“Harry,” said Old King Brady in a low tone of voice, “that old Blood is a fiend in human shape.”
“Indeed he is!”
“We must convict him!”
“We certainly will do so.”
Just then Harry gave a start and nudged Old King Brady.
At first, unseen to both, a man with muffled features had been standing in the shadows of the doorway.
He now emerged.
As he came into the light he turned sharply and said:
“Gentlemen, I wish you luck, but you’re on the wrong tack!”
“Eh?” exclaimed Old King Brady. “What do you mean, sir?”
“You are tracking the trio with a belief that they are involved in that affair at the Fifteenth street house.”
“We are!”
“Well, you’re wrong. They are not the men.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Old King Brady. “What do you know about it?”
“I know it all.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Ralph Scott, detective, the same as you. I have the right clew!”
The two Bradys stared at the fellow.
“You have?” exclaimed Harry. “I would like to know what it is?”
“I can prove it, too!”
“That is best.”
“Well, I can tell you that the young cashier is the guilty man.”
“Do you mean Allerton Banks?”
“Yes.”
The fellow spoke positively.
The detectives exchanged glances.
“Look here, Scott,” said Old King Brady, “you’re not a Secret Service man.”
The fellow looked defiant.
“It isn’t necessary to be in the Secret Service to be a detective,” he snapped.
“Perhaps not. But what service are you in?”
“I have no ties. I am in the business on my own hook!”
“Private detective?”
“Yes.”
“Umph! What is your clew?”
“I got it through a man who is in a position to know all about the case.”
“Who is he?”
“That is my affair.”
“I can tell you who you mean.”
Scott looked incredulous.
“Well,” he said, “who?”
“Napoleon Blood, the uncle and guardian of the dead girl.”
The private detective started. His face flushed angrily.
“Eh? You’d better guess again,” he said. “Who told you that?”
“Is it not so?”
“I refuse to say.”
“Well, how much has Blood promised to pay you to convict the cashier?”
Scott looked angry and baffled. He glared at the detectives savagely. Then muttering he began to move away.
“Hold on!” said Harry. “Take a bit of advice before you go.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Scott, in a surly way.
“Better let this matter alone entirely. It makes no difference what you do, you’re going to get the worst of it. Old Blood will surely be found out.”
“You talk like fools!” growled Scott. “But just keep on and we’ll see who comes out best. I work for money, I do!”
“That is right,” agreed Old King Brady. “Nobody will dispute that.”
Scott went away in high dudgeon. The Bradys were much edified.
“It is easy to understand him,” said the old detective. “He is only a tool for Blood.”
“It is evident the old usurer means to put the young cashier out of the way,” said Harry.
“Very true.”
“I think it would be a good idea to see Allerton and warn him.”
“So do I. Ah!”
Old King Brady gave a great start. A man had crossed the street and now passed very close to the detectives.
It was Blood.
The detectives were, of course, greatly interested.
They watched the old usurer carefully. He entered Sly Jimmie’s dive.
“He has gone in to see the trio,” said Old King Brady in a breath.
“Yes.”
“They will tell him of our position in the case.”
“The old fellow will be put on his guard.”
“Just so.”
“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Harry. “I’d like mighty well to know just what their conversation will be.”
“Would it be safe to venture into the place again in another guise?”
“They would know us.”
“Well,” said the old detective, with sudden inspiration, “I think I have a plan.”
“What is it?”
“Do you see the alley on this side of the building?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think there is a small window on a level with the ground. It is directly over the table where those fellows sit.”
“Indeed!”
“It is true. I remember seeing it. Now, if we can only creep in there and either open the window or remove a pane of glass, we ought to hear every word.”
“Good! Let us try it.”
The Bradys were not slow in undertaking this feat.
They crept into the alley and soon had located the window.
Here they made an agreeable discovery. It was not necessary to open the window or remove the glass.
Every word spoken by the villains below came up to their ears.
They were still seated at the table and Blood was with them.
