CHAPTER XXXIV.
ANOTHER LITTLE GAME
It was so late when Dan heard of Althea's disappearance that he felt it necessary to wait till morning before taking any steps toward her recovery.
"I'll find her, mother," he said, confidently. "Do not lie awake thinking of her, for it won't do any good."
"How can I help it, Dan? I didn't know how much I loved the dear child till I lost her."
"You have not lost her, mother."
"I am not so hopeful as you, Dan. I fear that I shall never see her again."
"I am sure we shall. Now, mother, I am going to bed, but I shall be up bright and early in the morning, and then to work."
"You won't have any time, Dan. You must go to the store."
"I shall take a week's vacation. I will write a note to Mr. Rogers, telling him my reasons, and he will be sure not to object. If Althea is to be found, I will find her within a week."
Dan's confidence gave Mrs. Mordaunt some courage, but she could not feel as sanguine of success as Dan.
In the morning Dan sought out Nancy, and took down her account of how the little girl had been spirited away.
"So she went away in a carriage, Nancy?"
"Yes, Master Dan."
"Can you tell me what sort of a looking man it was that took her away?"
"Shure I couldn't. I was struck dumb, you see, wid hearing how your mother broke her leg, and I didn't think to look at him sharp."
"You can tell if he was an old man or a young one."
"He was naythur. He was betwixt and betwane."
"Very tall or very short?"
"Naythur. He was jist middlin'."
"Well, that's something. Now, what kind of a carriage was it?"
"Jist a hack like them at the square."
"You wouldn't remember the driver?"
"No; shure they all look alike to me."
Dan made more inquiries, but elicited nothing further that was likely to be of service to him.
After a little reflection he decided to go to Union Square and interview some of the drivers waiting for passengers there.
He did so, but the driver who had actually been employed by Hartley was absent, and he learned nothing. One driver, however, remembered carrying a gentleman and child to a house on Twenty-seventh street, between Eighth and Ninth avenues.
Dan thought the clew of sufficient importance to be followed up. His courage rose when, on inquiring at the house mentioned, he learned that a child had actually been brought there.
"May I see the child, madam?" he asked.
"If you like," answered the lady, in surprise.
She appeared in a short time with a boy of about Althea's age.
Dan's countenance fell.
"It is a little girl I am inquiring after," he said.
"Then why didn't you say so?" demanded the woman, sharply. "You would have saved me some trouble."
"I beg your pardon, madam."
"I begin to think I am not as good a detective as I thought," said Dan to himself. "I am on a false scent, that is sure."
So Dan returned to Union Square.
When he had been asking questions of the cab-drivers he had not been unobserved. John Hartley, who knew Dan by sight, laughed in his sleeve as he noted our hero's inquiries.
"You may be a smart boy, my lad," he said to himself, "but I don't think you'll find the child. I have a great mind to give you a hint."
He approached Dan, and observed, in a friendly way:
"Are you in search of your little sister?"
"Yes, sir," returned Dan, eagerly. "Can you tell me anything about her?"
"I am not sure, but possibly I may. I occupy a room directly opposite the house in which you board."
"Did you see Althea carried away?" asked Dan, eagerly.
"Yes; I was sitting at my window when I saw a hack stop at your door. The door-bell was rung by a man who descended from the hack, and shortly afterward your sister came out, and was put into the carriage."
"What was the man's appearance, sir? The servant could not tell me."
"So much the better," thought Hartley, with satisfaction.
"He was a little taller than myself, I should say," he answered, "and I believe his hair was brown"—Hartley's was black. "I am sorry I can't remember more particularly."
"That is something. Thank you, sir. I wish I knew where the cab went."
"I think I can tell you that. I came down into the street before the cab drove away, and I heard the gentleman referred to say, in a low voice, 'Drive to Harlem.'"
"Thank you, sir," said Dan, gratefully. "That puts me on the right track. I shall know where to search now."
"I wish I could tell you more," said Hartley, with a queer smile.
"Thank you, sir."
"If you find your little sister, I should be glad if you would let me know," continued Hartley, chuckling inwardly.
