Fritz to the Front, or, the Ventriloquist Scamp-Hunter

CHAPTER V.
BILL BUDGE'S CONVERSATION

To Fritz, the scene below of course began to grow more interesting.

"Dot veller vas goin' to pe tried for somedings," he muttered, "und vot ish more, uff der verdict don't vas in his favor, he vas goin' der git sp'iled."

Young Hartly if his thoughts were in the same channel as those of the watcher, didn't appear very much troubled about the matter, for he perched himself upon the table, while the six jurors sat in a semicircle facing him, and the captain a little to one side.

"Well, sir, what have you to say, Hartly, in regard to this suspicion which has arisen against you – that you are a traitor to our cause?"

"Nothing, sir, except that whoever started the suspicion, is a liar and a coward!" was the retort.

"Then, you deny that you have ever betrayed the existence of this band, outside of its own membership?"

"I do most emphatically. What assurance have you, that any one has betrayed you?"

"Is it not ample proof, when strange men haunt this vicinity, and haunt the members to their very doors? These law-sharks, or detectives, only wait for some disclosure, to spring their traps on me and my faithful followers."

"I am not to blame. Though forced into service against my will, and made to swear the oath of allegiance, rather than lose my life, I have kept such secrets as came into my possession. I believe I know who has excited the suspicious feeling against me."

"Well, sir, who?"

"Your rascally son, for one – your jealous daughter, for another," Hartly replied, shrugging his shoulders with a contemptuous laugh.

"How dare you term my son rascally, sir, and accuse my child of jealousy?"

"Because the boy is as unprincipled a villain as yourself, and as for your daughter, when she found that I did not court her favor, she at once turned against me. I despise both your son and your daughter, Captain Gregg, and that is all I have to say, except that I am not guilty of the charge preferred against me."

"That remains to be told by the jury. You see the head of Bill Budge, just above you, Hartly? He was caught in an intended act of treachery, and you see his end. If Bill could speak, he'd tell you that the fate of the traitor is hard."

"You're a cussed liar!" Budge's suspended remnant seemed to say, in a deep, hoarse voice.

The captain and the jury uttered each a startled oath, and gazed at the offending head in astonishment.

"Who called me a liar?" Gregg demanded, fiercely. "By the gods, I thought it was Budge's lips that uttered those words."

"So it was!" the head seemed to say; then there was a gurgling sort of laugh, and the head shook, perceptibly.

"Ten thousand furies!" Gregg yelled, and hastily wrenching open the door, he made a hasty exit from the room, followed by the jurors – nor did they stop, short of the bottom of the stairs.

Hartly did not leave the room, but dismounting from his perch upon the table, walked off a few paces to where he could get a good look at Budge's unfortunate pate.

"Something deuced funny, here, I'm blowed if there ain't!" he soliloquized, apparently quite composed. "It's the first time I have ever heard dead men talk. I say, Budge, how's the temperature up your way?"

"Two t'ousand degrees above blood heat," seemed to issue from between the gleaming teeth.

"Humph! pretty warm, that, I must admit," Hartly said, looking still more puzzled.

Fritz, while perpetrating the ventriloquism, was also listening and planning.

"Dot veller Hartly is der very chap to helb me oud mit my scheme," he muttered, "und ve must escape from here, pefore der smugglers return."

Accordingly he slid down the rope into the room below.

Hartly looked surprised.

"Who the deuce are you?" he demanded, stepping back a pace.

"Fritz Snyder, detective," Fritz replied. "I come here on pizness – vot for, you can easily guess. I vant you to helb me oud mit it, und I vil see dot you haff your liberty."

"Ha! ha! that's your game, is it? Well, my friend, I'd like to do it, first-rate, but I can not oblige you."

"Vy not?"

"Because I swore allegiance to the cause you would have me betray, and it never shall be said that Hal Hartly was not a man of his word!"

"But I heard you say dot you vas forced inder der pizness."

