The Duke of Arcanum

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue VI, 6 August 1898, Page 173

The Duke of Arcanum

&Y

CARLETON LONG

CHAPTER XI. THE ESCAPE.

In the excitement which followed the death of the State’s Attorney, Edgcumb appeared to be the only one in the court-room with a cool head, although the sentence of death was about to be passed upon him. He was quick to avail himself of the opportunity which the thunderbolt had afforded. It seemed as if Providence had ordained this fatality that justice might recoil upon his enemies, and the innocent be offered an avenue of escape. In that supreme moment of confusion, when the officers had unwittingly rushed to where the State's Attorney lay, a realisation of that terrible verdict GUILTY burst upon him. The lightning’s stroke had been almost synchronous with the utterance of that word, so that its full effect was momentarily lost. But when the moment of realisation came, and he saw a chance for escape through the turmoil and excitement which prevailed, and, realising that it was all that stood between him and the gallows, he seized the opportunity with the desperation of despair, and, leaping over the railing, pushed into the crowd and quickly found himself in the street below. As he reached the walk, where the furious storm came down in torrents, he heard the alarm in the corridors above sounding the discovery of his flight, but he dashed into the street, and fled through the gloom as a startled hare flees with elastic bounds to a covert in the thicket’s density. He knew that while the storm lasted he could run safely at the top of his speed, with out the danger of being molested by an officer, hence he made all haste to place the greatest distance •possible between himself and his pursuers, turning into unfrequented streets and alleys, where the darkness was so intense that he would have been compelled to grope his way but for the frequent flashes of lightning. Thus he hurried on in the direction of his home—a home which he had never seen, but of which he knew the precise location by a description which his wife had given him. Her removal had been unnoticed by the police. Feeling that the prisoner was secure, and not anticipating such an eventuation, they had cared little what became of her, and did not interest themselves in her movements. Stanley supposed this to be the ease, but he was aware that no time would be lost in locating the house, after which it would be impossible to enter it.

Imogen had been in attendance at the trial all that day up to the close of the State Attorney’s address, when she left for home in deference to the wish of her husband, who did not desire to have her present when the verdict was announced. She had waited all the evening for tidings in the most dreadful suspense, and. drawing the little ones close to her knee, had watched the gathering storm, which somehow seemed to fill her with dismal forebodings, or to be portentous of some approaching calamity. She could not rid herself of this feeling of depression which came over her with the advent of the storm. Sitting silently by the window she watched

and waited, the children nestling closely by her side, burying their frightened faces in the folds of her dress at every peal and flash, until they finally fell asleep.

The storm had slackened its violence, but the gentle rain was still falling noiselessly upon the deserted streets, when Imogen observed the figure of a man slowly approach and pause upon the walk before the house. He was evidently trying to make out the number above the door. Her heart fluttered with excitement, and she strained her eyes, endeavouring to recognise him. It could not be Stanley, because he seemed to be acting cautiously. She moved the shutters with a slight noise to attract his attention. and, hearing it, he stepped hurriedlv to the window.

‘Who is there?’ he asked, softly, but in an anxious tone.

Imogen, not recognising the voice, partly opened the shutter and said: 'This is number 521. Who are you looking for?’ ‘For you, Imogen. Open the door as quickly as possible, and don’t utter a word; my life depends upon it.’ Stanley spoke in a suppressed tone, scarcely above a whisper. Comprehending that something was wrong, and very much agitated at the sudden appearance of her husband in this compromising manner, Imogen opened the door, and, as Stanley entered, she threw her arms about his neck, exclaiming,‘Oh. my dear, dear husband!’ Edgcumb presented a most wretched appearance with his clothes clinging tightly to his body, the water running miniature rivulets from the rim of his hat, and his long hair hanging like ragged shreds from a tattered garment. But to all this Imogen was blind for the moment. She was overjoyed again to look into his face outside of the prison walls, and she rested her head upon his broad shoulders, unmindful of the drops that trickled down into her partially upturned face. What a moment of bliss and happiness! But, alas, not one of long duration.

‘Sh-h-h-h, don’t speak above a whisper,’ Stanley cautioned, as he embraced her. ‘lt must not be known that I am here.’

‘Why, Stanley, what is the matter? Did the jury not acquit you?’

‘No. I am convicted and sentenced to death, but I did not stay long enough to hear that part of the verdict.’

‘What, have you escaped?’ ‘Yes; I am a fugitive; the hounds are after me, but the rain wall spoil their scent. I have hurried here to see you while I have a chance.’ ‘Oh, Stanley, I was afraid that speech of the State's Attorney would overcome your defence. I was hopeful until then, and it made my blood run cold to hear it.’

‘lt was a powerful speech, and I was undone by it, but it was his last, for he is dead.’

‘Dead! The State’s Attorney dead? Oh. my husband! You have not done this? You have not stained your hands with his blood?’ ‘No, dearest; he was struck dead by lightning in the court-room, just. :us the verdict was being rend, and I es-

caped in the confusion which followed. It will soon be known over the city, and every effort will be made to retake me. Time is precious, my darling. I can only be with you a few moments, for there is no safety here. I was most imprudent in coming at all. but instinct seemed to turn my steps hither. You are the only one now in all the world who cares for the man condemned to die. and it is natural that I should wish to see you a moment, even at the risk of my life.’ ‘And I. Stanley, am overjoyed to see you. even though you are a fugitive. My hopes anti prayers are with yon. God is with you, too, or He would not have interposed to save you in such a miraculous manner. Your innocence shall triumph yet. Be brave, my dear boy, and do the best you can. I will struggle on as I have done for the last year. Go—fly; do not tarry an instant where your life is in peril.’