"I will, sir, if you will let me know your name and address."
"My name is John Franklin, and I live in the house directly opposite yours, No. —."
"All right, sir; I will note it down."
John Hartley looked after Dan with a smile.
"My dear young friend," he said to himself, "it goes to my heart to deceive you, you are so innocent and confiding. I wish you much joy of your search in Harlem. I think it will be some time before I receive intelligence of your success. Still I will keep my room here, and look after you a little. I am really afraid your business will suffer while you are wandering about."
John Hartley had already written to London, and he was prepared to wait three weeks or more for an answer to his proposition. Meanwhile he had one source of uneasiness. His funds were getting low, and unless Harriet Vernon responded favorably to his proposal, he was liable to be seriously embarrassed. He had on previous similar occasions had recourse to the gaming-table, but Fortune did not always decide in his favor. He did not dare to hazard the small sum he had on hand, lest want of success should imperil the bold scheme for obtaining an income at his child's expense.
At this critical point in his fortunes he fell in with a Western adventurer, who, by a sort of freemasonry, recognizing Hartley's want of character, cautiously sounded him as to becoming a partner in a hazardous but probably profitable enterprise. It was to procure some genuine certificates of stock in a Western railway for a small number of shares, say five or ten, and raise them ingeniously to fifty and a hundred, and then pledge them as collateral in Wall street for a corresponding sum of money.
John Hartley, if an honest man, would have indignantly declined the overtures; but he was not endowed with Roman virtue. He made a cautious investigation to ascertain how great was the danger of detection, and how well the enterprise would pay. The answer to the second question was so satisfactory that he made up his mind to run the necessary risk. Blake and he came to a definite understanding, and matters were put in train. Certificates were readily obtained, and by the help of a skillful accomplice, who did the work for a specified sum, were ingeniously raised tenfold.
Then Blake, assuming the dress and manners of a thriving business man from Syracuse, negotiated a loan, pledging the raised certificate as collateral. The private banker put it away among his securities without a doubt or suspicion, and Blake and Hartley divided a thousand dollars between them.
John Hartley was very much elated by his success. The pecuniary assistance came just in the nick of time, when his purse was very low.
"It's a good thing to have more than one string to your bow," he thought. "Not but that my little game in getting hold of the child is likely to pay well. Harriet Vernon will find that I have the whip-hand of her. She must come to my terms, sooner or later."
At that very moment Harriet Vernon was embarking at Liverpool on a Cunard steamer. She had received the letter of her brother-in-law, and decided to answer it in person.
CHAPTER XXXV.
DAN DISGUISES HIMSELF
For several days Dan strolled about Harlem, using his eyes to good advantage. As a pretext he carried with him a few morning papers for sale. Armed with these he entered shops and saloons without exciting surprise or suspicion. But he discovered not a trace of the lost girl.
One day, as he was riding home in the Third avenue cars, there flashed upon his mind a conviction that he was on a wrong scent.
"Is it probable that the man who carried away Althea would give the right direction so that it could be overheard by a third party? No; it was probably meant as a blind, and I have been just fool enough to fall into the trap."
So Dan's eyes were partially opened.
Before the day was over they were wholly opened. He met John Hartley on Broadway toward the close of the afternoon.
"Well, have you heard anything of your sister?" he asked, with an appearance of interest.
"Not yet," answered Dan.
"That's a pity. Do you go up to Harlem every day?"
"Yes."
"Keep on, you will find her in time."
After they parted, Dan, happening to look back, detected a mocking glance in the face of his questioner, and a new discovery flashed upon him. Hartley was making a fool of him. He had sent him to Harlem, purposely misleading him.
"What can be his object?" thought Dan. "Can he have had anything to do with the abduction of Althea?"
This was a question which he could not satisfactorily answer, but he resolved to watch Hartley, and follow him wherever he went, in the hope of obtaining some clew. Of course he must assume some disguise, as Hartley must not recognize him.
Finally Dan decided upon this plan.
