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Title: Nimble Ike, the Trick Ventriloquist: A Rousing Tale of Fun and Frolic

Author: Old Sleuth

Release date: January 16, 2022 [eBook #67179]

Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 1894

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67179

Credits: Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NIMBLE IKE, THE TRICK VENTRILOQUIST: A ROUSING TALE OF FUN AND FROLIC ***

OLD SLEUTH’S OWN.

No. 137.                                     10 CENTS.

NIMBLE IKE,

THE

Trick Ventriloquist.

A ROUSING TALE OF FUN AND FROLIC.

By OLD SLEUTH.

“Good Day, my Friend.”

NEW YORK:

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

57 ROSE STREET.

NIMBLE IKE

THE

TRICK VENTRILOQUIST.

A Rousing Tale of Fun and Frolic.

By OLD SLEUTH.

Copyright, 1894, by Parlor Car Publishing Company.

All Rights Reserved.

NEW YORK:

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

57 ROSE STREET.

NIMBLE IKE

THE TRICK VENTRILOQUIST.

CHAPTER I.

“You have bags of gold, and do you refuse to give me just a little?”

“Not one cent.”

“I helped you to earn that money.”

“Yes.”

“And you refuse to give me any, and you are going away?”

“I refuse to give you any and I am going away.”

The above dialogue occurred in a room on the top floor of a great tenement house, and a strangely picturesque scene was presented. An old man with frowzy hair, and deep-set eyes illuminating a dark and wrinkled face, sat by a table. Opposite to the old man was a bright-faced lad of thirteen or fourteen. The furnishings of the room were reasonably comfortable and on the table burned a flickering candle. Indeed the whole scene was weird and strange in the extreme.

The lad was kneeling on a stool and his elbows were resting on the table, and there was a serious and earnest look upon his bright face; and the shadow deepened when the old man repeated:

“Yes, I am going away and I refuse to give you anything.”

“Are you treating me right?” asked the lad, in a wistful tone of entreaty.

“Yes.”

“No, you are not. I have worked hard. I am penniless; I am but a boy, you are rich. You do not mean to leave me penniless?”

“All that you say is true. You did help me to earn the money; you did serve me well; but I have repaid you in full. I owe you nothing.”

“How so?”

“You have been my pupil; you excel your master; you are the most wonderful trick ventriloquist in the world; you will have no trouble in earning money; you can make a fortune greater than mine; you were an apt pupil. You have a better chance than I, lad, and you owe all to me. I have supported you well; I have educated you. You speak three different languages, and the man does not live in the world who can excel you as a magician or a ventriloquist. Your education and your talents are your fortune.”

“But you should give me a little money.”

“No, I need it all. Yes, I have worked hard, I have saved my money. I need it all, yes, all, for purposes of revenge.”

A moment the lad was silent and thoughtful, but at length he said:

“You promised some day to tell me about myself. You are not my father. You have told me you were in no way related to me. Who am I? What am I? Who were my parents? Where are they? You told me some day I should know all.”

“You shall.”

“Good; tell me now.”

“No, not now; some day I will tell you all. You were born in India; your parents are dead; you have relatives living. It would be of no advantage to you now to know who your relatives are; some day it may be. I will watch; if that day come you shall know all. It will be of no advantage to you to know now.”

“And you refuse to tell me?”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me my real name?”

“Your real name is Isaac. You bear my last name Andro. It is a good name and will serve you for the present. The name you have is Nimble Ike, for you are the most nimble lad in the world. I have been very careful in your instruction; the lad does not live who in every way is as accomplished as yourself.”

“And yet I will be penniless.”

“Not long will you be penniless with your talents and your experience. Remember how much you have seen of the world; remember how great has been your experience. You have visited with me every city and town of any importance in the United States. Few middle-aged men have had your experience. You are less than fourteen to-day and possess the experience and knowledge of most men of forty. You are a wonderful lad; you need never want for food or money.”

“And is that all you will tell me about myself?”

“All at present.”

“But we may never meet again.”

“Oh, yes, we will meet some day, and here is a little box. Do not open it; in fact you can only open it by smashing it, but if at any time you are sick and helpless open the box. On your honor do not open it unless, as I say, you are sick and helpless and starving. Obey me and all will be well; disobey me and trouble will overtake you. Never lose the box. String it around your neck as a charm and some day it may be of benefit to you; but the best I can wish you is that you never have occasion to smash the box.”

The old man spoke the last words in a very solemn, warning tone, and then handed a tiny little box to our hero, that could readily be strung over his heart, as a talisman, without any inconvenience.

“When do you go?” asked the lad.

“I will bid you good-by some day this week.”

“How about the things here in this room?”

“They are yours, and the rent is paid for three months. Yes, the furniture is yours.”

“Then you do give me something.”

“Yes, but no money. I need the money; but some day we will meet again and then I may have a wonderful revelation to make to you.”

“Will you leave me your address?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have my own reasons for disappearing and leaving no trace behind.”

“But will you know whether I am alive or dead?”

“Oh, yes; I have read the future. You will flourish all right, but remember one thing: remain honest; cheat no man; lie to no man; and remember that while you are at present only a showman that some day you may be a gentleman, and then your record will tell for or against you.”

A little later and Ike retired to his bed. The little box had been strung around his neck, and his thoughts were centered on its contents, and despite the strong prohibition he felt an especially strong desire to open it. In fact he argued audibly:

“I have not been treated fairly. I have a right to open the box. Hang me, I will open it.”

With this resolve in his mind the lad rose from his bed slyly and searched around for something wherewith to smash the box. He found a heavy spike; and then it occurred to him that the noise might awaken the old magician, and he hesitated. Finally he remembered he had a strong knife in his pocket. He could pry the box open. He drew the knife from his pocket and made an attempt to pry open the lid when suddenly he felt a cold hand on his cheek. He turned and beheld a figure in white standing before him, and the figure spoke, saying:

“Remember your promise.”

Ike was a lad of extraordinary nerve. He had speculated in surprises all his life as the assistant of the necromancer. He had worked all manner of surprises, and therefore was less likely to be overcome by a sudden apparition. He demanded:

“What promise?”

“You promised not to open the box.”

The lad recalled that he had made such a promise and the figure spoke again and said:

“It is a test of honor. If you open that box you are without honor.”

The lad at once exclaimed:

“I will not open the box; or, only under the conditions named.”

The figure disappeared and—well, the lad started up in bed. He had only dreamed. Then he closed his eyes and dropped off into sleep. He had about resolved to open the box, and thus had come to him a dream. He made sure that he had been dreaming and then said:

“I renew my promise. I will not open the box. I will keep the promise I made when awake and the promise I made in my dream.”

The lad awoke at his usual hour and after dressing entered the room where the old magician usually slept on a mattress placed on the floor. The old man was not there and the lad muttered:

“How strange! Uncle Andro does not go out before breakfast as a rule.”

The boy stood gazing around the room when his glance fell upon a note lying on the table. He seized the note and read:

“You will not see me again until fate has done its best or worst. Make no inquiry for me. I have left one dollar for you. All else in the rooms is yours, as I told you. Good-by until we meet again at the command of fate.

“UNCLE ANDRO.”

“He has deserted me,” said Ike in a low, sad tone. “Yes, he has deserted me. I did not think he would go away and not say good-by. He intended to steal away when he was talking to me last night. I cannot help it, and I will not complain. I am but a boy, but I have had a large experience. I can work tricks better than my master. I will get along well enough; but I would like to know what he meant all these years when he continually alluded to fate as connected with me. Hang fate! I am going to strike in for myself.”

The lad placed the note on the table and as he did so he espied a neatly folded bill. He unfolded it and found it was a “fiver,” as the boys say.

“Well, he did leave me enough for a meal.”

There was enough in the rooms for several meals and Ike prepared his breakfast—he had been accustomed to so doing. He was a resolute lad, and we will here state that there are many resolute lads to-day struggling against adverse fate, and they are doing it cheerfully and without complaint.

We will make one more statement; some of our friends have often said to us:

“It is wonderful how you can make up all the incidents in your stories.” We answer upon these occasions, that more incidents, strange and wonderful, are occurring every day than the most imaginative author could conceive in a month—incidents far stranger than go upon record; and we are not compelled to “make up” incidents, simply because “fact is stranger than fiction,” and we have more incidents and actual occurrences in our note-book than we can ever relate.

Ike finished his meal and then lay down on old Andro’s mattress to think over the past and study the future. At length, however, he determined to go forth. There was no need for him to look over his possessions; he knew every article in that room and its value thoroughly, and he had a five-dollar bill. He started to go down the stairs, and on the floor below the one he and old Andro had occupied for over a year he saw a little girl come from a room. The child was very pretty and had been weeping. Ike was a tender-hearted, sympathetic fellow. He had never seen the child before, but upon beholding that she had been weeping his curiosity was aroused. Once more, dear reader, how often do we meet people who invite our sympathies in great cities. I can say one on about every square mile as we walk the streets.

The little girl preceded our hero down the stairs, for he had stepped aside to permit her to do so, and when she reached the street he followed her. She walked along at a slow pace and several times Ike could hear her sob, and beheld her little delicate frame quiver with emotion; he could not stand it and he ran up and accosted the girl, saying “Good-morning.”

The child started back in an affrighted manner.

“You are crying,” said Ike, in a very kindly tone, “can I aid you?”

The child fixed her blue eyes upon him, and, after a moment, in a low tone, answered:

“No.”

“Mebbe I can?”

“No.”

“How do you know I can’t help you?”

“I know it.”

“Tell me how you know it?”

“Because I want money; you can’t give me money.”

“I can’t, eh?”

“No, how can you?”

“Easy enough; how much money do you want?”

“I don’t know, mamma told me to go out and ask for money.”

The girl was not over ten years of age.

“Don’t you know how much money you need?”

“No.”

“Will five dollars do?”

“Yes.”

“I can give you five dollars.”

“Why should you give me five dollars?”

“Because you need it; that is a good reason, I reckon.”

“Will you come and see my mamma and tell her? She knows how much money we need.”

“Yes, I’ll go and see your mamma.”

“Come.”

The girl led the way back and our hero accompanied her; they ascended to the room from whence Ike had seen the girl issue and entered, the girl still leading the way. Ike beheld at a glance that it was the home of need; on a bed lay a woman, possibly she had once been comely looking, but she did not look pretty as the boy beheld her. She was evidently quite ill and her complexion was the color of saffron.

“Mamma,” said the little girl, “here is a good boy, who says he will give us five dollars. Is that enough?”

The woman’s eyes bulged in their sunken sockets, and she asked:

“Who is the boy?”

“I think he is the boy who lives with the strange old man overhead.”

Ike stepped beside the bed and said:

“Madam, I have got five dollars to which you are welcome if it will be of any service to you.”

The woman just glared but remained silent.

Ike pulled the money from his pocket and proffered it to the invalid, who, for the first time spoke, and asked:

“Why should you give me five dollars?”

“Because you need it.”

“But can you spare it?”

“I do not need it as much as you do,” was the startling and really suggestive answer.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Isaac Andro.”

“And you propose to give me five dollars?”

“Here it is,” said Ike, and he tendered the money.

“I cannot take it.”

“Why not?”

“You cannot afford to give it to me.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Have you plenty of money?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

“That is all you have?”

“Yes.”

“And you offer it to me?”

“Yes.”

“How strange; why should you?”

“I told you why; you need it more than I do.”

“I do need it, but I will not take it from you, no, no; you can give us a few cents, enough to buy a loaf of bread, but I will not take the five dollars.”

“Do you need something to eat?”

“Why, sir,” said the woman, “we have not had a mouthful pass our lips in twenty-four hours.”

“Great Scott!” cried Ike, “why, I’ve got lots of food upstairs, I’ll go and get some,” and without waiting for remonstrance, or thanks, or inquiry, the lad shot from the room.

Ike prepared some coffee, he had all necessary appliances, and he had plenty of bread and cold meat, and he returned as quickly as possible with the food; he placed it on the table, and demanded:

“Where are your plates, and knives and forks?”

“We have none, all are gone.”

Ike had noticed, as stated, that there were few things in the room; the woman reposed on a cot, there was a table and one chair, no carpet, and he, at the last moment, discovered that there was no stove nor any of the usual, even poor equipments that can be found in the poorest apartments.

Again he left the room and soon returned with cups, plates, knives and forks, and he bustled around and set things all ready for eating. He carried the invalid a cup of coffee, and some bread and meat, which she devoured with avidity. The little girl also betrayed an excellent appetite and as her hunger became appeased she exclaimed:

“Mamma, this is just splendid.”

Ike’s curiosity was aroused and he asked:

“Madam, how is it I find you so poor?”

“I am a widow, and managed to get along well enough until I was taken sick; my husband was mate of a vessel; the vessel was wrecked and all lives were lost.”

“How long ago did it all happen?”

“My husband was wrecked five years ago.”

“And have you no friends?”

“No, I was an orphan and my husband was born in the West Indies. He never spoke of having any relatives.”

The woman had appeased her appetite, and she said:

“Now tell me about yourself.”

“Mine is a strange tale, madam. I have a faint, a very faint recollection of once being in a great big house, and as the opera goes, ‘with vassals and serfs at my side.’ It may all be a dream, recollections of splendors that belonged to some one else. Later I remember enduring great hardship with a strange old man; we were in France, England, Spain and Italy, and finally embarked for America; by that time I was old enough to remember all that occurred. We arrived in the United States and the old man commenced instructing me in all kinds of magical skill. He was a magician, we traveled all over the country, and I learned a great deal. He was a strange man, always making strange and mysterious allusions; but he never would make any actual explanations, nor would he tell me anything about myself. He accumulated a great deal of money, and—” the lad proceeded and related the subsequent facts which are known to our readers.

“And he deserted you!”

“Yes.”

“And took all the money?”

“Yes.”

“And you offered me the only five dollars which you had in the world?”

“What odds? I can make lots of money, and I am alone. I’ve got an idea and——”

Ike was interrupted; there came a rap at the door, the woman betrayed agitation and the little girl turned deathly pale and instinctively ejaculated:

“Oh, dear! it is that awful man.”

Ike suspected the identity of the awful man and called out:

“Come in.”

A mean-looking man entered the room.

“I have come for my money,” he said.

“How much money is due you?” asked Ike.

“Four dollars and seventy-five cents—one month’s rent.”

“Here is your money, give me the change and a receipt as quick as you can.”

It did not take the man long to hand over the change and the receipt—the latter he had ready—and then in a cold-blooded manner, he announced:

“You must move out, I have let the rooms, the new tenants will come in this afternoon.”

The poor woman struggled hard to say something; she was about to make an appeal but Ike anticipated her and declared:

“That’s all right, we will be out of here in an hour.”

The man went away and did not hear the woman’s call for him to return. At length she said to Ike:

“What have you done?”

“The right thing, I reckon.”

“Oh, what will become of us?” moaned the woman

“You are all right for three months.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you that the rooms overhead were paid for three months in advance; they belong to me, you will move up.”

“And turn you out?”

“Not much, I will take you in.”

“We cannot live on you.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is what I thought, so I just did the ‘think’ for you, and for the present you are all right.”

We will not relate all the arguments Ike used to induce the poor widow with her child to move into his rooms. He succeeded, however, and he set right to work to move her few things upstairs; she and her daughter were to occupy one room, and Ike determined to take possession of the bed formerly used by his late master, and he did so with the remark.

“I am the boss now.”

That same evening the woman whom he had befriended and whose name was Pell, said:

“As soon as I am well I will repay you for all you have done for us.”

“All right, we will wait until you are well.”

A few days passed. Ike had not fully determined on what he would do, as his provisions were fast being devoured. He had no money to pay his rent on the rooms, and in a most startling manner he learned that he must pay for the rooms or—well, he adopted the or—for he was fully assured that the contemptible landlord had determined to take a mean advantage. In some way the fellow learned or suspected that the man who had paid him for the rooms had gone away. He possibly suspected that the rooms had been paid for in advance to the advantage of the boy, and the widow and her child. At any rate one night he called and demanded the month’s rent.

“No rent is due you,” said Ike; “you have been paid three months in advance from the first of last month.”

“I have, eh?”

“You have!”

“Then produce the receipt; that is the shortest way to settle it.”

Old Andro had forgotten, or in some way failed to give Ike a receipt for the rooms. Ike took in the situation at once; he was a wonderfully quick lad, and he said:

“You call here to-morrow night and you shall have the receipt.”

“All right, I will call here to-morrow night.”

As stated, Ike took in the whole situation. The man was a “skin” and intended to steal three months’ rent, and our hero determined to beat him at his game.

We have indicated all along that Nimble Ike was a very resolute and smart fellow, possessed of nerve, experience, and cuteness. He had no notion of letting the mean landlord succeed in his trick.

After the man’s departure Mrs. Pell said:

“It is as I feared, we will turn you out of your apartments.”

“You will do nothing of the kind.”

“You heard the man’s threat?”

“I did.”

“He is a terrible man.”

“Is he?”

“Yes, he has several times nearly frightened me to death. He appears very mild until he is aroused and then he is an awful, violent man.”

“He has scared you several times?”

“He has.”

“Well, I will give him the scare of his life when he comes here to-morrow night. I will produce a living receipt for him. He will think the devil is after him. Mebbe I will scare a year’s rent out of him. I think I can.”

Ike had received tickets for a show that evening and he asked Mrs. Pell to let her daughter Lulu go with him.

“My child has never been to the theater in her life.”

“So much the better. She will enjoy it the more; let her go, I pray you, by all means.”

Mrs. Pell finally consented.

Lulu was delighted at the idea of going, and at an early hour the two proceeded to the theater. It was a variety performance and among the several entertainments a magician was to appear, a man who had been advertised in the play-bills as the most wonderful magician the world had ever seen; a man who could put the Indian jugglers to shame. Ike had seen these advertisements and he looked forward to heaps of fun; in case he called for a volunteer from the audience our hero intended to volunteer and permit the juggler to make him appear ridiculous and foolish—“oh, yes, mebbe so!”—was the lad’s mental ejaculation.

