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

"What's the matter?" asked George Morgan, wonderingly.

"It strikes me," replied Old Spicer, "that there must be some other means of entrance and exit to this sub-cellar known to and controlled by the frequenters of the great vault."

"What makes you think so?"

"Look up there. What do you see?"

"Why, the coal-hole and its iron cover."

"Is the cover fastened over the hole?"

"Certainly."

"If any one has gone out by that way lately could they have fastened down the cover after them as we see it now?"

"Of course not."

"If any one expects to visit the great vault to-night, for instance, could they do so by way of this coal-hole?"

"Certainly not."

"Then isn't it evident that there must be some other way to reach the sub-cellar known to the frequenters of the vault?"

"It would seem so. And yet, if no one has visited the place since the murder the thing is easily explained."

"How do you explain it?"

"Why, the murderers possibly entered through this coal-hole, and fastened the cover after them. If so, they went on to Margaret Ernst's basement, through the vault and the other tunnel. They killed the old woman, and, as a blind, filled up the entrance to the tunnel with ashes, which they found close by, and then escaped, probably through her back-yard."

"That's all very well so far as it goes, George; but, unfortunately for your theory, some one has visited that vault since the murder, and they have neither entered nor departed through Mrs. Ernst's basement."

"Thunder! how do you know that?"

"By means of a piece of to-day's newspaper, which I picked up in the vault."

"Well, sir, you've got me this time, sure."

"You admit, then, that there must be another entrance from this side?"

"Of course."

"Let us find it, then."

"I'm with you, sir," and the search began.

It lasted close on to half an hour, when Old Spicer suddenly uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction, and Morgan at once knew he had found what he was looking for.

He at once joined the old detective, who silently pointed to a dark opening in the front foundation wall, below the level of the cellar bottom, and partially concealed by some empty barrels.

"What is it?" asked George, eagerly.

"Don't you understand?"

"By Jove, I do not."

"Well," said Old Spicer, "I can see it all as plain as day. That opening leads into an abandoned sewer, which is connected with a catch-basin at the next corner, where, undoubtedly, there is a ladder, or iron spikes are driven into the walls, by means of which those making use of this peculiar passage, enter the cellar, or reach the street."

"By thunder! this is a shrewder thing than the other."

"That's a fact; but unless we are driven to it, I prefer to use the other exit."

"So do I."

"Well, now that we know exactly how the land lies, let us return to the vault."

"All right, sir," and they hastened back.

On crawling out from under the table that concealed the trap, they began a regular and systematic search of the place. Not a bunk, not a drawer, not a box, not a corner was neglected, and before the search was well over, Old Spicer was abundantly satisfied with his success.

He had found several bits of evidence that were likely to prove important in more than one great criminal case; and behind a tier of bunks he found a door leading into a smaller vault, originally intended, no doubt, for the storage of liquors, but which for some time had been abandoned, and possibly forgotten.

"Ah!" exclaimed Old Spicer, as he surveyed the smaller vault, "this may prove useful, George, before very long."

"I don't see how," replied the younger detective, in a tone of surprise.

"If I am not very much mistaken, you will see, and that very soon. Hark!"

Morgan listened and distinctly heard the sound of footsteps in the tunnel leading from York Street.

"Go in there," whispered Old Spicer, pointing toward the smaller vault.

Then, hastily closing the trap-door under the table, he squeezed his way behind the tier of bunks, moved them back to their place, and joined George in the inner vault, leaving the door slightly ajar, and so was prepared to both see and listen.

Hardly were his preparations completed, when the trap-door under the table was raised up and a man, of no very prepossessing appearance, showed his head.

No sooner had he crawled out from under the table than another and younger man appeared.

"Shust help me out, Parney," said this last. "I've got my goat caught mit this hook here."

Barney unhooked his companion's coat and helped him to his feet.

"You thundering fool," he growled, "why will you persist in wearing that great, heavy, conspicuous-looking coat at all times and seasons of the year? It will get you into some cursed trouble yet."

"Ah, my tear Parney, dot vos a goot goats – it vos a perfect goats; shust think uf all der bockets, und vot er lot uf shwag I vos able ter garry avay mit 'em."

"Well, well, I see you're stuck on the blamed coat, and so I'll say no more about the outlandish-looking thing just now. But come, sit down there, and let's get to business."

"Vate a minute, Parney. Let's make sure der bolice hain't struck der blace since ve vos here," and the young Hebrew picked up the dark-lantern Barney had placed on the table, and disappeared in the tunnel, in the direction of the Ernst basement.