The Spruce Street Tragedy; or, Old Spicer Handles a Double Mystery

Old Spicer was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not think to ask his conductor where he was taking him, and so he was greatly surprised when he once more found himself before the hotel where he had listened to the conversation between Emory E. Bissell and Barney and Jake.

"What!" he exclaimed, "is Killett here?"

"Yes," was the reply.

"What is he doing here?"

"We followed Chamberlain to this hotel; we heard him ask for E. E. Bissell, and on his being informed that the gentleman was out, heard him say that he would go up to his room and wait for him there. We saw him enter room No. 24, and heard him lock the door. Then one of us remained here to watch, while the other went back to report to Killett."

"But Quackenbush – where's Quackenbush?"

"Here I am, sir," answered that detective, suddenly coming up.

"You were left here to watch Bissell?"

"Yes, sir."

"You haven't lost sight of him?"

"Hardly for a moment."

"He left the hotel soon after his visitors went away?"

"Yes, sir."

"You followed him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where did he go to?"

"To several places of no great importance, and finally he fetched round to the hotel again."

"How long ago was that?"

"Just now; he has just gone up to his room."

Old Spicer turned to the other detective.

"Where is Killett?" he asked.

"In room 36," was the reply.

"Ah! he saw that was his best chance to learn what was passing in 24. I wonder how he happened to tumble to that racket."

"I suspect the landlord put him up to it."

"No doubt. I had forgotten I told him what I wanted of the key. I think I'll go up to 36 at once. And you gentlemen be on hand in the neighborhood of 24, in case we may want you."

"All right, sir," and the three detectives ascended the first flight of stairs in company.

At the landing Quackenbush and the other detective left Old Spicer and placed themselves in the vicinity of Bissell's room. The old man ascended to the third floor, and, hastening to No. 36, knocked on the door.

"Who's there?" came in a low whisper from the other side.

"It's me, Adam – Old Spicer."

"Thank goodness!" and the door was hastily opened and the old detective admitted.

"I'm mighty glad you've come," whispered Killett, "you're just in time. Chamberlain has been waiting in the room under this ever since I've been here; but the man he came to see was out and has only just returned."

"I am fortunate, then," said Old Spicer.

"Yes, jump up on the table and mount one of the chairs."

Old Spicer did so, while Killett took possession of the other chair.

In another moment they were listening at the ventilator.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAMBERLAIN'S MYSTERIOUS FRIEND – A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE

"Of course, I'm making myself at home here," Chamberlain was saying. "Why shouldn't I, I'd like to know?"

"Well," returned another voice – Bissell's – "the fact is, when a gentleman goes out, he likes to feel that his private room is held sacred, even by his friends. I don't see what the landlord could have been thinking of to let you come up here."

"Why, he knew me – knew that whenever you were stopping here I had been in the habit of coming and going as I pleased; and so, when I told him I was tired and would like to come up here and rest while waiting for you, he made no objection. That's how it was."

"Well, I don't know that any great damage has been done this time, but I wish, Hen, as a general thing, you'd keep out of my room when I am not in it."

"Look here, Em Bissell, ain't you putting on more frills than your shirt front'll carry?"

"I fancy I know my business, sir. And now permit me to ask to what fortunate circumstance I am indebted for the pleasure of your company to-day?"

"Thunder! What's come over you, Em? Don't your food agree with you, man?"

"I'm all right; but to be plain with you, I should like to be alone."

"Oho! that's the way the wind sets, is it? Well, so far as I'm concerned, you'll be alone pretty blamed sudden. We've a little matter of business to transact first, however."

"What is it – if I may ask?"

"What is it! You know blamed well what it is. Just fork over that money I gave you the other day."

"Money? What money?"

"Look here, Em Bissell, don't you undertake to play any of your funny business on me. I gave you $22,000 on Monday to keep for me. I want it now, and by the Eternal! I'll have it, if I have to cut your black heart out to get it!"

Old Spicer turned to Killett, and a look of deep meaning passed between them.

"Move from your tracks, or lift a finger, Hen Chamberlain, and I ring this bell," exclaimed Bissell hastily, "and as sure as I do, I give you up as a murderer!"

