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

"Yes, Pete, she was taken in less than twenty minutes after you left her," answered another voice.

"That's the fellow he called Clarky," whispered Bissell to his companions.

The others nodded.

"But by whom – by whom was she taken?" demanded Pete, impatiently.

"Revenue officers; and there are three or four detectives with them."

"The deuce! this looks black."

"I guess you'll think so when you know the rest."

"What is the rest? Tell me without any further loss of time."

"Those detectives are sharper than the devil; they went through everything on board the schooner in less than no time, and it didn't take 'em long to find the passengers' duds."

"Ah! I thought it might come to that. Blamed fools, they ought to have brought 'em ashore. But did they recognize 'em?"

"You just bet they did. There was a bean-pole sort of a fellow among 'em, and he says, says he, 'These things belong to Barney Hawks; he wore 'em the night after Margaret Ernst was murdered. And those belong to Bill Bunce; he had 'em on in his saloon the day of the fight there.' 'And these,' said another old fellow, 'are Emory Bissell's: see, here's his name; there's no getting away from that.'"

"Thunder and blazes!" hissed Bissell, "why were we such confounded fools as to leave such evidence of our presence on board the schooner?"

"Simply because we are confounded fools," returned Barney; "nothing more or less. But listen: let us know the worst."

"Come, do get out o' here, an' let an old woman get a little sleep. Into the cavern with you, or outdoors – I don't care which."

It was evident Pete and Clarky had been joined by old Mag.

"Wait a minute, Mag, and then we'll be off," said Pete, in a conciliatory tone. "Have the detectives any idea, Clarky, where the fugitives have gone to?"

"Can't say as to that; but I tell you that thin fellow is an awful knowing chap."

"But, see here, man, how comes it that you know so much about the matter? Did you go aboard the schooner again?"

"Yes, I took those bottles up to the boathouse and hid them as you told me; then I had a few words to say to our boys there, when the cap'n came ashore and wanted us all to help him land his goods, so I took a hand and went aboard with him. Then the officers came, and as soon as I could I slipped out to let you know what was in the wind."

"Come into the cavern, we must talk this over with Barney and his friends," and a little later they were heard crawling through the passage.

The first question Bissell put when they had joined them was:

"Is there any one living who knows of the existence of this place who would give the knowledge away to the detectives?"

"Not one," answered Pete, promptly.

"Then, as the schooner is taken," said Bissell, "we must stay here till you get a chance to ship us on board some other West Indian craft."

"That won't work, so far as Pete is concerned," put in Clarky, abruptly.

"Why not?"

"He is to be arrested to-night himself."

"How do you know?"

"Heard it talked up. They've found out that Way was killed in the station while he was in the act of sending off a telegraph message, that he was struck down from behind, then robbed, and his body placed on the track to be mutilated; they have also found out that Pete was around the station at about that time, with some others, and so they are going to take him, and I reckon if it don't turn out a swinging affair for him, he will at least get boarding accommodations up the river for the rest of his life."

"Hum, it does look a little that way, by Jove!" muttered Pete.

"Well, then," said Bissell, "Pete must stay here with us, and we must depend on you, Clarky, to help us out when the time comes."

"On me? By thunder! I don't know but – "

"But that you are in as bad a box as the rest, eh, young man?"

It was a calm and matter-of-fact voice that uttered these words, and every man in the cavern sprung to his feet as he heard them, with exclamations of consternation on his lips.

Then they saw the tall, thin form of Old Spicer towering over them, and just behind him, four or five more detectives, all thoroughly armed and ready for business!

CHAPTER XXVI.

CONCLUSION

"Take it quietly, gentlemen, I beg," said Old Spicer, in his usual tones. "The jig's up. I acknowledge that you have shown a good deal of skill and made us some trouble; but we've got you now, like so many rats in a trap."

"By Jove! you shall never take me alive, Mark Spicer," exclaimed Bissell, fiercely.

"Very well, I shall take you dead, then, Emory Bissell," was the calm reply. "For, above all, you must not escape. God alone can calculate the evil you have done. You have brought ruin and death upon Charley Way, you have made a miserable woman of his widow for life, you have corrupted and involved in the general ruin Pete Coffey here, and many of his associates, you are responsible for the Ernst murder and for the blasted lives of Henry Chamberlain and Frank Taylor."

"And you'd better add," interrupted Bissell, with savage glee, "that I have had my reward in the knowledge that I have brought eternal misery on one that I'll never name, who has an interest in Hen Chamberlain, and who, with me and one or two others, alone knows the mystery of his life."

"That triumph will yet turn to gall in your memory," said Old Spicer, sternly. "And now surrender quietly, for we have much to do to-night. Seth, you and George go forward and put on the bracelets. If any one of them makes a hostile demonstration we'll shoot him on the spot."

Seth Strickett and George Morgan stepped forward.

"Barney – Bill Bunce – Pete – Clarky, will you be taken and strung up like so many slaughtered hogs? Stand by me, now, and fight to the death!" and whipping out a revolver, he fired point-blank at Old Spicer's heart.

But the attenuated detective was not a very good mark for a weak and excited man to aim at, and so the ball sped by, and the next instant a howl went up, as though all the witches of Macbeth were yelling in concert.

"I'm killed – I'm murdered – I'm done for! Oh, Lord! just let me get at the villain that fired that shot and I'll tear his heart out!" Then, with another yell, Old Mag dashed forward, and with the blood streaming from a wound in her breast, threw herself upon Bissell.

Barney and his friends seeing the confusion, now attempted to escape.

The attempt was useless. But their blood was up and they made a hard fight for it. Pistol reports echoed and re-echoed through the vaulted cavern, and to one standing by it would have seemed as though two regiments were fighting.

At length it was over, and Old Spicer, who, fortunately, had escaped uninjured, began to sum up the results.

Emory Bissell was dead – killed by old Mag, who lay gasping out her life by his side.