When the evening train came along, Mary and Alice were sleeping quietly from the effects of a mild dose of laudanum, administered to them in their wine. The train stopped to take wood and water. Blake found one car almost empty, and in this car, the sisters were placed, being half carried in a drowsy stupor by Blake and Sloan. Both girls were heavily veiled and no one could have recognized them, even if any of their acquaintances had been on the train. Blake took a seat by Mary, and Sloan beside Alice, so as to keep control of them. The sisters were so far under the influence of the drug, however, as to fall asleep as soon as they were seated; and, in this way Laporte was reached, without any suspicion having been awakened in the minds of any one. From Laporte, the party went by a connecting line to the Michigan Central Railroad, and thence to Chicago, where all trace of them was lost.
CHAPTER 9
NEARLY A WEEK elapsed before the girls’ abduction was discovered. Kelly, the bar-keeper, said nothing in reference to the matter, and Mrs. Blake, on her return, three days later, supposed that Mary had gone home sick, as Blake had stated in his letter. Blake’s absence was nothing unusual, as it was his habit to start off suddenly, to be gone, perhaps, for several weeks. William was too busy to go to Coldwater; and, although Mrs. Wells thought it strange that Mary did not write to her, she was not alarmed, supposing that the girls might be too much occupied to write.
When William went to Coldwater, however, and heard the story which Blake had written to Mrs. Blake, all was plain to him in an instant. His anguish was terrible, and he cursed himself for having advised his sisters to go to the restaurant to live. Mrs. Blake was equally affected. She loved her husband, brute as he was, and would not believe that he could have committed a crime. On the contrary, she accused Mary of leading him astray.
William did not know what to think nor do. He knew that his sisters were innocent, and that they must, therefore, have been carried away by force, but he could find no clue as to how or where they had gone. He returned home and gave his parents the sad intelligence that Mary and Alice had mysteriously disappeared. They were frantic with grief, but could suggest no means of recovering the girls. William then went immediately to Coldwater and laid the case before the sheriff. The sheriff was a man of excellent feelings, and his heart was touched at William’s story; he, also, fully believed that they had been abducted by force. He at once sent for his deputy, Mr. Green, to whom he gave charge of the case.
“Green,” said he, “you must not waste a moment in getting on the trail of these villains and their victims. You must then leave nothing undone to bring them back to Coldwater—the girls to their parents and the scoundrels to jail. It will be a lasting disgrace to our county, if we do not bring the perpetrators of this vile crime to justice.”
Green soon learned the particulars of the abduction, up to the time when Blake and Sloan took the girls away from Bronson. William, while at home, had obtained all the money that he could raise, and was ready to accompany Green on his search.
They, accordingly, proceeded west as far as Laporte, where they met the conductor of the train in which Blake had taken the party away from Bronson. The conductor described Blake and Sloan exactly, but could not describe the girls, as their faces had been closely veiled, and they had slept most of the time. He recollected that just before arriving at Laporte, he had seen the taller of the two girls trying to speak to some passengers, as they passed out of the car at Carlyle. The man sitting with her had pulled her down on the seat again, at the same time showing her a knife and apparently saying something harsh to her. The conductor had regarded it, at the time, as merely a family quarrel, with which it would be better for him not to interfere. There had been nothing else, whatever, to arouse any suspicions with regard to the party, and, therefore, no idea of abduction had ever occurred to him.
The party was traced as far as Chicago, the accounts always being the same—that the girls had slept during the whole journey, except when changing cars, when they had seemed only half-awake.
Green and William arrived in Chicago and applied to Sheriff Church for his aid; but, though every effort was made, no trace of the villains could be found. All that could be discovered was that the party they were searching for, had arrived in Chicago, Saturday morning, but there all clue was lost. They were determined to continue the search, however, and Mr. Church, therefore, advised them to put the case in my hands.
It was nearly morning, by the time William had finished the story of the abduction, so far as he then knew it; and, having agreed to undertake the task of discovering the villains, I parted with my visitors and returned to bed.
This form of crime was new to me then, and I never before had heard such a truly painful case. My heart was deeply touched, as I thought of the helpless misery of those pure, young girls, and I lay awake for some time, thinking over the best course to pursue. I had intended to go to my home in Dundee the next day, but I determined not to give up the chase, until I had rescued the girls, and brought to punishment the brutes who had debauched them.
CHAPTER 10
AFTER SLEEPING A couple of hours, I started out, very early in the morning, on my work of detection. Mary’s avenger was now upon Blake’s track, never to be shaken off. I had obtained a full description of the whole party from William and Green, so that I felt confident of my ability to follow them up, the moment I should discover any trace of them.
After visiting the depot and several hotels nearby, I walked into the American Hotel, on the corner of Lake street and Wabash avenue. Although I did not live in Chicago, I was well acquainted with the city, and knew Mr. Rossitter, the proprietor of the American Hotel, very well. Accordingly, I described Blake’s party to Mr. Rossitter, and asked if any persons answering to their description had stopped at his hotel.