The old usurer seemed greatly excited that the Bradys were possessed of a knowledge of his complicity in the crime.
“Curse them!” cried Blood, savagely. “I hope they do not know too much. Did you admit anything?”
“You bet we didn’t!” said Collins, angrily. “What do you take us for?”
“Well, it looks as if they might be an obstacle in our path.”
“Wall, you bet!”
“There’s only one thing to be done!”
“We’re waitin’ fer the word!”
“If the trio gets after them it’s all up with them.”
“You bet!” cried Van, with a fierce grin. “Say the word, boss. We’ll give ’em a race fer life. What’s the job worth to ye in solid money?”
“Ten thousand dollars!” replied the usurer.
CHAPTER V.
OUTWITTING THE CROOKS.
“Done!” cried Burke. “We are your birds.”
“It’s understood,” said Collins, “when the Bradys are safe outen the way you will pay us ten thousand in gold?”
“That is right!” agreed Blood.
“Then the job is as good as done!”
“They are a pair of foxes!”
The trio laughed in a blood-curdling way.
“Don’t ye fear!” said Burke.
“Well, it’s worth that to me,” said Blood. “Once they are out of the way the course is pretty clear.”
“Wall, it oughter be.”
“I fear nobody else.”
“Ten thousand in gold!” said Burke. “That will take us to Australia. The twenty thousand we got fer the Fifteenth street job will start us in business, all right!”
“Yes, and I wish you luck!” said Blood. “Make the work sure!”
“Did ye ever know us to fail?”
“Well, no!”
“Very well. Ye’ll see that we’ll take keer of them Bradys all right.”
“Look here!” cried Collins. “What be ye going to do with that young Banks, anyway?”
“I’m going to arrest him,” replied Blood. This interested the detectives.
“Arrest him?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! Have ye got the right evidence, think ye?”
“My man Scott, a private detective, has worked that all right. Some of the girl’s jewelry, and a lace necktie stained with blood will be found in young Banks’ room to-morrow. Also, there’ll be blood on some of his clothes.”
The trio laughed grimly.
“You’ll do!” jeered Burke. “If you’d join us this trio might become a quartette.”
At this there was a general laugh. Then Blood arose to go.
“All right,” he said in parting, “see that you do your work well by the Bradys. I’ll keep an eye out all the while.”
Blood left the place.
Then the trio also separated for the night. It was a peculiarity of theirs to be seldom found together.
The Bradys had gained the most valuable of information.
“We have got them solid!” cried Old King Brady. “We can now easily checkmate them.”
“What do you advise?” asked Harry.
“We must see young Banks at once.”
“So I think!”
“He must be put on his guard and the dastardly scheme of Blood’s frustrated. Then we will have sufficient against both Blood and the trio.”
“And arrest them?”
“Instantly!”
“Good! Nothing could be better.”
The Bradys left Sly Jimmie’s place. The air was crisp and cold, for the frigidity of winter had not yet passed away.
They did not attempt to shadow any individual member of the gang.
But they started at once for the lodgings of young Banks.
He roomed, while at work in the city, in Irving Place. The room was a specimen of the sort usually found in lodging houses.
As is usually the case in New York, Allerton knew none of the other lodgers.
He simply knew that a tall, hawk-eyed man roomed next to him. But he had never ventured a surmise as to the man’s character or identity.
The chambermaid had caught Mr. Scott, the hawk-eyed man, one day trying to fit skeleton keys to Allerton’s door.
But Mr. Scott profusely explained that he had got the wrong room by mistake and went into his own room.
All this the Bradys possessed themselves of very quickly after arriving at Allerton’s lodging house.
He was not in when they called, but they waited for him.
In due time he entered.
At once the Bradys introduced themselves and a pleasant conversation followed.
“I can assure you,” said young Banks, “the disappearance of my fiancee has been a dreadful blow to me. I have until now never given up hope that she might be found alive.”
