THE DUKE OF ARCANUM

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue III, 16 July 1898, Page 74

THE DUKE OF ARCANUM

&Y

CARLETON LONG

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

The hero, a telegraph operator named Stanley Edgcumb. incurs the hatred of a fellow telegraphist named Jack Coulter partly by defeating the latter at a trial of skill at the instruments, and partly through taking the part of a seemingly weak minded young operator named Kye, whom Coulter was in the habit of tormenting. Edgcumb and he being the two most skilled telegraphists in the establishment, are in charge of special mercantile cypher messages, which come through from New Y'ork. The two men. who occupy the same table, are seated at their instruments son after the disagreement referred to has occurred, when the director in chief of the office, who is jealous of Edgcumb's talent, approaches and inquires ‘What was the cause of the disturbance?’ Edgcumb denies that there was any disturbance, and explains that he and Coulter were only having a little friendly trial of skill, omitting to say that he himself was the victor. The director’s jealousy is only further roused, and he indirectly accuses Edgcumb of making an exhibition of himself to gratify his vanity. The latter warmly repudiates the insinuation and the director stalks away. Coulter, who is delighted to see that he is displeased with Edgcumb. sets about to wreak his revenge on our hero. He finds an opportunity soon. A cypher message of great importance is received by Edgcumb, but before translating it he leaves the room for a few moments. While he is away Coulter takes the message and secretes it between the folds of a newspaper belonging to Edgcumb. The latter returning takes up the first message that comes to hand, and forgets about the one referred to. When he leaves the office he takes the newspaper with him. and by ill luck drops the message from its folds when getting on a tram car. The non-receipt of it by the parties to whom it was addressed causes great trouble, and Coulter manages to throw the suspicion of fraud on to Edgcumb. with the result that Edgcumb receives his dismissal. The latter, conscious of his own innocence and mad with indignation. loses control of himself when the director coldly declares he must go. In a moment of passion he springs at the man’s throat, and has almost choked him before he is forcibly removed. Jack Coulter, after having nefariously procured Edgcumb’s dismissal, is appointed Assistant Director-in-Chief and immediately begins to covet the post of Director-in-Chief. In order to gain it. he sees no way but to murder the Director, which he immediately takes measures to do by means of two assassins hired out to him by French Anne.’ the keeper of an infamous dive. In order that the guilt may be thrown on Edgcumb. he cunningly" manages to lure him to the scene of the assassination Edgcumb finds Mancel Tewkes. the Director-in-Chief. lying on the ground with the death rattle in his throat, and he gives the alarm. But. when later on. he recognises who the murdered man is. he loses his presence of mind and rushes frantically away. Through the machinations of Coulter, suspicion is directed to Edgcumb with the result that one morning when he is sitting with his wife and children he is arrested and hurried off to prison. When examined before the Chief or the Police, he endeavours to prove his innocence, but everything rather tells against him. and he is detained in gaol to await his trial on a charge of murder. While there he is frequently visited by his wife and children, and by the operator Kye whose part he had takenat the outset against the persecution of Coulter. In conversation with Kye. Edgcumb finds out that the seemingly weak minded young man is really a very different character mentally from what most people had imagined. Kye is as firmly convinced of Edgcumb’s innocence as the latter’s wife, and what is of more importance, he has begun to suspect that Edgcumb is the victim of a conspiracy on the part of Coulter. He relate many curious circumstances which he has noticed in Coulter’s behaviour. and especially his intimacy with Pintard the man whom Coulter hired to do the murder. Scarcely has Kye made known his suspicions to Edg-

cumb than this very Pintard arrives at the gaol a prisoner, having been convicted of some crime Quite apart from the murder, of which, of course, he is not suspected to know anything. The prison being very full at the time, it is found necessary to put two prisoners in some of the cells, and the scoundrel! Pintard is lodged in the same compartment with our hero.

CHAPTER VII. THE ABDUCTION. Coulter had indeed recognised Kye. as the latter had supposed, while in Pintard’s company on Kinzie-street. He had met Pintard accidentallv. They had not met since they had parted at the man hole of the sewer on the night of the murder. Coulter had fully realised the danger to his reputation in being seen with sueh a character, whom the police had almost constantly under surveillance, but he could not well avoid it. He did not dare to incur his displeasure, as he was too well aware of the dansrerous nature of the man. Pintard knew too much to take any risks with him; moreover, circumstances might yet arise in which he would need his assistance, hence he greeted him cordially, but kept his restless eyes turned in all directions, on the alert for the police.