‘My wife, my brave, faithful little wife,’ said Stanley, pressing her to his bosom, ‘we never thought, during those happy years in the cottage, that such a misfortune would befall us, that we should be so cruelly separated, but fortune has strange and unaccountable freaks. It warms my heart, though in my hour of trouble, to hear such expressions of confidence in my innocence. It. is worth all the weary months of suffering which I have endured to listen to those words of love and devotion. Be brave, Imogen, and I shall win a place for you yet which you will not be ashamed of. Listen a moment to what I have to say. I shall always be somewhere near you. I shall see you when you least expect it; but if you should recognise me, you must never, by word or look, give token of it, for it would be fatal to all my plans. The police must be misled. Do not leave the city under any circumstances, as I may not be able to find you. Now, Imogen, have I an old suit of clothes which you have preserved?’

‘Yes —let me think—yes; there are some old clothes in the old red chest. Let me bring them out.’ ‘Be quick, or they will have me before I can get away.’ Imogen closed the shutters tightly, locked the door, and delved into a large chest which stood in the corner of the room. Some old garments were brought, forth, which Stanley examined critically by the lamp-light. They were much worn, but he hastily exchanged for them, casting off those which he had worn so long in prison, and which were familiar to the officers. Taking a pencil from his pocket he then glanced about for something upon which to write. A loaf of bread lay upon the table, wrapped in a piece of manilia paper, which Paget had brought from the bakery before the storm. Tearing off a corner of the paper, he hastily wrote the following upon it:— ‘My dear wife, you will hear it all. It is more than I can bear. 1 am innocent, but I am dogged by fate, and the scaffold stares me in the face. I have escaped from the officers, but 1 have neither money nor friends, and feeling certain that I shall soon be retaken, and preferring death by my own hands to the uncertainty of a fugitive’s life and separation from you, or to the more inevitable fate of the scaffold, I have cast myself despairingly into the lake in hopes that 1 shall there find the rest which is denied me here. Forgive me. my dear, and let only the tender memories of our happiness before trouble befell us be recalled to you, forgetting the miserable fate of your unhappy husband. Imogen, may God bless and protect you and our children. Farewell. ‘STANLEY.’

Having finished, he handed the paper to Imogen without explanation, being absorbed in the formation of his plans. A deathly pallor spread over her face, and she became speechless as she perused it. ‘Why, Imogen, what is it?' Stanley inquired, distressed at her appearance. ‘Suicide!’ she gasped. 'You ask me what is the matter after such an announcement as this?' pointing to the paper, which had fallen to the floor.

Then his thoughtless act flashed U|K»n him. ‘Ah, Imogen, calm yourself. have no fear. That is but part of the plan which I have formed to elude the |x>lice. I have no intention of committing such an act. 1 was certainly imprudent in giving you the note without an explanation. No. my dear, have no fear. I will tell you my plans. I am going to leave these old

clothes at some point near the lake, with this note attached to them. They will be discovered and taken to the police station, and probably turned over to you. You understand now, and you must play your part well. You must be able to identify the writing, ami affect sorrow at tire news. 1 hope by these tactics to elude them, and to finally e-seape their vigilance altogether. Wdl you do this, Imogen?' 'Anything, my dear husband, to save you. 1 would willingly lay down my life for you this instant.' ‘And I for you. God bless you!’ said Stanley, as he renewed the embrace which he had relinquished during his explanation. Edgeumb’s eyes wandered to the paper on the floor, and thence to the table. An idea occurred to him. There was a clue for the police; he must obliterate it. Stepping quickly to the table he removed the wrapper from the bread and burned it over the lampchimney.

‘These detectives, you know, are very cunning, and if, after coming into possession of this farewell note, they should happen in here and tit it into the corner from which 1 have torn it, they would know that I have l>een here, and that it is only a ruse. Now, Imogen, only one further pre]ximtion remains, after which 1 shall be off like the wind. 1 must have my hair shorn, for these locks are tixi conspicuous and well known.’

Appreciating the necessity for a celerity of action Imogen seized her shears, and set to work at once, divesting his head of the long, shaggy locks. Her fingers being nimble, it required but a short time to accomplish the task, when Stanley arose to take his departure. ‘There is an end to all things,' said he, rather facetiously, looking at the tufts on the floor, and running his hand over his almost denuded ]xjll. ‘And an eml to my visit has come also; but, the children—l had almost forgotten them.' Imogen had laid them on the bed before admitting her husband, and they were still wrapped in the deepest slumber. Stepping to where they lay, Stanley bent over and kissed their quiet faces. His eyes moistened as he contemplated them; they had been fatherless so long, and might soon be forever if fortune did not favour him exceedingly. The moment had come to take leave of them, but it seemed impossible to tear himself away. Dashing his hand over his eves he then gave Imogen a farewell embrace, and rolling up the clothes he placed them under his arm and dejrarted, carrying with him the loaf of bread, for Imogen had insisted upon his taking it. The storm had wholly subsided. The sidereal splendour of the firmament was again visible and through the purified atmosphere the stars seemed to glisten with unwonted brilliancy from their dark empyrean vault. Only here and there small patches of fleecy clouds, like streaks of nebulae, were visible. It was an inspiring sight to again look upon the glittering hosts which spangled all the sky. It had been denied him for many a long month, and he paused repeatedly to cast his eyes upward. The heavens had never appeared so interesting to him before; but, as his vision again penetrated the deserted streets, he could not. escape a feeling of loneliness. He left like one isolated from the world, and the thought came to him that henceforth, should he escape the clutches of the law. he would be a. wanderer, skulking here and there like a wild bea-st which leaves its lair only under cover of the night, and which the breaking of a twig startles into an attitude of defence or precipitate flight. Edgcumb moved cautiously toward the lake, occasionally crouching in shadowy places to escape the notice of persons whom he imagined were officers. He had proceeded some distance when suddenly, a few rods in advance, two officers turned the corner and eame directly toward him. He had kept closely in the shallow of the houses and was as yet unperceived. He could not at first establish their identity, but all doubts were speedily removed as the sharp crack of a policeman’s club resounded as it was struck against an iron basement guard. He was at a loss to know what to do for an instant, butt there was no time to l»e wasted in thinking. A single glance was sufficient to take in tin* situation and determine his course. There was no place of concealment at hand, and it