"Pshaw! what do I care for your cursed bell and your threats? There's a dozen ways out of this hotel, and before a man could get to the top of one flight of stairs, I'd be at the bottom of another, and lost in the crowd on the avenue."

"Well, sir, if you are not out of this room inside of two minutes, you will have a chance to try that experiment provided you're alive to try it."

"Oho! you threaten my life, do you? See here, Bissell, before we go any further, just tell me why you have pretended to take such an interest in me during all these years; why you have nursed all my evil inclinations; why you have tempted me to commit crime after crime, and why, now that I have, at your suggestion, committed one that puts a noose about my neck, you turn against me?"

"Why does any man do such things?"

"From self-interest, I suppose, or, perhaps more often, to revenge some wrong."

"Exactly, and those two are the motives that have influenced me."

"But great Scott! man – I never injured you."

"Personally, you have not."

"Then what do you want to bring me to ruin for?"

"I want to strike another through you."

"Who, in the fiend's name?"

"Who do you suppose?"

"I can't think. There are but two persons on earth who care a tinker's button what becomes of me."

"And who are those two?"

"My father and mother."

"Who do you mean when you say your father and mother?"

"Why, Henry A. Chamberlain and his wife."

"The worthy couple who live at No. 10 Franklin Street, New Haven?"

"Certainly."

"Do you really think they are your father and mother?"

"They are all the father and mother I have ever known."

"Ha! ha! Well, I might tell you that they are no more your parents than they are mine. I might tell you that your name is not Chamberlain, but Curtis. I might tell you that there are certain persons – one in particular – who are deeply interested in your welfare. But what's the use? I will only tell you that there is one person whom, for years, it has been my aim and purpose to crush; that I saw I could best accomplish my end by striking at you; that, therefore, I sought you out when you were but a mere lad at Eton school; that I took you in hand and led you, step by step, to – "

"The devil! I see it all now, curse you!"

"Ah! you do see it at last, do you?"

"I do; and now give me my money before I tear you limb from limb."

"Nonsense, boy: don't you see that I wheedled the money out of you on purpose, so that you might not have the means to escape from justice? Why, my revenge wouldn't be complete if you escaped the gallows. And do you think I will deliberately give you the means to escape?"

"Look out, man. You'll drive me too far if you ain't careful."

"Why, Hen, I planned every move you made, and you never moved but to put the halter more surely about your neck. Can't you guess now why I introduced you to Cora Bell? Can't you see why I took you to Jim Taylor's place? A good fellow enough, Jim is; but I knew mighty well that if he worked with you all he'd want would be a little squeeze from somebody to give you away as quick as chain-lightning. See if I'm not right."

"You're an infernal villain!"

"Oh, may be so; but I can afford to be whatever I please. You nor no living soul on earth can touch me."

"Can't, eh?" and there was a rush forward, a yell, a loud ringing of bells, the sound of hurrying feet, and general confusion.

Old Spicer and Killett sprung from their chairs to the table, from the table to the floor, and rushing from the room, flew to the stairs, and descended without hardly touching a step. In another moment they were at the entrance to No. 24, where quite a little crowd had already gathered.

Quackenbush and two other detectives were in the room. Bissell was stretched upon the bed, to all appearance dangerously wounded.

Chamberlain was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Chamberlain?" asked Old Spicer, eagerly.

"Got away," answered Quackenbush.

"Got away! In the name of the great Lecoq, how did he manage it?"

"Knocked me down, threw a hall-porter on top of me, and was gone before I could get the fool off."

"But these men, what were they doing?"

"Lord! I don't know."

"I was at the head of the stairs yonder. We were attracting too much attention standing here together," explained Crowley.

"And I," said the third detective, "was at the back stairs."

"Did he make off in that direction?"

"Yes, sir."

"You tried to stop him, of course?"

"I did."

"What did he do?"

"Why, just knocked me clean down the stairs, that's all."

"You were there, then, when he came down."

"Yes; but I didn't feel much like stopping him just then."

"I suppose not. Well, Quackenbush, clear the room, and let Crowley go for a doctor. Frank, you stay here. This man is quite as important a prisoner as either Chamberlain or Taylor."