He hired a room on East Fourth street for a week, and then sought an Italian boy to whom he had occasionally given a few pennies, and with some difficulty (for Giovanni knew but little English, and he no Italian) proposed that the Italian should teach him to sing and play "Viva Garibaldi." Dan could play a little on the violin, and soon qualified himself for his new business.
At a second-hand shop on Chatham street he picked up a suit of tattered velvet, obtained a liquid with which to stain his skin to a dark brown, and then started out as an Italian street musician. His masquerade suit he kept in his room at East Fourth street, changing therefrom his street dress morning and evening. When in full masquerade he for the first time sang and played, Giovanni clapped his hands with delight.
"Will I do, Giovanni?" asked Dan.
"Yes, you do very well. You look like my brother."
"All right."
Giovanni was puzzled to understand why Dan took so much pains to enter upon a hard and unprofitable profession, but Dan did not enlighten him as to his motive.
He thought it most prudent to keep his secret, even from his mother. One day he met her on the sidewalk, and began to sing "Viva Garibaldi."
Mrs. Mordaunt listened without a suspicion that it was her own son, and gave him two pennies, which he acknowledged by a low bow, and "Grazia, signora."
"Poor boy! Do you earn much money?" she asked.
"I no understand English," said Dan.
"I hope his padrone does not beat him," said Mrs. Mordaunt to herself. "I hear these poor boys are much abused. I wonder if I can make him understand? Have you a padrone?" she asked.
"Si, signora, padrone," answered Dan.
"Does he beat you?"
"I no understand."
"It is no use; he doesn't understand English. Here is some more money for you," and she handed him a five-cent coin.
"Its a wise mother that knows her own child," thought Dan. "Hallo! there's Hartley. I'll follow him."
Hartley boarded a University Place car, and Dan jumped on also.
"I wonder where he's going?" thought our hero.
Italian boys so seldom ride that the conductor eyed Dan with some suspicion.
"Five cents," he demanded.
Dan produced the money.
"I thought you might be expecting to ride for nothing," said the conductor. "Seems to me you're flush for an Italian fiddler."
"No understand English," said Dan.
"And I don't understand your lingo."
A charitable lady inside the car chanced to see Dan, and it occurred to her that she would do him a service.
"Can you sing, my boy?" she asked.
"I sing a little," answered Dan.
"If the conductor doesn't object, you may sing while we are on our way. Here's ten cents for you."
Dan bowed and took the money.
"You can sing and play," said the conductor, good-naturedly.
Dan was not at all desirous of doing this, for Hartley sat only three feet from him, and he feared he might recognize him, but it would not be in character to refuse, so he began, and sang his one air, playing an accompaniment. Several of the passengers handed him small coins, among them Hartley.
"How well he sings!" said the charitable lady.
"I can't agree with you, ma'am," said Hartley. "I would rather give him money to stop."
"His voice strikes me as very rich, and the Italian is such a beautiful language."
Hartley shrugged his shoulders.
"I have heard a good deal better performers even among the street boys," said Hartley.
"So have I," said Dan to himself. "He doesn't suspect me; I am glad of that."
Hartley remained in the car till it reached the Astor House, and so, of course, did Dan. In fact, Hartley was on his way to Brooklyn to pay another installment to the guardians of the little girl whom he had carried off. Dan, therefore, was in luck.
Hartley kept on his way to Fulton Ferry, Dan following at a prudent distance.
Had Hartley looked back, he would have suspected nothing, for he had not penetrated Dan's disguise, and would therefore have been quite at a loss to understand any connection between the street musician and himself.
They both boarded the same ferry-boat, and landed in Brooklyn together.
At this moment Hartley turned round, and his glance fell upon Dan.
"Hallo! you here?" he said, with surprise.
"Si, signor," answered Dan, bowing deferentially.
"What brings you to Brooklyn?"
"I sing, I play," said our hero.
"And you do both abominably."
"I no understand English," said Dan.
"It is lucky you don't, or you might not like my compliment."
"Shall I sing 'Viva Garibaldi?'" asked our hero, innocently.
"No—good heavens, no! I've had enough of your squeaking. Here, take this money, and don't sing."
"Si, signor," answered Dan, assuming a look of bewilderment.
