IX

Mr. Barnes walked rapidly, revolving in his mind the new ideas which had

entered it during the past few minutes. Before this morning he had

imagined that the body of Rufus Quadrant had been taken away between

five and six o'clock, in the undertaker's wagon. But it had never

occurred to him that this same wagon could have been driven back to the

house at any hour of the day or night, without causing the policeman on

that beat to suspect any wrong. Thus, suddenly, an entirely new phase

had been placed upon the situation. Before, he had been interested in

knowing which man had been left behind; whether it had been Morgan or

Randal. Now he was more anxious to know whether the wagon had been taken

again from the stable on that night, and, if so, by whom. Consequently

he went first to the undertaker's shop, intending to interview Mr.

Berial, but that gentleman was out. Therefore he spoke again with

Randal, who recognized him at once and greeted him cordially.

"Why, how do you do," said he. "Glad you're round again. Anything turned

up in the Quadrant case?"

"We are getting at the truth slowly," said the detective, watching his

man closely. "I would like to ask you to explain one or two things to me

if you can."

"Maybe I will, and maybe not. It wouldn't do to promise to answer

questions before I hear what they are. I ain't exactly what you would

call a fool."

"Did you not tell me that it was Morgan who was left at the house after

the coffin was closed, and that you came away with Mr. Berial?"

"Don't remember whether I told you or not. But you've got it straight."

"But they say at the stables that it was you who drove the wagon back

there?"

"That's right, too. What of it?"

"But I understood that Morgan brought the wagon back?"

"So he did; back here to the shop. He had to leave all our tools and

things here, you see. Then he went off to his dinner, and I took the

horse and wagon round to the stables."

"Where do you stable?"

"Harrison's, Twenty-fourth Street, near Lex."

"Now, another matter. You told me about the loss of those rings?"

"Yes, and I gave you the tip where you might find them again. Did you go

there?"

"Yes; you were right. The rings were pawned exactly where you sent me."

"Oh, I don't know," said the fellow, airishly. "I ought to be on the

police force, I guess. I can find out a few things, I think."

"It isn't hard to guess what you know," said the detective, sharply.

"What do you mean?" Randal was on the defensive at once.

"I mean," said Mr. Barnes, "that it was you who pawned those rings."

"That's a lie, and you can't prove it."

"Don't be too sure of that. We have the pawn tickets."

This shot went home. Randal looked frightened, and was evidently

confused.

"That's another lie," said he, less vigorously. "You can't scare me. If

you have got them, which you haven't, you won't find my name on them."

"No; you used your friend Morgan's name, which was a pretty low trick."

"Look here, you detective," said Randal blusteringly, "I don't allow no

man to abuse me. You can't talk that way to me. All this talk of yours

is rot. That's what it is, rot!"

"Look here, Randal. Try to be sensible if you can. I have not yet made

up my mind whether you are a scoundrel or a fool. Suppose you tell me

the truth about those tickets. It will be safest, I assure you."

Randal looked at the detective and hesitated. Mr. Barnes continued:

"There is no use to lie any longer. You were shadowed, and you were seen

when you tore up the tickets. The pieces were picked up and put

together, and they call for those rings. Don't you see we have you fast

unless you can explain how you got the tickets?"

"I guess you're givin' it to me straight," said Randal after a long

pause. "I guess I better take your advice and let you have it right. One

afternoon I saw Morgan hide something in one of the coffins in the shop.

He tucked it away under the satin linin'. I was curious, and I looked

into it after he'd gone that night. I found the pawn tickets. Of course

I didn't know what they were for except that it was rings. But I guessed

it was for some stuff he'd stolen from the corpse of somebody. For it

was him took the other jewels I told you about, and I seen him with a

screw-driver the match to the boss's. So I just slipped the tickets in

my pocket thinkin' I'd have a hold on him. Next day I read about this

man bein' found in the river, and I stopped to the Morgue, and, just as

I thought, his rings was gone. I worried over that for an hour or two,

and then I thought I better not keep the tickets, so I tore them up and

threw them away."

"That, you say, was the night after this affair was published in the

papers?"

"No; it was the same night."

"That is to say, the night of that day on which I came here and had a

talk with you?"

"No, it was the night before. You're thinkin' about the mornin' papers,

but I seen it first in the afternoon papers."

This statement dispelled a doubt which had entered the mind of the

detective, who remembered that Mr. Burrows had told him that the

pawn-ticket incident had occurred on the evening previous to their

meeting. This explanation, however, tallied with that, and Mr. Barnes

was now inclined to credit the man's story.