The show proceeded and there were many very pleasant and charming acts and finally the necromancer appeared on the stage. He was a “dude from dudedom” and as Ike perceived at a glance a regular “fake,” a man who was merely an imitator and practically a fraud.

The fellow performed some tricks with cards and one or two simple little sleight of hand acts, when he called for a volunteer and our hero leaped upon the stage. As usual the “fake” commenced making witty remarks and the audience laughed. Finally the performer said:

“My son, did you know that some little boys were regular silver mines? Now I am going to prospect on you; mebbe I can find quarter-dollars in your nose, ears and eyes?”

The manipulator handed our hero a plate to hold and on the plate he placed a dozen quarters. He did it with such a great display, letting them fall one at a time, counting them as they fell; and then he took the plate and jingled them, all the time making very funny remarks—not funny but intended to be so; then he turned his back a minute and returned to do his act, when he started back in amazement: the silver on the plate had all disappeared. Ike had stood perfectly still, not once moving from the spot where the juggler had placed him. He looked innocent and simple enough, while the magician gazed in amazement. The audience meantime were leaning forward in great expectancy, to behold the wonderful trick. The magician was, as may be supposed, completely nonplussed, but he was a bright, tricky fellow. He stepped to the front and requested two gentlemen to step upon the stage. After the usual delay two good-looking men did step upon the stage, and the magician said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, a most extraordinary incident has occurred. You all saw me place twelve quarter dollars on that plate; they have disappeared; that lad could not resist the temptation and has stolen them, and I have requested the gentlemen to come forward and search this boy. I confess this is no trick on my part.”

The audience and the gentlemen all supposed that the whole was a part of the performance, and they proceeded to search Ike. They did so thoroughly, the magician standing by and watching them. The men did not find the money and matters were at a standstill for a few moments. The magician was greatly disturbed. He stood like one dazed, and as there had been no result the audience began to get wearied, and there came a cry of “Go on with the show.”

The magician stepped forward and said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I protest that the quarters have been stolen.”

“Oh, that’s all right. Go on with the show.”

The real fact was the performer did not have any more quarters—he hadn’t received his salary. He was a gambler and the three dollars in silver was all the money he possessed. He had been compelled to save them for his great act.

The man stepped up to Ike and said:

“You scoundrel, if you don’t surrender that money, I’ll call an officer and have you arrested.”

Ike turned, and facing the audience, said:

“This man accuses me of stealing his money. He can’t work his trick, and that’s the way he is trying to get out of it.”

When the magician had threatened our hero he had stepped quite close to him and had whispered in his ear. We relate this in order that our readers will more readily comprehend what is to follow.

“You stole my money,” said the magician.

“You had the two gentlemen search me.”

“You have the money.”

The magician was losing his head and Ike said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I have fair play I can prove that man is a ‘fake,’ and that he is trying to sneak out of a trick he promised to perform. He said he would make a silver mine of me, and now he is trying to prove I am only a quicksilver mine, and got away quickly with his money. I ask fair play.”

The audience was interested and excited, and Ike continued:

“Those gentlemen searched me; let them search that fellow and if my words aren’t proven true, he can kick me off the stage.”

The magician, not dreaming of possibilities, threw his arms aloft and challenged:

“All right, gentlemen, search me.”

The gentlemen went into the “fake’s” pockets and to the amazement of every one present drew forth the money. There was no acting in surprise and even alarm displayed by the “fake.” He stood like one stricken with paralysis. He was dumb.

“Now, then, gentlemen, did I steal his money? Isn’t he a ‘fake,’ and didn’t he try to crawl out of his trick by accusing me?”

There is no consideration on a variety stage. The side-show had consumed all the allotted time of the “fake,” the succeeding performers were ready to go on, they were in the wings and calling upon the “fake” to come off.

The man was dizzy with surprise, and Ike said:

“You let him go on with his trick. He can’t come the trick of making three dollars out of me, or work upon the sympathies of this audience to make good his three dollars.”

The proprietor had been a witness of the affair. He had been standing in the front. He went round to the stage and appeared just in time to call the man off. The latter made a bow to the audience, and amidst a shower of hisses left the stage, and our hero regained his seat in the audience.

Lulu, who had been greatly excited, inquired:

“Did he really accuse you falsely, Ike?”

“You saw what occurred,” was all that our hero answered. He was satisfied; the man whom he had made a show of once kicked him without cause. Our hero recollected the kick and thus repaid it.

When the show was over Ike and Lulu returned home. On the following day Ike was busy. He was preparing the living receipt for the landlord when he called. At the appointed hour the man appeared and to his surprise at a table there sat the old magician, Andro.

“Well, what do you want,” in a gruff tone demanded the old necromancer.

The landlord stared in amazement.

“I’ve been told,” said the old man at the table, “that you claim I did not pay three months’ rent in advance.”

“I had forgotten it, and I came to-night to tell you I had made a mistake.”

“Oh, you called to explain your mistake?”

“I did.”

“Then you admit I paid you three months’ rent in advance?”

“Ah, certainly; ah, certainly; I made a mistake.”

At this moment there came an inquiry from the hall.

“Will you want me, sir?”

“No, officer, you can go, I was about to have this man arrested.”

The landlord stared; he had not seen an officer when he entered the room, and he commenced to make all manner of apologies, and old Andro said:

“I am going away for a few weeks, and I trust this mistake won’t occur again.”

The landlord departed, still apologizing until the last moment, and after he had gone the pretended Andro leaped from his seat, slid off a disguise, and Ike, the tricky and wonderful Ike, ran down the stairs calling after the landlord, and when the latter answered, the boy said:

“Mr. Andro says you did not stop to examine the receipt.”

“Ah, that’s all right; I know he has the receipt. I do not wish to see it; it was all a mistake.”

Ike returned to the room and Mrs. Pell and Lulu came from the inner room, and the lady said:

“Ike, you are a wonderful fellow.”

Even in less than two days, with good food and care, Mrs. Pell had commenced to show considerable improvement, so that she was able to leave her bed, and move from room to room.

She and Ike sat down for a long talk. Ike had told his history and he proposed that as he had lost his father, as he called old Andro, Mrs. Pell would have to be a mother to him, and he added:

“I must hie me around and get into making money.”

“Why don’t you start out as a magician and ventriloquist?”

“For the best reason in the world,” answered Ike. “There are so many ‘fakes’ in the business it has ceased to be a drawing card, and there are hundreds of amateurs in the business. I’ve got a scheme, however, and I will carry it out. I have an idea I can make money and possibly a fortune in time. We will see, but I need friends, I need some one to confide in, to counsel with me, and to be company for me, and I want you to become my mother.”

“I do not feel that it is right for me to permit you to support myself and my child, and as soon as my health is fully restored I shall recommence to earn my own living.”

“We will talk about that when your health is restored. In the meantime, you are to act as counselor and friend to me.”

A few days passed and Ike was casting around for an opening, not on the boards, but in reality a chance to start in and make a dollar, as he put it. He had a home but no money, and there were three to feed; all his provisions were gone and also all his money, and it was absolutely necessary that he should get on to something that would bring in a dollar or two, and in a most remarkable and really dramatic manner the opportunity at last opened up to him.

CHAPTER II.

Ike was a curious little fellow. We mean, he possessed the bump of curiosity to a great degree and he was constantly poking around into all manner of odd places. It had become a mania with him, and one evening he was walking along the street when he beheld a gentlemanly looking man walking in company with two of the worst-looking characters to be seen anywhere. Our hero had knocked around the world long enough to know that strange and even tragic incidents were of constant occurrence. In support of the above opinions we will state that the writer was once asked where he got so many weird and tragic incidents to record, and the answer was a reference to a morning paper. In that paper there was a record of two abductions, one secret murder, a poisoning case, eleven assaults, seven cases of robbery, one case of illegal confinement in an insane asylum, the account of a trial for will forgery, four mysterious disappearances and several minor accounts of odd and strange occurrences. We called our friend’s attention to the several startling records and then said:

“This is our guide book; we go to the detective bureau for further information. There are more strange, startling and romantic cases occurring than we can follow, or possibly record.”

And this is true, if the municipalities of our great cities were to keep a history, follow to the end and record the denouement of one year’s thrilling experiences in a great city like New York, more strange, marvelous stories would go on record than can be found in a dozen so-called works of fiction.

Ike had become quite a detective in one respect—in knocking around the world. He had become very observant; he was quick to notice anything unconventional or odd, and as stated, when he saw a gentleman walking along in company with men who looked like veritable rogues, he made up his mind that “something was up” and that he possibly had got on to a startling drama in real life. One who has observation and time can easily do so. The lad started to follow the men and saw them enter a hotel on a side street; he followed in by the side door. The three men went to the bar and had a drink, and then ascended to a room on the top floor of the building. Ike was not dismayed; when once starting in on a “lay” he followed by taking all the chances. He saw the men enter a room, and he entered the adjoining one, which happened to be vacant, and he muttered:

“If I am caught, I am in for it, but there is something going on, and I want to know what it is.”

Fortune favored the lad. The rooms were a sort of attic apartments, and extended out on a projection. He crawled out and stationed himself by the window of the room in which the three men had assembled. He lay down, face forward, and was prepared to listen, having discovered that he could plainly overhear every word spoken above a whisper, and all his suspicions were verified in the most remarkable manner. The men had just finished a drink from a bottle of whiskey which they had brought upstairs with them, when one of them said:

“Now, sir, we are ready to listen to your proposition.”

The man said: “I have an enemy; I want to get him out of the way.”

“You want him ‘dropped out?’”

“No, not that.”

“Well?”

“I want him to disappear.”

“For how long a time?”

“I’ll tell you, I have a house out on Long Island. He is a dangerous man. If I could have him abducted and taken to that house I could take care of him for awhile.”

“Ah, you merely wish to abduct him?”

“Yes; in a mysterious manner, so that it will appear that he is dead.”

“It is a dangerous job, sir.”

“Yes, but dangerous jobs earn big pay.”

“That is all we are looking for, but it is a state’s prison offense if there is a mis-go. We take all the chances.”

“There need be no mis-go; we can arrange our plans so well.”

At that moment a startling incident occurred. Ike heard a noise behind him. He rose suddenly and unthinkingly, and the next instant he was caught in a strong pair of arms and dragged into the room through which he had crawled out upon the projection. He was in the hands of a powerful man, who exclaimed:

“Ah! you little thief, I’ve caught you at last, and the mystery is explained.”

Ike made no outcry. He did not wish the men in the adjoining room to get on to the fact that he had overheard a part of their plans.

“What were you doing out there?” asked the man, who had seized, and who held Ike.

“I was out after that cat.”

“What cat?”

“Out on the roof.”

“You miserable little sneak thief, there is not a cat in the house, and surely there couldn’t be one on the roof.”

At that moment the mew of a cat was distinctly heard right by the window, and the next instant the spitting, snarling meows of two cats was heard.

The man gazed in amazement.

“I was up doing you a service,” said Ike, “how could you have slept with those cats there all night?”

“Where do you live?”

“Up the street. One of them is my cat.”

Even while the man was speaking the spitting and meowing of the cats was heard, and then there came a crash. It was evident that some one in an adjoining room had hurled a pitcher or washbowl, or some other piece of china at the night prowlers.

“Hang it,” said the man, “you may be telling the truth.”

The next instant the bark of a dog was heard right by the window, and then a series of screeches and snarls.

The man uttered an ejaculation of amazement and ran to the window, releasing his hold on Ike, and our hero improved his opportunity by darting from the room. The man turned to say something and saw that the boy had “skipped.”

“Well, hang it, he told the truth, and I must get rid of those infernal cats, or not a wink of sleep will I have to-night.”

The man crawled through the window and looked all over, but the cats had disappeared.

He crawled back with the remark:

“I reckon they have been scared off, but it is very singular, I never heard any cats around here before. Some one must have chased them on to that roof.”

Meantime Ike had made his way downstairs, and when he gained the street he laughed heartily and said:

“There’s tricks in all trades but ours; by joky poky, won’t that always be a mystery to that old fellow in that room? He doesn’t know that I carry a whole menagerie in my throat.”

Ike was a wonderful ventriloquist, equal to any one who ever attempted vocal deceptions, and far better than a majority of public performers, and when it came to imitating animals and locating their growls, barks and hisses at a distance, he could in that direction beat any one in the world.

He did not walk off. He had gotten on to something immense, as he expressed the initial steps in a great crime, and he regretted that he did not have an opportunity to overhear all the details, and the outcome of the man’s proposition to the two abductors.

“I’ve heard enough,” he muttered. “I’ll bet a big apple I can locate the house on Long Island, so if any one is missing I will be able to trail down to his prison, and what is more, I’ve seen all the three men. I can identify every one of them, and I am not through with them yet.”

The lad hung around the hotel until after midnight, when he saw the man who had made the proposition come forth. He followed him and located him at one of the most fashionable hotels in New York. He actually followed him into the hotel and located the man in his room. He had great luck in escaping observation, for he was such a nimble little “cuss” he was sure to succeed where many would have failed.

He succeeded, as stated, in following the man to his room, but when it came to making his way again to the street, he failed. He was stealing along when suddenly he felt himself in a strong grasp. Ike was like an eel, as nimble as a fish, but he thought it better to resort to stratagem to escape rather than try to wrench himself away.

It was the night watchman who had seized him, and who asked:

“What are you doing here?”

“I got in here by a mistake. I am a stranger and I got in the wrong hotel.”

“That won’t do; you are a thief and I shall take you down to the office, and have you taken in. I’ve been on the lookout for you.”

“I can prove my innocence,” said Ike.

“Oh, you can, eh?”

“I can.”

“You will have a chance, little sly thief. Yes, you shall have a chance, but I’ve been on the ‘lay’ for you all the same.”

Ike allowed himself to be led along. He knew what he was up to, and he went along as quietly as Mary’s little lamb. As intimated, Nimble Ike was what the boys call awfully smart, and he had nerve of the very first quality. He just acted as meek as a little girl until they reached the great staircase, and were descending the last flight of steps leading to the office, when suddenly a dog snapped at the calves of the night watchman’s legs. The man was entirely off his guard. He felt as safe as a ship floating on a smooth lake in midsummer, and the bark and snap came so suddenly he released his hold on Ike, leaped into the air, and as he came down struck on the carpeted edge of the step, fell over and rolled to the bottom. Ike was more nimble, however; the moment the man released him, he made a plunge down the stairs, went down the broad rails “belly gutters,” as the boys say, and away he went across the marble office floor, and out into the darkness and away. Meantime the watchman had rolled over and over, and slid out on the marble floor, and one of the bell boys ran to his assistance.

“Where in thunder,” demanded the watchman, as he rose to his feet, “did that darn dog come from?”

“There weren’t no dog, Boss.”

“There weren’t no dog?”

“No, sir.”

“How dare you contradict me; didn’t he spring at me from behind?”

“There weren’t no dog. I was looking at you when you came down the stairs.”

“What do you want to lie for?”

“I was looking straight at you.”

“And you didn’t hear that dog?”

“I heard him, but I didn’t see him.”

“You heard him and didn’t see him?”

“No.”

“Why, he sprang right at my heels when I was half-way down the stairs.”

“Yes, I heard him, but there weren’t no dog there.”

“Don’t call me a liar.”

“I know what it was.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what was it?”

“You were tricked.”

“Tricked?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“That boy.”

“That boy?” repeated the man.

“Yes.”

“How could he trick me?”

“He was a ventrickulist, I guess, for there weren’t no dog there in sight, and yet I heard him.”

“Impossible.”

“No, those fellows can do wonderful tricks. You had him under arrest?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he fooled you, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet you ten dollars I saw a dog.”

“All right, sir, stick to it,” said the bell boy, and he walked away. The night watchman was mad. He had lost his prisoner and it did run through his mind that possibly he had been tricked, and then he had rolled down the stairs in front of all the other bell boys and the night clerk.

“Did you know that boy?” he asked, walking over to the bell-boys’ bench.

“No, but I’ve seen fellows like him at the show. You were fooled, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet there was a dog. It isn’t possible for a human being to perform an imitation like that.”

At this moment a second time a dog barked at the man’s heels, and yelling “There, there!” he leaped away and turned with drawn club to strike, but there was no dog for him to club. He just gazed in amazement and muttered:

“Well, I’ll be hanged.”

The man meditated a moment and then went toward the door. As he did so he beheld a nimble little form dart from behind a column and dash away. He started in pursuit, but the trickster was too nimble for him and got away.

The watchman went out to the street and peered around for some time, but saw no more of the dog-maker as he called him.

In the meantime, Ike returned to his home, and it was after one o’clock when he arrived. Mrs. Pell was waiting for him. She had been worried, and Ike said:

“You must never be worried about me. I may sometimes be gone two or three days at a time. Here’s a quarter to get a meal to-morrow, and I am happy to say that I think I am in the way to make quite a big stake. I can’t tell, but it looks that way now.”

On the morning following the incidents we have recorded, Ike was out bright and early, and he went over to the hotel to which he had traced the man the preceding night.

It was late when he saw the man come forth, and he at once fell to his trail, and followed the man down town. He saw him enter an office over which was a sign, Fellman & Co., Bankers.

“I wonder if that is Fellman or the Co.?” muttered Ike as he walked past the office, and took a close survey as far as he could from the outside.

He was still gazing when he saw a fine-looking young man, evidently not more than five or six-and-twenty, enter the building, and a moment later he saw him enter the office into which the man he had been trailing had proceeded. Our hero could see into the office from the street. He saw the young man greet the elder one and he remarked:

“Well, that young fellow has a fine face. He is not a rogue, but I cannot say as much about the older man. If I didn’t know he was up to an underhand scheme, I should set him down as a mean sneak. He carries a map of mean town on his face. I reckon I’ll find out which is which, and who’s who, and then I can lay out my course.”

A little later and a lad whom Ike had seen flitting around the office came forth. Our hero followed him and when a chance offered went up and addressed him, saying:

“Hello, Tom.”

