeed, it seemed as much as anywhere to come from out of the wall
itself.
Frank remained silently waiting.
Presently the great iron door swung slowly back, and a boy's head
appeared in the opening.
"Is that you, Frank Mansfield?"
"Yes. Is that you, Jerry Buck?"
"Slide in, young feller," said the boy, in a whisper. "I'm a-scart
to hold the door open long. After all that happened last night I'm
expecting every minute that some one will catch onto our hole in the
wall."
His sentence was completed within the old tomb itself, for Frank
had entered at the first word, the door being closed behind him and
securely barred.
"Come up to the den," said Jerry, leading the way up the steps. "Most
of the fellers is in to-night and are abed long ago. I know'd you'd
keep your promise and come, so me and Barney sat up to let you in."
Entering the inner apartment of the tomb, Frank found that the boy had
spoken the truth.
Barney the boot-black sat smoking a clay pipe by the side of the table,
upon which was a loaf of bread and a mug.
"Hello! I know'd you'd come!" said the bootblack, springing up. "Have
you had your supper? I kept some in case you didn't."
"Thank you. I've had all I want," replied Frank, sinking wearily
upon an old stool. "I'm tremendously obliged to you fellows for your
kindness to me. Mebbe I shall be able to return it some of these days."
"That's all right," put in Jerry Buck. "If I can help any friend of
Barney's, I'm glad to do it."
"Hush!" cried Barney, holding up his finger warningly as Frank was
about to reply. "Jerry, as true as I live there's some one up above. I
didn't hear no signal, did you?"
The three boys stood motionless.
Above their heads, at the top of the ladder, down which Frank had seen
the two boys descend upon the occasion of his first visit to the tomb,
a grating sound was heard--such a sound as might be made by the rising
of a tightly-fitting trap-door.
At the same instant two feet were seen upon the top round of the
ladder, which, descending, were followed by the legs and body of a man.
"Twigged at last, by thunder!" exclaimed Jerry Buck, uttering a warning
cry, which had the effect of instantly arousing several sleeping boyish
forms stretched upon pieces of old carpet at various angles upon the
floor.
At the same instant a man sprang from the ladder and stood in their
midst.
"Good-evening, boys," he said, quietly. "So this is where you hang out?
Upon my word, now, it ain't half a bad place. I've slept in many a
worse one myself."