"Very good," said he. "You may be telling the truth. If you have nothing

to do with this case, you ought to be willing to give me some

assistance. Will you?"

Randal had been so thoroughly frightened that he now seemed only too

glad of the chance to win favor in the eyes of Mr. Barnes.

"Just you tell me what you want, and I'm your man," said he.

"I want to find out something at the stable, and I think you can get the

information for me better than I can myself."

"I'll go with you right away. The boy can mind the shop while we're

gone. Charlie, you just keep an eye on things till I get back, will

you? I won't be out more'n ten minutes. Come on, Mr. Barnes, I'm with

you."

On the way to the stable Mr. Barnes directed Randal as to what he wished

to learn, and then at his suggestion waited for him in a liquor saloon

near by, while he went alone to the stable. In less than ten minutes

Randal hurried into the place, flushed with excitement and evidently

bubbling over with importance. He drew the detective to one side and

spoke in whispers.

"Say," said he, "you're on the right tack. The wagon was out again that

night, and not on any proper errand, neither."

"Tell me what you have learned," said Mr. Barnes.

"Of course the night watchman ain't there now, but Jimmy, the day

superintendent, is there, and I talked with him. He says there was some

funny business that night. First I asked him about the wagon bein' out

or not, and he slaps his hand on his leg, and he says: 'By George!' says

he, 'that's the caper. Didn't you put that wagon in its right place when

you brung it in that afternoon?' he says to me. 'Of course,' says I;

'where do you think I'd put it?' 'Well,' says he, 'next mornin' it was

out in the middle of the floor, right in the way of everything. The boys

was cussin' you for your carelessness. I wasn't sure in my own mind or I

would have spoke; but I thought I seen you shove that wagon in its right

place.' 'So I did,' says I, 'and if it was in the middle of the stable,

you can bet it was moved after I left. Now who moved it?' 'I don't

know,' says he, 'but I'll tell you another thing what struck me as odd.

I didn't have nothin' particular to do that night, and I dropped in for

an hour or so to be sociable like with Jack'--that's the night watchman.

'While I was there,' he goes on, 'while I was there, who should come in

but Jerry Morgan! He didn't stop long, but he took us over to the saloon

and balled us off'--that means he treated to drinks. 'Next day I come

round about six o'clock as usual,' says Jimmy, goin' on, 'and there was

Jack fast asleep. Now that's the fust time that man ever dropped off

while on watch, and he's been here nigh on to five years. I shook him

and tried every way to 'waken him, but it didn't seem to do no good.

He'd kind of start up and look about dazed, and even talk a bit, but as

soon as I'd let up, he'd drop off again. I was makin' me a cup of

coffee, and, thinkin' it might rouse him, I made him drink some, and, do

you know, he was all right in a few minutes. At the time I didn't think

much about it, but since then I have thought it over a good deal, and,

do you know what I think now?' 'No,' says I; 'what do you think?' 'I

think,' says he, 'I think that Jimmy was drugged, and if he was, Jerry

Morgan done the trick when he balled us off, and you can bet it was him

took that wagon out that night.' That's the story Jimmy tells, Mr.

Barnes, and it's a corker, ain't it?"

"It certainly is important," said Mr. Barnes.

Once more he had food for thought. This narrative was indeed important;

the drowsiness of the watchman and his recovery after drinking coffee

suggested morphine. The detective likewise recalled the story of the

butler who claimed that he had seen Mark Quadrant asleep while he was

supposed to be guarding the coffin. Then, too, there was the empty paper

which had once held some powder, and which he had himself found in the

room where Mark Quadrant had slept. Had he too been drugged? If so, the

question arose, Did this man Morgan contrive to mix the morphine with

something which he thought it probable that the one sitting up with the

corpse would drink, or had Amos given his brother the sleeping-potion?

In one case it would follow that Morgan was the principal in this

affair, while in the other he was merely an accomplice. If his hand

alone managed all, then it might be that he had a deeper and more potent

motive than the mere removal of the body to avoid cremation, the latter

being a motive which the detective had throughout hesitated to adopt

because it seemed so weak. If Morgan substituted another body for the

one taken from the coffin, then the statement of Mr. Mitchel that a body

had been cremated was no longer a discrepancy. There was but one

slightly disturbing thought. All the theorizing in which he now indulged

was based on the assumption that Randal was not deceiving. Yet how could

he be sure of that? Tom Burrows would have said to him: "Mr. Barnes,

that fellow is lying to you. His story may be true in all except that it

was himself and not Morgan who did these things." For while he had

thought it best to let Randal go alone to the stable to make inquiries,

this had placed him in the position of receiving the tale at

second-hand, so that Randal might have colored it to suit himself. For

the present, he put aside these doubts and decided to pursue this clue

until he proved it a true or false scent. He dismissed Randal with an

injunction to keep his tongue from wagging, and proceeded to the house

of the man Morgan, regretting now that he had not done so before.