Pintard began by upbraiding Coulter for avoiding the house, when the latter interrupted him, saying: ‘lt was a matter of prudence, Pintard. I left the city after that unfortunate affair of ours and have just returned. It was a miserable blunder that we made in identifying our man.* ‘We! Ye’d better say ye. It was yer fault, not mine. I done my part and done it well. pard. Yer the man that made the mistake, not me nor Vitellius.’

‘H ell. that is true: I’ll admit I was to bla .'ne. I thought I had better make myself scarce for a while, but I think there is no danger now. for I hear they have a fellow under arrest for the murder. How is everything at the Aladame’s?’

•Everything goes all right ’cept with the gal ’ "What girl do you refer to?’ ‘Why. Chloe, of course.’ ‘What’s the matter with Chloe?’ ‘She’s grievin’ over ye; ye might ’a knowed it,’

‘She’s a fool. Does she know anything about that affair?’ *No; not a word; but Til tell ye what, she’s been lookin’ all over the city fur ye. She thinks ye’ve took another gal. Now, pard. ye don’t want to give her the slip all to once, for she’s a wildcat when she gits her dander up.’ ‘I guess you’re right, Pintard. Well, you needn’t mention seeing me. I’ll drop in some evening.’ As Coulter spoke he saw a man approaching, and. straining his eyes anxiously, he became assured that he was not an officer. However, he did not relax his vigilance. So full of watchfulness had he become that Pintard's answer was unheeded. As the man who was walking leisurely upon the outer edge of the walk came abreast of them he recognised Kye, and to avoid recognition by his subordinate he turned his head abruptlv to one side, but unavailingly. It was evident that he was known. As Kye

passed on he called Pintard's attention to him. The wily Canadian, however, had noticed his sudden aversion, for a criminal is ever on the alert with his eyes in all directions, and nothing escapes them. ‘Yes, I seed him look pretty sharp at ye, pard. Who is it?’ demanded Pintard.

•That’s a friend of Edgcumb’s, the fellow who killed Mancel Tewkes.* Coulter replied, giving Pintard a nudge with his elbow. The Canadian, making a suitable, grimace in recognition of the point, replied: •Well, he needs tendin’ to. then, if he’s a spy. You know what they always do to spies.’ ‘I feel a little uneasy about him. for I’m afraid that he knows more than we suspect: but it will not take us long to get rid of him if he does. Leave him to me. Pintard: I can measure him and his intentions to a scruple.’ ‘All right; keep an eye on ’im.’ Kye disappeared around the corner, and Coulter, feeling disturbed by the incident, suggested: ‘Pintard. we had better be off; while you walk down to the Madame’s I will go a few steps and retrace them. I want to see if the fellow follows either of us; if he does, that settles it.’

Pintard proceeded at once in the direction of French Anne’s. Taking the opposite direction for a few steps. Coulter kept close to the buildings to obscure his figure in the shadows as much as possible. Then, crossing the street, he pursued the same tactics, returning slowly in the direction from whence he had come, keeping Pintard in view as well as he could. He was i.ot long in confirming his fears, for there was Kye sure enough, following the steps of the Canadian. As he drew near French Anne’s, he paused and looked about for a suitable place from which he could watch developments, without being himself observed. Au old frame building, used as a blacksmith’s shop below and a faintshop above, faced the street where he stood. A rickety flight of stairs, attached to the end of the building, led to a door in the gable, where it terminated in a small platform, around which a rude wooden railing had been constructed. It seemed to offer an advantageous point of view, and availing himself of it he crept softly up the stairs and crouched down near the door, watching with breathless interest the footsteps of both pursued and pursuer. Kye also stopped a few rods in advance of Coulter, but Pintard, withoutappearing to notice him. turned into the alley and entered the house by the side'door. A moment or so later, Kye entered by the street door.