would not be prudent to attempt to pass 1 hem by putting on a bold front, as the bundle which he carried in his arms would l>e likely to compromise him. His only alternative, then, was to turn back and walk away unnoticed, if he could, or take to his heels if he must. Holding the bundle directly before him, he turned, but barely a dozen stejts had been taken ere the officers perceived him. and, their suspicions Iteiiig aroused by his actions, they increased their leisurely gait to a rapid walk to overtake him. Then he, also, quickened his pace, taking immense strides and holding his course still in the direction of the lake. But seeing that a chase was inevitable, and, wishing to gain every inch possible to his advantage, he started on a run. The pursuit now began in earnest. It was a race for life with Edgeumb scarcely fifty yards in advance. No place of refuge seemed available where, he could dart in unobserved and secrete himself. He had reached a point near the Rush street bridge where there is a gradual converging of Kinzie and Michigan streets until the distance between them is narrowed to a few feet at the crossing of Rush. At alley, running parallel between these streets, also debouches into Rush street, terminating at this triangular point. It is here that the incline approach to the bridge commences. His intentions were to cross the river, for he. supposed that the. bridge at that hour of night would be. entirely unfrequented. Approaching this locality at a furious pace, he turned abruptly from Michigan street into Pine. then, dashing through the alley to the point above described, he darted up the incline at the top of his speed.

2k few weeks previous to this occurrence, a large propeller had collided with the bridge and nearly demolished it. *since which time it had remained open for repairs. His long confinement had preluded the possibility of knowing or hearing of such occurrences, and he was, of course, not aware of this. What was his horror, then, upon discovering only a gaping chasm before him, with his retreat cut off in the rear, and the officers close upon him. It is at such critical moments, when the mind is sorely taxed for resources, that expedients develop with incredible spontaneity. Such a one came to him as he. was about to leap into the dark abyss before him. He thought of a stairway which descended from the eastern abutment to the wharf below. It was close at hand, and with one bound he reached it and darted down, scarcely touching a third of the steps in his flight; and none too soon, for as he reached the wharf the officers seized the railing at the top of the

The darkness along the wharf was intense, but Edgeumb was used to the gloom of a prison eell and could see much better than his pursuers. He was resolved upon taking a desperate course if necessary to effect his escape, hence, instead of rushing recklessly along the wharf, he crouched down beside the stairs, near the edge of the wharf. An officer descended cautiously, groping his way and feeling for the fugitive. As he stepped upon the wharf he paused a moment to get his l>earings. as he well knew it to be a dangerous place in which to move hastily. The skirt of his coat brushed Edgcumb’s face. It was the moment for action, and a critical one, which meant life or death to him. He raised himself erect; the dark form was before him: then having in mind a noted criminal by the name of Grit McGuire, who had recently escaped from prison, he gave the officer a terrific push, crying out as he did so: ‘You'll never follow Grit McGuire again, d n you!’ There was a cry and a splash, but Edgeumb heard no more, for seizing his bundle he made his way along the flocks, finally taking refuge in a lumber yard near the entrance to the harbour.

An hour later, having become satisfied that the chase had been abandoned. Edgeumb moved out of his hiding place and walked along the lake shore until he found a convenient place for leaving the garments which were to be the evidence of his selfdestruction. Placing them in a position. with the note attached. he proceeded to prepare evidence that he had acted in accordance with his

•This accident to the bridge at that time is a matter of municipal history.

announcement by walking across the sandy beach, and wading to the breakwater a few yards from the shore. Reaching this, he climbed upon it and crept along on the rough stone for some distance until he came to a small pier, by which he returned to the shore. Worn with fatigue and excitement he now began to look for some spot where he could spend the night in safety. He had relieved his hunger at the lumber yard by eating part of the loaf which Imogen had placed in his hand, but he was exceedingly tired from the long chase which the officers had given him. Not far from the point where he had left his clothing, or not more than two hundred yards from the shore, stood a large brewery. It fronted upon a street running west from the lake. About midway from end to end of this building, on the side toward the lake, there was a large wing, which had apparently been added some time after the main building was constructed. In the angle formed by the wall of the main structure and the wing there was an accumulation of wornout and useless articles which had once done service within. Among them was a large malt-tub, several feet, in diameter, bound with large iron bands, eroded from exposure, the whole having a dilapidated and wea-ther-beaten appearance. It lay partially inverted toward the wall and almost immediately in the angle described. Edgeumb could see the. dark outline of the prodigious building- in the starlight, and be advanced slowly toward it. thinking that perhaps it might offer a temporary asylum, where he could remain a few hours undisturbed. As he drew near the place he saw sudden flashes of light, which he thought came from a watchman’s lantern. After they had ceased altogether, he skirted along the eastern wall of the brewery until he reached the accumulation of rubbish in the corner. Carefully he examined one thing after another until he paused before the huge tub. ‘A most excellent retreat,’ he exclaimed. T will do like Diogenes, I will make my home in a tub.’ And he explored its interior by the light of a match which he chanced to find in his pocket.

As Edgeumb lay down to rest, all of the exciting incidents of the day and night passed in rapid review through his mind. He thought of the officer whom he had thrown into the river and wondered what had been his fate. He felt, a pang of regret at having hurled the man, perhaps to a watery grave, and he endeavoured by force of argument to justify the act. ‘lf the man is dead,’ he soliloquised, ‘no one regrets it more than I, or the circumstances which made it a necessity. It was a matter of self-preservation. I am an innocent man, but my life would have been forfeited had I permitted myself to be taken. I am young, and have a wife and family, and everything to live for. God Himself cannot •teny me the right to live, and how ti.en can he sensure me for acting upon the first law of nature, even though I sacrificed another’s life in doing so? Had I been guilty of the crime for which I have been tried and convicted, and had then added another in my efforts to escape a just punishment, it would have been a different, matter, one devoid of extenuating circumstances and deserving of His implacable wrath. It was long before he could induce sleep, and when it. came it was disturbed by fitful dreams in which lie fancied that he saw the white, upturned face of a corpse floating upon the dark surface of the river.