“I fear there is no ground for such a hope,” said Old King Brady. “You will do well to preserve your own life from the same gang.”
Allerton was startled.
“Is that true?” he exclaimed.
“As true as can be. We have come to warn you.”
Young Banks was dumfounded. He listened to the story repeated by the Bradys.
“That is very strange,” he said, finally. “I cannot understand it.”
“Now, we must work sharp to beat Blood at his own game,” said Old King Brady. “Who could have access to your room here?”
“Only the maid and landlady,” replied Allerton.
“Unless your next-door neighbor picked the lock.”
“Do you think it?”
“It is likely.”
“I do not even know him beyond the fact that he is a private detective and his name is Scott.”
The detectives winked hard.
“Yes, yes!” said Harry. “Well, such fellows make no trouble in finding their way through any door.”
“Do you think it possible?”
“I am sure of it.”
“But what could he enter my room for?” asked Allerton.
“The answer we will give you speedily,” replied Old King Brady. “Overhaul your wardrobe. We must search every corner of this room.”
“You puzzle me!”
“Never mind. Do as I say!”
“Oh, certainly!”
The young cashier went through his wardrobe. To his horror a suit of clothes was found smeared with blood.
In the coat pocket was a bloody knife.
The detectives kept grimly at work. Other incriminating evidence was quickly produced.
The young cashier was aghast.
“I need only say,” he said, “that this is all very inexplicable to me.”
“Indeed?” said Old King Brady. “How did these bloody clothes come in your room?”
“I have not the slightest idea.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes, I do!”
“Are they not yours?”
“They are.”
“How did the blood come upon them?”
“I do not know.”
Young Banks was like one dazed.
“Gentlemen,” he said, earnestly, “I swear to you that I have committed no crime. How the blood came here is an intense mystery to me. Could anybody have placed it there to incriminate me?”
Old King Brady’s face relaxed.
“I’m glad you have come to your senses, young man,” he said. “Now you are getting near the mark.”
“Do you know that such is the case?” asked Banks.
“Yes,” replied Old King Brady.
Banks was amazed.
“All this is very strange and incomprehensible to me,” he said. “Can you kindly explain it all?
With this, Old King Brady gave succinctly the facts in the case.
Young Banks listened with surprise, horror and indignation.
“And it is true that Evelyn was foully murdered?” he gasped. “I have had hopes until now. Oh, this is too dreadful! And it is all Blood’s work?”
“Yes.”
“Then I swear that he shall be brought to justice. He shall hang.”
“That is just what we are trying to do now,” said Old King Brady. “And I think we are in a fair way to succeed.”
“I hope so. Oh, gentlemen, I place myself in your hands! What ought I to do under these circumstances?”
“Keep very quiet,” advised Old King Brady. “Officers will come here to arrest you and to search your room. Make no objection. Even let them arrest you if they will. Have faith in us. We will not see you come to harm.”
“Oh, heaven bless you! This is a terrible nightmare to me.”
“Do as we tell you and you will be safe!”
“I will surely do so!”
The Bradys now took their leave.
They carried with them the blood-stained clothes and all the evidences of the murder.
Thus the matter rested.
The next day officers went to young Banks’ room and arrested him.
The place was searched thoroughly, but not a trace of the evidence, supposed by Scott to be there, was found.
The effect of this upon the private detective it is easy to estimate.
However, the warrant demanded the arrest of Allerton Banks and he was taken to the Tombs.
The evening papers came out with a thrilling account of the arrest.
“The murderer found!” it read. “At last an arrest is made. It proves a great surprise, for the party charged with the crime by Detective Scott is no other than the lover of the missing girl, Allerton Banks.”
A long reminiscent account of the crime followed.
The Bradys read this with interest.
Then they caused an article to appear the next day deriding Scott and ridiculing the arrest.
The brief hearing before a police magistrate justified this.
There was no case whatever against young Banks.
The police justice at once discharged him and reprimanded Scott.