“You’re off,” came the answer.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Ain’t you in Fellman & Co’s. office?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I thought so; don’t you remember me?”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s funny, but let me see, mebbe I’ve made a mistake; what is the name of the young man who is the junior partner in your place?”

“His name’s Burlein.”

“Oh, excuse me, I’ve made a mistake.”

Ike walked away and the lad stood and looked after him while our hero remarked:

“I’ve made a little progress, I’ve found out the name of the man who is putting up the job.”

Ike knew it was necessary to pick up a little money, and he didn’t know just how to do it. He had walked back to the vicinity of Fellman & Co’s. office when he saw the younger partner, Burlein, come forth. He stood looking at the young man, when the latter, singularly enough, advanced directly toward him.

“Are you busy?” demanded Burlein, addressing our hero.

“No, sir.”

“Can you carry a note for me?”

“I can, sir.”

“Our office boy cannot be spared and I wish to send a note up town. Can you carry it?”

“I can, sir.”

The young man handed our hero an addressed note and told him to deliver it, and wait for an answer. At the same time he gave Ike a quarter to pay his car-fare.

Ike wasn’t spending any money for car-fares, and away he went like a young deer. He reached the house, a nice three-story brown-stone house, located in a side street leading off from Fifth avenue. He rang the bell, and to the colored boy who answered the ring he handed the note and said he was to wait for an answer. He was kept waiting on the stoop for fully fifteen minutes, when the colored boy brought him a note, and handed him twenty-five cents.

“Well,” muttered Ike as he walked away, “this is a great day’s business.”

He observed that the note was addressed in a lady’s fine hand, and in good season he appeared at the office and delivered the missive to young Mr. Burlein, who handed him a half dollar. As Ike passed over the note and received his pay, he observed that Fellman, the senior partner, was glancing out from under his shaggy eyebrows. A moment after Ike had left the office and was walking along in an exuberant feeling at the idea of having made one whole dollar, when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He started, and on the instant it shot through his mind that he had been recognized by one or the other of the two men whom he had run across upon the preceding evening, but instead he recognized Fellman.

“Come with me, lad,” said the man.

Ike asked no questions. He was a lightning thinker, and in a few brief seconds quite a volume of conjectures had run through his mind.

The man led our hero down a narrow side street, and then coming to a halt, inquired abruptly:

“Did you deliver a letter this morning?”

“Yes, I did.”

“To whom?”

“A young man in an office over there.”

“But did you carry a letter for him?”

“Did I?”

“That is what I asked you.”

“What business is it of yours what I did?”

“Hold on, lad, don’t get mad so soon.”

“It’s none of your business, sir, what I did.”

“I’ll make it my business.”

“You let go of me.”

Fellman had seized Ike by the arm.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t, I don’t mean to let you hurt me.”

The man discerned that Ike was one of those bright boys, and many are to be met with the world over.

“You let go of me,” repeated Ike.

“I won’t hurt you, I say.”

“No, and I say I won’t let you.”

“Did you deliver a note?”

“It is none of your business.”

The man handed Ike a quarter; the lad refused to take it, and saw his advantage at once.

“I don’t want your quarter,” he said.

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ll make it a half dollar.”

“What for?”

“I want you to answer my question.”

“I am not bound to tell you.”

“No, but I’ll pay you.”

“Why are you so anxious to find out what I did?”

“I have good reasons for wishing to know.”

“That don’t pay me.”

“I’ll give you a dollar.”

“What for?”

“To tell me if you carried a letter and where you took it.”

“You want to know?”

“Yes, I do, and I’ll pay you one dollar.”

“Only one dollar, eh! you must be rich.”

“How much do you want to answer me?”

“What will you pay?”

“I’ll give you two dollars.”

“Oh, raise.”

“You are a little ‘beat.’”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“All right, go off and I won’t beat you.”

“How much do you want to answer my question?”

Ike considered everything. He finally made up his mind to tell if he received his price, and then he proposed to lay around and notify the young man, Burlein, so there would be no advantage on the part of Fellman. “I want a five-dollar bill, that’s what I want.”

The man handed the lad a five-dollar bill, and our hero was jubilant; here he was six dollars in hand, a big sum, enough to take care of his family for a couple of weeks on a pinch.

“Where did you take the letter?”

“Uptown.”

“Where, uptown?”

Ike named the street.

“The number?” demanded the man.

Ike told the number.

“What was in the note?”

“How do I know? I don’t open letters, when I have them to deliver.”

“You brought back an answer?”

“Yes.”

“You are a smart boy.”

“Thank you.”

“Who wrote the letter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it a lady or a gentleman?”

“I should say it was a lady.”

“You judge from the handwriting?”

“Yes.”

“That will do. You were well paid.”

Ike stood and looked after the man and muttered:

“Well, I am getting into this matter pretty deep; that man has an enemy; he wants him put out of the way, ‘dropped out.’ Yes, I see, and now I know there is a woman in the case, and I have already picked up six dollars out of the adventure. A gold mine for me; good enough, I am on the side of the young man, Burlein, and I am against the old fellow. I begin to get on to things. I’ll know more later, and a big game is being played, and I am peeping into the mystery.”

Ike hung around the whole forenoon until he saw the young man, Burlein, come forth, and then he followed him. Our hero was fairly well dressed for a lad, and when he saw Burlein enter a restaurant he followed, and boldly took a seat at the same table. The young man stared, and then said, good-naturedly:

“Well, lad, are you going to spend your half dollar?”

“Don’t cost as much as that for a meal in here, does it?”

“I reckon the cheapest meal you can get here is half a dollar.”

The young man spoke good-naturedly, but as our readers will hear, he was of a very pleasant temperament, and yet withal, he was somewhat annoyed, as he suspected the boy was set to work him, for he had read Ike, and perceived that he was a very smart fellow.

“I reckon I can stand the meal to-day,” said Ike, and he added:

“Mebbe you will treat me.”

Burlein did not like what he considered Ike’s boldness, in fact he began to suspect that the lad was even smarter than he had supposed, and there were reasons why he was a little sensitive in one direction.

“If you expect me to pay for your meal, you are likely to prove a victim to great expectations.”

There came a peculiar look to Ike’s face as he said:

“It’s all right, you will change your ideas about me before you and I are through.”

Burlein gazed in amazement. This was not the language of a boy but of an experienced man of the world.

“Who are you, anyhow?” asked Burlein.

“I am Ike.”

“What is your last name?”

“We will get to that later on. Your name is Burlein.”

The young man started, for the address on the letter had been simply “Ed;” the name Burlein had not appeared on it.

“What do you do for a living?” demanded the young man.

“We will come to that by and by. In the meantime, I want to ask you a few questions.”

Burlein stared.

“You are a strange lad,” he said.

“Yes, I am odd, but I know what I am about.”

“It strikes me you had a purpose in coming and seating yourself here.”

“Yes, I had a purpose. I thought you might pay for my dinner.”

“That was not your purpose.”

“You have fallen to that first, eh?”

“Yes, I have.”

“All right, I want to ask you several questions, and I want you to answer me fair and square.”

The surprise of young Burlein was increasing at every word.

“You wish to ask me some questions?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, go on.”

“Is Fellman your partner?”

“He is.”

“How long have you been associated together?”

There was a singular directness in Ike’s questions which hardly accorded with his position as a mere lad.

“How does it concern you?”

“Is he your friend or your enemy?”

“That is a strange question, even impertinent, I should say.”

“Answer me.”

“I beg your pardon, boy; you are saucy, I will not answer your question.”

“Suppose I give you a reason why you should answer me.”

“Can you?”

“I can.”

“Do so.”

“He is inquiring into your affairs.”

The young man stared with a glare of blank amazement in his eyes.

“He is inquiring into my business?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Will you tell me what you mean?”

“I am telling you that he is inquiring into your private affairs. He may suspect that you are robbing him.”

The young man, Burlein, was taken all aback. It was the most extraordinary incident of his life. Here was a mere lad sitting down and coolly holding out the most startling suggestions.

“You are a remarkable lad,” he said.

“I am very observing.”

“Yes, you are, and your words imply something.”

“On my honor, they do.”

“Then talk right out.”

“I have talked out pretty plain. I tell you, your partner is inquiring into your private affairs. I believe he is a sneak. I believe you are a fair and square young man, so I’m telling you the fact.”

“Will you tell me how you know he is inquiring into my affairs?”

“Yes, I will tell. This morning you sent me with a note?”

“I did.”

“I brought you an answer?”

“Certainly.”

“When I delivered that answer, I noticed your partner, Mr. Fellman.”

“Well?”

“He was watching me very closely.”

The young man laughed in a relieved way, and asked:

“Is that all, my lad? My partner is a very nervous man. He is always on the alert. He is always watching everything that goes on around. Here, finish your dinner and I will pay for it. You are, I am afraid, a little too smart, but no doubt you mean well. I certainly am a very good-natured man to have permitted you to say all I have listened to.”

“But I am not through yet.”

“You will excuse me, I do not wish to hear any more.”

“You are sure?”

“I am.”

Ike pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket and holding it toward young Burlein said:

“You see that bill?”

“I do.”

“Your partner, Mr. Fellman, gave me that bill.”

Burlein suddenly turned deathly pale.

“My partner gave you that bill?”

“He did.”

“For what service?”

“If I were on the make I could demand another five from you for telling you.”

“And I might refuse you it, might look upon it as a game to ‘do’ me out of five dollars.”

“It would be bad for you in the end, possibly. You know the old adage, ‘Forewarned, forearmed.’”

“This is all very puzzling to me, lad.”

“No doubt it is, but your partner gave me that bill.”

“And you want me to give you another to tell me why he gave it to you?”

“No, I do not want you to pay me one cent.”

“Will you tell me why he gave it to you?”

“I will. After I had delivered your answer to you, and had left the office, what did Mr. Fellman do, can you remember?”

The young man was thoughtful a moment, and appeared to recall, and finally he brightened up and said:

“Oh, yes, I remember. He seized his hat and suddenly ran out.”

“You remember that?”

“I do.”

“Now I’ll tell you why he ran out. He followed me, caught me, led me to a side street, and asked me if I had not just delivered you a letter. I told him ‘Yes,’ then he asked, ‘Did you carry one?’ I answered, ‘Yes’; then he asked, ‘Where did you take it.’ I refused to answer, and he finally offered me five dollars to tell him. I did so, resolved to come and tell you all that had occurred.”

The young man listened with starting eyes and deep attention, and when Ike stopped, he sat for some moments lost in deep thought, but finally he asked:

“Now, that leads you to think he is my enemy?”

“I thought I’d at least tell you what had occurred.”

The young man laughed—his laugh, however, was a forced one—as he said:

“It’s all right, lad; yes, it’s all right, but you have interpreted the little adventure the wrong way. Mr. Fellman is my friend, and that is why he asked you those questions. They were prompted by interest and anxiety on my behalf.”

“Oh, that’s all, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Mr. Burlein, all I have got to say is, look out for his interest and anxiety in your behalf. You are not a fool, neither am I. You are greatly disturbed.”

“Oh, no—no, no; but see here; you have shown good sense and judgment. The circumstances are a little peculiar. Here is a ten-dollar bill for you. This has been a good day, for I will pay for the dinner. Now, tell me about yourself. Tell me who you are, what you are. Yes, tell me the whole story.”

The young man spoke in a very nervous tone, and his manner betrayed the fact that really he was very much disturbed.

“There is not much to tell, sir. I am a lad who keeps his eyes and ears open, that’s all, and I’ve put you on your guard. You employed me to go upon an errand. I did so and your partner betrayed a desire to find out all about my errand. Yes, he cared five dollars’ worth, and it struck me as very peculiar; and I thought I’d tell you all about it.”

“You were right, yes, just right. And now see here; meet me to-morrow, be my guest. Say nothing to any one and to-morrow we will talk this whole matter over.”

“Yes, I will meet you to-morrow and you may have something to tell me and I may have something to tell you. And I tell you one thing now; put not your trust in princes or partners when they pay five dollars to find out who sends you letters. That’s all; you may trust them, but they do not trust you.”

Burlein paid for the dinner and separated from our hero. When they issued forth Ike went home with his fifteen dollars, and Burlein returned to his office to meditate, and as the sequel will show he had ample subject for meditation. But he was a brave, trusting and noble young man and little dreamed of impending evil. He was surprised and annoyed, that was all. Alas! when he awoke to his real danger it was too late to avoid it.

Ike was quite proud when he handed Mrs. Pell ten dollars and said:

“That is for the present. I am on a big ‘lay’ and may make considerable money. I can’t tell, but I think I will.”

There came a thoughtful look in Mrs. Pell’s face. A weird suspicion ran through her mind. Fifteen dollars was a great deal of money for a mere youth in no regular business to earn in one day. Ike, who was quick and observant, saw the thoughtful look in his friend’s face and he said:

“You need have no fear. I get all my money honestly. I would neither hold nor receive money that did not come to me honestly.”

The lad lay around until night. He had a scheme in his mind. He believed he had fathomed the whole scheme of the man Fellman, and he also believed he had learned the identity of the intended victim.

When night came the lad issued forth. He had spent a part of the five dollars he had reserved for equipment, and he believed he was prepared for almost any kind of villainy. He proceeded direct to the hotel where the two men had gone with Fellman to hold their consultation, and he lay around until he saw one of the men approach and enter the place.

“So far so good,” he muttered. “This is their headquarters.”

A little later and he saw the two men come from the hotel together, and he started to follow them again, muttering:

“I’ll be on hand to give an alarm, or follow them if I cannot do any more.”

The two men strangely enough went direct to the vicinity of the house to which our hero had carried the note, and again he muttered:

“Is it possible I am mistaken? Is it the girl they mean to abduct instead of the young man?”

The fellows lay around until nine o’clock, when our hero saw young Burlein come along and enter the house, and he also saw the two men go through a sort of pantomime.

“Aha!” muttered the lad, “now I recognize their ‘lay.’ They will wait until the young man starts for his home about midnight, and then they will attempt their game, whatever it may be.”

The two men walked away. Our hero followed them. They entered a private house some distance away and Ike lay around to watch. After a time he saw several men enter the same house, and he put the question to himself:

“Is it a gambling den, or a resort of thieves, I’d like to know?”

Ike was, like many boys, full of enterprise and courage. He did not stop to think of danger—at his age probably did not appreciate the possibilities of peril as an older person would. He walked up and down several times before the house and finally went around to the street toward which the rear of the house faced and at once ejaculated:

“Eureka!”

He found an alleyway between two houses, one of them directly in the rear of the house he was “piping,” and watching his opportunity he scaled the iron gate and grating and landed in the alleyway. “Now,” he said, “I must go slow; it won’t do to be caught here.”

Noiselessly he stole along to the rear yard, intending to climb the rear fence between the two buildings. He had almost reached the line of fence when suddenly he heard a savage growl and a powerful animal sprang upon him. Certainly the lad received a shock, but as stated he had equipped himself and he seized the dog ere the animal could bite. The next instant with a moan of pain and surprise the huge dog fell over helpless, and our hero remarked:

“That’s the way I serve everyone, doggy, who comes too close to me without a proper introduction.” Ike scaled the fence and found himself in the yard in the rear of the house he had seen the men enter, and he was on the lookout for dog number two as he cautiously stole along toward the porch of the house. He met no dog and the house appeared to be dark save a stream of light which shot through the blinds from the second-story room.

“So far so good,” said the lad. A moment he stood and considered, and then he made an effort to climb one of the columns of the porch, and he succeeded with the apparent readiness and ease of a trained acrobat or sailor boy. When he reached the roof of the porch he lay on his belly and slowly crawled forward, and in good time arrived at a position under one of the windows. Here he lay low for a few seconds before rising to his feet. When he did attempt to rise he did it very slowly until he had his eyes on a level with the lower blind opening, and then he peeped in. Several men were seated around a table; wine was before them and they were all talking in a very earnest manner.

“It may be a gambling house and it may not be,” muttered the lad, and he added: “I wish I could overhear what those men are saying.”

Ike considered for a long time. Finally he determined upon a bold and really desperate plan. The plucky boy resolved to enter that house. He was bent upon hearing the talk of those men. He crawled to the end window opening into the small hall bedroom or bath-room. He was equipped for business, as we have indicated, and it did not take him long to undo the fastening, and pull the blind open. Then he tried the window. It was fastened, but the new-fangled catch was not in use and it did not take him long to slide the hammer and raise the sash. Only a moment he considered, and then boldly crawled in. He knew his peril. He knew they were desperate men and did they once suspect that he had overheard any of their talk and catch him his chances would be very slim; and yet he faced the peril.

There was no need for pretense and he removed his shoes and slipped across the room. He found the door unlocked and passed to the hall, and then along to the door of the room in which he had seen the men. Peeping through the keyhole he saw them still sitting there. They were not laughing and talking like men enjoying themselves, but were evidently holding a very earnest consultation. Our hero was of keen hearing and could catch almost every word that was spoken—at least sufficient to know the sense of what was being said.

One man appeared to be in authority. He was asking a great many questions, and Ike heard the question put:

“Are you certain that they carry as much money as that in their safe?”

“According to my information they do.”

“Who is your informant?”

“The typewriter.”

“Oh! you are soft on her, eh?”

“No, I am playing the good Sunday-school teacher dodge on her. I’ve met her a great many times at church, got up a speaking acquaintance, and she thinks I am a model of good deeds.”

“Say, old man, women are dangerous to deal with.”

“Oh, yes, generally, but I am all right here.”

“They are very close observers. Do you know a woman can beat a man noting and giving descriptions?”

“Yes, I know.”

“This woman has talked to you and in case anything should happen she will give a clew to the cops. They are dangerous people to deal with—they are not afraid to talk up.”

“I’ve only worked on her for the information.”

“And they carry large sums over night?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Sometimes sixty or seventy thousand.”

“Not as a rule?”

“No, but there are times.”

“If we knew one of those times.”

“That is just what I am getting on to. I will know one of those times. We can have our plans all laid and ‘nip’ the ‘swag’ easy.”

