a side panel a small pin, that is nicely fitted and comes out noiselessly, and peeps through the aperture thus made.
Then, with an exclamation of annoyance, he replaces the pin and hurriedly opens the door.
The woman who enters is a fitting mate for him, save that in height and breadth, she is his superior; old and ugly, unkempt and dirty, with a face expressive of quite as much of cunning and greed, and more of boldness and resolution, than his possesses.
“It’s you, is it?” says the man, testily. “What has brought you back? and empty-handed I’ll be bound.”
The old woman crossed the floor, seated herself in the most reliable chair, and turning her face toward her companion said, sharply:
“You’re an old fool!”
Not at all discomposed by this familiar announcement, the man closed and barred the door, and then approached the woman, who was taking from her pocket a crumpled newspaper.
“What have you got there?”
“You wait,” significantly, “and don’t tell me that I come empty-handed.”
“Ah! you don’t mean – ”
Again the look of terror crossed his face, and he left the sentence unfinished.
“Old man, you are a fool! Now, listen: Nance and I had got our bags nearly filled, when I found this,” striking the paper with her forefinger. “It blew right under my feet, around a corner. It’s the morning paper.”
“Well, well!”
“Oh, you’ll hear it soon enough. It’s the morning paper, and you know I always read the papers, when I can find ’em, although, since you lost the few brains you was born with, you never look at one.”
“Umph!”
“Well, I looked at this paper, and see what I found!”
She held the paper toward him, and pointed to a paragraph among the advertisements.
Wanted. Information of any sort concerning one Arthur Pearson, who left the mining country with a child in his charge, twenty years ago. Information concerning said child, Lea Ainsworth, or any of her relatives. Compensation for any trouble or time. Address,
The paper fluttered from the man’s nerveless fingers, but the woman caught it as it fell.
“Oh, Lord!” he gasped, the drops of perspiration standing out upon his brow, “oh, Lord! it has come at last.”
“What has come, you old fool!”
“Everything; ruin! ruin!”
“We’re a pretty looking pair to talk of ruin,” giving a contemptuous glance at her surroundings. “Stop looking so like a scared idiot, and listen to me.”
“Oh, I’m listening!” sinking down upon the pallet in a dismal huddle; “go on.”
The woman crossed over and sat down beside him.
“Now, look here; suppose the worst comes, how far away is it? How long will it take to get a letter to Australia, and an answer or a journey back?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Well, it’ll take all the time we want. But who is there to answer that advertisement?”
“Oh, dear!”
“You miserable coward! She wouldn’t know what it meant if she saw it.”
“No.”
“Arthur Pearson – ”
“Oh, don’t!”
“Arthur Pearson has not been heard of in twenty years.”
The old man shuddered, and drew a long sighing breath.
“Walter Parks, after all his big talk, never came back from England,” she hurried on. “Menard is dead; and Joe Blakesley is in California. The rest are dead, or scattered south and west. There are none of the train to be found here, except – except the Krutzers; and who can identify them after twenty years?”
“I shall never feel safe again.”
“Yes, you will. You always feel safe when the dollars jingle in your pockets, although it’s precious little good they bring you.”
“But her money is already gone.”
“Her husband has a full purse.”
“But how – ”
“Oh, I see the way clear enough. It’s only half the work of the other job, and double the money.”
“The money! Ah! how do you think to get it?”
“Honestly, this time; honestly, old man. It shall come to us as a reward!”
Drawing nearer still to her hesitating partner, the woman began to whisper rapidly, gesticulating fiercely now and then, while the old man listened in amazement, admiration, doubt, and fear; asking eager questions, and feeling his way cautiously toward conviction.
When the argument was ended, he said, slowly:
“I shall never feel safe until it’s over, and we are away from this place. When can you do – the job?”
“To-morrow night.”
“To-morrow night!”
“Yes; it’s the very time of times. To-morrow night it shall be.”
“It’s a big risk! We will have to bluff the detectives, old woman.”
“A fig for the detectives! They will have a cold scent; besides – we have dodged detectives before.”
CHAPTER IV.
ENLISTED AGAINST EACH OTHER
It is early in the evening of the day that has witnessed the events recorded in the preceding chapters, and the Chief of the detectives is sitting in his easiest office chair, listening attentively to the words that fall from the lips of a tall, bronzed, gray-bearded man who sits opposite him, talking fast and earnestly.
He has been thus talking, and the Chief thus listening, for more than an hour, and the story is just reaching its conclusion when the stranger says:
“There, sir, you have the entire case, so far as I know it. What I ask is something unusual, but what I offer, in compensation, is something unusual too.”
“A queer case, I should say,” returns the Chief, half to himself; “and a difficult one. Twenty years ago a man was murdered – killed by a nail driven into his skull. Detectives have hunted for the murderer, singly, in twos and threes. English experts have crossed the ocean to unravel the mystery and it remains a mystery still. And now, when the secret is twenty years old, and the assassin dead and buried, perhaps, you come and ask me for my two best men, – men who have worked together as brothers – and ask me to set their skill against each other, in a struggle, which, if it ends as you desire, will mean victory and fortune for the one, defeat and loss of prestige for the other.”
“There is no such thing as loss of prestige. A man may bow to a superior and yet retain his own skill. Plainly, I have come to you as an honorable man should. I wish to deal with these men through you, if possible. But they are free agents. What you refuse to do for me, I must do for myself; and I tell you plainly, that if money can purchase their services, I will have Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope to work this case.”
“You are frank, sir! But I have observed that, in relating your story, you have been careful to avoid giving either your own name or the name of the murdered man.”
“As I shall continue to do until I state the case to the two detectives, after they have enlisted in my service.”
The Chief ponders for a time and then says:
“Now, hear my proposition: you are