The Bradys now decided to act.
Their purpose was to make wholesale arrests. They would scoop the whole gang at once.
They believed they had plenty of evidence to convict all.
They had evidence that Scott had secured the room next to Banks for the purpose of effecting an entrance.
They had the evidence of the chambermaid that he had been seen trying to pick the lock.
They could show complicity between Blood and the Tough Trio.
They could also show a warrantable motive for the crime and altogether quite sufficient evidence to convict the gang.
So the Bradys went first to the residence of Mr. Napoleon Blood in lonely Westchester.
But he was not there.
“He has just gone to the city with Mr. Scott, the detective,” declared the servant.
And that was all.
Mr. Blood did not return. His good sense precluded this.
He had seen the handwriting on the wall and at once took measures to protect himself.
He was missing.
So also was Scott, the detective, and the Tough Trio.
CHAPTER VI.
SHADOWED.
With no one to appear against him young Allerton Banks was discharged as free of guilt.
Great excitement was created when it was known that a warrant was out for Napoleon Blood.
And the interest was at fever heat when it was learned that he had skipped for parts unknown.
The Bradys were deeply chagrined that their birds had slipped them.
They had not dreamed that they would skip so soon.
They regretted not having made the arrests earlier.
However, they were by no means discouraged or defeated.
They knew that Blood had money and would not be easily overtaken. But the Tough Trio could not get away so easily.
But events proved that this was not at all the purpose of the three toughs.
The Bradys were surprised to receive the following unique message.
It came by mail, being post-marked at Station E, and was written in a coarse hand as follows:
“Mr. Braddy: You hev opened the action ag’in’ us and we are on the deefensive. Pretty soon it will be the other way an’ we’ll be on the offensive. Mark it now, we’re goin’ to do you up. No man can stand ag’in’ the trio and you’ll be kept busy running a race fer life.
“You can’t take no step we don’t kno’ about and we’ll be hot on your heels all the while. You can’t sleep nites fer the knife will be at yure windpipe. You can’t leave the city or a bullet will drop ye. We’re watchin’ every move of yours and you can’t fool us. There’s no escape unless you make a race for it. Yures fer revenge, “The Trio.”
The Bradys read this message several times with curious emotions.
Then Harry said:
“On my word, partner, this is no joke. It means something.”
“I believe you, Harry,” agreed Old King Brady. “But our move is to keep ahead of them.”
“They mean to kill us!”
“That is so.”
“Then we have certainly got to capture or kill them.”
“For self-preservation if nothing else.”
“Yes.”
“It is literally a race for life. We must win.”
“We must.”
The detectives decided to give up their quest for Blood.
They knew that a false step now meant their lives.
It is no light thing to ponder upon that three elusive deadly thugs are seeking one’s life and waking or sleeping there is never a safe moment.
The Bradys were constrained to do a heap of thinking.
The problem before them was the worst they had ever undertaken.
Every step must be guarded, every move carefully weighed.
They knew that it was true that they were under the constant surveillance of the trio.
How to turn the tables and place the other gang under the shadow was the question.
They considered the matter of disguise.
Disguises are all right and in many cases a valuable aid to a detective.
But they are not infallible.
In a passing crowd or the glare of gaslight they will prove sometimes very effective.
But not always are they effective. The cunning crook penetrates the cleverest disguise with ease.
Every person has certain physical peculiarities which no disguise on earth can absolutely conceal.
The Bradys knew that they could not depend wholly upon disguise.
The detectives decided finally that their only way to baffle their murderous foes was to make a literal race of it.
They knew that the three crooks would make hot pursuit.
By keeping always just ahead of the trio they could be sure of safety and perhaps find a way of doubling and turning the tables on the foe.
“We will lead them a chase across the continent!” cried Old King Brady. “If they can catch us they may have our scalps. In the meantime we will try every kind of a decoy for them.”
The Bradys left their lodgings.
They had barely struck the street when Harry exclaimed:
“We are shadowed!”