Coulter now became convinced of the truth, of what for several days he had been suspicious, that Kye was sedulously watching his movements, and in an uneasy frame of mind he withdrew from the locality and hastily sought seclusion in his room. For a long time he sat by the fire meditating upon the danger that threatened him from this most unexpected source, endeavouring to improvise some means which would effectually prevent Kye from causing trouble. A mind perplexed and put to task will readily find a solution of its difficulties. when prompted by motives of utter baseness. An ordinary criminal would have scarcely given such a problem more than a momentary thought, and then have executed it. risking the consequences. But Coulter was a man of a different nature. He was cool, calculating and designing in everything which he undertook. Holding a position of considerable importance, his purpose now was to do nothing which would imperil it, but to calculate well before precipitating a result. When once his resolution was taken he was as unscrupulous and daring as the most hardened of criminals. That which seemed to perplex him now was not the remedy which should be applied, but the motive which had instigated Kye’s movements. The man was a profound mystery. He had, time and again, studied his strange actions as a mere pastime without being able to comprehend his peculiarities. He had noticed of late that these peculiarites were less marked than formerly, and that Kye seemed ever to have his eyes upon him when not engaged in the performance of his duties. The question was whether he was acting by his own volition, or under the direction of Edgcumb. If the latter suspected him and was responsible for Kye’s espionage. then he must rid himself of the man in a way that he would never

trouble him more. It was a small matter to bailie a fool, and he did not care to take extreme measures with him, unless convinced that he was acting upon the suggestion of others. Here, then, was his dilemma, and he must reach some decision at once. Could he assure himself that the former theory was correct, and that Kye was pursuing him under the direction of another, he would have no hesitation in sending him to that bourne to which he had hurried Maneel Tewkes. The public must be given no chance to take their suspicions off from the man who had already been indicted for the crime. He was undecided what course to pursue for some time, but at length, in view of the doubtful circumstances of the matter, he concluded that it would be best to abduct Kye and put him in a safe place, where he might be kept until Edgcumb was disposed of. With Edgcumb out of the way there would be no danger in liberating Kye, for no one would believe his story, he argued. The question then arose as to the manner in which he should be thus temporarily disposed of. While revolving one scheme after another in his mind his thoughts suddenly turned to Madame Renaud. ‘She has helped me once, why can she not again?’ In remembering her assistance he naturally thought of its consequences; the terrible anger of the woman from whose wrath he Had been saved by Pintard and Vitellius; then the arrival of the officers. Naturally the recollection of his horrible experience in the tunnel followed. Ah, these thoughts seemed to inspire a suggestion, as if some evil spirit had guided his meditations up to tnat particular point to provide him with something to suit his diabolical purpose. Springing to his feet he paced the floor, while a satanic smile played upon his features. He was grappling with a new and novel idea. "The tunnel! By Jove, I’ve hit it! That’s the place to put him in. He won’t get lonesome there, for there’s plenty of rats.’

Five minutes later Coulter left the room, his overcoat closely buttoned about him and a freshly-lighted eigar in his mouth. His destination was "French Anne's.’

At the dive an unusual quiet prevailed. A party of drunken rowdies, who had spent the evening there in a perfect revelry of drunkenness, dancing and ribaldry with the wantons of the establishment, had just taken their departure. But a few loiterers still remained in the saloon. Madame Renaud was sitting upon a stool behind the bar, Vitellius and Pintard being seated at the small table in a corner of the room angrily disputing over a game of cards which was in progress between them. Now and then the proprietress, attracted by the sound of their voices, glanced in the direction, saying: "Est-cedes betes enragees? Pintard, tais-toi. Vitellius, ehut. Il ne faut pas se disputer comme les petits garcons.’ Then the wrangling would cease for a moment, only to be renewed when some trivial point in the game arose upon which they differed. . Chloe entered upon the scene and whispered something in Madame Renaud’s ear, quickly retiring. Coulter was awaiting the latter’s appearance in the little back room, where his mistress had been entertaining him for a few minutes. The Frenchwoman responded to the call without delay, and presently Coulter perceived her ponderous figure standing in the doorway, completely filling it. She did not advance farther, but with a cold and unfriendly look gazed fixedly at her visitor, apparently waiting for him to make known his errand. Coulter. however, returned her stare indifferently without speaking, for he saw that her coolness was intentional and did not result from a lack of recognition on her part. ‘Well, what is it?’ Madame Renaud finally asked. Giving a toss of the head, and casting a look of contempt and disgust upon her. Coulter replied: ‘Humph! tine reception to give an old friend that you haven’t seen in many a dav.’

‘lf ye've anything to say be quick about it, young man, fur time’s money.’