Edgeumb did not awaken until long after the morning had dawned. The great brewery, which had been wrapped for hours in a nocturnal mantle, deserted by all save the watchman who had occasionally made his rounds during the night, had meanwhile performed its usual functions. It was now astir with life and activity. Dense volumes of smoke poured from its lofty chimney. The ponderous machinery had resumed its quotidian clanking and monotonous pulsations, while a responsive gurgle came from the huge pump as it forced the amber fluid through the long reaches of iron pipe and copper coils of the cooler into the monstrous tubs and vats, flushing them with every action of the valves, as the human arteries are flushed with every throb of the heart. The steam mashpits sizzled and cooked, emitting clouds of steam, pregnant with the odour of

barley. The great copper cauldrons, retort-shaped, were seething while the brewers were busy shovelling hops into their capacious maws from the barrels and bales which stood numerously about. Men were everywhere at work: some rolling the grain upon trucks, others watching and tending the various stages of malt-making, turning the sprouting grain upon floors, or gathering the malt into heaps, singing the while some merry German ditty. Teams coming and going, loading and unloading, the coarse laughter of the drivers and brewers, the tramping of horses, and the roll of the machinery formed in its whole a noisy and animated scene.

After breakfasting upon the half loaf of bread which he had saved for his morning meal, Edgeumb began to consider what his future course should be. There must be some means of procuring subsistence, and yet he knew that it would not be prudent to remain in the city, for the vigilant eyes of the police were everywhere and his detection would only be a question of time. To be sure, he was somewhat altered in appearance by a change of raiment, and being shorn of the long hair which he had worn in his confinement, but this was not sufficient to baffle them. Of course he could not tell what would be the result of the finding of the garments on the beach. He hoped that it would mislead them, but he was aware that they were familiar with all such cunning devices, and that, even were they disposed to accept the evidence of suicide, they would not relax their vigilance or abate one whit of their watchfulness of every avenue of escape. How. then, could he extricate himself, penniless, hatless, without a friend, and only the hollow of a huge tub to shield him from the world which clamoured for his life. What would become of him when he stepped out into that world to struggle against the odds and uncertainties which would beset him everywhere? He thought long and earnestly over the situation, calculating upon the various plans which were suggested to his mind. Finally peering out and surveying the great walls of the brewery, he wondered if, after all, there was not right there within them a greater place of safety, temporarily, than any which he had considered before; and one which would also provide him with subsistence. Placing his hand to his brow he appeared to meditate for awhile. We shall see presently what occupied his thoughts, for, acting upon their impulse, he left his covert within the tub and walked boldly along the side of the building, turned the corner and entered the brewery by the arcade where the teams were driven in and out.

A few steps from the entrance and to the right of this arcade was a door, over which was fastened a. small sign of ‘office.’ Stopping before the door, Edgeumb glanced at the sign, then farther, through the arcade, to the busy scene beyond. There was some hesitation in his manner, as if he were undecided where to go; but, choosing the office, he pushed open the door, which was slightly ajar, and entered, finding himself at once in the presence of a number of persons. Advancing to the nearest desk, at which sat a middle aged man, with stronglymarked German features, whose florid countenance and rotund figure gave evidence that he was a consumer as well as a producer, on a large scale, he asked, ‘ls the proprietor in?’ The sturdy German glanced at the stranger with a puzzled look and replied, ‘Dot’s vot I am, zur, von uv dem. Want to puy some peer, hey?’ ‘No, that is not my errand. lam in trouble, and I thought that you might possibly help me out of it.’ ‘How ish dot?’ the brewer asked, now scrutinizing his visitor closely from head to foot. ‘Well, sir, I was washed overboard last night from a vessel and beat about in Lake Michigan for several hours clinging to a plank. I thought my time had surely come.’ ‘lsh dot so?’ asked the astonished listener. Then turning squarely around in his chair, so as to face the hero of this thrilling incident, he inquired: ‘You fell off der sheep in der lake? By damn, dot vas von fearful shvim. How did dot happen, mine fren?’

By this time all had become eager listeners. The cashier, who was busy looking over a number of checks and drafts before him, lost track of his computations; the bookkeeper, who

had plucked his pen from behind his ear, held it motionless; while even the small office-boy, who was engaged at the letter-press, abstractedly sized the face of the freshly-written! letters instead of the tissue pages of his copybook, smearing them beyond the possibility of interpretation, so interested had he become in the remarks and appearance of the stranger. Edgeumb then proceeded to tell his story: ‘I arrived in Chicago about ten days ago, with very little money in my pocket, in search of work. Having no profession or trade to follow, 1 found it a difficult matter to get anything to do. Yesterday morning I used the last of my money' to buy my breakfast, but during the day I found an opportunity to work my passage back to the East on board of a vessel bound for Buffalo with a cargo of grain. We left port about sundown, and after being towed well out of the harbour we set sail under full canvas and soon got well under way. Shortly afterward we were struck by a terrific storm’

‘By damn,’ interrupted the brewer, ‘dot vos von dherrific sthorm. I daught it might blow all der peer into der lake, mit der brewery, also.’ ‘Well,’ continued Edgeumb, ‘it caught us so suddenly that I was not prepared for it. All the rest, who were old sailors, were used to such things, and clutched hold of something, but before I could get my wits about me I was swept overboard. The sailors threw a plank to me, which I succeeded in clutching, and after tossing about for many hours 1 was thrown upon the beach. I was so exhausted that I lay' under a tree until morning, and now here I am safe and sound, but you see I am wet and have no hat.’

‘By damn! dot vos von lucky ’scape. Vot can I do for you, mine fren’?’ ‘Give me a little work if you can, if it’s only for a single day.’ ‘By damn! dot’s vot I vil do.’ Then, running his hand down in his pocket, the brewer drew forth a well-filled wallet. Taking out a crisp note, he grasped Stanley' warmly by the hand, saying: ‘I geef you dees in adwance. You may go to work now,’ then turning to those about him he asked: ‘Boys, ez any von of you got a hat ez vot he don’ vant?’