The tenement on Eleventh Avenue was one of those buildings occupying

half a block, having stores on the street, with narrow, dark, dismal

hallways, the staircases at the farther end being invisible from the

street door, even on the sunniest days, without a match. Overhead, each

hallway offered access to four flats, two front and two back, the doors

being side by side. These apartments each included two or three rooms

and what by courtesy might be called a bathroom, though few indeed of

the tenants utilized the latter for the purpose for which it had been

constructed, preferring to occupy this extra space with such of their

impedimenta as might not be in constant use.

When one enters a place of this character asking questions, if he

addresses any of the adults he is likely to receive scant information in

reply. Either these people do not know even the names of their

next-door neighbors, or else, knowing, they are unwilling to take the

trouble to impart the knowledge. The children, however, and they are as

numerous as grasshoppers in a hayfield, not only know everything, but

tell what they know willingly. It is also a noteworthy fact that amidst

such squalor and filth, with dirty face and bare legs, it is not

uncommon to find a child, especially a girl, who will give answers, not

only with extreme show of genuine intelligence, but, as well, with a

deferential though dignified courtesy which would grace the

reception-rooms of upper Fifth Avenue.

It was from such an urchin, a girl of about twelve, that Mr. Barnes

learned that Jerry Morgan had lived on the fifth floor back.

"But he's gone away, I guess," she added.

"Why do you think so?" asked Mr. Barnes.

"Oh, 'cause he ain't been in the saloon 'cross the way for 'bout a week,

and he didn't never miss havin' his pint of beer every night 's long 's

he 's been here."

"Do you think I could get into his room?" asked Mr. Barnes.

"I could get you our key, an' you could try," suggested the girl. "I

reckon one key will open any door in this house. It's cheaper to get

locks in a bunch that way, I guess, an' besides, poor folks don't get

robbed much anyhow, an' so they ain't got no 'casion to lock up every

time they go out. What little they've got don't tempt the robbers, I

guess. Maybe the 'punushment fits the crime' too quick."

"'The punishment fits the crime,' you think," said Mr. Barnes with a

smile. "Where did you get that from?"

"Oh, I seen the Mikado oncet," said the girl rather proudly. "But I

didn't mean what you said; I said it fits 'too quick'; that's too snug,

you know, though sometimes it's 'quick' too. You see, I guess they don't

get enough out of flats like these to pay for the risk."

"You are quite a philosopher," said Mr. Barnes, approvingly. "Now run

and get the key, and we will see whether it fits or not."

She hurried upstairs, and was awaiting Mr. Barnes, with the key in her

hand, when he reached the third landing. This she gave to him, and then

followed him up the remaining flights, where she pointed out the door

which led into Morgan's flat. The key was not needed, as the door was

not locked, and the detective pushed it open and entered. The room

seemed bare enough, what little furniture there was being too evidently

the product of a second-hand furniture store. There seemed little hope

of finding anything helpful to his investigation in this room, yet the

detective, with his usual thoroughness, examined every drawer, and every

corner or crevice in which anything might have been hidden, or have been

accidentally dropped, and at last he did discover something which more

than repaid him.

In the darkest corner of the dark closet, where perhaps it had dropped

unperceived, he found an old vest, of no value in itself. But a search

of the pockets brought an exclamation of gratification to the

detective's lips, as from one of them he drew forth a folded paper still

containing a whitish powder. Mr. Barnes was certain that this powder was

morphine, and at length he felt his feet on solid ground in trailing the

criminal. No longer need he doubt Randal. His story of the probable

drugging of the night watchman at the stable now became not only

credible, but probable. Thinking that he might gain something by further

questioning the girl, Mr. Barnes said:

"Why, here is some medicine! Perhaps he was sick and has gone away for

his health."

With the keen intelligence of her class, the girl replied:

"Some folks go away for their health without bein' sick."

"How do you mean?"

"When it gets so it ain't healthy for them to stay in town, you know."