"So I was, against my will, but that does not lessen the obligations of my oath. While I live, I shall adhere to my sworn promise."

"You vas foolish – you don'd vil get any credit for your resolve. Yoost ash like ash not you will pe killed, on der suspicion dot's already against you."

"Perhaps. If so, I shall submit, knowing I have been innocent of breaking my word."

"Pshaw! dis vos all nonsense! You don'd vas vant to die no more ash any odder man. Let me cut der bonds vot fastens your arm, und ve vill climb up to der attic und escape vrom der roof to some place where we vil pe safe, undil we can make arrangements to break oop dis smugglers' league."

"Nothing would please me more, but owing to my oath, I must positively refuse to do anything of the kind," Hartly persisted, firmly. "I admire your proposed attempt, and while I shall do nothing to interrupt it, I can not conscientiously do anything to help it along. Can you enlighten me any as to the mystery of this head, which, though not possessed of life, yet uses its voice so naturally?"

"I dells you noddings apoud it," Fritz replied, shaking his head. "Hark!"

"Yes! I hear it. It is Gregg and the boys coming back. Quick! or you will be seen!"

Fritz made haste to shin up the rope to the garret once more, and had barely succeeded in so doing when the smugglers, headed by Captain Gregg, once more entered the room.

They did not come boldly in, but thrust their heads in and took a look around first.

Seeing that no harm had come to Hartly, they then ventured in.

"Ha! ha! you're brave fellows, ain't you?" he laughed. "I didn't cut tail and run, although I have not even the use of my hands."

"You're cussed brave, all at once!" Gregg growled, evidently not liking the taunt. "Did that thing speak again?" with a wry glance at the guiltless pate of the departed Budge.

"Of course. I've had quite a chat with William," Hartly replied. "He says he's in a very warm latitude at present, and so he's come back spiritually for a short cooling off!"

Gregg uttered an oath.

"Pooh! I don't believe such bosh."

"But it's a fact, nevertheless. Budge says they've got a little corner left up in his country for you, too, when you get ready to emigrate, which will be mighty soon, judging by the active preparations that are being made to receive you, such as gathering kindling wood, making matches, and the like."

"Curse you, they'll git you first!" the smuggler said, with vicious emphasis. "Go ahead, boys, an' tell him the decision you've made."

"Well, we've concluded that Hal Hartly is a traitor to our cause, and for the sake of protection it will be necessary to feed him to the fishes!" one of the jurors said. "Eh, ain't that the ticket, boys!"

A grunt of assent from the others was the answer.

"Then it shall be so," Captain Gregg ordered. "I am sorry for you, Hartly, but treachery merits death, as you were informed when you joined. As an organization which must exist in secrecy, we are forced to adopt harsh rules. Your companions have carefully weighed all the evidence, and have decided that the safety of the organization demands your death. As you have sown, so shall you reap."

"Do you mean this, Captain Gregg?"

"I do, sir, emphatically."

"Then you shall live to repent ever having pronounced my doom. Henceforth I shall not consider my oath of allegiance obligatory, as I have hitherto done. I'll show you what harm I can do your vile organization."

"But you shall have no chance. Jim Hovel and his brother have already consented to sink you to the bottom of the Atlantic for a stated sum, and thus rid us of you effectually. They are waiting below for you, as it is a safe night for such work. If you have any prayers to make, you had better make the best use of your time."

"I'll suit myself about that, you villain!"

"Numbers two and three, take the prisoner down-stairs!" the captain ordered.

Two of the smugglers seized hold of poor Hartly, and led him from the room.

Up in the attic. Fritz was in a predicament. The majority of the smugglers yet remained in the room below, and he could not get out of the house in that way, as was his desire, to make an attempt if possible to rescue Hal Hartly.

The only course left for him was to escape through a trap-door onto the roof, and trust to luck in getting to the ground from there.

