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

He then went out to make the rounds between the three points at which it was suspected Chamberlain would be most likely to show up, namely, Cora Bell's rooms, his own boarding-place, and his lodging-house.

Shortly after he had gone out Crowley made his appearance, and a single glance at his face convinced both Killett and Old Spicer that something of importance had happened.

"Ah, sir, you're welcome," said Old Spicer; "take a seat at the table here."

"Thank you, sir," and stepping forward, the new-comer sat down.

CHAPTER XVIII.

OLD SPICER'S SPEAKING-TUBE

"Well, Crowley, what have you to offer?" asked Killett, with a great show of interest.

"We have tracked Hawks and Klinkhammer, by different routes, to the same hotel – a quiet affair uptown," was the answer.

"And are they there now?"

"Yes; closeted in No. 24 with a guest."

"Is the guest a new arrival?" asked Old Spicer.

"I was told not – that is, he has occupied his room, off and on, for several months."

"Off and on, eh? That is, he goes and comes as he pleases."

"Exactly."

"Humph! What's his name?"

"Bissell – E. E. Bissell he signs himself."

"Young or old?"

"Young – that is, under thirty."

"Who's on duty there?" asked Killett.

"Rouse and Quackenbush."

"Well, Old Spicer, one of us ought to look after this matter, while the other waits for news of Chamberlain here."

"I believe I'd better go up to the hotel," said Old Spicer, after a moment's reflection.

"Very good, then, I'll stay here."

"We can keep each other posted as to our movements, eh?"

"Certainly, and we should be careful to do so."

"All right; I will go with Crowley, then, unless you want him here."

"I was just going to suggest that I might want him."

"All right, you keep him, and I'll find my way to the hotel alone;" and Old Spicer went out.

He took the elevated road up town and soon arrived at the hotel.

He found Quackenbush on the lookout, and learned from him that Rouse was endeavoring to catch some fragments of the conversation that was going on in No. 24.

"What!" he exclaimed, "isn't he in the next room?"

"No," was the reply, "there is no chance for that. On one side there is a short hall, a passageway, and on the other a room that is occupied by a gentleman and his wife."

"Hum. Well, there must be a room overhead."

"Lord, yes. I never thought of that."

Old Spicer hurried to the landlord, who happened to be in the office.

After a moment's conversation, he asked:

"What's the number of the room over twenty-four?"

The landlord considered the question for a moment and then said:

"Thirty-six."

"Good! give me the key to thirty-six."

"What do you want of it, sir?"

Old Spicer gave him a hurried but plausible explanation.

The key was at once handed to him.

He went back to Quackenbush.

"Come with me," he said. "I shall take Rouse up to thirty-six with me, and I want you to remain in the vicinity of twenty-four, so that, in case they leave the room, you can follow them."

"All right, sir," and the two went upstairs.

They found Rouse in the little passage at the side of the room. He had been at work boring a hole through the plastering, but unfortunately had chosen the wrong spot, and so his hole had come out in a closet on the other side.

"Come with me, Reub," said Old Spicer; "Quackenbush will remain here."

"It would be worth big money to know just what is being said in there," returned Rouse regretfully.

"Of course, and that's what I am bound to find out."

"How do you propose to do it?" asked Rouse, in surprise.

"There is a room overhead."

"Undoubtedly."

"And in that room is a ventilating flue, which runs down through the room below and out through the roof above."

"I see! I see!" exclaimed Rouse, in high glee. "We have only to reach the ventilator to hear all that is going on in Bissell's room."

"Right, provided the ventilator in twenty-four is not closed."

"I've no fear of that – they're never closed."

"Very good; then we are likely to hear something to our advantage."

By this time they had reached room No. 36, and, thrusting the key into the lock, Old Spicer opened the door.

His eyes at once sought the ventilator.

It was over the mantel-piece and at a considerable distance from the floor.

"How can we get at it?" asked Rouse.

Old Spicer cast a rapid glance about the room.

"Nothing here that will answer the purpose," he muttered. Then catching Rouse by the sleeve, he exclaimed:

"Come with me," and he conducted him to a private sitting-room opposite, the door of which was open.

A strong and fair-sized table stood in the center of the room.

"Take hold of it," said Old Spicer, and within one minute that table was standing in front of the mantel-piece in Room 36.