“Well,” was the thought that ran through Ike’s mind. “I am getting into a few complications by following those two men last night. I’ve opened up a nest of crime.” He lay low and heard considerable more talk; indeed, the full details of a plan to rob a safe of a great banking house, and he had about taken it all in when suddenly a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and a gruff voice with an oath demanded:

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s all up with me,” was the mental conclusion of our hero, who declined to make a reply to the inquiry. Indeed he had no time for replies. He needed his thoughts to meet the emergency.

The man’s voice evidently aroused the fellows inside the room, and the door was opened and Ike in his stocking feet was forced into the room and confronted the conspirators. The men stared with looks of amazement upon their faces when the man who had captured Ike demanded:

“What have you fellows been discussing here?”

The evident leader of the gang took in the situation and he was a quick-witted man. He answered:

“Oh, we have been discussing a new play we are going to bring out. We think it a good scheme to make it realistic and introduce a real burglar scene.”

The man who had asked the question laughed and said:

“You have had an audience during your rehearsal.”

He forced Ike into a chair and sitting opposite him as the others gathered around he asked:

“Who are you, lad?”

Ike made no answer, but stared as though he were hard of hearing—a poor trick, indeed, for the man said:

“Oh, that won’t do; don’t come the deaf and dumb dodge on us. Mutes don’t stand in their stocking feet in a dark hall with their ear to a keyhole.”

Ike laughed; he saw that his dodge didn’t work and he came a more cunning one. He said:

“I am on to you men. You are not actors, you are robbers.”

The men all glared and exchanged glances.

The man who had captured Ike asked:

“Who sent you here?”

“No one sent me; I followed in here.”

“You followed in here?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Who did you follow?”

“No one.”

“Then what do you mean, you little rascal? Are you fooling? Be careful, we may hang you.”

“Oh, you will not hang me, but I was led in here.”

“You were?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“No one.”

The man drew a pistol, aimed at the boy and said in a menacing tone:

“Stop fooling.”

“I ain’t fooling.”

“Then talk out straight what you mean, or something may be sent into you.”

“I was led in here.”

“Come, come, talk up. Who or what led you in here?”

“A cat.”

The men all laughed and Ike appeared as innocent as a kitten when he made the statement.

“A cat led you in here, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I reckon, sonny, it was a cat chased you in here, for you are our mouse, and you are trapped.”

Ike laughed as though the conceit was very funny, but there came a change over his face when the man asked:

“Do you remember what they do with mice when they catch them?”

The lad did not answer.

“They kill ’em—strangle ’em,” said the man.

The boy laughed. His assumption of carelessness and innocence was immense.

“I reckon we will strangle you.”

“Oh, you won’t hurt me.”

“You are a smart lad. We’ve humored you, and now answer my question, What were you doing there?”

“I was listening.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“And that’s all.”

“And that’s all, eh?”

“Yes.”

“What were you listening to?”

“To these men.”

“And what did you hear?”

“I heard they were going to rob a house.”

“You heard that, eh?”

The boy answered so frankly the men really were for a moment deceived, and one of them said:

“He is an idiot.”

“Is he?” queried the man who had captured Ike.

“Yes.”

“He is the smartest idiot you ever struck;” and addressing Ike the man continued:

“So you chased a cat in here?”

“Yes.”

“How did the cat get in?”

Ike proved as keen-witted as the man who was questioning him.

“I don’t know,” was the answer.

“How did you know he was in here, my lad?”

“I saw him at the window.”

“And how did you get in?”

“I crawled in.”

“Crawled in where?”

“Oh, I climbed up on the porch and got in through the bath-room window.”

“You came after your cat?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“When I got in I heard men in this room, and I peeped in and heard all they said.”

“You heard all?”

“I heard a good deal.”

“What did you hear?”

“I heard there was seven hundred thousand dollars in a safe on a steamboat.”

“Oh you rascal!” exclaimed the man.

Ike did not wince, and the man finally said:

“We will hang you unless you prove your innocence.”

“How can I prove my innocence?”

“You say there was a cat here?”

“Yes.”

“Did the cat get out?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He ran up the stairs.”

“You find that cat, or we will hang you.”

At that moment a cat was heard actually mewing in the hall, and there Ike sat in the chair under the gaze of all the men, and one of them said:

“By ginger, the lad tells the truth.”

Another of the men drew a club from his pocket and started for the hallway. He saw no cat and in a moment returned. In the meantime the men appeared to be confused and the man who had captured our hero, said:

“We must take care of this lad. Here, Martin, you take him upstairs, put him in the chain and secure him so he cannot get away, and we will decide upon his fate. I vote for hanging him unless he tells the truth.”

Ike showed signs of great fear and one of the men whispered:

“Hold on; you will scare him to death.”

The man answered:

“He must talk or he is a dead boy, that’s all.”

The man who had been ordered to take Ike upstairs and bind him seized hold of the lad, and the latter began to plead. The man who appeared to be the leader said:

“No use, sonny, there is only one way out of this—talk.”

“I am talking.”

“Oh, you are smart. You know what I mean—who sent you here?”

“No one.”

“All right, take him upstairs and we will decide what to do with him.”

Ike was dragged from the room while protesting in the most earnest manner, and so he struggled all the way up the stairs.

After he had been led from the room, one of the men said:

“You are wrong, cap.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“That lad did follow a cat in here, and he was so frank.”

“Was he?”

“Yes; you heard all he said.”

“I did, and I’ve something to tell you. That is one of the smartest lads in New York. He holds the liberty of every man of us in his hands.”

“What do you mean, cap?”

“I am astonished you fellows are not on to him.”

“Who is he?”

“He is a detective’s ‘cub,’ that’s what he is, and he was sent here to ‘pipe’ us.”

“But we heard the cat, that part of his story was true.”

“You think so?”

“We heard the cat.”

“But you didn’t see him, did you?”

CHAPTER III.

While the conversation we have recorded was in progress the man led our hero upstairs and Ike beheld a strong room, a place where it was evident prisoners had been confined. There was a regular steel chair in the room. The boy took in the situation at a glance. Once in that steel wire chair and he was a goner. Indeed, it was one of the most ingenious contrivances he had ever beheld, and only a lad of his wide experience would have discerned its use, and with the rapidity with which thought can act he went over all the possibilities.

He had ceased to offer resistance and the man said:

“Come, sonny, I am going to let you sit down in that nice chair.”

“Are you, sir?”

“Yes, I am.”

The man seized the lad by the arms, but the next instant he began to writhe and twist, and finally fell to the floor, evidently paralyzed and helpless. Ike was a powerful fellow for his age. He raised the man and placed him in the chair, and his natural genius for invention discovered to him at a glance how the chair was operated, and in less time than we can tell the man was secured in the chair. So skillful was the contrivance that a casque settled upon his head, closed and held his jaws together better than any gag ever invented, and there he sat powerless and speechless.

Then Ike spoke. He had but an instant to stay and he talked like a streak.

“Good day, my friend, we will meet again. Send home the cat when you find him.”

Ike did not descend to the floor from which he had been led up, but ascended the scuttle well and passed out to the roof. He thought he could take his chance better that way rather than risk a second capture.

He had little difficulty in reaching the roof and closing the covering after him. He started to navigate across the house tops, looking for a convenient place for a descent to the street.

In the meantime the men continued their talk. One of them asked:

“Do you think the ‘cops’ are on our track?”

“I did not think so until I captured that detective ‘kid.’”

“You think he is a detective kid?”

“Yes.”

“You’re off,” said one of the men.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“You feel sure?”

“Yes, that is as innocent a lad as ever lived. If he had been a detective kid do you suppose he would have admitted all he overheard?”

“That is just where his smart work comes in. He has evidently fooled you.”

“No, you have fooled yourself, old man. I’ll stake my life he is no detective ‘kid.’”

The man who was stating the objections was the owner of the house, the one who had been acting as chairman during the “confab” to which our hero had been a listener.

“I’ll bet you a hundred it turns out he is one of the best in the business.”

“Will you be able to prove it?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Then I will take the bet.”

“All right, wait until Barney comes down and learn what he has to say.”

The men continued their talk for some time, but Barney did not return, and finally the man who had been addressed as captain said:

“One of you go upstairs and learn what the matter is.”

One of the men left the room and after a minute a yell was heard.

All the men rushed to the hallway, and the captain ran up the stairs followed by the man whom we have indicated as being the master of the house, and who had made the bet with the captain. The man at the head of the stairs met the rushing party and exclaimed:

“There’s been the devil to pay.”

“How’s that?”

“Come and see.”

The men entered the room and there sat their “pal” in the chair, muzzled by the casque and tightly enfolded in the wire contrivance. The captain ran forward, touched the springs and when the man was released demanded:

“What in thunder has happened?”

All the man could ejaculate was:

“That boy!”

“What of him?”

“He is a fiend.”

“A fiend?” repeated the captain in a perplexed tone.

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

The man told his story. He said:

“I brought him up here. He was as quiet and meek as Moses, and when I seized hold of him to put him in the chair all power suddenly left me. I became as weak as a sick cat. I fell helplessly to the floor. He then lifted me up, placed me in the chair, worked the machinery and there I was, speechless and helpless, and with a grin upon his face—a demoniac grin—he walked off or vanished in thin air, I do not know which.”

“You’re a fool,” said the captain. “You have been outwitted by a smart kid, a detective’s apprentice, that’s all.”

The men descended to the lower room and held a long “confab,” and the captain finally said:

“We are in luck.”

“How?”

“In discovering that lad. He heard the whole business. We know now that the cops were on our track. Had the ‘kid’ got away we would have gone on with the job and every man would have been captured. Yes, we are in great luck.”

Our hero in the meantime managed to gain the street, and he proceeded direct to the house into which Burlein had gone. He lay around expecting the men to show up, but they did not appear. But the young man did come forth from the house and Ike fell to his trail. The lad followed until he saw the young man seek to enter a house, when our hero approached and called out:

“Don’t go in, I want to talk to you.”

“Who are you?” demanded Burlein.

“I am Ike.”

“Oh, the boy I saw to-day?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I must talk to you.”

“All right, talk away.”

“You are in peril.”

The young man laughed and said:

“So you are not satisfied; you want to make another ten out of me. You are a little fraud, I fear.”

“You think I am a fraud?”

“Well, yes.”

“That’s all right, then I’ve nothing to say. Good-night.”

“Hold on; you have been dogging me.”

“I’ve been laying around to protect you, that’s all.”

“You’ve been ‘laying around’ to protect me?”

“Yes.”

“Come, tell me all about it.”

“No, I am a fraud. I’ve nothing to say now, but some day you will apologize and then I will tell you all.”

“Tell me now.”

“No; good-night.”

Without another word Ike skipped away. He went direct to his home and to bed. He was tired and did not attempt to think or plan that night, but on the following morning he was out bright and early. He had quite a good deal of business on hand.

Ike proceeded to the hotel where the two men lodged whom he had twice dogged. He saw nothing of them until late in the afternoon, then they came forth. He fell to their trail and saw them meet Fellman, with whom they held a long consultation. He tried to get near enough to overhear what was said, but no opportunity offered. When the men separated he fell to the banker’s trail and saw him go to his hotel. The lad lay around. After having secured a quick meal he lay around the hotel for a long time until he saw Fellman come forth. It was about eight o’clock in the evening. He followed the man and saw him enter a house quite a distance up town. He hung around for a couple of hours but the man did not reappear and Ike concluded to postpone an investigation of the house to some future time, and he proceeded down to the house where he knew Burlein was a constant visitor, or at least so he had concluded. In fact the lad had worked up a complete theory as to the whole situation and was determined to be on hand when anything occurred. He saw Burlein go to the house and a little later the two men put in an appearance, and he saw several other singular occurrences which led him to conclude that the scoundrels had determined to put their scheme, whatever it was, in execution that very night, and he muttered:

“I reckon Burlein will not think I am a fraud when this whole affair is over.”

The charge of being a fraud rankled in the young man’s mind. He felt it unjust, and again he muttered:

“I will make him eat his words before morning, you bet.”

Ike lay around until midnight and saw young Burlein come from the house and walk up the street. The men had disappeared and the boy did not know their exact position, so he followed some distance behind, when suddenly a most startling incident occurred. Burlein had reached the corner. He appeared to be walking along in deep thought. He had passed the corner and was stepping from the curb to the crosswalk when suddenly two men leaped forward and ran at him from behind. Ike ran forward giving a shout, but his warning call came too late. The young man had received a blow on the head which felled him to the ground. Ike drew his pistol. He raised it to fire at one of the two men, when suddenly everything swam round in his head and as quickly everything became a blank. How long Ike remained unconscious he never knew exactly, but some time later he concluded that he must have been out of his senses fully an hour. When he returned to consciousness he was in a dark apartment. He made an effort to move and could not, nor could he discern an object a foot from his face. He lay still—it was his only way. He determined to go slow, very slow, and consider and if possible recall. He was, as the incident we are about to relate will prove, an extraordinary fellow. He first strove to line back his thoughts and if possible recall all that had happened. He was certain something had occurred—something very extraordinary. He picked up his line of thought just where the extraordinary incident must have occurred. He recalled how he had seen Burlein knocked down. He recalled how he had attempted to draw his pistol, and then all recollection ceased up to the moment he found himself in the dark apartment, and chained to the floor, as he discovered.

Ike was perfectly cool. His brightest and keenest wit had returned to him, and he muttered:

“I see it all. Just as I was getting ready to shoot I received a crack on the head. But where am I now?”

He felt around and discovered that he was chained by his ankles—his hands were free.

“Good enough,” he muttered. “If I haven’t been stripped I’ll find something.” He felt in his pocket and found a match, and ejaculated:

“Here we are, sure enough.”

He managed to scratch the match and as it blazed up he gazed round, and then an exclamation of consternation fell from his lips as he cried out:

“I thought so. I am in the ‘brig’ of some sort of vessel and I am out at sea. I have been kidnaped.” Then he smiled as he repeated, “Yes, kidnaped, for I am only a kid, after all.”

Continuing his soliloquy the boy muttered:

“What do they mean to do with me? Do they mean to drown me? Well, well, it’s hard luck, but it does look as though I were ‘a goner’ for sure, and I will go down to the bottom of the sea with the knowledge that I did not play my cards well or I never would have been in this box.”

As intimated Ike formed a pretty correct idea as to all that had happened, and he was indeed in a bad box; but he did not despair. He possessed a wonderful talent, a gift that had been carefully cultivated, and he had a great field to work—the prevailing superstition of people generally, and especially of sea-going men. Sailors are proverbially superstitious and superstition prepares one to become terrorized to a greater degree than any other sentiment. Men who would kill a fellow man in cold blood tremble if compelled to go through a cemetery at night. Men who would lead a charge in a battle would fall to the ground paralyzed with terror were their imagination to present to them after dark a vivid apparition of a dead soldier. Ike was well aware of these facts, and he determined to use his knowledge in order, if possible, to save his life and effect his escape. He knew he had fallen to the facts of a great scheme and possibly a tragedy. The men who were actors in the crime knew that he was a witness against them, and the question arose, did they intend merely to get him out of the way or did they intend to murder him or drown him in cold blood?

He knew that it was after midnight when the incident had occurred which led to his being a prisoner on that boat. He was quite a sailor himself, and as he lit a second match and glanced around, he concluded he was a prisoner on a medium-sized schooner or sloop. How long he had been there he had no means of knowing, as he had been unconscious and had regained his consciousness in total darkness. He concluded, however, that the possibilities were it was not yet daylight. He learned that the schooner was sailing over the waters, as he was down in the hold. He knew from the motion that they were under way and possibly far out to sea.

He lay and waited and fully an hour passed, when the hatch over his prison was raised and he became aware that a man was peering down upon him, and he knew it was daylight. He had decided upon his course; it might cost him a meal or two, but it was a part of his plan to lay low and watch his chance.

He heard a man on deck ask:

“Is he awake?”

“He ain’t moving, captain.”

“I hope he is dead and then all we will have to do is throw his body over for the fishes.”

This dialogue was certainly a very consoling and comforting one for a lad to listen to who was chained to the upper side of the keel of a boat at sea.

“I don’t think he is dead, captain.”

“I hardly know what to do.”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Well?”

“We can take it for granted that he is dead, and toss him over.”

“No, I won’t do that, but something may happen. We will get rid of him. I feel very uncomfortable at having him on board anyhow.”

“It’s big money if he goes over, captain.”

“Oh, yes, that’s all right. He’ll never step foot on land again, but the question is, how can we dispose of him?”

“Throw him over.”

“He may be able to swim.”

“We can weight him.”

“No, he is a human being. That would be drowning him as we would a dog.”

“What’s the odds?”

“I’ve got your voice down, Mister Man,” was the mental conclusion of our little hero, and he muttered:

“Some day I will get even with you if we ever meet again. I’ll remember you.”

“I’ll tell you what you can do, cap.”

“Do so.”

“Let him lie where he is.”

“Well?”

“He will die. We will forget all about him, find him dead and toss him over.”

“I’ve been thinking of that.”

Ike thought that if he were consulted and had his choice he would rather be drowned like a dog—much rather—than cruelly starved to death in that dark ship’s hold.

The hatch was replaced and our hero was alone, and he commenced to consider. He studied by feeling the chains which bound him, and he soon assured himself that he could get free at any time he saw fit. At the same time he decided that he must be very careful and not take advantage of his privilege too rashly.

“I will lay low until night,” he said.

It was a cold prospect for the poor lad to think of—lying there all day hungry and wounded, for his head did ache a little, owing to a blow he had received. He had discovered also that he had bled freely. The stain had not been washed off, and had dried on him, and he knew he presented a horrible sight.

“It may aid me,” he muttered, as he realized the fact, “to come the ghost act on ’em.”

As the hours passed the lad became very hungry and thirsty, and so intense became his thirst he was almost inclined to cry out and ask for water, although the act might hasten his end. But as it turned out he was not altogether deserted by the fates.

