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

CHAPTER XV.

THE TRUE STORY OF THE MURDER

Detective Killett also arose from the table, and, approaching the bar, asked:

"Have you got a quiet little room handy, where I can drink one or two whisky punches by myself, and do a little writing?"

"Why – yes, there's a room in there that's vacant," answered the barkeeper; "but we haven't any writing materials."

"Don't let that trouble you," returned Killett, cheerfully, as he exhibited a pad of paper and a stylographic pen; "you see I carry my tools with me."

"All right then. I'll show you to the room, and bring you a punch as soon as I can get it ready."

"Thanks, my friend," and Killett followed him through the door by which Taylor and the couple with him had disappeared a few moments before.

On passing the door the detective found himself in a narrow hall, on one side of which was a black walnut partition, reaching about half way to the ceiling.

In this partition were two doors, leading to two small rooms, fitted up for card-playing.

The first of these rooms was now occupied by Taylor's party.

Killett was shown into the other.

He was in an agony of apprehension for fear those in the next room would hear the door open, or catch the sound of the barkeeper's voice.

But nothing of the kind happened. The door was opened noiselessly, and the barkeeper merely said:

"Here you are, sir. I'll bring the punch presently."

Killett nodded, and the dispenser of liquid refreshments went away.

The detective now seated himself close to the partition between the two rooms, took out his pad of paper and his pen, and prepared to listen with all his ears to what might be going on in the other apartment.

The first words that reached him were spoken by Taylor.

"So you ain't so blamed anxious to buy after all?" he was saying.

"That depends upon circumstances," returned Barney, quickly.

"What circumstances?"

Barney seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he abruptly asked:

"When did you see Hen Chamberlain last?"

"Who?" demanded Taylor, in a tone of surprise.

"Oh, pshaw! You know well enough who I mean. Call him Frank Clark, if you like."

Taylor started slightly, but presently said, calmly enough:

"You know Clark, do you?"

"Yes, old fellow, we know him from 'way back," was the reply, "but up our way he is Henry Burton Chamberlain."

"Hum," muttered Taylor; "I suppose that is his name."

"Of course it is; and it seems to me that there need be no more mystery among friends."

"Ah! but remember, gentlemen, you are both strangers to me."

"That's true enough; but we are not strangers to Hen Chamberlain."

"Let's see – did you mention your names?"

"I don't know that we have to you. But that's an omission readily corrected. Mine is Barney Hawks, and this is my pal, Jake Klinkhammer."

"Ah, yes, I have heard Chamberlain speak of you. If I remember rightly, you have been in two or three little affairs with him?"

"I should say we had! and a good many more than two or three."

"You are pretty good friends of his, then?"

"We have proved that to his satisfaction a good many times, I believe."

"Well, that's all right. And now why can't we talk business?"

"Why, the fact is, Mr. Taylor, before we go any further in this matter, we would like to see Hen."

"What do you expect to gain by seeing him?"

"Something in the way of funds, if you must know."

"Ha, ha! I'm afraid you'll find there isn't much in that mine worth working."

"There ought to be, considering the rich vein you and he opened the other night."

"What do you mean?" demanded Taylor, now fairly startled.

"Oh, come, my boy," said Barney, quietly, "we know all about it, and can name pretty nearly the sum you brought away with you."

"You can?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get your information, in the fiend's name?"

"We have seen Sadie Seaton."