‘Yes. but- you may have more of it on your hands pretty soon than you will know what to do with.’ ‘More what?’ ‘More time, of course. You didn't sup|>ose I meant money? The devil himself couldn’t fill up a cormorant.’ ‘What do ye mean, sir?’ ‘Well, you say time begets money.

and 1 say money begets lime when you don't come by it honestly. Do you understand now, old lady?* •No, I don’t, sir. Explain yerself.’ ‘Perhaps you will when they gathei you -in and put you behind the bars—after it’s too late.’ At this Madame Renaud exhibited genuine signs of uneasiness, and her frigid manner began to thaw. She evidently thought these vague remarks bore some hidden meaning which was well for her to understand.

•Why, what’s the matter now, Johnny?’ she asked, in a somewhat friendlier tone. ‘Ye're talking rather queer to-night.*

•And you’re acting rather queer, Madame,’ suggested Coulter.

‘Oh, ye musn't be thinking anything like that, me boy. Chloe says I'm the best woman on top of the earth.' ‘And you may be the best one under it—in the estimation of the worms —pretty soon if you are not careful.' ‘Well. well, what's the matter nowT the woman asked, betraying unmistakeable signs of uneasiness on her gross and vulgar features. ‘Understand that I came here this evening to give you some friendly advice, but you seem to think that my absence is better than my company. Perhaps 1 had better be off. I suppose. however, if 1 had gone in the saloon and called up to the bar all the thieves and roustabouts hanging on to your skirts I would have been welcome—what?’

‘Nonsense, nonsense! ye're always welcome here: don't let such things get into your head again. What was yer goin" to tell me?’ •To look out for your neck.’

‘Ale neck! Why, bless yer heart. I haven’t any; don't yer see me head sinks squarely in me shoulders?' ‘Yes; I see: like a mud turtle's when you tickle his nose with a feather. But your calipash and calipee isn’t quite so invulnerable, Aladame.’

•Yer speakin’ beyond my understanding now, young man. Come, be serious; what is the trouble? Do you mean anything about that Grangerstreet affair?’

Precisely, Madame; that is what I’m referring to when I say look out for your neck.’ ‘I understand they have a man in prison by the name of - are going to hang fur it. He hasn’teseaped, has he?’ ‘No, Madame, but he may if we are not pretty active.’

‘Then tell me what ye have to say be quick.’

‘I have come to inform you that there's an enemy lurking near.’ ‘An enemy? Ah, do ye know who he is?’

‘1 do, Madame; he is a friend of Edgcumb’s. and a dangerous cove at that.’

’But how did he come to suspect we had a hand in it?’

'Madame, that is something I am unable to explain. He has discovered it in some manner, and has been shadowing me of late: now I find he is also watching you. He has been in your saloon to-night. He goes to the prison regularly to see Edgeumb.' 'You say he was in the s'loon tonight?’ asked Afadame Renaud anxiously.

‘I do: he followed Pintard to the house.’ 'Well, he'd better be keerful or Pintard will knife ’im?

‘That isn’t the proper thing to do at present. We don’t want any more blood on our hands than we can help. We must lay hold of him and shut him up for awhile until Edgeumb is out of the way. They have an excellent ease against Edgeumb and it won't do to let it spoil on their hands. We can turn the fellow loose when Edgeumb is disposed of. The public will take no notice of him then, for they don’t like to think they have hung an innocent man.’ ‘Sure enough, boy, but what can we do with ’im when we git ’im?’

'That’s what I came here to consider, madame.*

‘Then speak out. Be quick. No idle words.’

‘But we shall need some help.’ answered Coulter.

‘Well, what better ean ye expect than ye had before?’

‘None better than they, true enough. Here is the plan. It is nothing more nor less than to lay hold of him some night and bring him here.’ ‘Bring ’im here? What, in the name of a Chinaman's joss would we do with "im here?’

‘We will put him in the tunnel, madame. He won't give you any trouble there.’

But he would crawl out into the sewer and escape.’

‘No, we can fasten him with a chain. Pintard can cut a space on one side of the tunnel, and we can chain him there, and give him a bit of straw to lie on, and a piece of bread now and then to eat. We won't have to keep him very long, for I am sure the trial will come off soon. It is the best way we ean dispose of him without killing him, and I don’t like to do that at present. How does the idea suit vou?’

