Dangerous Ground Part 19

It is at the mouth or entrance to a dark, narrow street, the beginning of that labyrinth of crooked by-ways, and blind alleys, from the maze of which Richard Stanhope had rescued himself and the wounded convict, on the night previous.

Halting here Van Vernet waits the arrival of his men, and meditates. He is tolerably familiar with this labyrinth; knows it as well, perhaps, as most men on such a mission would deem necessary, but he has not given the locality and its denizens the close study and keen investigation that Stanhope has considered essential to success. And now, as he peers down the dark street, thinking of the maze beyond, and the desperate character of the people who inhabit it, he involuntarily wishes for that closer knowledge that only Stanhope possesses.

He knows that Stanhope, in various disguises, has pa.s.sed days and nights among these haunts of iniquity; that he can thread these intricate alleys in the darkest night, and identify every rogue by name and profession.

He thinks of these things, and then shrugs his shoulder with characteristic inconsequence. He has, and with good reason, unbounded confidence in himself. He has tact, skill, courage; what man may do, _he_ can do.

What are these miserable outlaws that they should baffle Van Vernet the skillful, the successful, the daring?

Some one is coming toward them from out the dark alley. They hear the fragment of an idiotic street song, trolled out in a maudlin voice, and then feet running, skipping, seeming now and then to prance and pirouette absurdly.

"What the--"

The exclamation of the policeman is cut short by the sudden collision of his stationary figure with a rapidly moving body. Then he grapples with his unintentional a.s.sailant only to release him suddenly, as Van Vernet throws up the slide of his dark lantern and turns its rays upon the new-comer.

Involuntarily all three utter sharp exclamations as they gather around the apparition.

What a figure! Ragged, unkempt, fantastic; the same which a short time ago we saw descending from a carriage only a few rods distant from this very spot.

It is the same figure; the same rags and tinsel and dirt; the same disfigured face, with its black patch and its fringe of frowzy hair; the same, yet worse to look upon; for now the under jaw is dropped, the mouth drivels, the eye not concealed by the patch leers stupidly.

Unmistakably, it is the face of an idiot.

"How!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es this being, peering curiously at the three. "How do?

Where ye goin'?"

Van Vernet gazes curiously for a moment, then utters a sound expressive of satisfaction. He has heard of a fool that inhabits these alleys; Stanhope has mentioned him on one or two occasions. "A modernized Barnaby Rudge," Stanhope had called him. Surely this must be him.

Turning to one of his men he says, in an undertone:

"If I'm not mistaken this fellow is a fool who grew up in these slums, and knows them by heart. 'Silly Charlie,' I think, they call him. I believe we can make him useful."

Then turning to the intruder he says suavely:

"How are you, my man? How are you?"

But a change has come over the mood of the seeming idiot. Striking his breast majestically, and pointing to a huge tin star which decorates it, he waves his hand toward them, and says with absurd dignity:

"G'way--_g'way!_ Charlie big p'liceman. Gittin' late; _g'way_."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "G'way--_g'way!_ Charlie big p'liceman. Gittin' late; _g'way_!"--page 110.]

"We must humor him, boys," says Vernet aside. Then to Charlie--"So you're a policeman? Well, so am I; look."

And turning back the lapel of his coat he displays, on the inner side, the badge of an officer.

Silly Charlie comes close, peers eagerly at the badge, fingers it curiously, then, grasping it firmly, gives a tug at the lapel, saying:

"Gimme it. Gimme it."

Van Vernet laughs good-naturedly.

"Don't pull so hard, Charlie, or you'll have off my entire uniform. Do you want to do a little police duty to-night?"

Silly Charlie nods violently.

"And you want my star, or one like it?"

"_Um hum!_" with sudden emphasis.

Van Vernet lays a hand on the shoulder of the idiot, and then says:

"Listen, Charlie. I want you to help me to-night. Wait," for Charlie has doubled himself up in a convulsion of laughter. "Now, if you'll stand right by me, and tell me what I want to know, you and I will do some splendid work, and both get promoted. You will get a new star, big and bright, and a uniform all covered with bright b.u.t.tons. Hold on," for Charlie is dancing in an ecstasy of delight. "What do you say? Will you come with me, and work for your star and uniform?"

Charlie's enthusiastic gestures testify to his delight at this proposition.

"Um hum," he cries gleefully; "Charlie go; Charlie be big p'liceman."

And as if suddenly realizing the dignity of his new employment, he ceases his antics and struts sedately up and down before Vernet and his a.s.sistants. Then turning to the detective, with a doleful whine, he extends his hand, saying;

"Gimme star _now_."

"Not now, Charlie; you must earn it first. I had to earn mine. Do you know the way to Devil's alley?"

"Um hum!"

"Good: do you know where Black Nathan lives!"

"Um hum!"

"Can you take me to Nancy Kaiser's lushing ken?"

"Um hum; Charlie knows."

"Then, Charlie, you shall have that star soon."

And Vernet turns to his men. "I will take this fellow for guide, and look up these places: they are most important," he says rapidly. "I shall be less noticed in company with this fellow than if alone. Riley, I leave you in command until I return. Remain here, and keep the fellows all together; some of them are coming now."

Riley's quick ear detects the approach of stealthy feet, and as Vernet shuts his lantern, and utters a low "Come, Charlie," the first installment of the Raiders appears, a few paces away.

Seizing Vernet by the arm, Silly Charlie lowers his head and glides down the alley, as stealthily as an Indian.

"Charlie," whispers Vernet, imperatively, "you must be very cautious. I want you to take me first to where Black Nathan lives."

"Hoop la!" replies Charlie in subdued staccato; "I'm takin' ye; commalong."

Cautiously they wend their way down the dark, narrow street, into a filthy alley, and through it to an open s.p.a.ce laid bare by some recent fire.

Here they halt for a moment, Charlie peering curiously around him, and stooping to search for something among the loose stones.