"Dot veller vas von big fool for not acceptin' my advice," he mused, as he fumbled cautiously around in the darkness. "Yoost like ash not dey vil pe gone off mit him, ven I git down dere, und den he vil pe a goner, sure ash der dickens."

It required several minutes to find the trap in the roof, and it was no slight job to displace it.

When he had accomplished this much, however, it was but a moment's work to clamber out upon the roof in the pouring rain and replace the door.

"Py shimminy, dot vas a hard storm," he soliloquized. "Der ocean grunts as uff she vas got der dispeppersy. Now der next t'ing ish somedings else. Der roof vas slippery ash von soap ladle, und first I know der vil pe a dead Dutchmon spilled someveres over t'e ground."

That portion of the main roof of the building was quite steep, and the eaves were at least twenty-five feet from the ground.

Not fancying the idea of a drop of that distance, the young detective crawled to the ridge, to reconnoiter.

On the other side of the ridge, the roof sloped down to meet a gable, from where the gable's roof took another descent, so as to bring the eaves about seven feet nearer to the ground.

Aside from this there was no possible way of reaching terra firma.

"Eighteen feet! I don'd know vedda I can stand dot or no. I must try it, however, or Hal Hartly vas a dead codfish sure."

Using extreme caution, he slid from one ridge to the other, and then from that to the eaves, from where he was to drop.

"Vel, here's der blace vere I don'd vas so much tickled. But pizness vas pizness, und a veller don'd vas can rise in der vorld vidout dropping sometimes; so here goes!" he muttered.

And clinging to the eaves for a second, he let himself drop.

Down – down he went, with great velocity, and finally struck upon something softer than mother earth, from which he tumbled end over end to the ground.

The following instant a wild, unearthly howl rent the night.

"Och! murther – murther!" shrieked a man's voice; "I'm kilt! I'm kilt! Och! Holy Vargin Mary save me!"

It was the Irishman's voice. It was upon him that Fritz had first alighted, and he was probably badly jarred up, for he continued to hop around and yell at the top of his voice.

To make matters worse, the door of the house opened, and Gregg and his followers came pouring out.

CHAPTER VI.
ON THE SCENT

Fritz had been stunned a little, even after tumbling off from the yelping Irishman; still, he had sense enough to struggle to his feet on seeing the smugglers rush from the building.

"Shut oop!" he cried, addressing Grogan. "The smugglers are upon us! Draw your wippons, if you have any, and fire!"

"Dom tha wippons!" Grogan howled, refusing to hear to reason. "Och! holy Vargin! it's kilt sure I am ontirely!"

"Helloo! what the devil is the matter here?" the captain shouted, waving his lantern on high. "Who is it that's making all this noise?"

"Spies – detectives!" suggested one of his companions. "Shoot 'em down!"

"Hurrah! Death to the spy!" cried a third, and then they made a rush forward and seized upon Pat, despite his lively use of his "bit o' buckthorn" on the defensive.

Perceiving that he was not seen, Fritz crawled softly away to a safe distance, and then paused to gaze back.

The yelling had ceased in the vicinity of the house, and the lantern light had disappeared from view, leaving naught but blank darkness and the pouring rain, which came down monotonously but heavily.

"I'll bet a half-dollar dot they've choked der life oud off dot duke's son-off-a-gun," Fritz muttered, creeping under the cover of a dense tree. "I vonder off I proke any of his pones ven I lit on him. By shimminy! he must haff a gonstitution like a mule, or I'd 'a' smashed him all to sausage meat."

Evidently something was to pay, for, except the sound of the storm and the dashing of the ocean against the bluff, all was quiet. The smugglers had either killed Grogan on the spot or taken him back into the house with them.

And poor Hartly – what had become of him?

That was the question which troubled Fritz far more than the fate of the lean man from Kilkenny.

"He vas a gone-up goose now anyhow, und I don'd suppose id vil do some great deal off good to vorry apoud him, only I vish I could haff saved him," he mused.