It is an old saying that it is better to be born lucky than rich, and it would seem that some men and boys exemplify the old saw. Ike appeared to be one of these, for just at the moment when he thought he could stand the craving for a drink no longer a thin ray of light shot down into the darkness, and the next instant something struck against his head. He reached up and grasped a bottle, and attached to the bottle was a piece of bread.

“I have a friend at court,” was the lad’s declaration, as he realized that some one had taken pity on him and had lowered the bottle and sandwich surreptitiously.

Ike was a hopeful little fellow and he muttered:

“This means something—it means that it is not ‘all up’ with me after all. I am going to get out of this scrape, and then, by ginger, some one will wish they had been wiped out in a cyclone.”

Our hero ate and drank, and crawling away from his stake as far as he could he hid the bottle with the remark:

“I do not know just when I may have a visitor. I’ll be on my guard and not get my friend into trouble.”

Having satisfied his hunger the boy went to sleep, and slept very peacefully. He was waiting for night, and when he awoke he thought that night must be just closing in if not actually shadowed down upon the earth and the sea. He lay for a long time and finally concluded he would investigate. He had little difficulty in freeing himself, and he crept up the steps to the hatch cover and was able to move it just a little. He peeped out and saw it was night—a dark, rainy night—and after peeping awhile he gently moved the hatch aside and crawled on deck. All his movements were as cautious as a Pawnee Indian scout’s. He did not restore the hatch cover, but just lay on his back and took observations.

He learned that his conclusions had been correct. He was on a schooner, and, as he discerned, a rickety old affair at that. A little while he lay and considered. He could see the man at the wheel, and there was not another person on deck—not even a lookout. The night was calm and a light rain was falling, but there was no fog. The lights were all set and it was evident the ship’s crew believed there was no danger, and thus violated one of the first laws of navigation. Well, those laws are often violated, and in thousands of cases the violators have paid the penalty with their lives, while many possibly may have escaped and thus their violations never became known.

As Ike lay on the damp deck he thought over his plan and revised it. He managed to secure a few articles lying around. These he slowly and patiently dragged over to the hatch and managed to lower them one at a time. Then he descended carefully, removed his clothing, and rigged up a perfect dummy of himself. He had the knack of doing so. He adjusted the chain to his dummy, which he put in a sleeping attitude, and then he laughed and muttered:

“It may not work, but I guess it will. Anyhow it is my best card at present.”

Having arranged his dummy the lad stole on deck and then crawled aft to the cabin, and he did so without being seen. He was in his shirt and drawers only, and presented quite a ghostly appearance. He walked half down the companion way and glanced into the cabin. The captain lay asleep in a berth and the mate lay on the floor of the cabin—at least the man whom our hero took for the mate, and the fellow for whom he had laid away a little revenge memory.

It was quite a risky position for the boy. If the night had been an absolutely clear one he would have had a chance to learn how far they were off shore, and then he might have decided to take a chance to steal the yawl and row or paddle ashore. But owing to the rain he could not see to the shore, and determined to work another scheme. He crawled around to the side of the cabin projection near the poop window and fortunately found a roll of canvas.

“This is fine,” he muttered, and in a little time he was hidden under the canvas and then soliloquized:

“Here we are, and here goes.”

The mate lay on the floor and the captain in his berth, and suddenly the mate started up. He looked around wildly a moment, and then rising to his feet approached the berth where the captain lay, and shook him.

“What in thunder is the matter?” demanded the captain springing to a sitting position.

“Were you dreaming, captain?”

“Dreaming? No, what’s the matter with you? I was sleeping like an infant.”

“You were groaning hard, captain.”

“Let me alone, you fool. I weren’t dreaming or groaning.”

“Yes, you did groan.”

“Go off, and keep quiet.”

The captain settled back and was soon fast asleep. The mate listened a moment and then spread himself on the floor again and he had just closed his eyes when up he leaped again and ran to the captain and shook him again.

“There, captain, you did groan that time.”

“Say, man, you’ve got ’em.”

“No, I ain’t got ’em, but I tell you that you groaned like a dying man.”

“You have been dreaming yourself.”

“I’ll be hanged if I have.”

“Well, let me alone and don’t wake me again, do you hear? or I’ll hit you.”

The captain settled back again to sleep and the mate after waiting some little time also stretched upon the floor once more. He closed his eyes and after listening for fully five minutes was about to drop off into a sleep when he heard a cry for help. He leaped to his feet and despite the captain’s admonition shook him again. The captain was real angry.

“Hang you, man!” he said; “I’ll knock you down.”

“Captain, something is the matter with you. The moment you close your eyes you cry for help.”

“It’s you, not me; you are dreaming.”

“But I don’t go to sleep.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“And you hear me call for help?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What is the matter with you?”

“I am in earnest.”

“This is no joke?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve got ’em.”

“I swear I am as clear as a bell.”

“And you hear me call?”

“I do.”

“You swear to it?”

“I do.”

“You’re up to something.”

“Captain, on my life I am telling the truth.”

“We will see.”

The captain lay down and the mate after awhile lay down also, when suddenly, as it appeared, the mate called for help. The captain leaped from his berth and sprang beside the mate but the latter was wide awake.

“There, captain, you did it again.”

The captain laughed, and said: “It’s just as I told you—it was you who groaned and called.”

“I’ll swear I didn’t. I have not been asleep.”

“You haven’t?”

“No.”

“Neither have I, and I just lay low and watched.”

“So did I.”

“Is this a game you are working?”

“I swear I am not.”

“Let’s try again. We’ll both watch.”

“All right.”

The captain got in his berth and the mate stretched on the floor, and fully five minutes passed. Finally the captain demanded:

“Well, old man, have you been asleep?”

“No.”

“Then you didn’t hear it?”

“No.”

“Neither did I, so you see you’ve been fooled or you’ve been dreaming yourself.”

The captain was just settling back for an undisturbed snooze when suddenly he leaped from his berth, his face pale and his eyes starting. The mate also leaped to his feet and demanded:

“What is it, captain?”

For a moment the captain could not speak. He was trembling like an aspen leaf.

“Tell me, captain, what’s the matter.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No.”

“I did.”

“What did you hear?”

“A groan.”

“Where?”

“In the bed there, close to my ear.”

“Aha, captain, you fell asleep.”

“I’ll swear I was not asleep.”

“And you heard a groan?”

“I did, and I won’t get in that berth again.”

“I will, captain. I tell you you’ve been dreaming. It was your own voice you heard.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“And you were wide awake?”

“I was.”

“You are sure?”

“I am.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor—you sleep in the berth.”

“All right.”

The mate got in the berth, but in less than a second he leaped forth with a yell, and the captain, who had stretched upon the floor, sprang to his feet.

“Well, mate?”

“Captain, I heard it.”

“What did you hear?”

“A voice.”

“You heard a voice?”

“I’ll swear I did.”

“And what did the voice say?”

“I didn’t stop to hear.”

“I’ll try it; you watch beside me.”

“All right, captain, I’ll stand right here.”

The captain lay down in the berth and the mate stood at his side, but nothing was heard.

“We’ve both been fooled,” said the captain. “Lie down, it’s all right.”

The mate stepped away, but he had not got more than two feet distant when once more the captain leaped from the berth.

The two men gazed into each other’s faces and finally the captain asked:

“Is it a judgment on us?”

“What for?”

“Receiving that boy on board. Mebbe the boy is dead and is haunting us.”

“Nonsense.”

“I want you to take a lantern and go see.”

Ike had leaped to his feet and he ran along the rail and got down into the brig in no time. He covered himself up under his dummy and waited, and a few moments later the hatch was slid away.

“Say, who is up there?” demanded Ike.

The man appeared delighted.

“Help there!” called Ike.

“It’s all right,” said the mate. “What do you want?”

“I want something to eat.”

“You shall have it as soon as the cook is stirring about.”

“All right, don’t forget me.”

“I won’t.”

The mate slid back the cover and returned to the cabin.

“Well?” demanded the captain.

“The boy is all right—lively as a cricket.”

“He is?”

“Yes; he is calling for something to eat and hang it, I don’t blame him. Probably he don’t know how long he’s been there. If he did he’d be starved to death sure. Here’s a case, captain, where ignorance is bliss.”

“But how about the voice?”

“There is where you’ve got me.”

“I’ve heard the schooner was haunted. It is said that years ago the captain, mate, and a sailor were murdered on this boat. I never could prove it true because her name was changed.”

“Do you know that her name was changed?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“You know that?”

“I do.”

“Then the other story may be true.”

“I’ve owned her for three years.”

“And you’ve never had any luck in her?”

“Neither any one else who ever owned her. I thought I might make her pay when others had failed. I’ll give it up and sell her as quick as I can.”

“Say, captain,” said the mate in a husky voice, “mebbe this is the boat in which Hicks the pirate murdered the captain.”

“Hang it, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Well, we are not much better.”

“How so?”

“We’ve got that boy on board and——”

At that moment a voice was heard. Captain and mate stood and glared and trembled, and as both stood there on the center of the cabin floor, a voice came from the berth. It was clear, firm and distinct and there was no mistaking.

“Put about,” the voice proclaimed. “I was once captain of this boat. I was murdered on board her. I don’t want another murder committed, and if any harm comes to the boy you have on board both you men will hang. There were witnesses, there will be witnesses. Get him ashore as quick as you can.”

The two men stood and gazed as though indeed they were listening to the voice of one who had passed beyond and was talking back from the land of mystery.

“Heed my words,” spoke the mysterious voice in conclusion, and then all was still.

“Captain,” after a long time spoke the mate, “we are in luck.”

“How so?”

“We have been warned.”

“You bet.”

“What shall we do?”

“We’ll land the lad.”

“When?”

“This very night.”

“How can we?”

“We are not more than two miles off the Long Island shore; you know we’ve been hovering around here.”

“Say, captain, you will lose your money.”

“Can’t help it; don’t propose to have dead men haunting me for all the money in the world.”

“Let’s take chances.”

“How?”

“Run down off Fire Island light, put the lad in a yawl and send him adrift. He may reach shore, he may not. If he does you are clear of the dead men; if he don’t it ain’t your fault. But I’ve one thing to say.”

“All right, speak right out.”

“I’d chance the dead men, I would.”

The words had hardly left the mate’s lips when right at his ear there sounded a yell that almost froze the blood in his veins. He stood and trembled like a Macbeth gazing upon the apparition of a Banquo.

“Ah!” ejaculated the captain, “you don’t mind being haunted by dead men, eh?”

“Hush!” pleaded the mate.

“This boat is haunted, that’s sure. There’s no luck in her and I shall sell her as quick as I can, and I shall get rid of that boy, money or no money. And besides I’ve got an idea; yes, I have. Those fellows might ‘bilk’ me if anything did happen to the lad, and they might haunt me and blackmail me. It’s all bad business. I never intended that any real harm should come to the lad anyhow. You were the devil who urged me on, and——”

At this instant again there sounded a yell in the ear of the mate and he shouted:

“Get the boy ashore. I’ll row him ashore; yes, I will.”

Ike got back to his place, cast aside his dummy and got into his clothes. And he wasn’t a minute too soon, either. Before the hatch cover was removed and the captain started to come down the lad leaped to his feet, seized the chain from which he had released himself, and ran back to one corner saying:

“Don’t come near me.” And he raised the chain threateningly.

The captain held his lantern aloft and said:

“Don’t fear, lad, I mean you no harm. I’ve done you a kindness.”

“You have, eh?”

“I have.”

“How? By starving me almost to death?”

“I ordered them to feed you.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

“Well, they didn’t obey you.”

“I see you are free.”

“I am.”

“Who freed you?”

“I freed myself and I intended to jump overboard.”

“It’s lucky you didn’t.”

“I don’t know that.”

“You are all right.”

“I am?”

“Yes, I mean to land you.”

“You mean to land me?”

“I do.”

“When?”

“I am heading in toward shore now. You will be all right.”

“Why did you bring me aboard here?”

“We found you lying in the street. We did not know what to do with you, and brought you aboard.”

“Then why didn’t you treat me well?”

“Because we feared we might be pursued by the rascals who knocked you down.”

It was a weak explanation the captain made, but our hero did not see that he could gain anything by disputing or arguing, and he said:

“I am hungry.”

“You shall have something to eat right away. I’ve laid off my course so as to put you ashore as soon as it was safe.”

Ike did not deem it necessary to dispute this latter statement but said:

“Feed me, please.”

The captain led him up to the deck, took him back to the cabin and did offer him some food, saying:

“It will be all right when you get ashore. And say, lad, I don’t want you ever to say anything about your being on my boat. I swear I did all to save your life; yes, I did.”

Ike was not disposed to dispute anything that the captain said. All he desired was to get ashore. He believed a great mystery had opened up in New York which he could solve, and he was anxious to get to the city as quickly as he could.

A couple of hours passed. It was just a little before dawn when the captain hauled to off the Fire Island lighthouse. He had given directions to his men where to meet him. Ike was standing on the deck when a lad came stealing up close to him, who whispered:

“I gave you the water and bread. Don’t ever tell on me or they will kill me.”

“What is your name?”

“Jim Banta.”

“Do you belong to this schooner?”

“Yes, but, I am going to get off her as quick as I can.”

“You did me a good turn.”

“I know it.”

“Some day you may come to New York.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“We may meet again.”

“I hope so, and then I’ll tell you something.”

“And I may tell you something,” said Ike.

Our hero had taken in the lad’s face and he was assured that he would recognize him should they ever meet again.

The yawl had been hauled alongside and our hero got in and was followed by the captain of the schooner, who commanded his men to “lay to” awhile.

“Boy, remember,” said the captain, “I was your friend.”

“All right, captain, mebbe you are proving it now.”

“I did intend to take you down east, but I changed my mind. I would have done so in your own interest.”

“It’s all right, captain, as far as it goes.”

There were a number of boats flying around here and there on the water, and the captain said:

“Mebbe I can get you on one of those boats. They have pleasure fisherman on board, out after bluefish. There will be no fish to-day, and they will run in early, and you will be all right. But remember you are not to say anything about me.”

“That’s all right, captain, you need have no fear.”

“I wish I could do more for you, but I believe I have saved your life, and if we ever meet again I will tell you all about it.”

Ike was thinking of but one thing—the possibilities attending the attack on young Burlein a few moments preceding the moment when he received the blow which knocked him insensible.

In the meantime the captain had kept on talking and pulling his boat, and Ike noticed quite a large catboat bearing down upon them, and soon she came within hailing distance. When the captain called to them the men on the fishing boat, a merry party, brought their boat to and the captain pulled alongside and said:

“I’ve a lad here I picked up off shore. Will you gentlemen take him aboard and land him?”

The men were in a jolly mood and bid Ike “come aboard.” The lad was glad to do so, and waved the captain an adieu as the latter, without stopping to make any further explanations, pulled away in his yawl.

The party on the fishing boat had caught one big fish, and they were, as intimated, in a very jolly mood. They asked Ike a few questions, accepted whatever he had to say, and went on with their fun.

Our hero had plenty to eat and could have had plenty to drink if he had so desired. It was well on toward noon when the men determined to head for the inlet and go ashore. It had been decided that they would catch no more fish that day.

Most of the forenoon they had bowled along under a good stiff breeze, but suddenly the wind all died out and they lay in a dead calm, and as is usual they commenced all manner of sport. Ike thought he had seen about every gambling game that had ever been played, but he learned a new one that day, and a very amusing one. The party were all gentlemen out for an excursion, and they were in for fun, and our hero determined before that boat reached shore he would give them lots of fun. Our hero was a practical joker. He just enjoyed the possession of his wonderful gifts and he never missed an opportunity to play a trick—not malignant ones but just simple little jokes. As stated he was an expert handler of cards and well up in all manner of games, and therefore he greatly enjoyed the one organized by the fishing party. There were a great number of flies buzzing in the cabin and the men all took a lump of sugar, laid their several pieces on the table before them. Then each man laid a penny by his lump, and the man who owned the sugar on which the first fly lit took the pot. The game was called by the men “hop fly loo.”

They had considerable sport over this little game, but at length got tired, and still the calm held on. They lolled around on the boat and before them lay the solitary bluefish—a big fellow, their only reward for the expense they had been to for the day.

As intimated, a dead calm prevailed and the men were listless, and, like a lot of boys, hardly knew what to do, when one of them asked:

“If that big bluefish could talk, I wonder what he would say?”

One of the men answered:

“He would say, a healthy stomach had got him in more trouble than a fish who had the dyspepsia too bad to eat.”

The men all laughed in the most hearty manner. The conceit was a good one, and another of the party put in:

“If he could speak he would say: ‘I tried to hook your bait, and, alas! you hooked me.’”

A third chipped in.

“He’d say: ‘Better an empty stomach than a treacherous meal.’” And so the jokes went on, one saying:

“He’d say: ‘I wish I’d been too full for utterance, and then I’d have let your bait go by.’”

Each joke received the laughter it deserved, and finally the man who had offered the first suggestion projected his query again with the remark:

“It would be a big thing to hear that fish express his thoughts.”

At that instant there sounded a strange flapping like the sound of a bird in its flight.

The men all looked around. There was no bird in sight. They looked in each other’s faces, for indeed it was a most wonderful incident. All had heard it, and even while they looked there came the cry of “quack, quack,” of a wild duck, and the “quack, quack, quack,” sounded right over their heads. They strained their eyes—there was no duck in sight; indeed, it was not the season for ducks. They were all sportsmen, and they knew that, and yet the flapping of wings was plainly heard, and the “quack, quack,” of the duck, as plainly as a tame duck’s quack on the edge of a farm pond.

“Eh, boys, what does it mean? Who shot the last duck?”

“Who did?” the inquiry went round.

“And why?” asked one.

“Because we are haunted by the ghost of a duck, sure.”

The men were all attention. They had all looked at and watched each other to see who, if any of them had imitated the flapping, and who it was who was doing the quack, quack, business. Not one of the party could be accused. They were all sitting face to face, and in their midst sat Ike. Not a lip moved, and the quack, quack, continued. It was impossible that any one of the party could have worked the trick and not have been betrayed.