“Eh?” exclaimed the old detective.
“I tell you it is so!”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw one of the gang slip around that corner.”
“If that is so we ought to be able to decoy him. Come on!”
The two detectives carelessly strolled down the street.
It was a crowded thoroughfare and they knew that no attempt would be made upon their lives here.
But presently they slipped into a dark alley.
Here they crouched behind some barrels. Each held a revolver in his hand.
If their foes came into the alley, the trap was ready and would be sprung.
The detectives watched very closely. Twice they saw their birds at a corner far down the street.
But they would not venture to accept the decoy.
Old King Brady was disgruntled.
“Confound them! They are too sharp,” he said. “What shall we do?”
“Give it up,” said Harry, laconically.
“It looks like it. Well, we would be foolish to go their way. Let us give them the slip through this alley.”
“Very well.”
So the detectives slipped away and into another street. Soon they were on Broadway.
“Aha!” said Old King Brady, triumphantly. “That’s the way to slip them. I think we can fool them yet, Harry.”
But the young detective clutched his arm and said: “Don’t you believe it. Just look across the street.”
Old King Brady was astounded.
One of the trio, Collins it was, stood at an opposite street corner.
He glanced at the detectives and then vanished down the side street.
“By Jupiter!” exclaimed the old detective. “That beats me! Where did he come from?”
“I tell you they are almost omnipresent,” declared Harry. “We can’t seem to turn the trick on them.”
“Well, we will!” cried Old King Brady, angrily. “We’ll catch that fellow. Stay here, Harry.”
With this the old detective darted across the street.
But search as he would, he could find no trace of Collins. Baffled, Old King Brady returned to Broadway. “Confound the slippery rascal!” he cried. “There must be a way to trip them up.”
“I have a plan,” said Harry.
“What?” asked the old detective, eagerly.
“Well, it may seem simple, but I think it will work. Go to an uptown hotel and register.”
“Well?”
“We will assume to go to our room. But in reality we will slip out by a rear entrance. Once the gang enters the hotel we will nab them.”
“But will they do that?”
“I think they will. Certainly they will leave nothing undone to encompass our death.”
“Very good!” agreed Old King Brady. “We’ll try your plan.”
“We’ll go to the Broadway Central Hotel.”
“Very good!”
“It is an old hostelry and does not depend altogether on elevators. There are rear stairs for us to descend.”
The detectives proceeded to carry out their plan.
Certainly it looked feasible.
They registered at the hotel, boldly, under their own names.
They prepaid their room as they did not have baggage.
Then they ascended by the elevator. They proceeded to the door of their room.
They entered and waited for the bell-boy to disappear.
Then they emerged and started for the rear stairs.
They reached a corner of the long corridor when some-thing like a chuckle came to their ears.
Old King Brady turned his head.
“By jove!” he exclaimed, aghast.
At the same moment Harry saw the cause of the old detective’s excitement.
Far down the corridor a man stood apparently studying the number on a room door. He seemed totally oblivious of the presence of the detectives.
It was Dick Burke.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Harry, and said no more. The detectives looked at each other in sheer wonderment.
“What do you think of that?”
“I think I want that cuss!” said Old King Brady, starting for the crook.
But at that moment Burke stepped into a side corridor and vanished.
When the detectives reached the spot he was gone.
They made a quick search and went all over the hotel.
They made inquiries of bell-boys and other attaches.
But in vain.
It convinced them that they were truly up against a hard game.
The trio seemed possessed of a supernatural faculty for making themselves invisible at will.
Completely mystified, the Bradys sat down in the hotel lobby and tried to think.
It was a conundrum.
The foes were close upon their heels and could not be shaken off or decoyed. They were as elusive as the will-o’-the-wisp.
It was easy to understand their game.
They were waiting only a favorable opportunity for pouncing upon their intended victims. They were slow and patient as the Hindoo thug himself.
Old King Brady was all cold sweat.