The wounded man slightly raised his head and pricked up his ears, at this announcement.

It is a great pity that some of the detectives did not detect this movement.

Old Spicer and Killett drew a little to one side, and conversed in eager whispers.

"Chamberlain must be captured at once," said Old Spicer, emphatically.

"He shall be!" returned Killett, decidedly. "This man is badly wounded, no doubt; so we can spare two of the three we have with us, and I'll telephone to Byrnes to send out Maguire and Frank Mangin; they'll find him, if anybody can."

Quackenbush and Frank Starr were sent out on the hunt, and Killett went down to the office, to telephone to headquarters.

Crowley now came back, and announced that a surgeon had been summoned, and would shortly arrive.

Old Spicer, who had for some time been anxious to get a message to Stricket and Morgan, merely said:

"All right; stay here for a few moments, please," and hurried down-stairs.

Crowley stepped softly to the bed, and took a look at the wounded prisoner.

"Asleep, or unconscious," he said to himself; and then, taking up a newspaper and seating himself by the window, he prepared to take it easy, till Old Spicer and Killett should return.

Just then some one knocked on the door; and, not wishing to disturb Bissell, he quietly arose, crossed the room, and opened the door.

The caller was one of those society fiends yclept a reporter.

"Hello, officer!" he exclaimed, briskly; "I understand there's been something of a row up here. Let's know the merits of the case."

"I don't know them myself," returned Crowley, evasively, at the same time slipping out into the corridor and closing the door behind him.

"Oh, pshaw!" urged the reporter, "you must know something about it. Tell me what you do know."

"What little I know isn't worth telling. Just wait till Old Spicer and Killett come up, then you can question them all you've a mind to – if they'll let you."

"What! is Old Spicer in this hotel?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"Down in the office, I believe."

"Did you say he was coming up here soon?"

"Yes; but if you want to see him, perhaps you'd better go down to the office."

"No, I reckon I'd better wait here till he comes up."

"Very well, then you'll excuse me for leaving you, for I must go in and look after my prisoner."

"Hold up a moment! What's his name?"

"Bissell."

"Emory E. Bissell – is that it?"

"Yes."

"Badly wounded, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Who did it?"

"I'm not sure that I know."

"Who do you think?"

"I don't know that I am at liberty to tell you that."

"The landlord says he let a fellow named Chamberlain come up here while Bissell was out, and that he was still waiting for him when he returned. Was that the man?"

"It's possible."

"Don't you know he was the fellow?"

"How the deuce can I be certain about it? I never saw Chamberlain enter the room."

"But didn't you see him come out of it?"

"No, I did not."

"They say he burst out of the room like a mad bull, and knocked three of you fellows down."

"Well, if he did, I wasn't one of them."

"Where were you?"

"Standing over by the main staircase yonder."

"Then he didn't attempt to get away in that direction?"

"No."

"Where, then?"

"By the back stairs, I have heard."

"Know what the trouble was between Bissell and Chamberlain?"

"No."

"Is Bissell badly wounded?"

"I should suppose so."

"Is he unconscious?"

"Yes."

"Just let me take a look at him, will you?"

"I can't do that."

"For goodness' sake, why not? I won't eat the man."

"It's against orders to admit any one but the doctor."

"Well, is this the doctor coming?"

"Yes."

"Who's that with him?"

"Old Spicer."

"The deuce it is! But, yes; I would have known him by the descriptions I have seen of him. Queer looking cuss, ain't he?"

"He's – well, he's rather slender, to say the least."

"A sort of Wm. M. Evarts. Ah! good-day, Mr. Spicer. Good-day, doctor; glad to see you, gentlemen," and as the great detective and the surgeon entered the room with Crowley, the reporter followed after them, as a matter of course.

"Why, Crowley, where's your prisoner?" demanded Old Spicer, in startled tones, after a single glance at the blood-stained bed.

"He's – Great Scott! He's gone!"

"Gone?" exclaimed the reporter, in his usual brisk way. "How the devil did he manage to get away?"

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAMBERLAIN'S CAPTURE

"How'd he manage to get away? confound you!" exclaimed Crowley, turning upon the reporter in the bitterness of his soul. "He managed it while my back was turned answering your nonsensical questions."