“Say, boys,” said one of the men, “this is rather odd, whatever you may say.”

“Mebbe there is a duck in the cabin.”

The captain of the boat, who was very pale and looked quite serious, said:

“There is no duck on this boat, and I don’t like it. I wish you gentlemen would stop your joking. Captain Brown heard a duck quack just before that blow when he and all on board were drowned.”

The party thought the captain was working something on them, and they commenced to joke worse than ever, and it was still a dead calm.

“We are going to have a big blow,” said the captain. “I wish we were in the inlet.”

“Oh, come off, cap.”

At this moment the quack, quack, was heard again.

All the men began to feel a little uncomfortable. They were intelligent men, but the circumstance was certainly very odd, and it was still more startling when a voice from over the top of the mast appeared to call down and say:

“Ask the bluefish what he has to say.”

The party looked in each other’ faces. In dead earnest, of course, all hands believed some trick was being worked on them, and yet it was certainly a very weird trick—and it did not seem possible that it could be worked. One of the party said, however:

“Let’s obey orders; we’ll ask the bluefish what he has to say.”

“Who’ll ask him?”

“I will,” said the gentleman.

“Go ahead.”

“All right, watch each other,” and looking at the bluefish he asked: “Old father blue, what have you to say?”

The whole scene was intended as a joke, but there was a surprised crowd in that boat when, in a strangely weird voice, the answer seemingly came from the fish:

“If I’d had my breakfast earlier you’d never have caught me.”

Of course it was a joke, of course somebody was working it with a marvelous skill, but who was doing it? The gentlemen had all known each other for many years and none of them knew that any one of them possessed the wonderful talent of ventriloquism, and in fact they did not believe that such a marvelous gift was possessed by any one not the best of magicians. Still there was the fish, and still there did appear to come from him the startling response to the question.

“Try him again,” said one.

“You try him.”

“What’s your game, fish?” asked the man.

The answer appeared to come:

“You fellows snatched me from the sea for food, but my relatives will dine on you all before this time to-morrow.”

Oh, it was a trick—yes, all a trick, but just marvelous enough to make the men feel very uncomfortable, the circumstance was so weird and strange. In fact, one of the party, a very nervous man, fainted, and when he was brought round the oldest gentleman present and the one who appeared to be most respected said:

“Come, this has gone far enough. Whoever is working this wonderful trick had better explain it.”

The gentleman spoke in dead earnest, but not one of the party volunteered to admit his responsibility, and the gentleman pleaded:

“It is criminal to carry this any further.”

There came no acknowledgment and all the men began to look pretty serious, and to add to the gloom the captain, pointing to a cloud coming in from the sea, said in apprehensive tones:

“It’s just as I feared. We are bound to have a terrible storm. Now if any one has been working a trick let him own it up, or, by George, we’re all goners, that’s all.”

There came the bark of a dog and immediately afterward the terrible moan of an animal, the same as tradition declares is heard just before a death—a howl which in rural districts to-day is heard with a shudder, and looked upon as a death knell.

After the first strange voice our hero had gone into the cabin and had lain down on a cushion in full view of the party and had seemingly gone to sleep. Several times the men had looked at him, but that sleeping boy could not be the fiend who was working on their terrors, for there he slept and was breathing as regularly as an infant lying on its mother’s bosom.

“Who is that boy?” demanded the captain.

“Yes, who is he?” asked the captain’s assistant.

“Wake him up,” said one of the party.

The captain’s mate did arouse Ike, who rose and rubbed his eyes so naturally that every one decided at once that no matter whether it were trick or reality the lad knew nothing about it; and yet it was the most remarkable occurrence that any of them had ever encountered in all their lives.

The captain said:

“It’s that boy.” He made the declaration despite the fact that Ike had been aroused, and awoke so naturally, and the captain repeated:

“It’s that boy or the devil, or it’s the devil or that boy.”

“What do you mean?”

The captain was glaring wildly as he said:

“That boy is the devil. We had no right to take him on board. Throw him over. He won’t drown.”

There came a voice saying:

“Throw him over and you will have the hurricane of your life, and none of you will ever reach shore.”

The voice was heard and there stood the lad in their midst, as innocent looking as a babe. One matter all hands considered settled—the boy had nothing to do with the mysterious occurrences.

They were still questioning Ike when one of the men discovered a blood stain on his clothes.

The captain of the schooner had scrubbed off the lad’s clothes, but one stain escaped his attention, and the gentleman who found the mark said:

“Hello, lad, you’ve been bleeding.”

“Yes.”

“The captain said he picked you up.”

“I know he did.”

“Tell us about it.”

“The captain lied, that’s all.”

“Tell us about it.”

“Not a word. It’s no time for me to talk.”

The cloud which had been rising in the west meantime began to increase and spread, and the sound of distant thunder was heard. The captain of the yacht looked pale and troubled as he said:

“It’s going to be a regular cyclone. I wish we were in the inlet.”

All the party began to betray signs of uneasiness, when there came a little ripple over the sea. The captain did not dare run with full sail, but he took in several reefs and shortened his jib sail, and the boat moved away like a thing of life toward the inlet.

Ike had been to sea a great deal and had met with considerable experience and he said:

“Captain, you’re wrong.”

“How so?”

“You will just get in the inlet when the storm strikes us, and we will be blown on to a bar, and then it’s all up—it’s sink or swim.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Reef her down to a pigeon wing and let her run before the wind. It’s your only chance.”

One of the party, who had also had some experience, said:

“The lad is right.”

The captain answered:

“I reckon I know my business.”

Ike stood a moment and then asked:

“Gentlemen, have you hired this boat?”

The answer came, “Yes.”

“Then take my advice; take command of her or this man will run you to certain death. He’s lost his head.”

The party was composed of a number of intelligent and resolute men and one of them said:

“Here, captain, face her about.”

“I won’t do it.”

There was no time to lose. Ike suddenly leaped forward, and without a word of warning dealt the captain a blow over the head with a death club used for knocking big fish on the head. The captain rolled over to the bottom of the boat and Ike seized the helm and brought the craft around. He then asked one of the men to hold the helm while he hauled in the jib, and asked the others to reef the sail down to a pigeon wing. All hands obeyed and they were just in time, for a minute later the squall struck them and away flew the little yacht over the foaming waves.

Our hero had resumed the helm, and he held her steady to the wind.

The captain had sought to regain his feet, but the men held him down and bid him lie still, and away they sped over the waters.

It proved to be only a summer tempest, and in half an hour the blow was over, and under a steady breeze Ike put her about and made a run for the inlet.

But little had been said during the excitement. The captain was released and sullenly took his helm, when one of the party said:

“Cap, the boy saved our lives by his prompt action.”

“I’ll take care of the boy,” growled the captain.

“See here, cap, it’s all right. We will pay you for the rap you received.”

The men made up a purse of twenty dollars over and above the hire of the boat, and got the captain to agree to say nothing about it.

At the time Ike took his prompt action two other boats were making for the inlet. They were just ahead of the boat our hero was on, and when our party reached shore they learned the sad intelligence that both boats had run into the inlet, had been caught, blown over and that seven men and a boy were drowned. Had the boat on which Ike was gone on she too would have gone over, and probably a few more would have been added to the death list.

The men all appreciated the fact and also that they owed their salvation to Ike’s extraordinary and prompt action. And the result was they made up a purse of fifty dollars and presented it to him, and each man gave his card to our hero with an invitation to call on them.

It was after dark when the party went ashore and all hurried to a train for New York. Ike went with them and a little before midnight he appeared at his home.

Mrs. Pell, despite his warning that he might unexpectedly be away for days at a time, was greatly worried and rejoiced when he showed up. She had been waiting for him as she had done on the two preceding nights.

Ike did not see fit to make a full explanation. He merely said he was full of business and on to a big thing.

After reporting as stated he stole forth. He desired to see a newspaper. He knew that something had occurred and he desired to get on to it if he could.

He found a saloon open and secured a paper, and the first item that met his eyes was the startling announcement:

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. A PROMINENT BANKER MISSING.

“Aha! just as I thought,” muttered the lad, and he carefully read the article through. There were interviews and speculations as usual, and also several very dark and peculiar suggestions, and they all emanated from Mr. Fellman, the partner of the missing man. There were suggestions of suicide, escape to Canada, and indeed several very startling theories; and the lad muttered:

“It is just as I thought. I had this thing down pretty well. The chances are Burlein is dead—murdered in cold blood—his body in the river; and all might have been prevented had he only heeded my warning. But we shall see. To-morrow the papers will have more to announce, and I—well I won’t say anything at present, but I’ll act.”

On the day following the incidents recorded Ike was out bright and early. He secured a morning paper and the whole thing was out. Burlein was a thief. An examination of the firm’s books had revealed the fact that he had speculated on private account with the firm’s money. He had sought to hide his losses by falsification of the books and had committed downright forgery.

Great sympathy was expressed for his victim, Fellman, and offers of aid and indulgence on the part of creditors were made on every side.

Ike read the account with great eagerness, and when he had digested the account he began to revolve matters in his mind, and he said:

“The first thing I will do is see the young lady.”

It had been stated in the paper that Burlein had been engaged to marry a young heiress, and one of the most beautiful ladies in New York. It was also hinted that her father was a heavy loser and a victim of the young man’s forgeries.

Ike had fifty dollars. He went to work and provided himself with the necessary articles for a perfect disguise. He got himself up as a respectable old lady. His genius in the way of disguise was simply immense. He went around to the house where he knew the young lady resided. He had little difficulty in learning her father’s name. It was common enough—simply Alexander Smith.

Ike went up the stoop of the house, rang the bell and stated that he desired to see Miss Smith.

The maid who attended on the door retired, but in a few moments returned and stated that Miss Smith was ill and could not see any one that day.

Our hero had prepared himself, and he handed the girl a note, telling her to deliver it. The note read as follows:

“It’s all false. I am a friend of Burlein. I can explain much to you. I must see you.

“A FRIEND OF ALFRED BURLEIN.”

A few moments later and the maid returned, stating that Miss Smith would see the lady.

Our hero was shown into the rear library and after some time a very handsome and stately looking young lady, who had evidently been weeping and who was in great distress, appeared. She said:

“I received your note.”

“And I am glad you granted me an interview.”

Ike’s disguise, as stated, was perfect, and besides he acted his role to perfection.

“What have you to say?” came the question.

“I have this to say: Burlein is innocent of all the charges made against him.”

“Who are you?”

“It does not matter. What I tell you is the truth.”

“You say he is innocent?”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove his innocence?”

“I can.”

“Why not do so at once, and stop these terrible stories that are going around about him?”

“We must go slow, miss.”

“What do you mean?”

“A mere declaration of his innocence is not enough. We must be prepared to prove his innocence and establish the guilt of his enemy.”

“His enemy did you say?”

“I did.”

“He has an enemy?”

“He has.”

“Who is his enemy?”

“The man who has started these charges.”

“His partner makes the charges.”

“His partner is a villain.”

The young lady started and gazed aghast and declared:

“Is it possible?”

“It is true.”

“I fear you are mistaken. I do not know what object his partner would have in defaming him.”

“Do you wish his innocence established?”

“I do.”

“If he is alive we can fully establish his innocence.”

“If he is alive?”

“Yes.”

“If he is innocent he must be alive. He would not make away with himself if he is innocent.”

“No, but he has an enemy.”

“What do you mean?”

“He may have been foully dealt with.”

“You are using strange language, madam.”

“I am, but I know exactly what I say and what I mean.”

“Why did you come here? You had a purpose in coming here.”

“I did.”

“What is your purpose?”

“Merely to tell you under all circumstances to hold fast your faith in Alfred Burlein.”

“I wish you would tell me who you are, and your special interest in the young man?”

“Some day you will know who I am. He was my friend, I am his friend, and I tell you he is innocent. I tell you further his partner is a villain.”

“What object could he have in defaming the missing man?”

“Can you not discern?”

“I cannot.”

“I will tell you.”

“Do so.”

“He is the thief, the forger, and he desires to cover his own guilt.”

The young lady looked amazed and our hero added:

“I wonder that you could for one moment believe these terrible stories.”

“I did not believe them, but——”

“Go on, miss.”

“The proofs——”

“What proofs?”

“The proofs of his guilt.”

“Who has seen them?”

“My father.”

“They were shown to your father by Fellman?”

“Yes.”

“They are false.”

“My father says they are absolute.”

“Your father has been misled.”

“I hope what you say is true.”

“I am telling you the truth. I will establish the innocence of Alfred Burlein.”

“What can I do to aid you?”

“Nothing.”

“You do not need my aid?”

“I do not.”

“You can call upon me.”

“No, I do not need your aid. All I ask is that you save yourself much distress and maintain your faith in the missing man.”

“You suggest it is possible he has been foully dealt with.”

“Yes.”

“Have you grounds for your belief?”

“I have one proof.”

“Will you talk with my father? Oh, please do.”

“Not now; but you can ask your father to withhold his judgment for the present. Tell him you still have faith in the young man, and I promise you that if he is alive your faith will be verified.”

Ike would not reveal any further to the young lady. He merely reiterated his statement that he had called to restore her peace of mind. He left the house and determined to work Fellman for awhile, and proceeded down town. He imagined his man would go to his meal in company with another. Ike got himself up in a new disguise and went down and hung around the man’s office, and, as he had anticipated, in due time Fellman appeared in company with another man, and proceeded to a fashionable down-town lunch-room.

Ike had a special purpose in following the man. He desired to learn if young Burlein was dead, and he proposed to adopt a very novel plan for obtaining his information.

Fellman entered the dining-room and immediately a number of men came forward to speak to him. Great sympathy was expressed and Fellman acted the rôle of the injured party to perfection.

The banker took a seat at a table. Our hero had followed in and secured a seat several tables distant. He had worked up in the rôle of an old gentleman. He did it well, and he was a perfect imitation or counterfeit. Possibly no living person could have excelled or even equaled him in his skill in this direction.

A little time passed and quite a number of men gathered around Fellman’s table, and a great many questions were asked and finally there came the question:

“Do you really believe your late partner is dead?”

No one appeared to notice who had asked the question but Fellman quickly replied:

“Yes, he is dead. I have no doubt of his death.”

There came a smile to Ike’s face—a smile of delight. He was a cute reasoner, and he made up his mind at once that young Burlein was not dead. Had the young man been dead Fellman he knew would have answered: “No, he is not dead. He is only pretending to have committed suicide.” And when he answered that he had no doubt of Burlein’s death, our hero concluded that the original scheme had been carried out, and at once there came the question:

“Do you own a house out on Long Island?”

Fellman’s face assumed a ghastly hue. He looked around and finally demanded:

“Who asked that question?”

No one fathered the question, and Fellman appeared greatly perplexed. An instant later, however, the question was repeated:

“Do you own a house on Long Island?”

All the party looked round to see who had asked the question, and Fellman, in a tone seemingly of anger, but really of alarm, again demanded:

“Who asked that question?”

There was a dead silence.

“I’d like to know,” demanded Fellman, “who asked that question.”

A voice said, “No matter who asked the question. Answer it.”

Fellman leaped to his feet and pleaded:

“Gentlemen, will you tell me who asked that question?”

No one appeared willing or able to tell him. But the voice once more put in:

“Have you a house down on Long Island?”

Fellman looked over to some of the other tables. No one appeared to have put the question, but the voice again said:

“Oh, you villain, you know very well the young man is not dead. Yes, you do.”

Fellman appeared like one confronted by an apparition. The perspiration stood out on his face, and he said:

“The scoundrel who says that is a liar.”

The gentlemen who had gathered around one by one dropped away. They appeared to think that a row was imminent, especially when the voice repeated.

“It’s a nice job you’ve put up.”

It is hard to describe the effect of the strange voice on Fellman. He did not suspect any supernatural agency, nor did he suspect ventriloquism. He merely suspected that some person in the crowd was shouting off the questions, and he believed that whoever it was the party was representing the real sentiments of some people who had thus expressed themselves concerning the mystery. He was a cunning man. He did not propose to remain around and be “guyed” and he left the lunch-room without even stopping to say good-day to his friend.

Meantime our hero had gathered up all he needed to know. He was assured that Burlein still lived and was beyond question an inmate of that mysterious country house.

Ike considered a long time, and finally decided upon his course of action. He knew he could trace the affair down and might possibly succeed in freeing young Burlein from confinement, but he knew the full advantage of evidence. He calculated that Fellman had laid his plans well and was well fortified for the carrying out of his scheme. Ike had often heard of a well-known detective and he had evidence that the officer was a square man. The boy knew that a fair reward would be paid. Indeed Fellman had offered a reward of five thousand dollars for his partner alive, or conclusive evidence of his death.

Ike proceeded down to headquarters. He visited the detective quarters and asked for the man of whom he had heard. He was answered in an indifferent manner that the officer was out of town.

“When will he be in town?”

“I don’t know.”

The party who made the answers was a clerk. Another man came from a private office and asked:

“Did you inquire for Murray?”

“I did.”

“You wish to see him personally?”

“I do.”

“He will be here in about an hour.”

“Can I wait here?”

“Yes.”

Ike sat down and not more than fifteen minutes passed when a very plain-looking man, but who possessed a clear gray eye and who was very quiet in his manner, entered the office. The clerk spoke to the newcomer and pointed to Ike. The lad was a little on his ear. He had not fancied the indifferent manner in which the clerk had announced him.

“Do you wish to see me?” demanded the plain-looking man, stepping over to where our hero was seated.

“Are you Detective Murray?”

“My name is Murray.”

“Well, mebbe you are the man I want to see. I don’t know, it depends how smart you are.”

“I am not very smart,” said the officer with a smile. “All I know I’ve learned by hard work.”

“Then you are pretty smart,” said Ike, “since you admit that there are some people who know something and that you don’t know it all, like that young man there.”

“What is your business?” demanded the detective in a rather sharp tone.

“Come with me and I will tell you all about it,” said Ike.

The detective meditated a moment. He was a busy man usually, and he had no time to listen to long romances.

