Jim Cummings; Or, The Great Adams Express Robbery Part 11

When the two train robbers turned into the alley Sam was right behind them, so close that he could hear their labored breathing. Suddenly, as if they had been swallowed by the earth, he was left alone in the dark, nonplussed and outwitted.

Not a point of light was visible, and settling himself against the wall of a building, Sam started in for an all-night watch.

He understood the case at once. Chip had been knocked down by the renegades, and, probably still insensible, had been carried to their haunt. Knocked down, either because they had discovered his disguise, or had suspected him.

He was now firmly convinced that if Cook was not an accomplice in the train robbery, he was involved in something criminal, and Sam regretted that he had not been more thorough in his investigations. Now that Chip was in the hands of his enemies, all others sank into insignificance; so with keen eyes and sharp ears, Sam kept his solitary vigil.

The gray dawn of the morning had taken the place of the night, and Sam, under the shadow of a convenient shed door had heard or seen nothing pa.s.s his post. The day grew stronger, and, chilled to the bone, the disappointed detective left the alley and wended his way to his boarding-house.

The cause of the sudden disappearance of the two robbers the reader is acquainted with, and the reason Sam failed to see them again was because they had left the house by another exit.

The widow, acting as a go-between and a fence for the light-fingered gentry who patronized her establishment, hid her real calling with the guise of a fortune-teller, and her house, poorly furnished, damp and moldy when entered from the alley, was well furnished in the upper stories.

The room in which Chip was confined was the sybil's chief pride. Every article of furniture, every bit of painting, the carpets, and even the base-burning stove, were the trophies of successful robberies.

The very sheets and towels had been deftly purloined by the widow herself.

It was this stronghold of the "gang," to which Chip, battered and insensible, had been brought by his captors.

c.u.mmings, who from his actions was no stranger to the house, in brief authoritative tones, bade the witch to take charge of this prisoner until further disposition could be made of him.

The widow listened to his words, and with the submission which all his a.s.sociates rendered to him, promised to do all he commanded.

The first gleam of the morning warned the two men that they must seek their cover, for despite Jim's natural boldness and daring, he was cautious and careful. Instead of descending to the room which had its entrance from the alley, they mounted another flight of stairs, and gaining the roof by means of the scuttle, walked the flat mansard until another hatch-door was reached, and through it they entered a quiet, una.s.suming appearing house, which stood on the side street from which the alley branched.

The house, though completely furnished, was vacant, and the men reached the street without meeting any one.

c.u.mmings and Moriarity having left, the widow, for the first time ventured to look at her new charge. Her keen eyes noted the disguise which Chip had adopted. The wicked blow which had brought him to this plight had moved the red wig to one side and disclosed the dark cl.u.s.tering hair, now bathed and soaked in his blood.

He was still unconscious, but his strong const.i.tution was regaining its sway, and he moved uneasily on his soft couch.

The widow, now remembering the commands which c.u.mmings had laid upon her, hastened to bring water, and washed the wound. The slung shot had struck squarely across the crown of the head, but the cut was not very large or deep, and the widow, with ready skill, bound it neatly with bandages, and holding a brandy flask to his mouth forced some of its contents down his throat.

The color came back to the detective's face, and in a few moments his eyes opened, and with a dazed expression wandered over the room.

The widow, as she noticed the first signs of returning consciousness had retired from the room, now, with consummate skill, put a kindly, even tender, look toward the sufferer as she reappeared through the door.

Chip, still very much bewildered, his head feeling as though it was whirling off his shoulders, heard a pleasant voice asking: "And how is my poor boy, now?"

Chip gazed vacantly at her, as he responded:

"Who are you? Where am I--my head--"

"Come, come, don't talk. Take this medicine like a good boy, and go to sleep."

With childlike obedience the detective swallowed the draught, which soon took possession of his senses, and he fell asleep.

The widow quietly sat beside him until the opiate had taken full effect. Then muttering "You are safe for four and twenty hours," she descended to her divining-room, leaving the detective deep in slumber, and in complete ignorance of his surroundings.

CHAPTER X.

ON THE WATCH.

Sam Slade and Chip had been comrades at arms for almost two years. Many a dashing capture had they made Adventures and hair-breadth escapes were of frequent occurrence with the two "dare-devils," as the force had dubbed them, and before now each had saved the other's life by some bold stroke or skillful strategy.

Satisfied that Chip was in danger, if not of his life at least of his liberty, Sam hastened to his room, and with the aid of soap and water resumed his natural appearance. The jaunty-looking Irish lad, Barney O'Hara, would never be recognized in the young gentleman who looked at you through gold-rimmed spectacles, with soft gray eyes, and whose sober demeanor and grave countenance bore the stamp of the student or minister.

It was this metamorphized individual that walked languidly to the breakfast table and responded in gentle tones to the woman's salutations which greeted him. Breakfast served and over, Sam again sought his room. His boarding-house had been selected entirely on account of this room. The room had once been occupied by a physician as his office, and, standing on the corner of two streets, had a side entrance to it besides the entrance from the main portion of the house.

Thus the detective could slip in and out entirely un.o.bserved by the boarders or his landlady, the latter supposing him to be a man of enough means to enable him to live without daily labor.

Sam had given her this idea, and supplemented it by stating he was engaged in literary pursuits.

Reaching his room, Sam wrote out a full report for the last twenty-four hours (this const.i.tuted his literary labors) to be forwarded to Mr.

Pinkerton in Chicago.

After his report was finished, he hastily threw off his clothing, and replaced his sober suit of gray by the flashy costume of a man about town, he stood before his mirror to make up his face.

No actor was more clever than Sam in artistic and realistic disguises.

His smooth face was skillfully covered by a beard, short-cropped, his nose was given the slightest rosy tint, and putting on a light overcoat, the studious young gentleman of half an hour ago was transformed into a howling swell.

Tan-colored gloves and a heavy, silver-headed cane completed his costume. Thus arrayed he sallied forth.

It was now nearly noon. The streets were crowded, and Sam kept his eyes well opened, carelessly but keenly scrutinizing every man he met.

One saloon after another was visited, but no sight of the mysterious men who had downed Chip could be obtained.

He had carefully noted his bearings when he left the alley in the morning, so he had no trouble in finding the correct locality again.

His hat was tipped rakishly over his left eye as he swaggered up the alley and entered a beer vault for which the alley was really the entrance. By good luck, no customers were present, and Sam engaged in a lively conversation with the bartender.

Skillful pumping, judiciously mixed with high-priced drinks, soon gave Sam the entire history of the denizens of the locality.

It was beside the shed door of the beer vault that Sam had kept his solitary watch and ward the previous night, so that somewhere about this point Chip had been carried by his captors.

Gazing through the window, Sam saw a ma.s.s of debris; old cans, ashes and the like were scattered in the center of the court or alley, while on both sides, near the buildings, a narrow board walk was laid.

Now, Sam knew that when he entered the place he was on the right-hand side, immediately behind his game.

If they had crossed over to the side on which the beer vault stood, the crunching of the ashes or the noise of the old cans, which would be very apt to be moved, would have advised him of that fact.

Putting these facts together, Sam was almost certain that they had not entered the beer cellar.

Just opposite stood a half-open door, which, flush with the court, would have accounted for the sudden disappearance of the men if they had turned suddenly and entered it. These observations were made by the detective while he was engaged in a lively and pungent conversation with the burly bar-keeper.