Hartley prepared to board a car, which was not yet ready to start. Dan rapidly decided that it would not do for him to follow Hartley any farther. It would certainly arouse his suspicions. But must he abandon the pursuit? That would not do either. Looking about him, his eye fell on a bright-looking newsboy of about twelve.
"Do you want to make some money, Johnny?" he asked.
The boy surveyed him with astonishment.
"Did you speak to me, Garibaldi?" he asked, jocosely.
"Yes, but I am no Italian," said Dan, rapidly. "I am on the track of that man, but he suspects me. I will give you a dollar if you will jump on the car and find out where he goes."
"Where's the dollar?" asked the boy, cautiously.
"Here. Pay your expenses out of it, and I will pay you back when you report to me."
"Where will I find you?"
"Here. I will stay till you come back."
"It's a bargain."
"Hurry; the car is starting."
The newsboy ran, jumped on the car, and it moved on.
"It is the best thing I could do," thought Dan. "I hope the boy is sharp, and won't lose sight of him. I feel sure that he had something to do with carrying off poor little Althea."
For two hours Dan lingered near the ferry, playing occasionally by way of filling up the time. It seemed to be a good location, for he received from fifty to sixty cents from passers-by.
"When hard times come," thought Dan, "I shall know what to do. I will become an Italian street singer."
After two hours the newsboy jumped off an incoming car, and approached Dan.
"Did you find out where he went?" asked Dan, eagerly.
"Yes," answered the boy.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
DAN MAKES A DISCOVERY
Dan's eyes sparkled with joy at the success of his plan.
"Now tell me," he said, drawing the newsboy aside to a place where they would not be overheard.
"First give me my car fare."
"All right. Here's a quarter. Never mind the change."
"You've made a fortun' by fiddling, you have," said the newsboy, in surprise.
"I am not a fiddler. I am a detective."
The newsboy whistled.
"You're a young one."
"Never mind that. Go ahead with your story."
The newsboy described his following Hartley to Donovan's.
Hartley went in, and he directly afterward.
"What sort of a place is it?" asked Dan.
"It's a saloon."
"Perhaps he only went in for a drink," suggested Dan, uneasily.
"No, he didn't call for nothing to drink. I saw him take out some money and give to the man and the woman."
"What man and what woman?"
"They was the Donovans."
"How long did you stay?"
"Ten minutes. I axed old Donovan to buy a paper, and he wouldn't. Then I sat down for a minute, makin' believe I was tired. They looked at me, but I didn't appear to be noticin' 'em, and they let me stay."
"Did you see anything of a little girl?" asked Dan, eagerly.
"Yes, there was a little gal came in. The woman called her Katy."
Dan's spirits sank. It was Mrs. Donovan's daughter, he feared, not the child he was seeking.
"How did she look? How old was she?"
"About five or six years old."
He added a description of the little girl which quite revived Dan's hopes, for it answered in every respect to Althea.
"Did you hear the little girl say anything?"
"Yes, she told her mother she wanted to see Dan."
Dan's eyes glistened. It was Althea, after all.
"It's all right," he said. "You needn't tell me any more. You're a trump."
"Have you found out what you want to know?"
"Yes. Have you anything to do for the next two hours?"
"No."
"Then I'll pay you another dollar to go to the place with me. I think I could find it myself, but I can't take any chances. And don't say a word about what you have seen."
"I won't. Is this little gal your sister?"
"She is my adopted sister, and she has been stolen from us."
"Then I'd be willing to help you for nothing. I've got a little sister about her size. If anybody stole her, I'd mash him!"
"Come along, then."
The two boys boarded a car, and in forty minutes got out.
"That's the place," said the newsboy, pointing out Donovan's, only a few rods away.
"All right. You'd better leave me now, or you may be remembered, and that would lead them to suspect me. Here's your money, and thank you."
"I hope you'll find your sister."
"Thank you. If I do, it'll be through your help."
Dan did not at once enter Donovan's. He stopped in the street, and began to sing "Viva Garibaldi."
Two or three boys gathered about him, and finally a couple of men. One of them handed him a three-cent piece.