“Yes,” he replied, “and I thought there was something strange about them. I did not like the appearance of the tall man. He looked like a gambler, and a desperate one at that. They gave their names as ‘Brown and lady,’ and ‘Snell and lady.’ They occupied adjoining rooms, opening into each other, and took their meals there, never once appearing in the dining-room. In fact, the ladies never left their rooms for any purpose, whatever, and looked dull and sleepy all the time. After they had gone, I learned from the chambermaids and waiting-girls that there were a number of suspicious circumstances connected with them. The ladies were evidently afraid of the men, and one of the latter had a small phial which, the chambermaid thought, contained laudanum. The men drank heavily and always had a bottle of wine on the table.”
“Do you know where they went?” I asked.
“They went west on the Galena and Chicago Union Railroad, but I don’t know where they were bound.”
“When did they leave?” I asked, but immediately answered my own question: “Oh! of course they stopped over Sunday and took the train Monday morning. Goodbye, Rossitter,” and I hurried over to the sheriff’s office.
“Church,” I said, “I’m off. Detain young Wells and Deputy-Sheriff Green until you hear from me. It is now Friday; you will probably get a dispatch from me by Monday or Tuesday. Keep them easy, and say that I am on the trail of the scoundrels.”
So saying, I went out and hastened to the Galena depot, being just in time for the morning train going west. The conductor, Mr. Wiggins, was an old acquaintance, so I entered into conversation with him, in the course of which, I asked him, casually, whether he had had charge of the train Monday morning, ten days before. He replied that “Deacon” Harvey had taken the train out that morning, the two conductors going out alternately morning and evening.
As I lived on the line of the road, I knew all the conductors, and hoped to get some information from Harvey, if we did not pass him between stations.
I then stretched myself comfortably in my seat, and began to ponder upon the probabilities as to Blake’s course. I knew that he was the moving spirit in the whole affair, and that all my calculations must be made upon his probable action. If he were going
to California, he was taking a very circuitous route, since it was necessary to go much further south, if he intended to strike across the plains. Still, he might intend waiting somewhere in the interior of Illinois until spring, and then he could go down the Mississippi to St. Louis, or any other point that he might choose. It was not at all likely that he would go into an unsettled country to stay; he was too fond of company and gambling to do that. It was most probable that he would stop in some large town until spring, and then go to St. Louis, thence up the Missouri river to Independence, and from there start across the plains for California.
“Yes,” I soliloquized, inaudibly, “there is something probable in that. They will most likely hide in Illinois, but will they stay together? Sloan is a stage-driver, and is well acquainted on all the stage routes; hence, he will be of service in getting passes and reduced rates of fare on the stage lines. He will probably wish to remain east of the Mississippi, and Blake will not go far away. Well, I shall have to feel as I go along, trusting to getting some clue in Belvidere.”
The Galena and Chicago Union Railroad, (now absorbed in the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad,) was the first railroad commenced in Illinois, and the only one running west of Chicago. It had been completed only to Belvidere, in Boone county, from which point travelers and immigrants were carried west and north in stages, many of which were in waiting, on the arrival of each train.
At Marengo, John Perkins, the agent of Frink & Walker, got aboard the train to sell tickets to persons wishing to leave Belvidere by any of the numerous stage-lines, all of which were owned by the above-named firm. John was a fine young fellow, who had been promoted to his present place from that of stage-driver. He was a genial, shrewd man, who tried to be on good terms with every one, and generally succeeded. He and I were well acquainted with each other, and I determined to draw him out quietly, as he was just the man to have observed Blake’s party, if he had met any of them.
It is my practice never to tell any one what object I have in view, unless it is absolutely necessary that I should do so. Therefore, I did not tell John what the business was which took me to Belvidere. He joined me after he had been through the whole train, and we had a pleasant conversation. At length, I introduced the subject of stage management, upon which John was never tired of talking.
“How many different stage routes start from Belvidere?” I asked, after a few remarks had passed.
“Oh! several,” said John, and he went on to tell how many stages there were on each route, the number of times the horses were changed, the average number of passengers, and many other details.
“Do you employ many men to handle baggage?” I asked.
“Yes; we have six men in Belvidere alone, and they have all they can attend to.”
“What a number of drivers you must have, John!” I said, carelessly. “How do you ever manage to keep track of them all?”
“That’s an easy matter,” said he, pulling a memorandum book from his pocket. “This contains an alphabetical list of the names of all the drivers in my division.”
“You stage men have brought things down to a wonderful system,” said I, as I took the book and casually glanced through it.
I saw that E. Sloan was a driver on the route from Janesville to Madison, and I continued to turn the leaves as I said:
“Oh! so Sloan is driving for you, eh! I used to know him some time ago. He was driving for the Humphries, in Michigan, then, I believe.”
“Yes,” replied John, “he came to us from them.”
“He’s a good driver, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said John, “very good, indeed.”
“Where is he now?” I asked, as I saw that John did not suspect me of having any particular object in my inquiries.
“He and his wife came west about a week ago and went on to Rockford. I gave him a pass to Janesville and told him he could have his old route, but I don’t know whether he will take it, as he said he could not decide what he should do for a week or two. He said he might like a southern route.”
“I am glad to hear he’s doing so well,” I replied. “He is an old friend of mine, and I should like to see him.”