"You mean for fear of the police?"

"Sure! What else?"

"But do you think that this man Morgan would do anything that would make

him afraid of meeting a policeman?"

"Oh, I don't know. But 'birds of a feather flock together,' you know.

One of his pals was pinched, and he's workin' for the country now, on

the Island."

"Who was that?" Mr. Barnes did not regret the time spent in talking with

this observing youngster.

"I don't know his right name. They called him Billy the Red, over to the

saloon."

Mr. Barnes started. This was a clue indeed. This was a well-known

criminal whom she had named; one who had earned his sobriquet by killing

two men in a barroom fight, when he had been one of the celebrated Whyo

gang. If Morgan consorted with such as he, there could be little doubt

as to his social status.

"You say Billy the Red was one of Morgan's pals. Did he have any others

that you know of?" Mr. Barnes continued.

"Well, he used to be with him most till he went up, but lately he's been

travellin' with Tommy White."

"Where can I find him; do you know?"

"Better look him up on the Island, too, I guess. He ain't been round

here for quite some days."

"Perhaps he does not come because Morgan is away?"

"Oh, no, that can't be, 'cause he stopped showin' up before Morgan left.

The neighbors was beginnin' to wonder and talk, just 'bout the time

Morgan skipped. You see, Tommy White he lived right next door, in the

next flat, him and Nellie."

"Ah, he had a wife?"

"I don't know about that. She was his girl anyway, though some thought

Morgan was sweet on her too."

Mr. Barnes thought the fog was lifting.

"Where is this Nellie now?"

"You can search me! She's gone too. The hull three has skipped out."

"What, all three at the same time?"

"No, that's the funny part of it. That's what makes folks talk. You see,

we didn't see nothin' of Tommy White for two or three days, but Nellie

she was round all right. But when Morgan he cut it, Nellie she lit out

too."

"Let me get this right, my girl. And mind you make no mistake, for this

is important."

"I ain't makin' no mistakes, mister. I'm givin' it to you dead right,

and that's more 'n you'd get out of anybody else in this castle. But

I've got my reasons, and," this she added with a sly wink, "you ain't

fooled me any, you know. You're a detective, that's what you are."

"What makes you think so?"

"Oh, there ain't much to guess. People dressed like you don't come to a

place like this and nose into another man's rooms just for amusement.

Not much they don't. It's business with you."

"Well, never mind that. Tell me, are you sure that White disappeared

first, and that the girl was here afterwards, but that she has not been

seen since Morgan went away?"

"That's right. You got it straight the first time. Now what do you make

of it? I know my own opinion."

"Suppose you tell me your opinion first," said Mr. Barnes, anxious to

hear her answer.

"Well," said the girl, "it's very simple, what I think. I think Tommy's

been done for."

"Done for?" Mr. Barnes comprehended her meaning but preferred to have

her speak more plainly.

"Yes, done for, that's what I said. They've put him out of the way,

those two. And if that's right, it's a shame, 'cause Tommy was a good

fellow. It was him took me to the theatre, that time when I seen the

Mikado."

Evidently this one visit to a theatre had been an event in her weary

little life, and the man who had given her that bit of pleasure and had

afforded her that one glimpse of what she would have described as the

"dressed-up folks," had by that act endeared himself to her childish

heart. If he had been injured, her little soul longed for vengeance, and

she was ready to be the instrument which might lead Justice to her

victim.

Mr. Barnes began to believe that the solution of this mystery was near

at hand. He left the building, thanking the child for what she had told

him, and promising to find out what had become of her friend Tommy

White. Crossing the street he entered the saloon where the girl had told

him that Morgan had been in the habit of buying his daily pint of beer.

By talking with the bartender he hoped to elicit further information.

The gentlemanly dispenser of liquid refreshment, whose constant boast

was that he knew how to manufacture over three hundred different mixed

drinks without using any intoxicant, stood beside the mahogany counter,

polishing up the glasses, which he piled in an imposing pyramid on the

shelf at the back, where the display was made doubly attractive by the

plate mirror behind. His hair was scrupulously brushed and his short

white coat was immaculately clean. Fortunately there was no one else in

the place, so that the detective was afforded a good opportunity for

free conversation. He asked for a Manhattan cocktail, and admired the

dexterity with which the man prepared the drink. Raising it to his lips

and tasting it as a connoisseur might, Mr. Barnes said:

"Could not be better at the Waldorf."

"Oh, I don't know," said the fellow, deprecatingly, but pleased at the

implied compliment.