"Nonsensical! Look a-here, officer, I can prove to you in just one minute and a half that my questions were anything but nonsensical."

"Oh, don't bother me!"

"Well, but how do you suppose he got away? I'd really like to know that – good point – great sensation – man supposed to be fatally wounded finds he's a prisoner – the trusty officer left in charge merely steps to the door for a moment to consult and advise with a well-known gentleman of the press, when, on turning back, presto, change! the bird had flown!

"Yes, I can work it in that the greatest mystery hangs about his disappearance – that is, you know, unless we can find out just how he managed it."

"Well," said Old Spicer, suddenly turning upon the reporter, "I think we can satisfy your laudable curiosity upon that point."

"Ah! you do, eh! How so, pray?"

"See this closet?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, step a little further this way. You see there's a door opening from it into the next room. The place has been so arranged that it can be used as a closet for either room, you perceive?"

"Ah, yes, to be sure, or so that it might be used as a passageway – as in the present case, eh?"

"Exactly. Now, then, the question is, has the wounded man, in his supposed weakly condition, been able to escape from the hotel? Crowley, please summons Killett. We must institute a thorough search."

"I'll take a hand in that," exclaimed the reporter, with alacrity, "and I hope I shall find him."

"Why are you so anxious on that point?" asked Old Spicer, curiously.

"Why, you see I want to make a little noise in the world before I start for New Haven to hunt out the murderer or murderers of Charley Way."

"Oh! you are going to do a little detective work up there, are you?"

"Yes, sir; I'm jist going to pipe that mystery, you bet."

"Well, sir, I wish you all the success possible – all the glory there is left to gain."

"Are you speaking sarcastically, sir?"

"By no means."

"I thought I detected something of the kind in the tone of your voice."

By this time Killett had made his appearance, and the detectives, the reporter, and nearly every one connected with the hotel, spread themselves through the house in search of the missing man.

After an hour they returned to the point from whence they had started, and were obliged to confess that their efforts had been in vain. Emory E. Bissell had utterly vanished, and left no trace behind!

"Well," said Killett, drawing Old Spicer aside, and speaking in a low tone, "there can be no question about it, the fellow was playing 'possum, and he's got clean away. What had we better do now?"

"He must be found," said Old Spicer, decidedly.

"No question about that; but where shall we look first?"

"Have you no suggestion to make on that point yourself?"

"I think he's still in this neighborhood."

"I think it's quite possible; and, if you're willing, I'll leave you here for a time and look after another matter."

"All right, old fellow, only don't let us lose track of one another."

"Of course we mustn't do that," and Old Spicer, a little irritated by the escape of both Chamberlain and Bissell, hurried away.

He went straight to Cora Bell's rooms, and had a long and serious talk with her. He then went to the place where he and Killett had spent so much time earlier in the day, and wrote two long letters, which he posted with his own hand. After this he went to Inspector Byrnes' office, on Mulberry Street, and was closeted with that celebrated detective for more than two hours; and then, being quite worn out, he made his way to a neighboring hotel and went to bed.

Early the next morning he started out again.

A little later he found himself in the Bowery. He had just crossed Third Street, walking in the direction of Fourth, when he saw a figure ahead of him that attracted his attention.

It was that of a rather good-looking young man of about twenty-three years of age.

The blood tingled in the old detective's veins. His heart beat faster – his pulse quicker.

He hurried forward.

The young man turned into a saloon. Old Spicer followed him.

The young man called for a drink. The detective did likewise.

The young man cast a suspicious glance at the elder, threw a nickel on the bar and hurried out.

Old Spicer also threw down a piece of money and started for the door.

"It must be done now," he thought; "but it will be a tough job taking him alone."

At that instant he caught sight of two men coming up the street.

They were Detectives Frank Mangin and James Maguire.

Old Spicer immediately gave them a signal, and hurrying forward, they came up in front of the young man. Old Spicer still remaining behind him.

"Chamberlain," said Mangin, in a determined tone of voice, "you are our prisoner."

The street was crowded with people. Chamberlain, who was a muscular young fellow nearly six feet tall, uttered a fearful oath, sprung forward, threw the detective to one side, and drew a revolver.