A hut was immediately forthcoming. The foreman was called and Stanley was shown to the malt-room, where he was soon at work turning the sprouting barley on the floor.

CHAPTER XII. JARMYN.

Jarmyn, the detective, had recently done some excellent work in two or three noted cases, which had given him considerable celebrity in police circles, and his name had become a terror to all offenders of the law. At ‘French Anne’s,’ where he was known as ‘Jarmyn Chien,’ he was especially dreaded, and the burly proprietress would invariably' shake her fist and pronounce the direst anathemas against him whenever any' of the inmates or loungers mentioned his name. He seemed to have such original methods of obtaining clues, and such unerring judgment in following them that it excited the envy of his confreres and the admiration of his chief. To such an extent did the latter rely upon his services that the very moment a crime of unusual importance was reported, he would invariably exclaim: ‘Call Jarmyn quickly; I wish to see him at once!’ In appearance this somewhat remarkable person was slightly above the average stature, with broad, square shoulders and a well proportioned body. He wore a short, sandy beard, while his hair was a corresponding colour. His eyes were a steel grey, sharp and piercing. He was a man of great natural shrewdness, far-seeing, and a elose observer, with much practical good sense and intelligence, and withal a good judge of human nature.

At the time of the murder of Mancel Tewkes, Jarmyn had not yet attained much notoriety, and his opinions were not sought as eagerly then as now. Being rather of a taciturn nature—save when the role he was playing as detective called for loquacity and a congenial spirit—and never seeking to promote his own interests by venturing unasked his opinions or theories to his superiors, Jarmyn had kept his ideas of that affair to himself, and whenever interrogated by others concerning his belief in regard to the crime, he would shrug his shoulders and reply: ‘l’m not on the case.’ But

the cunning detective had a most decided opinion, nevertheless, of that Granger street affair, and it was far different from the views entertained by any of the others, and by the Chief of Police in particular. In sifting all the circumstances which had any possible bearing upon such a ease, Jarmyn first sought for a motive to inspire the act. He could see none on Edgcumb’s part, for the commission of such a crime. He could not have expected to find a large sum of money on Mancel Tewkes’ person, and the mere fact of having been discharged by him would never have incited thoughts of murder, he argued. He regarded Edgcumb as either a victim of circumstantial evidence, or of a plot to throw the responsibility of the crime upon his shoulders. As to circumstantial evidence, Jarmyn was a man of too much good sense to be deceived by ‘illusions,’ as he termed them. Therein is where he differed from the majority of his craft, for he did not accept such evidence when it could not be substantiated by positive and convincing proof. He was honest in his convictions and his profession. He recognised the fact that every man is amenable to the law for his actions, but that he should be held accountable for unlawful acts by direct and positive proof, not by mere compromising circumstances. He was disposed to give every person his due, even those against whom his suspicions were aroused, and whom he was shadowing with fidelity; but not the slightest act, movement, word or look escaped him, and when once he had established by undisputable proof the fact that he was a criminal, or when the law had pronounced him such, he would pounce upon him as mercilessly as a cat upon a mouse, and his eyes would gleam with the same satisfaction, for he loathed a criminal as he loathed a snake.

Jarmyn was inclined to believe that the evidence against Edg-cumb was wholly the result of a design or a conspiracy. Underneath the coarse exterior of the mantle of compromising evidence which the police had woven around the prisoner, his practised eye seemed to detect the fine handiwork of some one who had committed the crime, and had sought to thus quietly conceal his own connection with it. As yet it was indefinable. He alone felt inclined to give credence to the story which the prisoner had told of having received the money in such a mysterious manner, of finding the lost message, and the way in which he accounted for being upon the scene of the murder. ‘lt is all perfectly plausible,’ he argued, ‘and if true, it supports the theory of a conspiracy. If it is such, then surely Edgcumb must have an enemy lurking somewhere near.’ And he kept a close watch upon the case, determined to locate that enemy if one existed. At different times he made inquiries among the employees of the telegraph office, but he failed to find any one who had aught to say against Edgcumb. Thus matters remained for several months. The detective was puzzled to his wits’ end to find anything tangible to work upon, but he persistently held to his theory and purpose. Finally one day, as he sat with the Chief of Police, conversing, in an informal manner, the subject of Edgeumb’s approaching trial was touched upon. The Chief was congratulating himself and his bureau upon the speedy manner in which this murderer had been apprehended. ‘For a case which promised to be a most complicated one it was the neatest piece of work I have ever known,’ he said, ‘and thanks to Director-in-Chief Coulter of the telegraph office, or we might be looking for the murderer still.’

‘How so?’ asked Jarmyn. ‘Well, confidentially, he gave us the tip. That fellow is as keen as a carpenter’s broad-axe, no mistake about it. You see, the morning after the murder he sent me this note —I have never shown it to you before —and 1 lost no time in taking him in.’ Here the Chief drew from a drawer in his desk the note which Coulter had written him advising Edgeumb’s arrest, and passed it over to Jarmyn for perusal. Jarmyn took the paper and examined it critically. He did not verbally dissent from the Chief’s observation that Edgcumb was the right man beyond the shadow of a doubt, but mentally he did. ’The note, however, appeared to suggest to his mind the very clue which he had so long ami hopelessly searched for, but he knew