Madame Renaud, hardened as she was. fairly shuddered at the thought of Coulter’s proposition; but she did not dare to object to it, as she thought that he knew more about the necessity of the case than she did. She felt further that she could not afford to take any chances of getting into trouble. If danger threatened, as Coulter had said, then it must be prevented at any cost. ‘lt seems pretty hard to put the poor devil in such a place, but if ye say that it must be done, it must. When do ye want to fetch ’im?’

‘At the earliest opportunity that offers, madame. As soon as Pintard or A'itellius can get the tunnel ready. There’s no time to be lost.’ 'Very well. then. I’ll start them at the work in the morning.’ 'But before they commence I would like to have a talk with them and tell them how it must be done. Are they in the house to-night?’ ‘Yes. they're in the s’loon playin cards and quarrellin’ like cats an’ dogs.’

'I suppose then that they are too drunk to understand anything.’ 'No; only mad over the cards. A bottle o' wine would settle their troubles in a jiffy.’

'Ah. then, send a bottle in and tell them I wish to see them here; I’ll settle the bill.*

Madame Renaud returned to the saloon while Coulter arranged three chairs at the little table and seated himself in one of them. The wine was brought in, and while he was engaged in examining the vintage upon the label the two villains appeared. ‘I hardly expected to see you again to-night when I left you on the corner, Coulter remarked rather unceremoniously, addressing Pintard. 'I am not sorry for it, sir,’ the Canadian answered, glancing significantly at the bottle of wine.

‘I suppose not,’ said Coulter, recognizing Pintard’s unspeakable delight. ‘But before we proceed to business we will open it, for I see you have a very thirsty appearance.’ ‘Right—right, sir. Off with the neck. Don’t stop to pull the eork.’ ‘Come, knave, don’t be too previous, there’s plenty of time. I’m only going to give you just a taste at present. I don’t want you to get befuddled, for I have something important to talk about.’

Coulter drew the cork, and, filling the glasses, motioned the pair to imbibe, saying, ere he moistoned his own lips. ‘Gentlemen, here's hoping that neither of you will die at the rope’s end.’

The men smiled and quaffed the contents of their glasses slowly. ‘Pintard.’ said Coulter, placing his glass on the table, ‘you remember the fellow we passed on the street this evening?' Pintard signified by a nod of the head that he did.

‘Are you aware that he followed you here to the house?’ ‘I am. sir. I seed ’im in the s'loon.’ ‘And did he see you after you entered ?’ ‘He barely saw me and that was all. fur I drawed back ’fore he could git a good look at me.’

He saw enough to know that you were the same person he passed while you were talking to me. I knew that if he followed either of us it meant mischief. I am convinced of it now. I’ve been talking to the Madame about him and we have come to the conclusion that he bad better be disposed of for the present. I propose to put him in the tunnel and keep him there until Edgeumb is out of the way. I must have some help, and I shall rely on vou both: can I do so?’

‘Every time,’ answered Vitellius, emphatically. 'Ye know what we can do: say the word, mister, and it’ll be done.’ was Pintard’s immediate reply.

‘That’s the way I like to hear men talk. The first thing to be done is to excavate a small space on one side of the tunnel and securely fasten a chain there. There must be no possibility

of an escape through the sewer. Can you do this to-morrow?’

Pintard answered in the affirmative, while a corroborative nod from Vitelhus gave assurance of his approval. ‘And when do you want to put ’im in?’ asked the latter.

To-morrow night, if possible, or at the most favourable opportunity which offers. It is important that we act promptly.’ ‘I can't help ye to-morrow night, for I’ve got an engagement with a couple of coves at a jewellery store. You know what that means, sirrah?' Phen we’ll say the next evening.’ i eplied Coulter, smilingly. ‘Very well; we'll have the hole ready by then.’ returned Pintard. pushing his emptv glass beseechinglv toward Coulter.

‘And now, Vitellius,’ said the chief conspirator, addressing the Italian, ‘you are the more powerful of the two: I wish you to meet me at the north end of the Ea Salle-street tunnel at eight o’clock day after to-mor-row night. I will have a horse and carriage, and will give you instructions there what to do.’

. e can count on Vitellius everv time.’ said Pintard, on behalf of the Italian, before the latter could indicate his willingness to co-operate in the undertaking. But Vitellius was as decisive in signifying his acquiescence, though less active than his coadjutor in expressing it. ' ery well: but a word about the excavation. You had better make his dungeon where the tunnel commences, just below the chimney. It will be handy to reach him. or to throw him a piece of bread now and then.’

