CHAPTER XXXV.
A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
On the next day the bindery was opened as usual, but Mr. Islen did not appear, having gone to Philadelphia. Jerry worked throughout the day, wondering what Alexander Slocum had thought and done after he had discovered the escape. Little did the young oarsman dream of what the real estate dealer was then doing.
Our hero was proving himself to be skillful at the work assigned to him and the foreman often praised him.
“You’ll be worth a raise in wages,” he said. “I never saw a boy take hold as you do.”
Jerry never delayed after the day’s work was over. He washed up, put on his coat, and hurried forth to his boarding place.
When Jerry reached the house he found little Dottie on the stoop, with Tommy in her arms. Tommy was crying for something to eat, and the little girl was having her hands full with him.
“Where is Miss Nellie?” asked our hero in surprise.
“I don’t know,” returned the girl. “She sent me out with Tommy after dinner, and when I tried to get in after a while the door was locked and she was gone.”
“And you have been sitting here ever since?”
“Yes.”
“Come up. I’ll open the door.”
Jerry led the way, and with a night key opened the door to the kitchen.
A cry of surprise burst from his lips. Everywhere were the signs of a desperate struggle. Two of the chairs were overturned, the table-cloth hung half off the table, and Nellie Ardell’s sewing was strewn in all directions.
“This is Slocum’s work!”
Those were the words which arose to the youth’s lips as he surveyed the situation in the kitchen.
Alexander Slocum had tried to get him out of the way, and now he had tried the same plan upon Nellie Ardell.
There had been a fierce struggle, of that there was not the slightest doubt.
But the girl had been overpowered in the end and taken off.
To where?
That was the all important question.
While our hero was gazing around the room, little Tommy was crying at the top of his lungs.
To quiet him, Jerry gave him his bowl of bread and milk, and also gave Dottie her supper.
Then Jerry began a minute examination of the rooms.
There was mud on the oil-cloth – the tracks of four boots.
“Slocum and Casey, his book-keeper,” he said to himself.
Going below he interviewed Mrs. Flannigan, a good-natured Irish woman who lived on the nest floor.
“Did you see Miss Ardell this afternoon?”
“Sure, an’ Oi did not Oi was out,” she replied.
He next tried the janitress, who lived in the basement. She was a peppery old woman who seldom had a pleasant word for anybody.
“Did I see her? Yes, she went out with two men about two hours ago,” she said.
“What sort of looking men?”
“I can’t say – I’m not taking notice of everybody who comes and goes.”
“But this is important, Mrs. Foley. I am afraid something has happened to Miss Ardell.”
“They were tall men, and I guess both had big black mustaches and beards.”
“Where did she go with them?”
“Into a carriage. All of ’em seemed to be in a big hurry.”
“Which way did the carriage go?”
“Down towards the Brooklyn ferry.”
In a thoughtful mood, the young oarsman walked back upstairs. He met Mrs. Flannigan outside of the door.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Upton?”
“That is what I am trying to find out. Miss Ardell is missing. If I go out, will you look after the children?”
“Sure, Oi will, bless the dears,” she said. Her heart was as large as her ruddy, full-blown face.
Without waiting longer, Jerry ran down into the street and endeavored to trace the carriage down to the ferry. In this he was successful, and learned that the turnout containing two men and a young lady, who appeared to be ill, had crossed to Brooklyn.
By this time night had set in, and all efforts to follow the carriage proved unsuccessful. Yet unwilling to give up, Jerry spent over two hours in Brooklyn, hunting in every direction for a clew.
Our hero had never been across the East River before, and in hunting around it was but natural that he should get lost. At the end of the search he found himself a good distance from the river, in a neighborhood that looked anything but respectable.
“It’s time I got back,” thought the youth, and started to make inquiries.
“You’re a dozen blocks out of your way,” said a man. “Go down that way three blocks, and turn to your left.”
As Jerry walked along a somewhat gloomy street, he noticed three men walking ahead of him. One was a tall, finely built man, wearing a large round hat, of the western type.