The crowd instantly scattered.

But the detectives grappled with him, and Old Spicer coming up quickly, knocked the pistol out of his hand, while Maguire, striking him a blow in the side of the head, sent him headlong on the pavement.

In a twinkling of an eye he was on his feet again, but with a pair of steel bracelets on his wrists, and after a few hurried words between Old Spicer and the two detectives, he was marched away to Inspector Byrnes' office.

"That's all right," said Old Spicer, in a tone of quiet satisfaction, when they were gone. "Now I can attend to the other matter," and he took the Third Avenue elevated road to Harlem River.

Two hours and a half later he returned, and met Killett, Stark and Rouse in the inspector's office.

"I am very glad indeed to find you here," he said. "I was afraid I might have to leave without seeing you."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Killett, in a tone of wonder.

"I'm going to Connecticut," replied Spicer.

"What, and give up the chase for Bissell, Hawks and Bunce?"

"They will all be there by the time I am," said the old man, quietly.

"How's that?" asked Killett, in great surprise.

"They are all passengers on board the schooner Bouncing Betsey, which will land them in the neighborhood of Stony Creek, and I already have my men on the lookout for them there."

"You have done some pretty tall work to-day, to find out all that, and put matters into the shape you have."

"Yes, I have not been idle, neither last night nor to-day."

"When do you start for home?"

"On the next train."

"I believe I'll go with you. Bunce, of course, will have to be brought back here."

"Of course he will, and I wish you would bear me company."

"I suppose the authorities will hold Chamberlain and Taylor until the governor grants a requisition for their being taken out of the state?"

"Yes, all that has been arranged."

"And Cora Bell – what's to be done with her?"

"She will come up to Connecticut the moment I send for her. Stark or Rouse, I wish one of you, or if you can't get away, that Cosgrove would come up with her."

"All right, sir. We'll see to it."

"Well, then, I believe that's all. And now good-bye, my friends." And after shaking Silas and Reub by the hand, the old detective hurried away in company with Adam Killett.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ON BOARD THE BOUNCING BETSEY

The Bouncing Betsey was beating her way up the Sound in the face of a head wind, and hence her progress was aggravatingly slow. There were a goodly number of craft in sight, but none near enough to distinguish the persons of those on board the schooner, and so her three worthy passengers had ventured on deck.

Emory Bissell could not be said to be distinguished by either a very healthy or a very happy look. His face was ghastly pale and his step feeble.

Barney Hawks and Bill Bunce were seated on what might be called the quarter-deck. Bissell slowly approached, and when he had almost reached the couple, Barney pushed a camp-stool toward him.

The wounded man sank down upon it with a sigh.

"So Hen Chamberlain gave you a pretty considerable dig in the ribs, did he?" asked Barney, in the way of starting conversation.

"He did that, and if the knife hadn't glanced off exactly as it did, it would have been all over with me, as sure as you're born."

"What made the cub strike you? I know he's pretty hot-blooded, but I shouldn't have thought that of him."

"He resented what he termed my meddling with his business, I believe."

"And had you done so? I didn't even know that you two were acquainted."

"Oh, yes, I have always known Hen, and I have ventured to give him good advice now and then."

"It must have been good advice if you gave it to him."

"To be sure, it was so, if he had had the genius to profit by it."

"But what started you on the run? Didn't you dare to stay and face the music?"

"Why, you see, his attack upon me could but draw the attention of the public to me, and knowing the fact that he has called at my rooms several times, and remained an hour or so each time, would be sure to come out and be put down to my disadvantage, I concluded to dig out while I had an opportunity to do so."

"I am inclined to think you did wisely," said Barney, after some moments' reflection.

"But how the deuce did you manage it, in your condition?" asked Bill Bunce. "If I understood you rightly last night, there were officers in the house watching you, if not in your very room."

"It was a pretty sharp piece of work," returned Bissell, thoughtfully. "A detective was just outside my door – some one had called him out the moment before; two more – one of them Old Spicer himself – were in the office below, and another, I believe, was on the sidewalk watching the several entrances. But I knew well enough that my only chance had come, and I resolved to take it.