that he would have to be cautious, for it was evident that the man Coulter and the Chief of Police were on the best of terms. The more he thought of it the more it became apparent that Coulter was mixed up in the case. 'Who could have made such haste to denounce a brother workman to the authorities other than the man who was most interested himself in having him denounced? Was there not a trace of anxiety or of overdoing the thing in that note?’ he questioned himself. ‘ls it not also probable that he is the man who sent the anonymous letter, with the twenty-dollar bill, to Edgcumb? And had he a motive for committing this crime?’ he queried, further. ‘Let’s see. Well, he seems to have stepped into the murdered man’s shoes very easily. I don’t know much about the position or the nature of the man, but we will not lose sight of this fact for a while, as there is something very obvious about it.’ lie mused long and earnestly over the matter. He did not positively assert that Coulter was guilty, but he was suspicious, and, deeming it expedient to keep an eye on him, he engaged a room where he might have a convenient point of observation. Later on, when the trial commenced, Jarmyn was an interested attendant whenever his duties would permit. The brilliant speeches of the lawyers had no attraction for him. In hi’s original way of coining expressions, he would say: ‘lt’s only dolt’s-bane; it poisons the mind with prejudice, unseats the judgment, and sets it to vacillating like a weather-vane on a church spire.’ But to all the evidence he gave the closest attention, and when Coulter took the stand there was not a word, look, or movement which escaped him. He followed the crossexamination with the keenest interest, and when Coulter had finished he found his suspicions still more deeply rooted. At last, when Humphrey Davids in his closing argument provoked the dignity of the court by saying, ‘lf I occupied the seat upon the bench and saw such a palpable conspiracy, J would discharge the prisoner and order the arrest of—’ Jarmyn lowered his eyes to the floor and exclaimed sotto voce.: ‘Amen!’ well knowing whom the lawyer had in mind.

Jarmyn also imagined that he saw a collusion between the principal witnesses for the prosecution; Coulter, Pintard, and Louis Carrol. When the latter testified, the falsity of the evidence appeared to him as transparent as a fabric of gauze. There was something clumsy, awkward, and farfetched. to his practical eye, which looked like a connivance. As she (Chloe) left the room. Jarmyn followed her. determined to sift, the matter, but he was cunningly foiled, for she stepped into a carriage which stood in waiting, and was rapidly driven away. Then commenced a systematic search for the driver of the vehicle, but he never succeeded in finding him. Not being able to trace this witness, he then turned his attention to Kve, in a futile attempt to discover his whereabouts.

After the tragic ending of the trial which resulted in Edgeumb’s escape, Jarmyn was summoned immediately into the presence of his chief for consultation. He was peremptorily instructed to locate Edgcumb’s family, and to bring in the delinquent, dead or alive. Although he had many misgivings as to the justness of the verdiet, yet his duty’ was imperative. He was an agent of the law, and it had declared Edgcumb guilty. There was no alternative but to keep faith with the law and to execute its decrees. for Jarmyn had such an honourable regard for the duties devolving upon him that had the fugitive been his own brother he would have delivered him to the authorities could he have laid hands upon him. and in doing so woidd have said: ‘I am an officer: an officer can have no choice; the law claims him and I must obey; here my responsibility ends.’

It was a matter of some difficulty to locate the lodgings of this unfortunate family, hut. Jarmyn knew just how to proceed. In the afternoon of the following day he appeared before his chief with the desired information. but was told that it was too late as Edgcumb’s clothes had just been brought in with a note attached addressed to his wife; that he had ended the matter by throwing himself into the lake. .

‘What do you think of it?’ queried the Chief, as he tossed the farewell note to Jarmyn for an opinion.

‘lt is about an even guess that he has, and that he hasn’t,* the latter replied, upon reading it. •Quite probable that he has,* suggested the Chief; ‘that note sounds like the pitiful squeak of a rat in the terrier’s jaws. He knew that he had to die, but he wanted to cheat something or somebody; and, finding that he could not cheat the jury, he concluded to cheat the gallows.’ Jarmyn was silent after the Chief had delivered himself of his convictions. He was weighing in his mind the probabilities of the matter, whether Edgcumb had, in reality, destroyed himself, or whether he had adopted this as a ruse to elude the police. The Chief waited, indifferently, for the detective’s reply; finally it came: ‘I don’t believe that Edgcumb is dead any more than I believe him guilty of murder.’

The Chief looked very much surprised, ‘Jarmyn, I don’t understand you,’ he said: ‘what shall I infer from vour remark?’

‘That Jarmyn thinks he is neither dead nor guilty/ the detective calmly replied, looking steadily at the Chief with his keen gray eyes. ‘Jarmyn, T have always considered you a man of most excellent judgment, but I confess that T am greatly surprised by your declaration. How long have you held such an opinion?’ ‘Never had any other, sir.’ ‘lt is strange that I have never known it before.’ ‘Not necessarily; we have never talked much upon the subject, and I had nothing to do with the case. Why should I intrude my opinion when I knew that you held a contrary one?’ ‘Yes: and I still stick to it.’ ‘Well, you may be right and I wrong.’ ‘I think that is about the size of it, Jarmyn; but tell me what theory you hold, and, in your opinion, who killed Mancel Tewkes if Edgcumb did not?’ ‘I am not prepared to say. T never charge any one with a crime when I cannot substantiate it with an abundance of proof.’ ‘But you may have an opinion nevertheless.’ ‘Possibly, but none to offer.’ The Chief of Police frowned as he saw how determined Jarmyn was to evade his questions: but he knew his sterling worth and peculiarities, and he did not deem it prudent to reprimand him. ‘l’ll let him alone,’ he thought, ‘and if there is any game abroad he’ll surely come home with it in his mouth. But he could not comprehend how Jarmyn could entertain such ideas; they were so totally at variance with his own. ‘Now, Jarmyn,’ returned the Chief, ‘the question before us is whether Edgcumb has destroyed himself or not. I am inclined to think that he has, but you hold a different opinion. There are the identical clothes that he wore—even to the hat, you see. A man could not go very far in a large city like this, divested of hat and clothing, without being noticed. It is not probable that he would have gone directly home, as he had no means of knowing that we were ignorant of the location.’ ‘Very true; but he may have friends who would harbour him, and, besides, there is one great fact wanting—a cause, or a motive for his self-destruc-tion. A deduction of facts a priori is as necessary to the success of a detective’s work as to the scientific theorist's. Every man’s acts are impelled by some motive, and he who fails to grasp this idea in his search for the mysterious will only grope like a blind man without hope of ever seeing a ray of light ahead.* ‘But in our affairs we are frequently forced to jump at conclusions.’ ‘Yes; and illusions, too. We often think we have caught a ’possum when it turns out to be a skunk. No, sir, Edgcumb is not dead, depend upon it. He had no cause to commit suicide. It is well enough to let the public think so, and to let it l>e understood that you think so yourself: it will render his apprehension all the easier.* ‘Well. Jarmyn, for once we differ. Nevertheless we will take the necessary precautions to capture him if he is yet alive. 1 will send some men to search the house and keep watch of the locality. You can proceed to the spot where these garments were found and make an examination of the surroundings. I will have the officer who brought them in acconipuny you. I think he mentioned that it was near a large brewery;

at any rate you will have no trouble in finding the place under his guidance.* As Jarmyn nodded assent there came, a sound of laughter from an adjoining room. ‘Let's see what's the racket,* said the Chief, motioning Jarmyn to follow; and the two men |>assed into the room from whence the sound had come.