The other men were short fellows, each with a red mustache. They carried heavy canes and walked on either side of the tall individual.
“Aren’t we almost there?” Jerry heard the tall man ask, as he drew closer to the trio.
“Yes, it ain’t but a step further,” was the reply from one of the short men.
“You are certain this Crazy Jim is the man I am after?”
“Oh, yes.”
The mentioning of Crazy Jim’s name interested Jerry. Crazy Jim was still up on Blackwell’s Island. It was possible, however, that they referred to some other individual.
To hear what further they might have to say the young oarsman kept close to the party.
“It’s been a long hunt for me, gentlemen,” said the tall man, and by his speech Jerry felt sure he was a westerner. “But if I am on the right trail, things will soon come out right.”
“What do you want to find Crazy Jim for?” asked one of the short men.
“I’m not saying any thing about that just now,” was the cool response.
“Oh, excuse me, of course not.” The short fellow looked around, but failed to catch sight of our hero. “Jack, how about a smoke?” he said to the other short fellow.
“Strike a light,” was the answer.
The words were evidently a secret signal, for hardly were they spoken when one of the short men caught the westerner from behind and held his arms.
“Here, what’s the meaning of this?” cried the man, in alarm.
“Keep still, old man, and we won’t hurt you. Raise a row and you’ll get knocked out. Quick, Pete, with his diamond pin and that roll of bills in his left pocket!”
At this command the man in front rushed in and caught hold of the man’s pin. Out it came in his hand, a beautiful affair, worth at least a hundred dollars.
“Stop! stop!” yelled the westerner. “Police! police!”
“Shut up!” hissed the man who held him. “Pete, crack him over the head. We can’t afford to take any chances here.”
Thus ordered, the man who held the diamond pin slipped it into his pocket. Then he raised his heavy cane and started to do as bidden when Jerry rushed at him.
“Stop! Don’t hit that man!”
The rascal was surprised.
“Who are you? Oh, it’s only a boy. Clear out of here!”
“I won’t! You let that man alone.”
“Don’t leave me,” pleaded the victim. “They want to rob me. He has my diamond pin!”
“Shut up!” howled the man in the rear. “Crack him, Pete, and crack the boy, too.”
Once more the heavy cane was raised. Our hero caught it in the center, and by a dexterous twist wrenched it from the rascal’s hand.
With a howl of baffled rage the rascal turned and caught Jerry by the throat.
“Give me that stick, boy, or I’ll choke the life out of you!” he hissed into the youth’s ear.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
JERRY HEARS AN ASTONISHING STATEMENT
When the footpad, for the fellow was nothing less, attacked Jerry, our hero felt that he had a tough struggle before him.
The rascal’s grasp on the young oarsman’s throat was light, however, and Jerry quickly shook it off.
In the meantime the westerner began to struggle and shout at the top of his voice:
“Help! Police! police!”
In vain the fellow who held him tried to stop his cries. They grew louder, and soon footsteps were heard approaching.
Jerry received a savage blow on the chest and struck out in return, hitting the footpad in the chin. Then the two clinched, and both rolled to the pavement.
Jerry’s assailant was a strong man and he was slowly but surely getting the best of the youth when three men put in an appearance. They were heavy-set individuals and were followed by a policeman.
“What’s up here?”
“Don’t kill that boy!”
“He is a thief!” cried Jerry. “He has that man’s diamond pin.”
“That’s right,” put in the westerner, who had managed to turn and catch hold of his assailant. “This fellow is his mate. They just tackled me when the boy came to my help.”
“It is a falsehood,” roared the footpad who had attacked our hero.
Saying this, he arose and tried to sneak away. But Jerry tripped him up, sending him headlong, and before he could rise the policeman had him handcuffed.
While this was going on the westerner and two of the new arrivals managed to make a prisoner of the other footpad. He used some terrible language, but this did not avail him.
“I know them,” said the policeman, after the capture was effected. “They are Hungry Pete and Jack the Slick. They are wanted for a burglary at Sheepshead Bay. How did you happen to fall in with them?”