“If you have anything to say speak out, lad. I am very busy.”

“Come with me and I will let you on to the job of your life.”

Murray looked the youth over, and being necessarily a keen reader of faces he concluded our hero was a very bright youngster, as he put it.

Ike had spoken in a low tone, and after an interval the detective said:

“Come into the office with me.”

“No, not there.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t waste time, sir; time is money.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go with me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere away from sharp ears.”

“Come along.”

The detective went with our hero down to the street and said:

“Now talk up.”

“No.”

“What now?”

“We must sit down. I’ve got a long story to tell you.”

“See here, lad, if you fool me I’ll cuff you.”

“All right; I’ll chance the cuffing.”

The detective led the way to a hotel reading-room, both sat down and the officer asked:

“Does this suit you?”

“Yes.”

“Then go ahead.”

“You know about the disappearance of young Alfred Burlein?”

“Yes.”

The officer was all attention at once.

“What do you think of it, sir?”

“Did you lead me around here to ask me that question?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve a mind to cuff you.”

“No, you will not cuff me.”

“You deserve a cuffing.”

“If you will answer my question you will change your mind.”

“I will?”

“Yes.”

“What have you to say?”

“Answer my question.”

“Make your question definite.”

“Do you believe he is dead?”

“I do.”

“Well, he is not dead.”

“Oh, he only skipped, eh?”

The officer was getting down to business.

“No, he didn’t skip.”

“He didn’t?”

“No.”

“Then where is he?”

“He was kidnaped.”

The officer laughed.

“Don’t laugh too soon. I am not saying things for fun.”

“Do you know what you are talking about?”

“I do.”

“And you say he was abducted?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“His partner.”

“Are you giving me a theory?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I know what I am talking about.”

“Then talk plain.”

Ike started in and told his story. The detective listened attentively and when the narrative was concluded he said:

“You are a romancer.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“I can prove my words.”

“Do so.”

“I know what you doubt.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Well?”

At that moment the detective made a slash at a fly, but there was no fly there, and Ike asked:

“What are you doing? Are you trying to cuff me?”

“No, I am brushing away that fly.”

“Have you got ’em?” demanded Ike, assuming a very serious tone.

“Got what?”

“You know.”

The fly buzzed again and the detective, who was thinking intensely and deeply absorbed, unconsciously made a second dash at the fly.

“You have got ’em,” said Ike.

“Got what?”

“Oh, you know. You think there are flies in the room. Yes, you’ve got ’em. If you will find a fly in this room I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”

The detective stared and the next instant a little dog barked at the officer’s feet, but there was no dog there. Then a rattlesnake rattled right under his hand. The officer knew well the sound of a rattler, but he was on to that last, and he said:

“Boy, you are a wonder.”

“You believe me now?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good enough; every word I have told you is the truth; and now I’ve got a plan.”

“Name it.”

“I gave Fellman a scare.”

“Well?”

“He will go to his house down on Long Island. He will want to make sure that his man is there.”

“You are a wonderfully keen lad.”

“I’ve got this business down fine, and now are you prepared to leave town?”

“Yes.”

“We will go down town and lay for Fellman. He will leave on the afternoon train for Long Island, I’ll bet a big apple.”

“I will meet you in half an hour,” said Murray.

“All right, sir.”

CHAPTER IV.

Half an hour later Ike was standing on the corner agreed upon when he saw a country gawk approach. The latter stepped up to our hero and asked for a certain street. Ike was thrown off for an instant, but ere he answered he fell to the truth and said:

“Bully, old man; you’re good. It’s a great scheme.”

Murray had assumed the guise of a country gawk and he was amazed at the lad’s wonderful quickness in going under his disguise. He arranged a few signals with Ike, and then the two separated. Ike went down to the vicinity of Fellman’s office. He had changed his own disguise before visiting the detective. He hung around for over an hour and then saw Fellman come forth. The banker carried a small traveling satchel and Ike muttered:

“Just as I expected; he is on his way for his house down on Long Island, and we will have young Burlein back in New York inside twenty-four hours.”

Our hero fell to the trail of Fellman. The man went to Roosevelt street ferry and took the Hunter’s Point boat for Long Island City. As Ike followed on the boat, the country gawk ran against him and Ike passed the signal, and a little later all hands were on the train for Smithtown.

Probably few people outside of Long Islanders are aware that on Long Island there are spots as wild as in any other part of the country, as far as isolation is concerned. Indeed wild deer still roam in some of these recesses despite the fact that some parts of the island are so densely inhabited.

At Smithtown Fellman alighted and there was a buckboard waiting for him. The man had found means of communication or had expected to go down ere he got the strange intimation in the restaurant.

It was evening when the train arrived and Murray said to Ike:

“Boy, I know Long Island pretty well.”

“That’s lucky.”

“Are you tough?”

“Well, I am not tender.”

“Then we can follow that buckboard afoot.”

“Good enough.”

The man Fellman was driven off at a pretty lively gait, but Ike and the detective kept along pretty well until they got beyond the hard roads of the village, when the detective said:

“Now we can take it easy. We can follow more leisurely—no trouble to follow the trail.”

There had been a shower and a wagon track through the deep sand could be easily identified, and besides a horse could not be driven at such a rattling gait as when on the hard road.

The detective and Ike were soon in the woods and dense brush, and it was a pretty hard walk through the sand, and occasionally the detective would ask:

“Are you tired, lad?”

“No,” Ike would answer.

Thus they plodded along for about three hours, having little difficulty in holding the track. Occasionally the detective would draw his flashlight and examine the track, and then they would push on.

It was just before midnight when they came to a place where a house stood alone on a side lane, and the chances were there was not another house within a mile in either direction. The detective remarked:

“That man could have ridden in the cars to a nearer station.”

“It is possible he had a motive,” said Ike.

“Yes, I reckon he did, and now we can sit down and rest, for there is the house down on Long Island that you alluded to when working your ventriloquism.”

The two sat down on a fallen tree and the detective said:

“If your calculations prove correct, young fellow, your fortune is made.”

“My calculations will all prove correct.”

“I believe they will. You certainly did calculate well as to the movements of Fellman, and you have done so well I’d like to know your idea of his scheme.”

“I have an idea.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Burlein is an open-hearted, trustful young man, to begin with.”

“From what you say I think you are right.”

“Now, then, my idea is this: Possibly Fellman has speculated with Burlein’s money or with the money of the special partner, and he has gotten up this scheme to cover his own guilt and put all the opprobrium on young Burlein. That is one idea.”

“That is one idea?”

“Yes.”

“You have another?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s hear all your ideas, my lad.”

“It is possible that Fellman loves the same girl, and wants to blast Burlein’s character, and win her and her fortune. That is my idea number two.”

“Now what is your third idea?”

Ike meditated a moment and then said:

“A bowler’s third ball is generally the surest.”

“Well?”

“I rather think my third idea is the one that will prove correct. I’ve studied Fellman pretty well. He is not a man to squander money. I believe he has put up a game to rob Burlein and the special partner, and if it hadn’t been for a lucky accident he would have succeeded.”

“Ike, I think your third ball is the sure one.”

“You believe it is a scheme of robbery?”

“Yes.”

“How could he work it?”

“Oh, he could hold poor Burlein a prisoner for years, and in time kill him.”

“Then we are just in time to bust the game.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“He may attempt to remove Burlein.”

“All right, we will be on to all his movements. And now you are pretty well rested?”

“I am.”

“You are a bold lad.”

“Well, I am always ready to take chances in a good cause.”

“Do you think you could get into that house?”

“Easy.”

“Are you willing to try it?”

“Sure.”

“I’d go myself, but I believe you can work that end of it better than I can.”

The two moved down toward the old house. Under the shed was the buckboard, so they were assured that Fellman, no matter what his game, had at least put up there for the night. They were standing quite close to the fence surrounding the house when Murray said:

“See there!”

A dark object was seen stealing toward them.

“It’s a Siberian,” said Ike.

“Hang the beast,” muttered Murray; “we will have to betray ourselves in knocking him over.”

“Don’t you believe it; just leave him to me.”

“Will you tackle that beast?”

“Will I? You just watch me, and don’t you have any fear. I’ve got a good way for serving out doggies, big and little.”

“But I cannot let you face that fellow.”

The dog had approached very leisurely, and he was an immense fellow as he loomed up in the darkness.

“I’ll fix him,” whispered Ike quickly. “You stand back.”

The dog came quite near and then suddenly, with a growl and a snappish bark, leaped forward, and the next instant Ike had him by the neck and turned him over on his back. The great beast lay silent and helpless.

“Got a cord?” asked Ike.

The detective was amazed, but produced a strong cord and Ike deliberately tied the great hound as a butcher ties a calf for market. He had also bitted him so he could not make any noise, and then rising and facing the detective inquired:

“Well, how’s that?”

“Are you a human being?” demanded the officer.

“I am pretty human,” answered Ike.

“How did you do that?”

“Oh, that’s my way of serving out ugly doggies.”

“Tell me how you did it.”

“I’ll tell you, but I won’t show you. My master was the greatest electrician that ever attempted to chain down lightning. He made a machine for me—the only one in the world. I can close my hands on anything living and give them a shock that paralyzes them. I just paralyzed the dog; that’s all.”

“Could you paralyze a man?”

“I reckon so.”

Ike suddenly seized the detective by the two wrists and the officer writhed and squirmed, and would have fallen helpless on the sand had Ike not let up on him.

“Ike,” he exclaimed when released, “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for that contrivance.”

“Thank you, captain, but it is not for sale. I’ve got out of too many bad scrapes with that little machine, and I feared I had lost it when I was taken aboard the schooner; but they didn’t search me, and I am all right.”

“Can I get one like it?”

“Not unless I break my promise. So your chances are very slim, captain.”

“I reckon with that machine it’s safe to let you go in the house.”

“I reckon it is.”

“What will I do while you’re gone if another dog starts up?”

“Shoot, captain, shoot; that is all you can do. And now for a go inside that house.”

Murray at Ike’s suggestion went around to the rear and took up a position on the roof of a shed where he could lie low and watch the house, and then our hero made his attempt to enter. He encountered little difficulty. He managed to get on the roof of one of the outbuildings. He had seen a light in one of the rooms and knew that some one was moving in the old house. He got in through an attic window and moved cautiously toward the stairs leading to the floors below. He got down one flight and arrived opposite the room in which he had seen a light, and in which, as he stole forward, he heard voices. He peeped into the room and made a very startling discovery. There were two men in the room. One was Fellman and the other the banker’s exact counterpart. In fact, on the instant Ike decided that number two was a twin brother.

The two men were sitting opposite each other and were talking in a calm and easy manner. He heard Fellman say:

“So your people have no suspicion?”

“None whatever.”

“They may find out you have a prisoner.”

“I think not.”

“But suppose they should?”

“I will say it is an insane relative I am taking care of.”

“That might do, but the story will get out.”

“Well, suppose it does. We can move him; but it will be a long time before any one will find out I have a prisoner here.”

“Where have you got him concealed?”

“Suppose I don’t tell you?”

“As you please.”

“It is better that even you should not know. You may talk in your sleep.”

“One question: suppose detectives should come out here?”

“Let ’em come.”

“Are you certain they cannot pipe your prison?”

“I am dead certain. They could more easily find his body were he in a secret grave.”

“Herman, I have reason to believe that I am suspected.”

“I thought when I saw you last that you said it was impossible for you to be suspected, and that if I kept my prisoner close it was not possible that you ever could be suspected.”

“Well, that is what I thought, but since something strange has occurred.”

“What?”

Fellman told Herman what had occurred, and the latter laughed and said:

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“You have no fear. There are two ways to account for what occurred. In the first place you are nervous. It may be a freak of your own imagination.”

“Impossible! I am not a fool.”

“Then some man who thinks he is smart suspects, but he has no evidence. No, you have nothing to fear, and were they on your track they can never prove anything.”

“Suppose they should trail down to this place? Remember, the question came: ‘Have you a place down on Long Island?’”

“All right; let them come down here. It will do them no good; indeed, it will relieve you of all further suspicion. I’d advise you to invite them down here. I defy the devil himself to find my prisoner.”

“How is he?”

“He takes it hard; between you and me, he will not stand it long.”

“What do you mean?”

“He will not stand it.”

“He will die?”

“He will.”

“And I will be a murderer.”

“Nonsense! You only made him a prisoner. He was putting up a job on you and you defended yourself, that is all. How about the money?”

“That end of it is all right.”

“How much do you receive?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“I think I’ve a right to know. It’s an even divide, you know.”

Fellman fixed a queer look on his double, and his co-conspirator.

“Do you mean treachery?” he asked.

“No; nor do I mean to be the fool of any man.”

“I see now.”

“What do you see?”

“I know why you will not let me know where your prisoner is concealed.”

“You make a mistake. I withhold the place of his concealment as a matter of precaution only.”

Ike overheard every word that was spoken. Indeed he thought he had overheard enough. He did not think it was worth while to take any more chances at that time, and he made his way out of the house and returned to where the detective lay on the shed-roof. The two walked off in the woods and Ike said:

“I had this thing all down correct. My third ball was the true one.”

Ike related all that he had overheard—related it all word for word, and when he had concluded the detective said:

“Well, lad, you have done a marvelous bit of detective work. I can hardly realize that it is not all a romance, and I am an old hand at the business.”

“What shall we do?”

“We will go very slow.”

“But do not forget what Herman said about the young man’s dying.”

“Yes.”

“I am thinking of that.”

“Can we unearth his place of concealment?”

“Can we? Well, if we don’t we are a pair of ninnies, that’s all. I am thinking how we had better proceed.”

“I can tell you.”

“Go it.”

“Let’s find the young man and release him at once.”

“No, no; that will not do. I have a big rôle for you to play.”

“I’ll play it well if I can, and next time I’ll play my third ball first.”

“That will be a good scheme.”

“I shall return to New York in the morning, Ike.”

“All right, sir.”

“I will leave you here to watch Herman.”

“All right, sir.”

“You may get on to the young man’s prison place.”

“I may.”

“In the meantime I will arrange for a great close in on Fellman. But there is one party I must see. We want points.”

“I’ll attend to my end of it here. I’ll watch Mr. Herman.”

The detective could not return until morning, and they did not wish to remain in the vicinity of the house, so they went off into the woods and found a shooting station on the grounds of one of the great gun clubs, when Murray exclaimed:

“By ginger, lad, I am acquainted with half the members of that gun club, if we can only find their clubhouse. Let’s try; we can get a good bed and a breakfast in the morning.”

It was just a little after midnight when our hero and the detective started to find the gun clubhouse, and they were proceeding along talking in low tones and were in a dense growth of brush and wood on the verge of a lake, when suddenly both were brought to a stand, and paralyzed for a moment by hearing a succession of unearthly yells.

“Great Scott!” cried the detective, “some one is getting murdered.” And he ran forward in the direction whence the piercing screams had come. A little way on he came to an opening where he halted and Ike joined him.

“Look there, lad.”

Ike did look, and just before them across an open space of about a hundred yards was an old farmhouse, as it appeared under the moonlight, for the clouds had rolled away and the moon had come forth. On the porch of the house sat four men, and as Ike and the detective appeared there arose a wild chorus of laughter.

“It’s the clubhouse,” said Detective Murray.

“And one of the men gave the yells,” said Ike.

“Yes, the rascals have been drinking wine, and have been shouting in their wild inebriety.”

Ike stood a moment considering, and finally said in a pensive tone:

“I could give all those fellows the horrors.”

“You could?”

“I could.”

“How?”

“Well, I know how.”

“It might do ’em good.”

“You know them?”

“Yes, I recognize the voice of one of them.”

“Would you like me to do him some good?”

“I hardly know what to say.”

“You can have some great fun to-night, captain, if you want it.”

“I can?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your plan?”

“You go over there and join your friend. I won’t go, but I’ll provide a great treat for you.”

Murray as a rule was a very serious sort of man, but he had been a witness to a little of Ike’s marvelous powers, and he did think it might be very amusing. But he said:

“It may be risky, Ike.”

“How?”

“Those fellows always have their guns at hand. If anything unusual should show up, they might take a notion to shoot.”

“They will never shoot me. They will all think they are ‘called for.’ What’s your friend’s name?”

“His name is Atwood.”

“Is he a married man?”

“Yes.”

“What is his first name?”

“Tom.”

“You are sure of your man?”

“Oh, yes.”

“All right; go over and join them and prepare yourself for the treat of your life. And your friend will get the greatest scare of his life.”

“Don’t press it too hard, Ike.”

“No, but I’ll learn him a trick, you bet.”

Murray started across the opening and had proceeded about fifty yards when the men on the porch espied him and one of them cried:

“Hello, there’s a game thief, as sure as you are born.”

Up jumped the man and a moment later he reappeared with his gun; but the steward ran out and caught the gun away from him, and the detective, who had kept right on, got near enough to call out:

“Hello, there!”

The men were up to mischief, and one of them exclaimed:

“Say, Atwood, there is your wife on the other end of the telephone.”

The detective advanced and the four men approached him, peering at him under the moonlight, and as he drew nearer he called out:

“Hello, Atwood, old man! How are you?”

Atwood stared a moment and then asked:

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you recognize me?”

“No, but come and have a glass of wine all the same. I know you are a friend of mine.”

“Sure.”

The detective stepped on the piazza and Atwood grasped him and dragged him into the house under the gaslight, and then exclaimed, as he cordially shook the detective’s hand:

“Why, Murray, you rascal! where on earth did you come from? Here, have a glass of wine.”

The party were all pretty well under the influence of wine, but none of them were too far over, only full of wine and fun. Murray was not a drinking man as a rule, but after his long walk he thought he would take one glass, and he did so, and ate several sandwiches, as there were quite a number on a plate.

“Well, old man, where did you come from?”

“Oh, I had business a little way over, and started to walk to the depot, but lost my way.”

“Well, you will stay here to-night.”

“You bet I will.”

“We’ve got a good bed for you, old man.”