“By Jupiter, Harry!” he exclaimed. “They certainly mean to catch us off our guard. What can we do?”
“There is only one plan.”
“Well?”
“We must make a race of it. Let them chase us. We will keep on the jump. At a favorable moment we will double back on our tracks and then—they are ours.”
“A good plan and the only one,” said Old King Brady. “They will pursue us. We are sure of that. We are not smart if we do not fool them in some way.”
So the plan was decided upon and action made at once.
CHAPTER VII.
THE RACE BEGINS.
The plan of the Bradys certainly looked logical.
To make a race of it was the only safe way. So they acted at once.
They did not even spend the night at the Broadway Central Hotel. Instead they took a car for the Grand Central Depot.
Here they bought tickets for Boston.
The plan was cleverly laid.
It was arranged to go on to Boston by the night express. When they arrived in the Hub city they would at once slip onto the next train back.
This would confuse the pursuers and place them on the defensive.
The Shore Line Express took them out of New York.
The Bradys kept a sharp outlook and were certain that none of the gang were on the train.
Consequently they felt elated.
“On my word!” exclaimed Harry. “I believe we have slipped them.”
“It looks like it,” agreed Old King Brady. “But I am not wholly sure. They have disappointed us several times.”
“That is true,” agreed Harry. “Yet I believe we will fool them this time.”
The Bradys made themselves comfortable in the sleeping car.
Just as they were about to retire, a short man with bushy whiskers and a tweed suit came into the car.
He occupied the section next to the detectives.
He claimed their attention at once, but neither remembered having seen him before.
He ignored them, however, and at once tumbled into his bunk. His snore could soon be heard above the rumble of the train.
In due season the Bradys also retired.
They slept soundly until at about six o’clock the train rolled into Boston.
The detectives had decided to stay in Boston during the day and take the night train back to New York.
Then they could assume the best disguise they had and perhaps shake their murderous pursuers.
They left the depot and made their way to a respectable Boston hostelry.
The weather was typical of New England at the time of year and was most bitterly cold.
When the detectives registered at the Parker House, the fellow-passenger in the tweed suit also registered.
He was assigned to a room, as were the detectives. Young King Brady noted the coincidence, but thought nothing of it.
But once in the room, a sudden thought came to Harry.
He instantly exclaimed:
“Confound it! You and I are getting daft, partner.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Old King Brady. “What are you driving at?”
“We are blind fools! Far from eluding the gang, we are only getting into their way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember the man who slept in the berth next us?”
“On the train?”
“Yes.”
“Short man with tweed suit?”
“The very one!”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Well, we are blind. That fellow is Martin Van in disguise!”
Old King Brady gasped.
“Harry!” he ejaculated. “What do you mean?”
“It is true! I have placed him now. I knew he seemed familiar.”
“Nonsense! I can’t see any connection or any similarity.”
“You can’t?”
“No.”
“Well, I couldn’t at first. But after we registered, I went down into the wash-room. He was there as well!”
“Ah!”
“I passed by him and chancing to glance into a side mirror I had profile view of him. He was indulging in the St. Vitus dance and his features were all contorted.”
Old King Brady was silent.
He knew that Van had the St. Vitus dance. The coincidence was certainly suspicious.
He was thoughtful.
“I declare!” he finally exclaimed. “Perhaps you are right, Harry. Those whiskers did not look really natural.”
“No, nor are they. I tell you that fellow is Van!”
Old King Brady strode up and down the room for some time.
“Well,” he said, finally, “what ought we to do?”
“I see only one plan.”
“What?”
“Arrest him!”
“Of course! We could have done it at the hotel desk.”
“But we did not know him.”
“That is it.”
“He is very likely in his room just now. Let us work the surprise on him. Fate seems to have played this into our hands.”
The Bradys were elated.
Their luck in having probed the fellow’s disguise seemed likely to stand them in good stead.
But they knew better than to act too openly.