‘But if he makes any cry they might hear him.’ Pintard suggested. ‘Then threaten him with instant death if he makes any noise.’ ‘An’ we'll do it, too,’ assured Pintard. with a characteristic expression of small regard at what he considered a measure of inconsequence. ‘Then it is all perfectlv understood between you?’ asked Coulter. ‘Yes, w e know what to do: ye can pend on us. too.’ vouched Pintard for himself and Vitellius. ‘Then there’s the wine: warm vour veins while it lasts. I am off,’'and with this remark. Coulter opened the door and disappeared. The night fixed upon by Coulter to carry out his plans was the same on which we have seen Kye standing at the door of Edgcumb’s cell, pouring out his startling convictions into the prisoner’s ears. The night before Pintard had been taken by the police and placed in one of the stations. The same evening he had been transferred to the city prison and placed in Edgcumb’s cell. The news had reached Madame Renaud through some of the crooks which infested the locality: but Coulter was not aware of it until he reached the rendezvous, when Vitellius apprised him. Upon being advised how matters stood he seemed somewhat disconcerted, but. after a hasty consideration of the situation. he determined to go on with his plans. He felt convinced that Kye had. in some way. been instrumental in Pintard’s apprehension, and he saw all the more reason for immediate action and consummation of his undertaking.

Coulter’s preparations were complete. Upon leaving Pintard and Vitellius in possession of the bottle of wine, he had joined Chloe in her apartment above. There he had compelled her to write a note at his dictation. The address and signature he added himself, after a careful studv of her chirography. With this in ' his possesion he drove, with Vitellius. to Kye’s lodgings, his identity being effectually concealed beneath a full, black beard, eye-glasses, a wig. a tall stiff hat. drawn well down over his forehead, and a large cloak which enveloped his shoulders, the ensemble giving him the appearance of a man past forty years of age, and indicating the characteristics of a professional gentleman. It nearly eight o’clock when Kye left the prison, after having ascertained the cause of Pintard’s arrest. He was much vexed at seeing the Canadian thrust into the same cell with Edgeumb, as he knew it would be a difficult mater to keep his friend informed privately of the state of affairs outside. While thinking of the matter and endeavouring to devise some means by which he could obviate the difficulty, he walked leisurely toward his lodging, which was situated in the third story of a business block on Wells-street. Upon entering, he lighted a lamp, and its sudden illumination revealed a room meagrely

furnished, its contents consisting merely of the most commonplace and absolutely essential articles to a frugal and economical place of abode. In one corner there was a dilapidated black trunk, white directly above several rude shelves were fastened to the wall, one above another, well filled with books. Books were also lying upon the table and upon the unmade bed. It seined as if personal comfort had been sacrificed to an inordinate desire for knowledge. Throwing a few pieces of coal upon the smouldering fire. Kye drew a chair to the table, and, taking up an open book lying thereon, he resumed its dissertation by the feeble light which found its way through the broken and smoke-lined chimney.

He had been thus occupied but a few minutes when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, followed by a loud knock at his door. An evening visitation was wholly unusual, and closing his book, he wondered who it could be. It was an ominous sound, and for a moment he seemed to be pervaded with feelings of dread, or uneasiness, and an inclination to disregard the summons: but, while speculation and doubt were disturbing him. there came a second knock, and this somewhat louder than before, startling him by its suddenness and the peremptoriness of its sound. It was an impatient rap. and it appeared to arouse him to the necessity for action. 'The door is unlocked, and the person, whoever it is. can easily enter. There is nothing to fear, and I had better answer it before he knocks again,’ thought Kye. This gathering resolution answered the summons. Before him stood a stranger of marked appearance, who accosted him with an interrogation ere he had time or opportunity to calculate upon his motives. 'Are you James Kye, the friend of Stanley Edgeumb?’ T am. sir.’ Kye responded. The stranger then drew a folded paper from his pocket and presented it to Kye, with the remark: ‘I have called at the earnest solicitation of Edgcumb’s wife to deliver this note to you. Please, sir. be as spry as possible, as I have several professional calls to make to-night.’ Taking the note Kye stepped to the light and read its contents, which were written in a neat, feminine hand: 'Mr Kye,—Presuming upon your kindness to my husband and myself during our terrible affliction, I take the liberty of asking still another favour. Aly eldest daughter was taken violently ill this afternoon, with what 1 fear will prove a fatal malady. My anxiety and distress cannot be described. I beg to ask if you will convey a communication to my husband. and. if so. will you be kind enough to come to the house without delay. Dr. Rankin, who is attending my child, has kindly consented to go and bring you in his carriage.— Yours in sorrow, IMOGEN EDGCUMB.’