"Now, then," continued the old detective, "bring a couple of stout chairs, these in this room are too frail to stand on."

Rouse vanished, but soon returned with the chairs, which he placed upon the table.

Old Spicer then locked the door, and the two men mounted on to the elevated chairs and placed their ears to the ventilator.

The next instant a smile of satisfaction spread over both their faces.

"A regular speaking-tube," whispered Rouse.

"Remember that!" returned Old Spicer in his ear; "and on no account utter a word above the lowest whisper."

Rouse nodded, and both gave their undivided attention to what was being said in the room below.

It was Mr. E. E. Bissell who was speaking. There could be no doubt about that, and he was talking right to the point.

"There's no use continuing this interview a moment longer," he was saying. "The man's dead, I admit that fact; but such a bungling piece of work I never heard of before."

"It wasn't a job to be proud of," muttered Barney.

"I should say it wasn't! However, he is dead; and while Reed, of the Consolidated Road, has hit pretty near the mark, neither he nor any other live man suspects that I am mixed up in the affair; hence, so long as you two keep your mouths shut, I am satisfied."

"We're as dumb as oysters," asserted Barney.

"Dot's schust vhat ve are," chimed in Jake.

"I'm glad to hear it. And now I am going to pay you in full, and add a couple of thousand on one condition."

"Vhat vos dot condition, Mr. Pissell?" asked Jake eagerly.

"That you both solemnly swear never, as long as you live, to enter the State of Connecticut again."

"Hem, dot vos schust a leetle hard, Mr. Pissell."

"May be it is; but how can you earn a thousand dollars a piece so easily?"

"Dere vos somedings in dot, I confess."

"Of course, and so you swear do you?"

"Vell, vhat you say, Parney, schall ve swear?"

"Of course," answered Barney, impatiently, "you know as well as I do, there's nothing else for us to do."

"Ah-ha!" exclaimed Bissell, "you never intended to return to Connecticut."

"Not likely," responded Barney, dryly. "I fancy our necks are worth as much to us as yours is to you."

"Put," Jake hastened to ask, "you vill gif us der extra dousands all der same, eh?"

"You bet he will!" growled Barney.

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Bissell, with alacrity, "I don't care what motives keep you out of that state, or, better still, out of the country. I am only too willing to pay you, so long as you do keep out. And now here's your money. Adding the $2000 it makes $12,000, or $6000 apiece. Pretty good pay for one night's work, eh, boys?"

"No more than we fairly earned, sir," retorted Barney; "though, as you say, there was a little bungling."

"I find no fault, you understand," said Bissell. "Indeed, it was I who set the price, and if it only leads to what I hope and expect it will, I am a good deal more than satisfied."

"The lady has heard of the – the accident?" said Barney inquiringly.

"Ye-yes, I believe she has."

"How did she take it?"

"Made a great fuss at first, but I hope that's over by this time."

"Oh, she'll come round, never fear. She had to make a little fuss, you know, for appearance sake."

"That's it, exactly."

"Well, we wish you luck, Mr. Bissell, and now, good day."

"Good-day, gentlemen – but stay! one word: When do you leave New York, and in what direction?"

"We leave this very day, and we're going to Mexico or Central America."

"You couldn't have chosen more wisely. I wish you the best of luck and continued prosperity."

"Thank you, sir."

"I shall always feel an interest in your welfare. Write to me, when you get settled down there."

"We'll do it, sir.

"You know my address?"

"Yes, Emory E. Bissell. But shall we direct to this hotel?"

"You may as well. But never mind the Emory; perhaps we've used that name too freely already among the wooden nutmegs, E. E. Bissell will do."

"All right, sir, we'll remember. And now is there anything more to say?"

"I wish you could tell me how Conductor Mason and Peter Coffey are coming out in this affair?"

"That's more than we know ourselves, sir. They were so closely connected with Way in the illicit liquor trade and otherwise, that it's more than likely to go hard with them."

"I'm sorry; but I see no help for it."

"There is no help for it – if we're to get off scot-free."

"Well, you'd better do that – if you can."

"We mean to. And now, once more, good day."

"Good day," and the two worthies were gone.

CHAPTER XIX.

DETECTIVES IN A TIGHT SPOT

"Come," exclaimed Old Spicer, and, lightly springing from the table, he and Rouse hurried from the room.

