CHAPTER V.
"STANHOPE'S FIRST TRICK."
Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope had been brother detectives during theentire term of their professional career.
Entering the Agency when mere striplings, they had at once formed afriendship that had been strong and lasting. Their very differences ofdisposition and habits made them the better fellow-workmen, and the_role_ most difficult for one was sure to be found the easier part forthe other to play.
They had been a strong combination, and the Chief of the detectiveswasted some time in pondering the question: what would be the result,when their skill and courage stood arrayed against each other?
Meantime, Richard Stanhope, wasting no thought upon the matter, hastenedfrom the presence of his Chief to his own quarters.
"It's my last night," he muttered, as he inserted his key in the lock,"and I'll just take one more look at the slums. I don't want to lose onebird from that flock."
Half an hour later, there sallied forth from the door where Stanhope hadentered, a roughly-dressed, swaggering, villainous-looking fellow, whobore about with him the strongly defined odors of tobacco and badwhiskey.
This individual, armed with a black liquor flask, two revolvers, ablood-thirsty-looking dirk, a pair of brass knuckles, and a quantity ofplug tobacco, took his way through the streets, avoiding the morepopular and respectable thoroughfares, and gradually approaching thatportion of the city almost entirely given over to the worst of thebad,--a network of short streets and narrow alleys, as intricate as themaze, and as dangerous to the unwary as an African jungle.
But the man who now entered these dismal streets walked with the mannerof one familiar with their sights and sounds. Moving along with an airof stolid indifference to what was before and about him, he arrived at arickety building, somewhat larger than those surrounding it, theentrance to which was reached by going down, instead of up, a flight ofstone steps. This entrance was feebly illuminated by a lantern hungagainst the doorway, and by a few stray gleams of light that shone outfrom the rents in the ragged curtains.
Pushing open the door, our visitor found himself in a large room withsanded floor, a counter or bar, and five or six tables, about which anumber of men were lounging,--some at cards, some drinking, and someconversing in the queer jargon called thieves' slang, and which is asGreek to the unenlightened.
The buzz of conversation almost ceased as the door opened, but wasimmediately resumed when the new comer came forward toward the light.
"Is that you, Cull?" called the man behind the bar. "You've been keepin'scarce of late."
The man addressed as "Cull" laughed discordantly.
"I've been visitin' in the country," he returned, with a knowing wink."It's good for my health this time o' year. How's business? You've gotthe hull deck on hand, I should say."
"You better say! Things is boomin'; nearly all of the old uns are in."
"Well, spread out the drinks, Pap, I'm tolerably flush. Boys, come up,and if I don't know any of ye we'll be interduced."
Almost instantly a dozen men were flocking about the bar, some eager tograsp the hand of the liberal last arrival, and others paying theirundivided attention to the bar keeper's cheerful command:
"Nominate yer dose, gentlemen."
While the party, glasses in hand, were putting themselves _en rapport_,the door again opened, and now the hush that fell upon the assembled"gentlemen" was deeper and more lasting.
Evidently, the person who entered was a stranger to all in the Thieves'Tavern, for such the building was.
He was a young man, with a countenance half fierce, half desperate,wholly depraved. He was haggard, dirty, and ragged, having the look andthe gait of a man who has travelled far and is footsore and weary. As heapproached the group about the bar it was also evident that he was halfintoxicated.
"Good evenin', sirs," he said with surly indifference. Then to the manbehind the bar: "Mix us a cocktail, old Top, and strong."
While the bar keeper was deftly shaking up the desired drink, the menbefore the counter drew further away from the stranger, and some of thembegan a whispered conversation.
The last arrival eyed them with a sneer of contempt, and said to the barkeeper, as he gulped down his drink: "Your coves act like scared kites.Probably they ain't used to good society."
"See here, my friend," spoke a blustering fellow, advancing toward him,"you made a little mistake. This 'ere ain't a tramps' lodgin' house."
"Ain't it?" queried the stranger; "then what the Moses are _you_ doin'here?"
"You'll swallow _that_, my hearty!"
"When?"
The stranger threw himself into an attitude of defence and glareddefiance at his opponent.