■Certainly I will go. doctor.’ Kye replied, as he placed the note in his pocket.

•Very well, sir: my carriage is waiting and the lady is anxious to see vou.’

With hat and coat in hand, Kye immediately extinguished the light, locked the door and followed the stranger down to the street. As the carriage was reached he was hurriedly assisted into it by the impatient doctor, who seemed, he thought, to be exceedingly anxious to be off, and. as the latter swung himself into the vehicle, the driver, without a word of command, touched the horse lightly with the whip and they moved away at a rapid pace toward the river. At. this period the LaSalle-street tunnel being in an unfinished state, they crossed by the Wells-street bridge and, turning into South Water street, then into Franklin, they entered the Washington-street tunnel. The damp and dimly-lighted place looked dreary enough—so forbidding. indeed. that the horse pricked up its ears in afright at the reverberating sound of its clanging hoofs. It seemed to be entirely deserted, as few chose that uninviting route after dark in preference to the bridges. Then. too. the utter silence of the strangers rendered the situation even more oppressive. As they approached the centre of the tunnel. Vitellius checked the horse's pace to a walk, and Coulter, leaning out. looked behind them up the long incline. They were alone. The turgid river and the mighty city with its

myriad of scintillating lights were above them. There were no eyes to see. no ears to hear, nor hands to thwart their premeditated action. With a quick movement he drew back •oid seized the lines, at which Vitellius, turning upon Kye, pinioned his arms with a powerful grasp, and placed his hand over his mouth to prevent an outcry. The victim struggled, but his efforts were as futile as a lamb's gripped in the jaws of a panther.

It was but the work of an instant. A bottle, a handkerchief, a quick application to the nostrils, and his struggles were over, for chloroform is as swift as it is subtle in its effects. The drive to ‘French Anne’s’ was short by way of the Kinzie-street bridge, and it was easily reached before Kye could revive. The route was dark and unfrequented, and the vehicle and its occupants, therefore, failed to attract attention. Upon reaching the bagnio Madame Renaud opened the alley door. She had taken possession of the room, barring the inmates out. The room adjoining was the one from which the tunnel was entered, and through this Kye was carried and lowered to his dungeon. All was done so quietly that no one else in the house had the least suspicion of the revolting crime which was being perpetrated upon this helpless and inoffensive man.

Upon reviving from the deep stupor in which he had lain for some time Kye found himself lying upon his back in total darkness. As his wits gradually rallied the memory came of the black-whiskered man. the carriage, the tunnel, and the assault. That was all he could remember. The place vvas cold and damp. Could it be that he was still in the tunnel, for he remembered the dampness of the atmosphere as they had driven into it? No; that could not be, for the tunnel was lighted, and, moreover, he seemed to be lying upon a bed of straw. He listened intently, but he could hear no sound; all was silent as the grave. He reached forth his hand to feel about him, but he drew it back with a shudder as it touched the cold, earthy walls of his dungeon. Then he attempted to rise, and, in so doing, he made an effort to draw his feet up under him, but there was some restraint. He reached down to feel what it was. Oh, heavens, his limbs were bound with a chain! Then he realised that he was a prisoner—he knew not where or for what cause — but the realisation came so suddenly' and was so overpowering that he sank with a sickening sensation back upon the pallet of straw, utte-ring a groan of despair, as if his soul were racked b.v all the tortures of hell. Hours passed by. Again and again did he seek to verify this revelation; but the stubborn fact was undeniable. It all seemed so preposterous that to ascertain if he were truly in a conscious state he spelled his name over and over again with the characters of the. Morse alphabet. He clutched his hair tightly with his fingers. He even lacerated his hands with his teeth; but, alas, it was all too true! Then came the conviction that he had been the victim of a plot, and that he was now in the power of some unknown enemy. He could attribute it to no one but Coulter, and he thought of Edgcumb's words of warning spoken but a few hours before. ‘What would be his fate.’ he wondered, ‘if he were really in Coulter’s power? Woidd he be kept in this horrible place to die of starvation, or until his mind gave way and he became a maniac?’