“I met them up at Rumford’s Hotel. They said they knew a man I was looking for.”
“Will you come along and make a charge against them?”
“Certainly. He has my diamond pin.”
The pin was brought to light and handed over to its owner, and then our hero was asked to go along.
Anxious to know what the westerner might want of Crazy Jim, Jerry agreed, and a minute later found the whole crowd bound for the nearest station-house.
Here the westerner gave his name as Colonel Albert Dartwell. He said he was from Denver and had come east on private business.
“I have been sick for two months,” he said. “I am still weak. That is the reason I did not put up a better fight when those two men tackled me.”
Jerry told his story, and the upshot of the matter was that the two footpads were held for another hearing before the judge in the morning.
“My boy, I owe you something for your services to me,” said the westerner, as he and our hero came out on the street. “You did well for a boy.”
“I did the best I could,” replied the young oarsman “But I want to ask you a question. I heard you mention Crazy Jim. What do you want to see him for?”
A look of pain crossed Colonel Dartwell’s face at my words.
“It’s a long story, Upton. I am from the West and came many miles to see him. Do you know the man?”
“I know one fellow called Crazy Jim, sir.”
“His right name is James MacHenry.”
“That’s the man.”
“Ah! And where can he be found?”
“Most likely on Blackwell’s Island.”
“He is in prison?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“For breaking the glass in a store window and creating a row.”
Colonel Dartwell drew a long breath.
“Those footpads told me he was in a hotel in the neighborhood. You are sure you are right?”
“Yes, sir. To be truthful, I was mixed up in the scrape that took Crazy Jim to prison.”
“Indeed. Would you mind telling me about it? You don’t look like a boy that would do wrong.”
“It wasn’t my fault. Crazy Jim had a packet belonging to me – a packet containing some valuable documents. I called for them and found he had given them up to an enemy of mine.”
“And that led to the row.”
“Not exactly. He is a bad man, and there was a little girl living with him, and he – ”
As Jerry spoke Colonel Dartwell grasped him by the arm.
“Stop! What did you say about a little girl?” he demanded, eagerly.
“I said there was a little girl living with him. He used to send her out to beg. He got it into his head that she had set me against him, and he started to beat her. I told her to run away, and then he attacked me and got arrested.”
“And what became of the little girl? Tell me, quickly!” And Colonel Dartwell’s voice was husky as he spoke.
“I met her afterward and took her to where I was boarding, and she is still stopping there.”
“Describe her to me.”
Seeing there was something behind the inquiry, Jerry gave him the best description he could. The colonel listened with fixed attention.
“It must be her!” he murmured. “My poor, lost Dottie.”
“Dottie! That’s her name!” cried our hero. “And she is – ”
“She is my daughter,” was his answer.
“Your daughter!” ejaculated Jerry, in amazement.
“Yes, my daughter. Take me to her at once.”
“I will, sir; but this is the strangest thing I ever heard.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“Was she stolen from you?”
“Yes. It’s a long story. I will tell it to you while we are on the way. She is well?”
“Yes, sir. But she has been misused, so you mustn’t expect to see her looking real good. She is very thin.”
“I have not seen her for four years, not since she was a mite of a toddler.”
The pair started for the ferry without delay, and as they proceeded, the colonel related his story.
He was a mine-owner and had lived in the West for fifteen years. His wife had died when Dottie was born, and the child had been turned over to the care of a colored nurse.
At that time James MacHenry had been a prospector in the region and he had opened a mine close to that located by the colonel.
All went well until the MacHenry mine petered out as it is called, and then the man’s mind became deranged. He accused the colonel of having cheated him out of a slice of the richest land and a bitter quarrel resulted.
Two weeks later MacHenry disappeared, and shortly after that baby Dottie was missing. A long search was made for the child, but without avail.
Curiously enough, the colonel did not connect the disappearance of his child with that of Crazy Jim. He started to hunt for the little one among the Indians and the outlaws in the mountains.