"Your face is very familiar to me," said Mr. Barnes; "have you ever met

me before?"

"Never in my life," said the bartender, without the slightest change of

expression.

"That's odd," said Mr. Barnes, pursuing the point with a purpose; "I am

pretty good at faces. I seldom forget one, and just as seldom make a

mistake. I would almost swear I have seen you before."

"I was tending bar at the Astor House for two years. Perhaps you saw me

there," suggested the man.

"Ah, that is it," said Mr. Barnes, pretending to accept this

explanation; "I often take my luncheon there. By the way, I suppose you

are pretty well acquainted around the neighborhood?"

"Oh, I know a few people," said the man, cautiously.

"You know Tommy White, of course?"

"Do I?"

"Don't you?"

"I might, without knowing his name. Our customers don't all leave their

cards when they buy a drink. I don't know your name, for instance."

"Yes, but I do not live in the neighborhood. White must come here

often."

"Well, he hasn't been in lately," said the bartender, and then stopped

short as he noted the slip that he had made. The detective did not

choose to appear to notice it, but asked:

"That is the point. Isn't it odd that he should have disappeared?"

"Oh, I don't know. A man can go out of town if he wants to, I guess."

"Do you know that White went out of town?"

"No."

"Have you seen Tommy White since Jerry Morgan skipped?"

"See here! what the devil are you asking me all these questions for? Who

are you, anyway, and what are you after?"

"I am Jack Barnes, detective, but I'm not after you, Joe Allen, alias

Fred Martin, alias Jimmy Smith, alias Bowery Bill, alias the Plug."

This sally left the man stolidly unmoved, but it affected his attitude

towards his questioner, nevertheless, as he sullenly answered:

"There's nothing you can get against me, so I don't scare even if you

know me. If you don't want me, what do you want?"

"Look here, Joe," said Mr. Barnes, in friendly, confidential tones, "a

bluff does not go with me, and you know it never did. Now why did you

not acknowledge that you knew me when I first came in?"

"What's the use of courtin' trouble? I wasn't sure you'd remember my

face. It's quite a time since we met."

"True. It is five years since that Bond Street affair, and you got three

years for that, if I remember rightly."

"Well, I served my time, didn't I? So that's ended, ain't it?"

"Yes. But what about that little business of the postage-stamp robbery

out in Trenton?"

"Why, I didn't have no hand in that."

"Well, two of your pals did, and when they were caught and sent up they

were square enough not to peach on you. The Mulberry Street crowd did

not know how thick you were with those boys, or you might have got into

trouble. But I knew, and you know that I knew."

"Well, what if you did? I tell you I wasn't in that."

"You would not like to be obliged to prove where you were that night,

would you?"

"Oh, I suppose it's always hard to prove I was one place, when fellows

like you go on the stand and swear I was somewhere else. So, as I said

before, what's the use of courtin' trouble?"

"Now you are sensible, and as I said, I am not after you. All I want is

some information. Give me another cocktail, and have one yourself."

"Thanks, I will. Go ahead with your catechism; I'll answer so long as

you don't try to make me squeal on any of my friends. I'd go up before

I'd do that. And you know that."

"That's all right. I know you're square, and that is why I feel sure you

would not be mixed up in a murder."

"Murder?"

This time the fellow was frightened. How could he be sure that this

detective was not trying to entrap him? How could he know positively

that he had not been accused by some pal who wished to shift

responsibility from himself to another? This is the Damocles sword that

ever hangs over the head of the wrong-doer. His most chosen companions

may either tell of what he has done, or accuse him of crime which he has

not committed.

"I am afraid so. But what are you worrying over? Did I not tell you that

you are not in it? Listen to me, Joe. This Jerry Morgan has skipped out

of town, and it looks as though he took Tommy White's girl Nellie with

him. Now, where is Tommy White?"

"I don't know a thing. I swear I don't."

"Yes, you do. You do not know what has become of him, but you know

something. Morgan isn't any pal of yours, is he?"

"No."

"Very well. Then why not tell me what you know? If he has done anything

to White, he ought not to go free, ought he? You do not stand in with

murder, do you?"

"No, I don't. But how do I know there's been any murder?"

"You don't know it, but since I suggested it to you, you think so. I see

that in your face. Now, what do you know?"

"Well, I don't know much, but what I know I don't want used to make

another fellow go to the chair."

"That is no affair of yours. You are not responsible for what the law

does. Come, I have no more time to waste. Tell me what you know, or say

right out that you will not. Then I will know what to do."