Kye continued in this deplorable state of mind for many hours, but at length he became affected by the foul atmosphere of his dungeon. The poison had begun to insidiously penetrate his system and dull his senses, producing a somnolescent state, in which he partially remained for the first week of his confinement.

Weeks passed by without bringing any change or relief to him. Vitellius entered the dungeon daily with a loaf of bread and a can of water. The fresh air which was thus admitted generally rev ived him fora time. In vain lie pleaded with the Italian to tell him where he was and why he had been imprisoned. Did he chance to be asleep when Vitellius came, his keeper would give him a vigorous kick to ascertain if he were dead or alive. The filth of the place became so unbearable that Vitellius. even, would gasp for breath as he emerged

from the hole after one of his brief visits.

Kye made heroic efforts to sustain hope during all of the long dreary hours of his confinement. To him they were hours, for in the inky darkness of that living tomb time could nut be reckoned into days and weeks. It was merely a blank, indistinguishable prolongation. He knew that he breather!, and that there were intervals between! his respirations. He could count the intervals until he grew wearied, but there was no approximation of duration beyond that, more than to a benighted soul groping in the shades of eternity. Day by day he felt his strength diminishing and limbs stiffening so that he could scarcely move them. The one to which the chain was fastened became galled and paralysed, developing into a useless member. His clothing was fouled by the filth, for he was compelled to wallow in his own excrement like a dumb brute. So horrible, at length, did his situation become, that he endeavoured to divert his thoughts by making friends with the rats which infested the tunnel; and such extraordinary terms of friendship sprung up between them that they permitted him to handle them at pleasure. He taught them by low, peculiar sounds or whistles to understand him. He shared his pitiful allowance of bread with them, and when he wished to feed them he called by r one of those well understood sounds, at which they came running, squeaking and squealing, clambering upon him in a pell-mell rush to get the crumbs which he had to offer.

How a man can enter upon terms of intimacy with the vermin of the earth, which, in the ordinary conditions of life, he woidd have a horror and detestation of. is one of the unaccountable phases of human character. It is attributable only to an instinctive longing for companionship, and to this is due, perhaps, the remarkable depths to which one will descend to obtain it. Although of an unsocial disposition naturally, yet the solitude became so oppressive to Kye that he was glad to even tolerate such relations. The instinct vvas there, and ail it required was the horrible tortures of abandonment to compel him to accept from the common pests of man that which, under other circumstances, he would not have been willing to accept from man himself —companionship. Frightened at first by' the little intruders of his dungeon, fear nt length gave way' to a mere annoyance at their boldness; while later on his mind reached that state of desperation that he gladly’ welcomed them and made them sharers of his bed and food.

After a lapse of several months, which to him, however, seemed years, or e'en centuries, Kye began to lose hope. There came a settled conviction that he would never leave his dungeon alive, and he resolved, if possible, to leave a record of his fate behind, thinking that some day it might be discovered and lead to the punishment of his persecutors. There was, of course, nothing at hand in the shape of pencil or paper with which to indite such a record. There were the clay walls of the tunnel, but no tools with which to incise even his name. No knife, key, or any available instrument, as everything ha<( been taken from him upon the night of his abduction. It occurred to him, however, that he might use one of the sharp prongs of the buckle which held the straps at the back of his vest to suit his purpose for engraving. Acting upon this idea he wrenched the buckle from its fastenings and began his work. Day after day he toiled patiently, by spells, being in no hurry to complete his task, but rather desiring to prolong it as much as possible that he might have something to occupy his mind. He felt carefully along the wall with the fingers of his left hand while executing his work with the other. The same sense of touch enabled him to tell where he had stopped and where to renew his labour. The letters were deeply’ cut. that they might be well preserved. The task was finished at length, and scarcely a day passed thereafter but that he amused himself by’ running his fingers over the letters, spelling the words from beginning to end. Kye often thought of his friend Edgcumb, anil wondered what had been his fate. He thought of Coulter, of Pintard, and the dive, but he little dreamed that his dungeon was beneath that same disgusting place, as he indulged in speculations regarding its locality.

(To be Continued.)