"Grazio, signor," said Dan, pulling off his hat.
"What part of Italy do you come from?" asked one of the men.
"Si, signor, I come from Italy," answered Dan, not considering it prudent to understand too well.
"Oh, he don't understand you. Come along."
"His hair doesn't look like that of most Italians."
"Pooh! I'd know him for an Italian boy anywhere."
At this moment the door of the saloon opened, and Dan, putting his violin under his arm, entered.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
DAN IS DISCOVERED
Donovan had two customers. One was an Irishman, the other a German. Both had evidently drank more than was good for them. Dan looked in vain for Althea. Mrs. Donovan had taken her up stairs.
"Well, boy, what do you want?" asked Donovan, rather roughly.
"Will you have yer musique?" asked Dan, uncertain whether he was talking as an Italian boy might be expected to.
"No; I don't want to hear any fiddle-scraping."
"Shure, let him play a little, Mister Donovan," said the Irishman.
"Just as you like," said Donovan, carelessly, "only I have no money for him."
"Faith, thin, I have. Here boy, play something."
Dan struck up his one tune—Viva Garibaldi—but the Irishman did not seem to care for that.
"Oh, bother ould Garibaldi!" he said. "Can't you play something else?"
"I wish I could," thought Dan. "Suppose I compose something."
Accordingly he tried to play an air popular enough at the time, but made bad work of it.
"Stop him! stop him!" exclaimed the German, who had a better musical ear than the Irishman. "Here, lend me your fiddle, boy."
He took the violin, and in spite of his inebriety, managed to play a German air upon it.
"Shure you bate the boy at his own trade," said the Irishman. "You must be dhry. What'll you have now?"
The German indicated his preference, and the Irishman called for whisky.
"What'll you have, Johnny?" he asked, addressing Dan.
"I no drink," answered our hero, shaking his head.
"Shure you're an Italian wonder, and it's Barnum ought to hire you."
"I no understand English," said Dan.
"Then you're a haythen," said Pat Moriarty.
He gulped down the whisky, and finding it more convenient to sit than to stand, fell back upon a settee.
"I wish Althea would come in," thought Dan.
At that moment a heavy fall was heard in the room overhead, and a child's shrill scream directly afterward.
"Something's happened to my wife," muttered Donovan. "She's drunk again."
He hurried up stairs, and the German followed. This gave Dan an excuse for running up, too.
Mrs. Donovan had been drinking more copiously than usual. While in this condition she imprudently got upon a chair to reach a pitcher from an upper shelf. Her footing was uncertain, and she fell over, pitcher in hand, the chair sharing in the downfall.
When her husband entered the room she was lying flat on her back, grasping the handle of the pitcher, her eyes closed, and her breathing stertorious. Althea, alarmed, stood over her, crying and screaming.
"The old woman's taken too much," said Donovan. "Get up, you divil!" he shouted, leaning over his matrimonial partner. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, now?"
Mrs. Donovan opened her eyes, and stared at him vacantly.
"Where am I?" she inquired.
"On your back, you old fool, where you deserve to be."
"It's the whisky," murmured the fallen lady.
"Of course it is. Why can't you drink dacent like me? Shure it's a purty example you're settin' to the child. Ain't you ashamed to lie here in a hape before them gintlemen?"
This called Althea's attention to the German and Dan. In spite of Dan's disguise, she recognized him with a cry of joy.
"Oh, Dan! have you come to take me away?" she exclaimed, dashing past Donovan, and clasping her arms round the supposed Italian.
"Hillo! what's up?" exclaimed Donovan, looking at the two in surprise.
"Oh, it's my brother Dan," exclaimed Althea. "You'll take me away, won't you, Dan? How funny you look! Where did you get your fiddle?"
"So that's your game, my young chicken, is it?" demanded Donovan, seizing our hero roughly by the shoulder. Then pulling off Dan's hat, he added: "You're no more Italian than I am."
Dan saw that it would be useless to keep up the deceit any longer. He looked Donovan full in the face, and said, firmly:
"You are right, Mr. Donovan, I have come here for my sister."