It was a wild night at the best, and Fritz heartily wished that he was back in Philadelphia, sitting in the old pawnbroker-shop, beside his girl, Rebecca.

Still, he would not willingly have given up what he had learned in reference to the smugglers' league for a good deal, and he was resolved to hang to the matter attentively, until he should be able to trip and trap the rogues and break up their existence as an organization.

Knowing of no other available shelter in the vicinity, he resolved to linger under the tree until the smugglers should leave the building, when he would once more take possession.

The night was well advanced, however, when he heard them leave in a body, and start off down the lonely road.

On first thought, he was tempted to follow them, but a cold blast of wind from off the ocean warned him that he was wet to the skin, and the best thing he could do would be to get under roof and dry off.

He accordingly went back into the deserted house, and sat down in the lower hall. Though not cowardly, he had no desire to keep further company with the grinning skull of the late lamented Budge, whoever he may have been.

Rolling up one end of the old carpet he converted it into a sort of pillow, and lay down, out of the draft.

Sleep soon came to his relief, and he slept soundly until morning, when he was awakened by the sun shining in his face, through a rear hall window.

Rising, he went out-of-doors to reconnoiter, and consider what was best to do next.

It was a clear, glorious morning after the storm; the sun shone brightly, and a soft salt breeze blew off from the ocean, which was at once refreshing and invigorating.

But it was not this sort of refreshment that Fritz now yearned for. He had had nothing to eat since the previous morning, and was decidedly hungry and faint.

"Dose fellers don'd vas can live a good vays from here, vot I saw, last night," he mused, "but, ten to one uff I ask 'em for somedings to eat, dey bounce me oud."

He advanced to the northern edge of the bluff, and took a look in that direction.

To his surprise he saw, not more than a half mile away, a little village, nestling near the beach.

This village, for charity's sake, we will call Millburg, as that name will answer quite us well as any other.

There might have been a hundred buildings, all told, and it was evidently a fishing hamlet, as a number of small boats, and smacks, were drawn up along the beach.

Just outside the breakers, an ocean steamship, of small size and trim build, was anchored. Upon her sides was painted in large letters the word, "Countess."

"I don'd know petter I go down there, or not," Fritz muttered, gazing down upon the village. "I don'd vas know, neider, vich job I better look to, first – der smuggler pizness, or der girl pizness. For der latter I haff der bromise of five t'ousand dollars – for der former, I like ash not get paid off mit a proken head. Still I don'd vant to leave dis blace ondil I trip und trap der game, und turn id over to der law, for dis is der whole game, sure!"

After some deliberation he decided to go down to the village. The people would not offer him any molestation, probably, unless he gave them cause to suspect him, and he resolved to be constantly upon his guard.

Descending from the bluff, he walked along the beach, and finally entered the little burg.

It was rather a rough-looking place, built up of weather-worn wooden shanties, a few stores, and a sort of tavern.

There were, however, two imposing residences, on opposite sides of the only street, which were built of stone, and set down in large shaded lawns.

Passing up the street, Fritz was the target for many curious glances of rough-looking men, who sat in their doorways, but, paying no attention to them, he entered the tavern and purchased his breakfast, to which he was able to do full justice.

Afterward he came out in the bar-room and sat down.

A half a dozen rough-looking fellows were lounging about, who, to judge from their looks, were in the habit of ingulfing more grog than was good for them.

Then the landlord, who kept a close watch over them, was the fattest specimen of manhood Fritz had seen; his girth was something enormous. He was not a villainous-looking man, like the rest, and this fact impressed Fritz more favorably than anything else he saw about the premises.

During the forenoon a well-dressed, fine-looking man, with iron-gray hair and mustache, galloped up to the tavern on horseback. He looked as if he had been reared in luxury, for there was that haughtiness of mien that betokened the arrogant aristocrat.