The implied threat decided the man, and without further attempt at

evasion he said:

"Well, I suppose there ain't any use my runnin' any risk for a man

that's nothin' to me. It's this way: Morgan's an old-time crook--I

suppose you know that?" Mr. Barnes nodded, although this was news to

him. Allen continued: "He's been at it since he was a kid. Was in the

reformatory, and learned more there about crooked work in a year than he

would have picked up in ten outside. He's never done time, though, since

he graduated from that institution. Learned enough, I guess, to keep

out of sight of your crowd. Two years ago he moved into this

neighborhood and since then I've seen him in here a good deal. He took

up with Tommy White--a young fellow that would have lived straight only

he was in bad company, and was railroaded with a gang for a job he

really had no hand in. That settled him. When he came out of Sing Sing

he wasn't likely to go for a straight job at a dollar a day, when he

could lay around idle and pick up a good thing every now and then that

would keep him going. I guess he and Morgan done a good many jobs

together; anyway, they never was short of money. One thing was funny

about those two--nobody ever seen them in the daytime. They used to say

they was 'workin',' but that didn't go with the crowd that hangs out

here. Neither Morgan nor White would work if they could help it. They

was just like brothers, those two, till White took up with this girl

Nellie. I think Morgan was jealous of his luck from the first, 'cause

the girl is a peach. One of your real blondes, without no bleachin'

stuff. She's got a skin like velvet, and hands and feet like a lady.

White soon found out that his pal was sweet on the girl, and many a time

they've rowed over her. Finally, about two weeks ago the two of them was

in here, and they was drinkin' pretty hard and just ready for a scrap,

when the girl comes in. Morgan goes up to her and puts his arm round her

and kisses her plump. White was mad in a minute, but he turned on her

instead of him and he says, says he: 'Nellie, I want you to hammer that

duffer over the head for doin' that,' and he picks up a beer glass and

hands it to her. Nellie she takes the glass, and she says: 'I've heard

of a kiss for a blow,' she says, 'but a blow for a kiss is a new one on

me. It ain't that way in the Bible, Tommy, so I guess if you want any

hammerin' done, you'd better do it yourself. I'm thinkin' of joinin' the

Salvation Army, you know.' This made Morgan and the crowd laugh, and

White got fierce. He snatched the glass out of Nellie's hand and made

for Morgan. But Morgan he ducks and lets White go by him, and he picks

up a beer glass too; then when White came for him again he landed a

terrible blow with the glass right back of White's ear. Tommy went down

in a heap and lay on the ground quiverin'. The whole thing happened so

quick nobody could interfere. Morgan got sober in a second, I tell you,

and he was scared. Everybody crowded round, and the girl she was a

wonder. You'd think bein' a woman she'd cry and make a fuss? Not a bit

of it. She got some ice and put it on White's head, and threw water in

his face, and she puts her ear down to his heart, and then she looks up

after a bit, and she says, as cool as could be: 'Boys, he's only

stunned. He'll come round all right. Some of you help get him home, and

I'll look after him. He'll sleep off his liquor and he won't know what

hurt him when he wakes in the mornin'.' Well, Morgan and the others they

did what she said. They took White up and carted him over to his flat,

and put him to bed. My! but he was limp, and his face was that blue it's

been before me ever since."

"Did White get over that blow?"

"That's the point. Nellie and Morgan said he did; that he was a bit sore

next day and had a headache. That was likely enough. But when you talked

about murder a while ago, I admit I got scared, cause White's never been

seen since that night."

"You are sure of that?"

"Dead sure. Nellie said he was gone out of town, and the boys swallowed

the story. But when both Morgan and Nellie skipped it looked bad, and

folks began to talk. As for me, I've been nervous for days. Why, when

that body was picked out of the river I just couldn't keep away from the

Morgue. I just had to have a peep at it. I was sure it would be White,

and that Morgan had pitched him over. My, but wasn't I glad to see it

was another man!"