Two years passed, and then one night a good-for-nothing miner named Duffy was shot in a quarrel over a game of cards. On his dying bed Duffy confessed that he had once been intimate with Crazy Jim and that the latter had acknowledged stealing Dottie.
A hunt was at once made for the abductor. It was said he had gone to San Francisco, and later on he was traced to Chicago, but there the trail was lost until long after, when a tramp turned up who spoke of having seen Crazy Jim around New York.
Without delay Colonel Dartwell had come East and scoured the metropolis. While here he had fallen in with footpads who had sought to rob him.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A JOYOUS MEETING
By the time Colonel Dartwell’s story was told he and Jerry had landed in the metropolis, and a hurried walk of a few minutes brought them to Nellie Ardell’s apartment. Mrs. Flannigan was waiting for our hero, having put both of the children to bed.
“An’ did ye find Miss Ardell?” she asked, quickly.
“No, Mrs. Flannigan. But I have found somebody else – the father of little Dottie.”
“Indade, now! An’ ain’t that noice’” she exclaimed, glancing at Colonel Dartwell’s well-dressed figure. “Well, the poor dear needs somebody, not but what she got good care here,” she added, hastily.
Tears stood in the colonel’s eyes as he stepped up beside the bed upon which Dottie lay. He took the white-robed figure up in his arms and kissed her face.
“It is she,” he said, in a choking voice. “The living picture of her dead mother!”
Dottie awoke with a start and was inclined to cry out. But Jerry and the colonel quickly soothed her.
“I am your papa, Dottie; don’t you remember papa and big Ruth that used to be with you?”
The little girl looked puzzled. Then she gave a cry.
“Papa! papa! I know you! I knew you would come to me! Oh, papa, don’t go away again! Crazy Jim said you were dead! Oh, papa!”
And she clung to him convulsively. It was such an affecting scene Jerry had to turn away, while Mrs. Flannigan, standing in the partly open doorway, shed copious tears.
An hour later the children had again retired, and the colonel and the young oarsman sat in the little kitchen talking.
“And you say you think Miss Ardell was abducted?” he said.
“I felt sure of it, sir. This Alexander Slocum wants to get her out of the way on account of some property he is holding back from her. I am interested in the same property.”
And Jerry told him the particulars of affairs so far as they concerned Slocum.
“If the land in question is near Sacramento it ought to be of great value,” said the colonel. “Property in that section is booming.”
“I want to find Nellie Ardell, sir. I am afraid he will do her bodily harm. He might even kill her to get her out of the way.”
“I will help you all I can, Upton. You have done me a great service, and I certainly owe the young lady much for taking my child in and caring for her.”
Our hero and the colonel went over the matter carefully for fully an hour and decided to start on a hunt as soon as it grew light. The colonel offered to employ a detective and this offer Jerry readily accepted.
Jerry passed several hours trying to sleep, and at the first sign of dawn was up and dressed. The colonel had rested in an arm-chair, not caring to separate himself from his child by going to a hotel.
Mrs. Flannigan was again called upon and readily agreed to take charge of Tommy and Dottie once more. She took them to her own rooms and was cautioned about letting strangers in.
“Don’t fear, they’ll not take ’em from me,” she said, and in such a determined way that Jerry was compelled to laugh.
The call at a detective’s office was soon over, and it was not as satisfactory as our hero had anticipated.
“You mustn’t expect too much,” laughed the colonel. “In spite of the thrilling detective stories published, detectives are only ordinary men, and cannot do the impossible. Mr. Gray will no doubt go to work in his own way and do the best he can.”
Their next movement was to cross to Brooklyn. Here the pair started on the hunt for the carriage that had carried Nellie Ardell off.
An hour was spent in a fruitless search. They were about to give it up, when they saw a carriage coming down to the ferry that was covered with dust and mud.
“That looks as if it had been out in the country a good distance,” observed Colonel Dartwell. “I’ll stop the driver and see what he has to say. It can do no harm.”
Walking up in front of the team he motioned for the driver to halt.
“Want a carriage, boss?”
“No, I want to know where you have been?” demanded the westerner.