"Good-morning, John," he said, as the tavern-keeper waddled to the door. "Will you send up a basket of champagne during the day, and a barrel of good ale – the champy for her ladyship, the countess, you know, and the ale for the villagers. Going to have a sort of a jollification at the lawn to-night, you know, in honor of the arrival of the countess, and want you all to turn out."

Then he galloped on, quite as airily as he had come.

"Who vas dot big-feelin' rooster?" Fritz asked, when John re-entered the tavern.

"That? Why, that's Honorable Granby Greyville," the fat man replied – "the rich haristocrat who owns most of the land hereabouts. A right big-feeling man, too, as you say."

"Granby Greyville, eh?" Fritz commented, under his breath. "Vel, dot ish funny. I thought sure dot was Captain Gregg, der smuggler, und I don'd vas so much foolished apoud it yet. I'll pet a half-dollar I find oud somedings pefore I leave der blace."

Resolved to remain a few days in the village for the purpose of prospecting, Fritz made himself at home about the hotel.

One suspicion after another was gradually occurring to him, and he was not slow to give them a thorough consideration prior to putting them to test.

Of all things, he was desirous of attending the "jollification," as the horseman had termed it, with a view of seeing the countess, who, he learned, had lately arrived from England, in her own steamship, for a few weeks' stay upon the Atlantic coast, and a visit to her prospective husband, Greyville.

During the afternoon a man entered the tavern, who evidently had "blood in his eye." His whole appearance seemed to indicate that he was anxious to have a fight with some one, and was not particular who it was.

He was a large, raw-boned fellow, with great muscular development; his face was large, with a bristling stubble of black beard upon the lower portion; his eyes were dark and wild, his hair silvered with broad streaks of white, and worn in a shaggy, unkempt mass.

His mouth was large, and his teeth projected beyond his lips, in a horrible manner.

His attire, too, was ragged and greasy, with clumsy, stogy boots upon his feet, and a dilapidated hat upon his head.

On entering the room, he paused and glared around him, as if in search of some one on whom to vent his wrath.

"Well, Bully Jake, what'll ye have!" the tavern-keeper demanded, with a frown, for the ruffian was evidently an unwelcome intruder.

"Waal, I don't keer ef I do take a drap o' likker!" the man growled, glaring around.

"You to blazes! I mean, what d'ye want here?" Fat John grunted.

"A fureigner – a fureigner! Ye know I'm death on 'em, an' thar can't none o' 'em can stay around hyar, while I hev things my way."

"What foreigner is there here, now?"

"A Dutch cuss, blarst his eyes! Thar he sets," and he indicated Fritz who was tipped back in one corner. "Oh! but I'll go through him, though! I'll pulverize and sow him to the seven winds of the earth."

Then, with a tragic stride, he made for Fritz, pausing but a few paces away from him, and shaking his fist fairly in his face.

"You, look!" the ruffian cried. "D'ye know who I am?"

"Vel, I dinks I don'd vas haff made your acquaintance!" Fritz replied, retaining his seat, but on guard for an attack, if one was made.

"Ho! ho! I reckon not, an' ye'll wish ye never had, afore I git through with yer!" Bully Jake declared. "Behold in me, my furin rooster, Jake Jogagog, commonly known as Bully Jake, the Terror o' ther Coast. I'm a cyclone, I am. Then, I'm prime minister ter his honor, Granby Greyville, an' from him I hev orders to demolish every furin craft wot sots anchor in his domains. Therefore, ef ye wanter escape teetotal annihilation, I'd advise ye ter git! Ef ye ain't seen goin' in less'n two seconds, I'll stamp ye out o' existence."

"Vel, when I gits ready to go, den I vil go, und not pefore!" Fritz retorted. "Uff you makes me any droubles, I plack your eye for you!"

"Oh! ye wull, hey? Oh! snortin' walrusses an' white-haired whales!" roared the bully, and sprung savagely upon the young detective, as if bent on his certain destruction, Fritz clinched with him.

It was to be a struggle of brute strength now.