“You will most likely find him in Rockford; but if he has left there, you can easily find where he has gone.”
“So, he has taken a wife, eh?” I said, half musingly. “I wonder whom he married. Did he have any friends with him?”
“Yes; a man and his wife were with him,” said John. “I did not like the looks of the man very much; from the ‘cut of his jib,’ as the sailors say, I took him to be a gambler, and one of the sort who always win.”
“Gambling is carried on everywhere just now,” I said. “You can find any number of gamblers at Galena, or Rockford. In fact, every little place seems to have its gambling hell. Do you remember his friend’s name? I wonder if I know him.”
“I have his name here,” said John. “I gave him a pass, too.”
As he spoke, he drew out a note-book and showed me the entry:
“Blake and lady—Belvidere to Rockford, with pass.”
“So, that’s the way you do things, is it?” I asked.
“Yes; we are not very particular now. Old Frink tells us to be liberal with the good drivers, and grant them small favors. Good drivers are hard to find, and while business is so brisk, we need all we can get. Hence, we lose nothing by treating them well.”
Now, I was close on their track. Blake got a pass to Rockford, and Sloan, to Janesville. It seemed strange that such men did not know enough to get off the beaten routes of travel, and endeavor to hide more effectually. I concluded that they had little fear of detection, and still less of pursuit, and, therefore, proposed to take things easily. I did not imagine for an instant the extent of Blake’s villainy, nor his real reason for frequenting the large towns.
On arriving in Belvidere, I went to the American House, as I was well acquainted with the proprietor, Mr. Irish; from him I soon learned that Blake’s party had stopped there one day.
“Blake is a pretty good fellow, isn’t he, Mr. Irish?” I asked.
“Yes; he seems to be a good fellow. He knows how to play cards; he never lost a game, while here.”
“Well, it would be hard to find a man in Belvidere who could get away with him at cards,” said I. “Did his wife come down into the parlor and associate with the other ladies?”
“No, indeed. But I must hurry away, as the stages are soon going out. Are you going west?”
“No,” I replied; “I may take a buggy and drive out a few miles, but I am not sure what I shall do. Oh! one more question before you go. Did Blake make much money here?”
“I guess he did; and that reminds me—I think King went up to Mrs. Blake’s room while Blake was playing,” said Irish.
As he spoke, he gave a knowing laugh, and poked me with his finger in the ribs.
“Is it possible!” said I. “How long did he stay?”
“About an hour. You know, King has plenty of money, and I presume he treated the lady liberally. When he came down, he went into the room where Blake was gambling, and ordered drinks for the crowd.”
“After King went away, did any one else go to Mrs. Blake’s room?” I asked.
“I think not,” replied Irish. “It was after eleven o’clock before King came down, and Blake went to bed by midnight. Blake is a good fellow, and I would like to have him for a regular boarder, as he is generous with his cash.”
“Well,” said I, as Irish moved off, “I believe I’ll change my mind, and go on to Galena by the next stage. I shall spend the night at Pecatonica; if there is anything I can do for you, let me know.”
What a terrible revelation had been made to me in this short conversation! I knew King well as an infamous libertine. What was the business that kept him in Mary’s room for over an hour? I had to shudder at the only answer that could be given. From all I could learn, the girls were kept constantly in a comatose state, which, together with the terror with which
Blake and Sloan had inspired them, had prevented them from attempting to escape, or asking assistance. Mary, undoubtedly, had been made wholly insensible, before King was admitted to her room. He was a rich, but unscrupulous brute, fit for any crime, and the more revolting to nature it was, the more he would delight in it.
This terrible discovery filled me with horror, and I determined to lose not a moment in freeing the sisters from their brutal captors.
CHAPTER 11
FIVE STAGES WERE on the point of starting for Rockford, and I took a seat beside the driver of one of them. The night was dark, and the road was none of the best, so that we seemed to creep along at a snail’s pace. I was impatient to grasp the villains, and rescue the sisters from their terrible position.
The driver of the stage was a pleasant, genial fellow; in conversation with him, I found that he knew Sloan, but that he had not seen him for a day or two. I was rather disconcerted at this news, as I had hoped to find the whole party in Rockford. It was about half-past eight o’clock when we entered Rockford, and drove up before the Washington House, where the stages usually stopped.
I did not know how I should be received here. Only six months before, I had obtained the necessary evidence to convict some counterfeiters, who had a haunt in Winnebago County. With the assistance of the United States Marshal, I had arrested them and taken them to Chicago. I believed at the time that the landlord of the Washington House was, in some way, in the interest of the gang; hence, I was rather suspicious of him. I determined not to trust him at all, but to take a room, and make my investigations quietly.
Accordingly, I sauntered up to the register, entered my name, and glanced over the list of the arrivals for a few days back. I found that Blake and lady had been given room number five; and Sloan and lady, room number nine. I then ate supper and loitered around the barn, until I met the hostler. I asked him whether he knew Sloan. He said yes; but that he had not seen him for a day or two. Finding that nothing could be done that night, I went to bed, pretty well tired out.
The Best American Mystery Stories of the 19th Century Page 23