Assuring Allen that his story would not be used in any way that would

bring him into conflict with the authorities, Mr. Barnes left the saloon

and went to his office, feeling that at last this problem had been

solved. Evidently White had died of his wound, and when Morgan learned

that the coffin of Mr. Quadrant was not to be opened before it was

consigned to the crematory, he had conceived one of the most ingenious

schemes ever devised for disposing of a murdered body. By placing White

in the coffin and allowing his body to be incinerated, all traces of

his crime would seem to have been obliterated. To accomplish this it was

necessary to have the use of the undertaker's wagon, and this he had

managed by drugging the watchman, as well as Mark Quadrant. The transfer

made, he was still left with the other body, and his disposition of that

was the most ingenious part of the plan. By throwing the corpse of Rufus

Quadrant into the water he apparently took little risk. It could not be

recognized as White of course, and if correctly identified a mystery

would be created that ought to baffle the detectives, however clever

they might be. Mr. Barnes felt that he had been fortunate, to learn so

much from such unpromising clues.

At his office he found a telegram and a letter, both bearing on the

case. The telegram was from Mr. Burrows, and informed him that Morgan

had been captured in Chicago, and would be in New York on the following

day. This was more than gratifying, and Mr. Barnes mentally praised the

young detective. The letter was from Mr. Mitchel, and read:

"FRIEND BARNES:

"At last I have fathomed the Quadrant mystery. Will drop in

on you about noon to-morrow and tell you how the affair was

managed. You will be surprised, I am sure.

"MITCHEL."

"Will I?" said Mr. Barnes to himself.

X

Mr. Burrows arrived at the offices of Mr. Barnes about eleven o'clock on

the following morning, which much pleased the older detective, who

wished to have his case complete before the arrival of Mr. Mitchel.

"Well, Tom," said Mr. Barnes, cordially, "so you have caught your man

and brought him back?"

"Did I not promise you that I would?" replied Mr. Burrows.

"Yes, but even a cleverer man than yourself cannot always hope to keep

such a promise. Do you know that this fellow, Morgan, is a professional

crook who has never been caught at his work before?"

"So he has told me," said Mr. Burrows, modestly refraining from any

boastfulness.

"He told you the truth in that instance, and I trust you have also

succeeded in getting a confession from him as to his connection with

this Quadrant matter?"

"He has pretended to make a clean breast of it, but of course we must

verify his story. One cannot place too much faith in the confessions of

a crook."

"Does he admit that he took the rings?"

"Yes, it seems you were right there."

"Does he explain how and why he took the body from the coffin?"

"On the contrary, he denies having done so."

"Then he lies," said Mr. Barnes. "I have not been idle since you went

away, but my tale will keep. Let me hear first what Morgan's alleged

confession amounts to."

"He admits that he stole the rings. He has a duplicate of that

screw-driver of which old Berial is so fond of bragging, and when he was

left alone with the body, he opened the coffin and took the rings, and,

in keeping with his limited standard of morals, he offers a rather

ingenious excuse for his act."

"I should like to hear a good excuse for robbing the dead."

"That is his point exactly. He says that as the dead cannot own

property, the dead cannot be robbed. As the family had declared that the

coffin was not to be opened again, Morgan says he considered the rings

as practically consigned to the furnace, and then he asks, 'What was the

use of seeing stuff like that burned up, when it was good money to me?'

It is a nice point, Mr. Barnes. If the owner elects to throw away or

destroy his property, can we blame a man for appropriating the same?"

"We may not be able to blame him, but we certainly have the power to

punish him. The law will not accept such sophistry as palliation for

crime. What else does the fellow admit?"

"The rest of his tale is quite interesting, and I think would surprise

you, unless, indeed, you have discovered the truth yourself."

"I think I could make a shrewd guess," said Mr. Barnes.

"Well, I wish you would tell me your story first. You see, after all, I

am the legally employed investigator of this matter, and I should like

to hear your story before telling mine, that I may be absolutely certain

that your results have been arrived at by a different line of work,

though of course you understand that I do not for a moment imagine that

you would intentionally color your story after hearing mine."

"I understand you perfectly, Tom," said Mr. Barnes, kindly, "and I am

not at all offended. You are right to wish to have the two stories

independently brought before your reasoning faculties. Morgan tells you

that he stole the rings in the afternoon. Perhaps he did, and perhaps he

took them later. It does not now seem to be material. The subsequent

facts, as I deduce them from the evidence, are as follows: Morgan had a

pal, who was sweet on a girl called Nellie. By the way, did you get any

trace of her?"

"She was with Morgan when I found him and she has come back with us."