‘lla, ha, ha,* again rang out a chorus of voices as they entered. •He floundered about in the dark and yelled like a Sioux Indian,’ were the first words which fell upon their ears, and which was spoken by a man with a blue coat and brass buttons. ‘lt must be something very entertaining.’ said the Chief. ‘What is it all about?’

‘Officer Mulligan’s bath.* answered several voices, simultaneously. ‘Let's have the story,' demanded the

Chief. The story, which was then retold for the benefit of the Chief of Police, was listened to attentively by Jarmyn. It proved to be the experience of the two officers in following Grit McGuire, which resulted in Officer Mulligan being thrown into the river, and of his rescue from his perilous situation. The Chief seemed very much amused over the affair, but .Jarmyn appeared to be. anxious for the details. He wanted to know where they had last seen McGuire, over what route the chase was made, and a description of his person, as near as possible.

The officer gave the desired information. adding incidentally that the man carried something in his arms which he could not make out. ‘He had probably been up to his old tricks

—had burglarized a house, and was making off with the plunder.’

‘Probably, said the. detective, as he swung open the outer door to take his departure; but it was an empty remark, without a mental acquiescence.

As he proceeded on his way, Jarmyn’s mind seemed to be occupied with the adventure just related. ‘lt may have been Edgcumb after all,' he soliloquized, ‘theres no telling what cunning schemes will enter a man's head while being pursued by an officer. He had evidently secured a change of clothing somewhere, and was making for the lake with the purpose of leaving the old ones where they would be found. From the moment he was first seen and followed, he kept his course steadily toward the lake: that is one support to the theory. Then had it been Grit McGuire, as they say, he would never have shouted his name in such a manner. No; Grit McGuire is an old offender and as cunning as a fox. He knows better than to do such a thing. He would much rather the police would think him a thousand miles away; but. they are too stupid to see through all this. I'll keep my ideas to myself. Time will show whether 1 am right or wrong.' At length they reached the brewery where Edgcumb was at work. As they came to the arcade the officer stopped, and looking through into the busy establishment, said to Jarmyn: ‘Wait a moment; 1 want to find the lad who gave me the clothes and have him show me where he found them.’ Just as the officer was about to turn into the arcade, a boy came out of the office' and gave a shrill whistle, a signal to the foreman that he was wanted within. ‘There he is now; I'll call him.* said tin* o ffieer. lie did so. Upon approaching he questioned him : ‘Where did you find that bundle which you turned over to me this morning; down near the lake, eh?’ ‘Yes, sir. on the l>each near the water.’ ‘That’s near enough for all purposes. Then, show this gentleman the place, ami whenever you get arrested for going in swimming send for me and I'll help you out.’ The youth smiled ami led the way. Under his guidance Jarinyn soon reached the spot where the bundle was found, ami made an examination of the locality. He saw footprints in the sand leading from tin* spot where the clothing was found to the water's edge. They wen* peculiar footprints, and indicated that the right shoe was run over at the heel. He then searched for tract's of returning footprints up and down tin' beach, but none were to l»e seen, lie knew that Edgcumb had either climbed tin* breakwater and leaped into the lake or had crept along over the rough stone to a

small pier some distance above. But ujMin searching in the vicinity of’the pier for footprints he found none similar to those which were characterised by the ill-shaped heel, and he was in consequence greatly perplexed. After some deliberation he turned to the youth and asked: ‘What time did you find the clothes on the beach?’ • ’Long ’bout ten o’clock, I think, sir.’ ‘What were you doing here?’ ‘Well, 1 was takiu’ a look at the lake to see how ’twould seem to be tossin’ round all night on a plank like the feller who was washed overboard last night.’ ‘Who was that?’ inquired Jarmyn, his eyes kindling with curiosity. ‘The feller who came into the brewery this morning and said he was blown from a ship last night in the storm. He hadn’t any hat, and we gave him one. I took a likin’ to him, he looked so kind of friendless.’ ‘Was he wet?’ asked the detective. ‘He had been, but he was nearly dried out.’ ‘Did he wear a coat and vest?’ ‘Yes, dark ones.’ ‘Smooth-faced man?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Dark hair?’ ‘I think it was brown.’ ‘Very long—nearly down to his shoulders?’ ‘No sir; ’twas cut close to his head.’ Here Jarmyn seemed to stumble again; but he argued: ‘lt tallies pretty well—all except the short hair.’ ‘Who did he say he was?’ again asked Jarmyn. ‘A sailor, but he didn’t give any name.’ ‘Where was he bound for?’ ‘Buffalo, I think he said.’ ‘And the name of the vessel, did he mention it?’ ‘The Pelican, a three-master, he said.’ They were now returning to the brewery and had just reached the eastern wall. Jarmyn had walked with his eyes cast upon the ground, thinking intently and endeavouring to trace some resemblance between the sailor and the condemned man. At the corner of the brewery, a few inches from the walk, some tracks in the sand attracted his attention, and he stopped to examine them. The lad continued his course and entered the brewery. One of these footprints was much more distinct than the rest, and Jarmyn, upon scrutinising it carefully, discovered a striking similarity to those whch he had seen on the beach. It was the mark of the right shoe, bearing the imprint of the illshaped heel. To avoid the possibility of an error he returned to the beach and took a measurement of one of the footprints and made the comparison. There could he no mistake, they were both made by the same foot.