"Wax him, Charley!"
"Let's fire him out!"
"Hold on gentlemen; fair play!"
"I'll give you one more chance," said the blusterer. "Ask my pardon andthen mizzle instantly, or I'll have ye cut up in sections as sure as myname's Rummey Joe."
The half intoxicated man was no coward. Evidently he was ripe for aquarrel.
"I intend to stop here!" he cried, bringing his fist down upon thecounter with a force that made it creak. "I'm goin' to stay right heretill the old Nick comes to fetch me. And I'm goin' ter send your teethdown your big throat in three minutes."
There was a chorus of exclamations, a drawing of weapons, and a forwardrush. Then sudden silence.
The man who had lately ordered drinks for the crowd, was standingbetween the combatants, one hand upon the breast of the last comer, theother grasping a pistol levelled just under the nose of Rummey Joe.
"Drop yer fist, boy! Put up that knife, Joe! Let's understand eachother."
Then addressing the stranger, but keeping an eye upon Rummey Joe, hesaid:
"See here, my hearty, you don't quite take in the siteration. This is asort of club house, not open to the general public. If you want to hangout here, you must show your credentials."
The stranger hesitated a moment, and then, without so much as a glanceat his antagonist, said:
"_Your_ racket is fair enough. I know where I am, and ye've all got aright to see my colors. I'll show ye my hand, and then"--with a balefulglare at Rummey Joe--"I'll settle with _that_ blackguard."
Advancing to one of the tables, he deliberately lifted his foot and,resting it upon the table top, rolled up the leg of his trousers, andpulled down a dirty stocking over his low shoe.
"There's my passport, gentlemen."
They crowded about him and gazed upon the naked ankle, that bore theimprint of a broad band, sure indication that the limb had recently beendecorated with a ball and chain.
"And now," said the ex-convict, turning fiercely, "I'll teach you thekind of a tramp I am, Mr. Rummey Joe!"
Before a hand or voice could be raised to prevent it, the two men hadgrappled, and were struggling fiercely for the mastery.
"Give them a show, boys!" some one said.
"There's my passport, gentlemen."--page 56.]
The crowd drew back and watched the combat; watched with unconcern untilthey saw their comrade, Rummey Joe, weakening in the grasp of hisantagonist; until knives flashed in the hand of each, and fierce blowswere struck on both sides. Then, when Rummey Joe, uttering a shriek ofpain, went down underneath the knife of the victor, there was a roar anda rush, and the man who had conquered their favorite was borne down byhalf a dozen strong arms, menaced by as many sharp, glittering knives.
But again the scene shifted.
An agile form was bounding about among them; blows fell swift as rain;there was a lull in the combat, and when the wildly struggling figures,some scattered upon the floor, some thrown back upon each other,recovered from their consternation, they saw that the convict hadstruggled up upon one elbow, while, directly astride of his prostratebody, stood the man who had asked for his credentials, fierce contemptin his face, and, in either hand, a heavy six shooter.
"Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye! Cowards, to t
ackle a singleman, six of ye!"
"By Heavens, he's killed Rummey!"
"No matter; it was a fair fight, and Rummey at the bottom of the blame."
"All the same he'll never kill a pal of ours, and live to tell it! Standoff, Cully Devens!"
"_No, sir!_ I am going to take this wounded man out of this withoutanother scratch, if I have to send every mother's son of you toperdition."
His voice rang out clear and commanding. In the might of his wrath, hehad forgotten the language of Cully Devens and spoken as a man tocowards.
The effect was electrical.
From among the men standing at bay, one sprang forward, crying:
"Boys, here's a traitor amongst us! Who are ye, ye sneak, that hasplayed yerself fer Cully Devens?"
"Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye!"--page 58.]
The lithe body bent slightly forward, a low laugh crossed the lips ofthe bogus Cully, the brown eyes lighted up, and flashed in the eyes ofthe men arrayed against him. Then came the answer, coolly, as if theannouncement were scarcely worth making:
"Richard Stanhope is my name, and I've got a trump here for every trickyou can show me. Step up, boys, don't be bashful!"
Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Page 6