“Harry,” said Old King Brady, “we must proceed with due caution. You can slip out now and get an officer.”
“Yes.”
“I will go down and look on the register and get the number of his room.”
“Very well.”
“Then I will meet you at the Tremont street door. Do you see?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. The officer can go right up to his room. I will go up one corridor and you the other. Then we have him trapped.”
“Splendid!”
The detectives had laid their plan well. As a matter of fact, their surmises were correct.
Martin Van was in his room.
He did not dream, of course, that the Bradys had penetrated his disguise.
It was his purpose to follow them like a lynx and at a favorable moment strike one or both down with his own hand.
The officer secured by Harry carried out his part of the programme.
He proceeded to the door of Van’s room and rapped.
At first there was no answer.
Then a movement in the room was heard and a voice said:
“Who is it?”
“A friend on business!”
“What is the name?”
“Open the door and you will see!”
Silence ensued and the officer rapped again.
“Wait a moment!” said the occupant of the room. That was the last answer. The officer suddenly put his shoulder to the door and forced it in.
The Bradys came rushing up the corridor expecting trouble.
But there was none.
The reason was evident.
The room was empty.
A window opening upon a fire-escape was open. It was by means of this that Van had escaped.
“Quick!” cried Harry. “We must cut him off below.”
Downstairs dashed the detectives. As they reached the sidewalk they saw a man in a big overcoat turn the corner below into Washington street.
It was Van.
The detectives rushed after him. In the crowd, however, they lost track of their man.
Much chagrined, however, the detectives would not give up.
They went on at random.
Suddenly leaving Haymarket Square they turned into Portland street.
This is the street of livery stables. From the door of one of these stables they saw a cutter sleigh drawn by a spirited horse emerge.
One man sat in the sleigh.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Harry. “Is not that Van?”
The same big overcoat and hat betokened that it was the crook. He looked back once and saw the Bradys.
His whiskers had been sacrificed.
It was easy to recognize him.
His face lit up with evil exultation and he made a contemptuous gesture with his hand.
“Hold!” shouted Old King Brady at the top of his lungs. “Stop or I will fire!”
The old detective’s revolver came out then.
But it was too late.
The cutter turned a corner and Van was out of sight.
The Bradys looked about for a means of pursuit.
“The stable!” cried Harry. “Get another team at once!”
Into the stable the Bradys rushed.
The proprietor stared at them.
“Quick!” cried Old King Brady. “Give us the best horse you’ve got in your stable. We will pay for him.”
“Who are you?” asked the stableman, suspiciously.
“We are Secret Service detectives.”
“Why, I just let a team to a detective to go to Lexington.”
“What!” cried Old King Brady. “Did you say to Lexington?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he fooled you. He is a noted crook and we are after him.”
“Look here, I can’t let my teams this way.”
“Enough of that!” cried Old King Brady, thrusting a roll of greenbacks in the man’s face. “Your best horse. I’ll buy him. Here’s his value as security!”
“The other fellow left a deposit, too. Do you mean it?”
“Yes, here is five hundred. If I don’t bring the team back you are paid.”
This was enough.
The stable keeper quickly brought out a flea-bitten gray horse. He was attached to a light sleigh.
“Do you know the Lexington road?” he asked.
“By Scallay Square and Brighton street to Cambridge and Arlington?” said Old King Brady.
“Yes.”
“I’ll find it. Thank you!”
“That’s the best road horse in Boston. You’ll catch your man before he gets there.”
“That’s what we want!” cried Old King Brady.
Then away in pursuit went the two detectives.
“If we can catch Van,” said Old King Brady, “we shall be all right. We will have only two bloodhounds on our trail.”
Highly elated, the detectives drove on. It was slow work getting out of the crowded streets. But finally they crossed the Cambridge Bridge and were out on a clear highway.
Then the horse was given a free head.
CHAPTER VIII.
AT THE ASYLUM.
The horse given the Bradys by the stable keeper was certainly a good one.