They rushed down-stairs, through the office, and overtook Quackenbush just outside the hotel door.

"Where are they?" asked Old Spicer, breathlessly.

Quackenbush pointed them out just as they were turning the next corner above.

"Go back and watch Bissell," he whispered. "Rouse and I will follow them up."

Quackenbush returned to the hotel, while Old Spicer and Rouse followed the murderers.

They walked across town till they reached Third Avenue, then taking the elevated road, they proceeded to Grand Street, where they alighted.

Hurrying down Grand Street, they turned into a side street, and, after walking some distance, stopped before a dingy-looking building; then, with a hasty glance around, they entered the basement, which, to all appearances, was fitted up as a saloon.

"Come," said Old Spicer, starting to descend the steps.

"Hold up a minute!" exclaimed Rouse, "I know this place. It's about the worst in town."

"No matter, we must enter it."

"All right. But, if you're bound to go in, we'd better disguise ourselves, and we'd better have help."

"That's reasonable enough."

"Then come around the corner. There's a cop that'll keep an eye on the place till we get back."

"Beckon to him."

Rouse did so, and the policeman crossed the street to them.

An arrangement was soon made with him, and the two detectives hurried away.

In less than ten minutes they were back, thoroughly disguised as sailors, and accompanied by two friends – shipmates.

They now entered the saloon, and looked about them.

Not a soul did they see but a sleepy-looking boy sitting on a box behind the bar.

"Got a place where we can sit down, and have a social glass?" asked Old Spicer.

The boy looked up, considered for a moment, and then, pointing to a door, nodded.

Old Spicer at once opened the door, and, followed by his party, entered the inner room.

Here were about a dozen tables, each with four chairs about it.

Three of the tables were occupied; two of them with the full complement of four, the other with but three men.

Two of these three men at the third table were Barney and Jake; their companion was clearly the proprietor of the place.

Old Spicer selected the next table to that occupied by the trio, and placed himself where he could both see and hear what was going on among his nearest neighbors. His comrades quickly took the other seats.

The proprietor and his two friends at once ceased speaking, and regarded the quartet of sailors with looks of suspicion and surprise.

"Where's that sleepy boy we saw in the cabin, and who ordered us into this devil's hold?" demanded Old Spicer. "Is he going to keep us waiting all night for our grog?"

The proprietor slowly arose to his feet.

"You want grog, do you?" he asked, drawing near their table.

"That's just what we want," answered Old Spicer, emphatically – "rum, mind ye, cap'n, genuine St. Croix rum."

"That's it, shipmate," exclaimed Rouse; "no belly-wash for us."

"It's rum all around, is it?" asked the proprietor, eying each one of the party in turn.

"It is that," answered Rouse. "And say, skipper, you may as well bring a bottle."

"A bottle from which the cork has never been removed," added Old Spicer.

"All right, I have just what you want;" and the proprietor quietly left the room.

Barney and Jake watched the quartet narrowly, but hardly spoke while their friend was away.

Presently he returned with a bottle and four glasses on a good-sized waiter.

"What!" exclaimed Old Spicer, as he set down the waiter, "ain't you going to take a toothful with us for sociability's sake?"

"Why, of course, if you wish it," was the reply, and slipping over to the other table, he took up his own glass, which was still partially filled, and raised it to his lips.

"None of that!" cried Rouse, sharply. "Throw that stuff away and fill fair of this bottle."

"Stuff?" retorted the proprietor, "Why, this is good French brandy, man."

"The deuce it is! How cursed lonesome it must be!"

"Lonesome? Why?"

"Because it ain't likely there's another thimbleful in all America."

"What're givin' us? Do you mean to say that I haven't got plenty of French brandy in my establishment?"

"I mean to say just this: There is more brandy used in the one city of Paris alone than is manufactured in all France. How, then, is it likely that much of the pure stuff can pass our custom-houses."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Barney, "if any of the Simon Pure could get as far as the custom-houses, I'll warrant it wouldn't get any further. Our government officials know too well what's expected of them to let it slip through their fingers."

"Right, shipmate!" exclaimed Rouse, "they'd prefer to let it slip down their insatiable throats."

"Well," exclaimed Old Spicer, suddenly, "pure or impure, I see you've disposed of your brandy at last, landlord, and so now come over and help us out with our rum."