"Good. Very good, It seems that Morgan also admired the girl, and that

finally he and his pal had a saloon fight over her, during which Morgan

struck the other man with a beer glass. This man fell to the floor

unconscious, and was taken to his home in that condition. He has not

been seen in the neighborhood since. Now we come to another series of

events. Morgan admits taking the rings. Suppose we accept his story. He

then left the house and drove the wagon back to the shop. Randal took

it from there to the stables, but later in the evening Morgan visited

the stables and induced the night watchman to take a drink. That drink

was drugged, and the drug was morphine. The watchman slept soundly, and

there is little doubt that while thus unconscious Morgan took the

undertaker's wagon out of the stable on some errand. There is an

interesting series of links in this chain which convicts Morgan of using

morphine to accomplish his purpose. First, it is nearly certain that the

watchman was drugged; second, a witness will testify that he found Mr.

Mark Quadrant sound asleep, when he was supposed to be watching the

coffin; third, I have taken from the pocket of a vest found in Morgan's

rooms a powder which a chemist declares is morphine. Is not that fairly

good evidence?"

"It is good evidence, Mr. Barnes, but it does not prove that Morgan took

that body from the coffin."

"What, then, does it show?"

"It makes him an accomplice at least. He undoubtedly drugged the

watchman and took the wagon out of the stables, but beyond that you can

prove nothing. You have not offered any motive that would actuate him in

stealing the body."

"The motive is quite sufficient, I assure you. His pal, whom he struck

down with the beer glass, and who has not been seen by his neighbors

since that night, must have died from the blow. It was his body that was

cremated."

Mr. Burrows shook his head, and seemed sorry to upset the calculations

of his old friend.

"I am afraid you cannot prove that," said he. "Tell me, what was the

name of this pal? Have you learned that?"

"Yes; Tommy White."

"Do you know him by any other name?"

"No; but as he is unquestionably a crook he probably has a dozen

aliases."

"One will suffice at present. Tommy White is none other than your

disinterested informant, Jack Randal."

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Barnes, recognizing instantly that if this were

true his whole edifice tumbled to the ground.

"Yes. I think that Morgan has told me a clean-cut story, though, as I

said before, we must verify it. You see, he is a crook and ready to

acquire other people's property, but I think he has a wholesome dread of

the electric chair that will keep him out of murder. He was at one time

a pal of Billy the Red, now in Sing Sing. After that fellow was put away

he took up with Tommy White, alias Jack Randal. Randal, it seems,

induced Morgan to join him in his nefarious schemes. The undertaker has

told you, perhaps, as he has told me, that he invented his patent coffin

because of numerous grave robberies that had occurred in one of the

cemeteries. He little suspected that the robbers were his two

assistants. These fellows would steal from the dead, while preparing the

bodies for burial, if it seemed safe, as, for example, was the case with

Mr. Quadrant, where it was known that the coffin was not again to be

opened. In other cases they would visit the grave together. Sometimes

they merely appropriated what jewelry there might be, but in not a few

instances they stole the bodies as well, disposing of them to medical

students."

"What a diabolical partnership!"

"Yes, indeed. Now, coming to the saloon fight, you are correct enough

except as to the results. White, or Randal, was unconscious during the

greater part of the night, and in the morning had but a dim recollection

of what had occurred. He understood, however, that his injury had been

the result of a fight with Morgan, and also that the girl Nellie had

'thrown him over,' to adopt the vernacular. He therefore left the

neighborhood, and though the two men continued to work for Berial, they

did not resume their friendship. White evidently was nursing his

grievances, and only awaited an opportunity to make trouble for his old

pal Morgan. This he hoped to accomplish by the information which he gave

to you."

"You will hardly expect me to believe that Morgan gave up his position

and left town without some better reason than a mere quarrel with his

pal, and a petty theft?"

"Morgan did not give up his position, nor did he leave town of his own

volition. He was sent away."

"Sent away? By whom?"

"By the principal in this case. I told you from the first that there

were two in it. He has admitted to me what I did not know, but what I

believe now because you tell me the same story. He confesses that he

drugged the watchman at the stables and then drove the wagon away. But

he denies that he either took Quadrant's body from the coffin, or indeed

that he drove the wagon to the Quadrant house. In fact, he says he was

paid to get the wagon unknown to the watchman, and that he was furnished

with the powders with which he was to drug the man."

"Am I to understand that one of the dead man's brothers hired Morgan to

do this?"

Mr. Barnes was thinking of his conversation with Amos Quadrant, during

which that gentleman had suggested that an undertaker's wagon might

approach the house at any hour without attracting attention. He was

consequently astonished by the younger detective's reply.

"No," said Mr. Burrows; "he does not implicate either of the Quadrants.

He declares that it was old Berial who hired him to do his part of the

job."