At this question the driver seemed plainly disconcerted. He looked around, and, seeing a clear space to his left, whipped up his animals and sped off.
“He’s our man!” cried the colonel. “Come on, he must not escape us!”
He set off with all speed and Jerry followed. The driver drove as far as the first corner and then had to halt because of a blockade in the street.
“Come down here!” commanded Colonel Dartwell.
“I ain’t done nothin’,” growled the fellow. “You let me alone.”
“I asked you where you had been.”
“Up to the park.”
“Who did you have for a fare?”
“An old man.”
“That’s not true – you had two men and a girl.”
The carriage driver muttered something under his breath.
“I – I – who said I had the men and a girl?” he asked, surlily.
“I say so. Where did you take the young lady?”
At first the driver beat about the bush. But the colonel threatened him with arrest, and this brought him around.
“Don’t arrest me, boss. I wasn’t in the game. The men hired me to take ’em out – that was all. They said the girl was light-headed and the place was a private asylum.”
“Probably,” rejoined Colonel Dartwell, sarcastically. “Take us to that place without delay. But stop – drive to police headquarters first.”
Very unwillingly the fellow complied. At the headquarters help was procured in the shape of two ward detectives. All four of the party entered the carriage and were driven off to effect Nellie Ardell’s rescue.
It was with deep interest that Jerry accompanied Colonel Dartwell and the officers of the law in the search for the missing young lady.
On through the crowded streets of Brooklyn drove the carriage, the driver now apparently as willing to help the law as he had before wished to evade it.
The carriage was turning into one of the fine thoroughfares when Jerry caught sight of a figure which instantly arrested his attention. The figure was that of Mr. Wakefield Smith.
“Stop!” cried the young oarsman to the driver of the carriage.
“What’s up?” demanded the colonel.
“Do you see that man over there by the paper stand?”
“Yes.”
“That is Wakefield Smith, the pickpocket.”
“Indeed! He ought to be arrested.”
“You know him to be a pickpocket?” questioned one of the detectives.
“I do. He robbed me of over twenty dollars. I got back ten dollars. He’s a very smooth and slick worker.”
“I think I know that chap,” returned the detective. “Don’t he look like Charley the Dude?” he asked of his companion.
“By Jove! that’s our man!” ejaculated the second detective. “I would know him anywhere by that peculiar walk. He has grown a heavy mustache since I saw him last.”
“Will you stop and arrest him?” asked Jerry. “He ought to be locked up.” “We can get the policeman on the beat to attend to him. There is an officer on the next corner. Just call him, Harrity.”
The carriage was brought up to the curb and our hero and the officers alighted, the Colonel remaining behind to keep an eye on the driver.
Mr. Wakefield Smith was strolling down the street in a lordly way when Jerry tapped him on the shoulder.
“So I’ve met you again,” he said.
The pickpocket turned and his face fell. But only for a moment; then he gazed at the youth brazenly.
“I don’t know you, me boy,” he drawled in an assumed voice.
“But I know you, Mr. Smith,” rejoined Jerry. “I want the balance of my money. I got ten dollars the night you were intoxicated, but that is not enough.”
“Boy, you are talking riddles. I never saw you before.”
“I can easily prove it, I fancy.”
“It’s no use, Charley,” broke in the detective, who had followed me. “We know you well enough.”
“And who are you?” asked the pickpocket, much disconcerted.
“I am a detective. You are the rogue known as Charley the Dude. You may consider yourself under arrest.”
“This is an outrage!”
“Hardly.”
By this time the second detective had arrived with a policeman. At sight of the bluecoat the pickpocket became nervous. Turning, he suddenly started to run.
But the others ran for him, and soon he was handcuffed. Explanations to the policeman followed, and the officer took him off, and Jerry and the detectives continued on their way.
It may be well to state here that the pickpocket, whose real name was Charles Heulig, was later on convicted of several crimes and sent to state prison for a term of years. Jerry never received a cent of the balance of the money due, but other events that followed made this loss seem a trivial one.