The landlord, drawing his chair after him, joined them at their table. Rouse filled his glass, gave a toast, and was careful to see that the old man drank it off. Then a suspicion that the liquor might have been tampered with was removed.

"What ship do you fellows belong to?" asked the proprietor, while Rouse was refilling his glass.

"No ship at all," was the answer.

"What craft, then?"

"The three-masted schooner Miranda, in the West Indian trade."

"Oh! ah! that's why you think so much of St. Croix rum, eh?"

"Exactly. We know the taste, and we know how much of the stuff we can stand, don't you see?"

"I see; but it seems to me you are confoundedly cautious for sailors."

"May be so; but they say a burnt child dreads the fire, and we've been caught a time or two."

"Been taken in and done for, eh?"

"Yes, but no matter, you're an honest-looking set here, and seeing that the grog's good, we'll throw caution to the wind and enjoy ourselves," and the bottle circulated freely, indeed, so freely that it was soon empty and another ordered.

The landlord being now convinced that the sailors were all right, and better, that they were getting very drunk, returned to Barney and Jake, who had remained all this time quietly at the other table.

At first they conversed in low tones, but soon almost all they said reached the ears of the detectives.

"Yes, old pal," were the first words Old Spicer distinctly heard, "I think I can manage the matter for you. I don't know the chap, but from the description you've given of him, and the directions as to where he may be found, I think I can get at him, and produce him in the place you name."

"And you will do it?"

"If you think it worth the sum I want."

"It's a tamned pig brice, Pill Punce," exclaimed Jake.

"Ay," was the reply: "but if we can manage to give the detective the slip, I'll warrant he'll be willing enough to pay it."

"Of course, of course," assented Barney; "we won't dispute your price, Bill."

"Then we understand each other, do we?"

"I suppose so; but to make certain just go over the programme, will you?"

"Well, after I've found this fellow, Chamberlain, I'm to get him over to the bay, where the Bouncing Betsy lies, and where you will meet us. In case we don't find you at old Flipper's, I am to take the lad on board the schooner at once, which, when you're all aboard, will sail for the quarries, eh?"

"Yes, for the island, so-called."

"Correct. And there, in Canter's Hole, all will be safe till the schooner sails for the Gulf, when you can all get out of the country without any one's dreaming how it was managed."

"Right, by Jove! that is – " And here Barney came to an abrupt pause.

At this time there were not less than a dozen men in the place, besides the four detectives, every one of them desperate characters, and warm friends of Bill Bunce, the proprietor.

At the moment Barney paused his eye happened to rest on the quartet at the next table, and he was struck by the eager interest depicted on one or two of the faces.

"What's the matter?" demanded Bunce, turning sharply round.

"The matter is," cried Barney, starting to his feet and drawing a couple of revolvers, "that these fellows are a pack of cursed spies, and I know it!"

"Spies!" echoed every man in the room. "Spies! Kill the bloody wretches! don't let one of 'em escape!"

"We're in for it, by Jove!" exclaimed Rouse. "Let us keep well together, and shoot to kill."

"Ay!" said Old Spicer, "but I should awfully hate to have the gallows cheated of its lawful prey. I wish I could take those two villains back with me unharmed."

By this time Bill Bunce and his friends had got between the detectives and the outlets, and were preparing for a deadly fight.

"Do you really mean to say that you will be so rash as to fire upon us?" asked Old Spicer. "You must know that sooner or later you will have to pay dearly for it if you do."

"We know mighty well that we shall have to pay for it devilish soon if we don't," retorted Bunce; "and that's enough for us to know. Let 'em have it, boys!" and at least half a dozen shots were fired, and one of the detectives was slightly wounded.

"Fire!" exclaimed Old Spicer, in a determined voice, and as each detective had two revolvers, eight shots rang out, and two of the enemy fell dead, while four more were wounded, Jake Klinkhammer being among the latter.

The firing now became general, and it was difficult to say who was getting the best of it, when the door from the saloon was suddenly thrown open and the boy's voice was heard to exclaim:

"Scatter! the cops are coming!"

Almost in an instant the place was cleared of Bunce's men, and a moment later a sergeant of police, followed by six men, entered.

CHAPTER XX.