This footprint pointed in the direction of the eastern wing, and, thinking it possible that he might discover still further traces, Jarmyn walked along by the wall toward the rubbish heap in the angle. He was right, for here and there the same footprints were occasionally seen. The great tub being the most conspicuous object. he naturally approached it first. As he stood before it he again saw the mark of the overturned heel. Then, inspecting the interior, he became convinced that some one had used it for a shelter, for his investigations revealed the presence of bread crumbs. There was something else—what was it? A button. He stooped and picked it up. Yes. a button, evidently from a vest. He placed it in his pocket, for detectives always prize small matters —such as appear insignificant to other people, and Jarmyn was no exception to the rule in that respect.

Jarmyn turned back toward the walk. His thoughts had been so intently occupied with these new traces of the fugitive that he had not missed the boy. For the third time he went to the beach and searched diligently for returning footprints. Darkness there overtaking him, he bent his steps upon another errand. The discovery of the first footprint by the brewery alone saved Edgcumb from occupying his old cell in the prison before sunset, that evening, for the conversation with the youth, which would inevitably have led to his detection, was interrupted. In truth Jarmyn did not SUS|M-Ct that, the delinquent was so nearly within his grasp; that only a wall separated them. Shrewd as he was he did not for a moment suppose that. Edgcumb had remained so near the scene of his

strategic manoeuvre. He assumed that he had gleaned from the youth all the information possible concerning him. There existed no doubt in his mind but that he was still among the living; that he had regained the shore by the breakwater and pier, and having spent in the tub, had entered the brewery in the morning. There was some room for doubt as to the latter part of the supposition, but he would settle that by an examination of the marine departures of the previous evening. The examination was made, but the records did not show the existence of such a craft as the Pelican, and this settled his convictions. It had demonstrated that his theory was correct in regard to the suicide, but he resolved to keep its results to himself. He had obtained something of a clue to work upon, and he knew that he could accomplish more by maintaing a rigid secrecy of both his ideas and purposes than by permitting others to i>articipate in the pursuit. ‘Well, Jarmyn, have you modified your views of the Edgcumb matter?’ asked the Chief of Police as his subordinate presented himself. ‘Not materially; you know that I am rather headstrong sometimes.’ ‘I am quite well aware of that fact, but let us hear what you have discovered in connection with the suicide of Edgcumb!’ ‘I saw footprints in the sand.’

‘Were they Edgcumb’s?’ ‘Undoubtedly, as they led directly into the water from the spot where the bundle is purported to have been found.’

‘Did you see anything else?’ ‘Yes; as I stood there looking at the footprints I saw a body a little bevond.’

‘A body!’ exclaimed the Chief with much surprise. ‘lt must have been Edgcumb’s. Did you secure it?’

‘No; I did not disturb it.’ ‘Was it clothed?’ ‘No; it was naked; nude as Nature made it.’

‘Then it was Edgcumb’s beyond a doubt,’ the Chief asserted, with a g-leam of satisfaction in his eye. ‘No; I think not,’ replied Jarmyn, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, ‘it was body of water—the lake I mean.’ The Chief saw that he had been taken in, but he was of that disposition which relishes a joke, and he especially relished one coming from Jarmyn, who was usually so sedate, and who apparently had not a grain of humour in his nature. ‘Satisfaction, Jarmyn; immediate satisfaction I say,’ demanded the Chief of Police facetiously. ‘All right; let’s licker then,’ Jarmyn replied; and they did at a neighbouring bar-room. Returning to the subject of his investigations a little later, Jarmyn said: ‘But seriously, Mr Chief, I discovered the footprints of the runaway in the sand. I traced them into the water, and examined the beach up and flown for a long distance, but I could not, discover any signs of his having returned to the shore. Edgcumb undoubtedly climbed upon the breakwater and did one of two things—plunged into the lake, or crept along the breakwater to the pier and escaped. You can take your choice.

‘Yes; but it seems to me in the latter case that he put himself to unnecessary trouble. A man bent on escape would make all haste possible to get out of the way, and would not bother his brains about swimming to a breakwater, and groping along over a lot of rough stone, as would have been necessary. No, sir; I think the man was fully convinced that he could not escape the vigilance of our officers, and only wished to escape death on the scaffold by a less dreadful one by drowning.’ ‘lt may be so,’ observed Jarmyn, in a musing and seemingly acquiescent manner.

‘And I believe, sir, that you are more or less inclined to think so yourself.’ added the Chief. But Jarmyn was silent.

Jarmyn surmised that it would be quite likely that Edgcumb would return to the tub to spend the night again; so, upon taking his leave of the Chief of Police, he repaired thither and crept quietly into it, intending, should he appear, to spring upon him unawares and make him his prisoner. He had been there, perhaps, an hour, wjien suddenly he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Momentarily he expected to see the figure of a man before him, and, in an attitude of assault, he pre-

pared to sei;«e him, but it proved to be only the watchman making his usual rounds, who was proceeding toward the southern end of the building. Waiting until nearly midnight, and seeing nothing of the fugitive, he took his departure and returned, somewhat disappointed, to his room. On the following morning Jarmyn took the bundle, with Edgcumb’s note and rapped at Imogen’s door, where he gained a ready admission. Throwing the bundle on a chair he produced the note, and asked her if she knew the handwriting. Imogen burst into tears upon reading it. She had been under such a strain of anxiety and wretchedness so long that it needed but a simple touch to loosen the floodgates of her soul. Between her sobs she told Jarmyn that it was her husband’s writing, and identified the clothing which he had worn in prison. Hardened as he was by the nature of his calling, he was not a little unmanned at the sight of this young w'ife, whose intelligence and refinement were visible through her wretched garb and miserable surroundings. To him those tears were the evidence of a heart throbbing with convulsions of sorrow over the loss of her husband. For once he miscalculated; the tears were genuine enough; her grief was poignant; but he misinterpreted the sentiments which prompted them. He finally left her, convinced that Edgcumb had not been there, but none the less disposed to believe that he was still alive, and would ultimately fall into his hands. (To be Continued.)