JAKE KLINKHAMMER'S POCKETBOOK – OLD SPICER SURPRISED

"Ah! sergeant, you never were more welcome," cried Rouse. "Grab that young whelp in the saloon, and then let's see who's hurt here."

"The boy's all right," returned the sergeant. "One of my men has him fast; but who the deuce are you?"

Rouse explained.

"Ah! And this gentleman?"

"Is Old Spicer. You've heard of him?"

"Heard of him? I should say so! Are you hurt, sir?"

"Slightly; nothing to speak of, though. But our comrades, I fear, have suffered."

"What! these two? Are these our men?"

"Yes."

"Who's this one?"

"Matt Quinn," answered Rouse.

"Well, poor fellow, he's as dead as a door-nail. And this?"

"Nat Skinner."

"He's badly hurt, but I reckon he'll come out all right in the end. Now let's look at this pile of carrion," and he turned to where the dead and wounded of the enemy were lying.

"Lord! gentlemen," he exclaimed, "you did mighty well for the time you were at it. How many were there against you?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve? And seven of them are here – four dead, and the rest badly wounded. Who's this one?"

"A Jew," said Rouse.

"A Jew, eh?"

"Yes," explained Old Spicer, "a noted rascal, Jake Klinkhammer by name."

"Oho! he's saved your state a trial. Do you know any of the rest?"

"Not one. The two greatest villains have got away."

"Who are they?"

"Barney Hawks, and Bill Bunce, the proprietor of this place."

"That's a pity. How did they manage it? Where did they go to?"

"Haven't the slightest idea. It seemed as though they vanished through that wall yonder."

"Probably they did. Bring an ax, Finch."

An ax was brought, and used with such reckless effect, that soon an opening into a passage leading into a building fronting on another street, was discovered.

"They're off for this time, sure," said the sergeant, when he had examined the passage; "but we'll take possession of this place, and if Bunce ever ventures back, we'll nab him anyhow."

"Well," exclaimed Old Spicer, suddenly, "as Hawks has got away from us, there are one or two others who must be looked after without an instant's delay and so we must be going."

"One moment!" exclaimed Rouse, "haven't you forgot something?"

"What?"

"The Jew – he ought to have something about his clothes."

"Ah, yes. Sergeant, help us search the Jew's body: there ought to be a big pile of money on him."

They searched the body, and a trifle over $6000 was found.

"There must be more than that," said Old Spicer. "He had a very large sum of money before that $6000 was paid to him – I am sure of it."

"How much?"

"About $15,000, I should say."

"How'd he come by it?"

"If my suspicions are correct, he and Hawks were engaged, just before they left our city, in one of the boldest robberies, and in one of the most cowardly double murders ever perpetrated in this country."

"What! do you mean the Marsden affair?"

"I do."

"Great Jupiter! and so this is one of the villains?"

"Yes; from a private dispatch put into my hands only a little while ago, I am sure of it."

"What can he have done with his share of the plunder, then? There don't seem to be any of it about him."

"Hold up a moment!" exclaimed Rouse, suddenly thrusting his hand into an inside vest-pocket of the dead man, "let's see what we've got here," and he drew forth a pocket-book.

He opened it, and found within a few hundred dollars in gold and bank-notes, and a bill of exchange for fifteen thousand dollars.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Rouse, "this sharp fellow, while he was on his roundabout way to Hudson Street this morning, stopped at a brother Jew's in Bond Street; and he must have managed in the few minutes he was there to exchange his money for this bit of paper."

"That's it," nodded Old Spicer.

"Well," said the sergeant, "who shall take charge of his effects?"

"I wish you would, sergeant," returned Spicer, "and hand them over to the inspector for safe-keeping, for we have really got warm work before us."

"All right," and after a few friendly words, Old Spicer and Rouse went out.

"Now, then," said the former, in some perplexity, when they had reached the sidewalk, "the question is, where to go to first?"

"I'll answer that," replied Rouse, quickly. "I'm for getting on to the track of Barney Hawks again. Go you to Killett, and with him hunt down Chamberlain."

"That will be best, I think," and so the two detectives parted.

Old Spicer hastened to the point where he had left Killett. He did not find him there, but he found one of his men, who informed him that he was to conduct him to his friend.

The old detective intimated that he was ready to start, and the two set out at once.