Atwood had introduced the detective all round, and the men adjourned to the porch again and were all sitting there enjoying their cigars when suddenly a scream was heard—a scream resembling a female in great distress.

The men all started and after a moment inquired:

“What’s that? Did you hear it?”

They all heard it except Murray, who coolly asked:

“What is the matter, gentlemen?”

“What is the matter?” repeated Atwood; “why, didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“A woman’s scream.”

The detective laughed and said:

“Tom, I guess you’ve got ’em.”

“Got what?”

“Got ’em bad, old man.”

“Didn’t you hear it?”

“I reckon you were the only man who heard anything, Tom.”

The others of the party began to laugh. They wanted to make out they didn’t hear, and at any rate they were prepared to make it merry for Atwood. All hands protested they had not heard anything, and finally Atwood said:

“You are all deaf and dumb with wine. Hang it, it was a wild cat I heard as plain as though I had stepped on its tail.”

“I guess you did, Atty, old boy,” said Murray.

The men resumed their seats and were talking over the scream Tom Atwood had heard, when suddenly there came a voice, as though some one stood in the doorway of the cottage, and the voice appeared like a groan. All the men heard the groans and they appeared a little bit dazed, and one of them said:

“By ginger, gentlemen, it looks to me as though the ghosts had come back.”

“Is the house haunted?” asked Murray.

“Is it? Well, I’ll tell you. This house was built in old colonial times. Several people were murdered in this house by the Indians and it is said that during the revolutionary war a crew from a pirate schooner made a raid here and killed a beautiful young lady. You can see now where a tomahawk stuck, and also the hole where a bullet lodged. In fact, before we made our alterations here there were bullet marks to be seen all over the house.”

“Has it ever been reported to be haunted?”

“Yes; and no one would live here, and we bought the place cheap.”

“It would appear that the stories about its being haunted are confirmed.”

Even while the men were talking the groans were heard again, and one of the party said:

“Hang it, I don’t want to sleep in that house to-night. I’ll sling a hammock out here under the trees.”

Atwood spoke up and said:

“I’ll sleep in the house, you bet. I ain’t going to take the chances of pneumonia because I fear a few walking apparitions.”

Tom Atwood appeared to be very brave and Murray said:

“It is a ghost, Tom.”

“I don’t care, I like ghosts.”

“And you are going to sleep in the house?”

“Yes, I am.”

One of the party suggested:

“Suppose we all sleep out here and let Tom sleep in the house all alone by himself.”

“All right,” came the unanimous response.

Murray said:

“Oh, Tom is only pretending. He daren’t sleep in the house alone.”

“I’ll bet you fifty I dare.”

Murray was startled at this instant when a voice sounded close to his ear saying, “Take the bet.”

“What will you do?” asked the detective.

“I’ll bet fifty I dare sleep in the house all alone.”

We will here state that the steward of the club and his little family occupied a little rear house. The main building was reserved exclusively for the club members.

“You’ll bet fifty you sleep in the house alone?”

“Yes, I will.”

“I’ll take you, Atwood,” said the detective.

“And I’ll take you for fifty,” called another of the party, and still another offered to take the bet.

Atwood accepted every bet, and in the meantime no more sounds had been heard. But the moment the bets were all arranged again there came a renewal of the groans.

“That’s a ghost, sure,” said one.

“Yes, but as it is the ghost of a pretty woman Tom is glad to sleep alone in the house. He always had an eye for beauty and he thinks he’ll catch a glimpse of the ghost.”

“No, but I’ll catch a hundred and fifty dollars of you fellows’ money,” said Tom.

“You’re dead sure of that, eh?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ll press the bet,” said the detective, “and make it a hundred you don’t sleep in the house from two a.m. until daylight.”

“I’ll take it.”

The men sat there discussing the remarkable sounds. Tom Atwood, as it was afterward learned, had been informed that when the wind came from a certain direction pretty strange sounds were often heard. He did not tell the latter fact to his companions, but let them talk and wonder what it all meant, and congratulated himself upon his easy winning of two hundred dollars, and he said:

“I did not know you fellows were so superstitious.”

“Oh, you are awful brave.”

“I am willing to take a few more bets.”

“I’ll bet you a basket,” said Murray.

“I’ll take it, old man. You appear to think I am afraid of ghosts.”

“You haven’t slept in the house yet, whether you are afraid of ghosts or not.”

“I will.”

“Oh, yes, you will lay around out here until near daylight.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go to bed.”

“All right, I’ll go.” But at that instant there came a scream. It appeared to come from some one standing right in the doorway of the cottage. The door was in the center of the house, and the men were seated on either side of it.

“Go in and go to bed,” said Murray.

Tom, however, was a little shaky. There was something fearfully human in the sound of that voice, although very uncanny.

“Go in, Tom,” urged Murray, and the man made a step toward the door, when a voice demanded:

“Tom! Tom Atwood! is that you, and is this the way you come down to the club for rest?”

Tom Atwood’s hair almost stood on end. He recoiled and glared, and Murray called out:

“Hello! That’s the voice of a ghost from New York. You lose the bets, Tom. You’re working a fraud on us. You didn’t mean to sleep alone in that house, you rascal.”

The other men called out:

“Well, this is a nice scheme, old man. You didn’t tell us Mrs. Atwood was coming down.”

Tom made no answer, but just stood, not like one gazing upon an apparition, but like a man confronted by a more frightful reality, and we will explain.

Tom Atwood was at home a professed temperance man, and when he went down to the club he generally made up for his total abstinence during his sojourn at home. His wife, as was well known, was a hater of strong drink, and Tom pretended to strictly conform to her prejudices, and he stood there paralyzed, believing his wife had suspected him and had paid a secret visit to the club to find him out. Indeed, instead of playing a fraud on his fellow members he suspected they were putting up a little job on him, and that they were all aware of the presence of his wife in the house, and after he thought he knew why they had all been so liberal in “setting ’em up” until he got full as a tick.

“Go in, Tom,” said Murray.

When the detective spoke to him the man decided that he could solve the mystery. He could not only account for the presence of his wife, but the presence of the detective down at the club was accounted for, and with an oath he said:

“Murray, I’ll get square with you.”

“Come in here, Tom,” called a voice.

“Follow the ghost,” cried all the men, who lost all their terror and began to think the whole thing was a huge joke.

“Come in, Tom,” said the voice.

Tom looked around helplessly at his companions and then entered the house, saying:

“All right, Mary, I’m coming.”

He did go in the house, and the men followed to peep at him and hear him get a good tongue lashing; but in a few moments Atwood came back to the stoop looking like a ghost himself. The sweat was pouring down his face as he said in a distressed tone:

“Gentlemen, this is no joke. On my honor, no one is in that house. What does it all mean?”

“Oh, your wife is playing hide and seek on you,” said one.

“She is dodging you, old man; she’s here.”

Atwood walked over to Murray and said:

“Murray, you are my friend.”

“I am.”

“You will tell me the truth?”

“I will.”

“Did my wife come down here with you?”

“No.”

“Do you know that she is here?”

“I know nothing about it.”

“You will swear to that?”

“I will.”

Atwood’s face assumed the hue of death. A bright light shone out from the hall of the cottage. The man stood right before the opening and his features were fully revealed. He presented a pitiable sight, for he was a good fellow and very fond of his wife, and a weird suspicion had penetrated his mind.

Again he addressed Murray saying:

“You would not deceive me?”

“On my honor I wouldn’t, Tom.”

“And my wife did not come down here with you?”

“She did not.”

“And you do not know that she is really here?”

“I do not.”

“Boys, I am going to New York,” said Atwood. “Going if I walk every step of the way.”

At that moment there came a voice again. It sounded right from the doorway as before, and it called another of the men by name.

We will here state that Ike, the wonder, had learned the names of all the men, and he made up his mind to let up on Tom Atwood and work one or two of the others, and when the name of number two was called the man leaped to his feet. He was a violent fellow when aroused. His gun was standing near and he cried out:

“I’ll shoot that ghost, living or dead.”

The whole party made up their minds that a trick was being played. The man, Bill, ran into the house and looked all around, but came out without having found any one.

“Say, fellows,” he said, “this has gone far enough. Let’s sift it to the bottom.”

All hands agreed, and it was arranged that one man should stand at the front door, another at the rear, and that three others should go through the house from room to room, guns in hand, and solve the mystery.

The plan was put in execution. One man went to a closet, opened the door and fell back glaring in horror, for he was met by a scream right in his ears which came from the closet. In the meantime one of the other men had opened the wine-room door and he too encountered a soul-thrilling scream. He ran shouting away, and the third man also had an experience which caused him to rush out to the balcony.

The mystery had not been solved. It was deeper than ever, and the men were all greatly excited when Murray asked coolly:

“What is the matter with you fellows?”

“Don’t you hear the voice?” asked one.

“No, I hear no voice.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I hear no ghostly voice such as you fellows are all jabbering about.”

“It’s strange.”

“No, it isn’t strange. You’ve all got ’em. What kind of whiskey do you keep here anyhow? Here you are going on like a lot of madmen. Take my advice, go in and take a big glass of Appollinaris, and take a little nervine. I tell you, boys, you’ve all got ’em, and you’ve got ’em bad, too.”

The men did go in and drink Vichy, and the steward, who had been summoned, produced some valerian and they all took big doses and calmed down. The voice was not heard again, and it became the mystery of their lives. Indeed they all believed they “had ’em.” They were told it had been a temporary epidemic of snake seeing, and the evidence to each was so strong they were mystified, and inclined to believe it. It was not until weeks afterward that Murray undeceived them, and then he disclosed the truth to Tom Atwood, who was so deeply affected he became melancholy over it.

Murray determined to go to bed after the men had quieted down, and he let Ike in at the window of his room and put him to bed. At an early hour the lad was out and around, and at the breakfast he appeared as a lad who brought a message to the detective. The latter invited him to breakfast and then disclosed the fact that Ike was at work on a clew for him, and secured the privilege of bed and lodgment for the boy during such time as he remained there. He also bid Ike not to attempt any more pranks for the time being.

Later Murray went to New York. On the same train was the man Fellman, and Murray had a chance to study his man all the way down on the train.

Upon the arrival of the officer in New York he went direct to the office of the gentleman, Mr. Smith, who was a special partner in the banking business, and who was the father of the beautiful girl whom it is known young Burlein was affianced to.

The detective was shown into the merchant’s private office, and after seating himself said:

“I have come here, sir, on very important business.”

“Your name, sir.”

The detective passed over his card, and as it happened Mr. Smith had heard of the officer and consequently was prepared to listen to him.

“I wish to ask you a few questions, sir, and I trust you will answer me freely and truly, and when I am through questioning you I have some very startling intelligence to impart.”

“I will answer you, sir, as far as I can.”

“What amount have you, as a special partner, invested in the firm of Fellman & Co.”

“A quarter of a million.”

“What do you know about Fellman?”

“Very little. I invested in the concern because young Burlein had been in my employ from boyhood, previous to his going into Wall street.”

“Then you must have known him pretty well.”

“I did.”

“How much money did he have of his own?”

“About fifty thousand dollars.”

“How much money did Fellman have in the business?”

“He had very little save his great experience as a banker. He was to have put money in, but for some reason he could not dispose of his securities, and I think he had but little cash in the concern.”

“What is the present condition of the business?”

“Every dollar is lost.”

“How?”

“We have every reason to believe by outside speculations on the part of poor Alfred.”

“And is there any indebtedness?”

“No, I am the greatest loser.”

“And what do you suppose tempted young Burlein?”

“I do not know. I believed him the soul of honor, and he was a very cautious young man. It was the surprise of my life. He was to have married my daughter.”

“Have you made an investigation of the affairs?”

“No, I have pocketed my loss, as the saying goes.”

“And you have accepted the statement of Fellman?”

“Yes, sir, as Alfred has run away or destroyed himself, I am compelled to accept his statement.”

“Did it ever strike you, sir, that Fellman might be a villain?”

“I know but little about him.”

“And yet you did know young Burlein?”

“I thought I did.”

“You never saw anything in his conduct that would lead you to suspect that he could have acted as it appears he has done?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“I can.”

“Fellman is a villain. Young Burlein is an honest man, and his victim. Not one penny was ever lost or squandered by the junior partner.”

Mr. Smith started and gazed at the officer with a look of pleasant amazement upon his face. His look of pleasure deepened as the detective proceeded and unfolded his wonderful discoveries and told the story of Nimble Ike.

When the narrative was completed Mr. Smith had his points. He expressed his delight, and further said:

“When this matter is all concluded I will take care of this little fellow, Isaac.”

The detective’s interview with the great capitalist lasted several hours, and when it was concluded the detective started for the country.

On the same day that Murray visited the capitalist the latter, in company with his lawyer, called upon Fellman. They found the man walking up and down his office with an expression of great satisfaction upon his face; but there followed a look of consternation when the special partner announced the object of his visit, and the rogue Fellman received the first intimation that his cunning scheme of robbery was not going to prove such an easy and successful venture as he supposed.

While the events which we have described were transpiring in New York, Ike was working his end of it down at the house on Long Island. The boy discovered a cunning and ingenuity that were really marvelous. He had telegraphed a certain request to the detective and then continued his “piping” for facts.

That evening Detective Murray arrived. He met Ike near the clubhouse and the lad discovered that his friend had brought a magnificent hound with him.

“I got your telegram, Ike,” said the officer.

“I see.”

“I have brought one of the best hounds ever raised in this country—an animal trained to trailing human beings.”

“We will have use for him. This man, Herman Fellman, is a daring and cunning man, and I have made a most startling discovery. He intends to murder his prisoner in cold blood. I’ve been close on his track. He is a man who talks to himself, and I overheard him muttering, and from what he said I am sure he intends to do away with young Burlein, and I believe he intends to do it to-night.”

“We can get into the house and watch him.”

“No need. He has several children, besides his wife. They are all trained in villainy. We will never discover anything by watching him, simply because the man would evade us, do away with his victim and then defy us. We could get the proof against him and hang him, but hanging that fellow would not bring Burlein back to life.”

“Ike,” said Murray, “you are a born detective.”

“I may become one. I’ve been thinking the matter over pretty seriously.”

“You can go in with me, lad.”

“We will talk that matter over later. What we want to do now is to release Burlein.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes, I have a plan, and it is to go about it in the most direct manner.”

“What do you propose?”

“I propose to take possession of that house and then go to work at our leisure. I am certain Burlein is concealed somewhere within a hundred yards of that old ramshackle building. You and I can find out the secret with the aid of your dog there.”

“Suppose we fail?”

“We can’t fail, or in other words we won’t fail; but one thing is certain. We must find Burlein alive before midnight or it will be a search for a dead man, for I tell you that scoundrel has decided to murder him—yes, murder him to-night.”

“And you propose we take possession of the house?”

“I do; and we will make prisoners of every one in the building. Then we will set the dog to work and with his aid we will find that secret prison, or to-morrow it will be a grave.”

“At what hour shall we start in?”

“We will go down there at nine o’clock. We will go as tramps. We will ask shelter. We will be refused, then we can provoke him into a row, and quicker than lightning close in on every member of the family.”

Murray meditated for a long time and then said:

“I reckon your scheme is a good one.”

We will here explain that Murray had disclosed to Atwood the mystery of the strange noises. The effect upon the man had been so marked the officer thought it best to relieve his mind, and after dinner our hero amused the two or three men present from the city by giving them some very remarkable exhibitions of his skill as a magician and a ventriloquist, and all hands pronounced him the wonder of the age.

At a little after eight o’clock Murray and our hero started for the farmhouse and in due time arrived there. The man Herman was sitting on the piazza. He was a powerful fellow—a great ignorant lout, but undoubtedly, as the detective concluded, physically as strong as a horse, and a man just ignorant enough in a violent passion to kill a man. If there was a born murderer in appearance the fellow Herman was the man.

Murray and Ike approached the house. The hound had been left under a hedge and as the two apparent tramps drew near Herman warned them off; but the pretended “cheese eaters” would not obey, but walked straight up to the porch.

“What do you rascals want?” demanded Herman.

“We are tired and hungry; we want food and lodging.”

“You can’t get it here.”

“Will you turn us away?”

“Yes, I will.”

“All right, we will sit down on your stoop awhile and rest, and you will sell us a glass of milk.”

“I will sell you nothing, and you cannot sit down on my stoop. Be off with you.”

Murray sat down and Ike followed suit. The owner of the cottage rose to his feet, his face red with rage and his eyes blazing:

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, we heard you.”

“Go off.”

“We are comfortable here.”

The man, who as stated was a powerful fellow, made a spring at Murray, when quick as lightning the old timer dealt him a blow with a billy that brought him to his knees. He shouted murder, but the next instant the darbies were on him, and then he wilted and became quiet, and in less time than it takes to tell it the rest of the family were secured and dragged into the house.

Murray uttered a whistle and the hound came bounding forward. The well-trained animal had waited for his signal with the seeming intelligence of a human being.

The detective let the dog smell a hat which he had brought with him and gave the command:

“Go find.”

We could fill a book with accounts of extraordinary displays of sagacity by dogs, and the detective had an animal as intelligent as any beast ever started on a scent. The great brute scented around for a few moments and then scratched at a door leading down to the cellar, and once below he scented and scented, searching here and there, and for a long time appeared to be at fault; and the detective remarked to Ike, who stood by with a mask lantern in his hand:

“He’s lost the trail, Ike.”

“No, sir, he is only doubtful, that’s all. He is on the trail, just a little perplexed. He’ll get there; you give him time.”

“You talk as though you knew the dog.”

“No, but I’ve been watching him. I know their habits, and I tell you he’s just bothered a little, but you trust a hound like him to untangle. He’ll get there, you can bet.”

A little time and it appeared as though Ike had measured the dog just right, for the animal went round and round, his nose almost rubbing against the stone wall lining the cellar, and every time he came to a certain spot he would stop and scent more particularly and then go around again, and then Ike said:

“Mr. Murray, the dog has accomplished all that instinct can do. Human intelligence must go to his aid now.”

“I don’t understand you, Ike.”

“I’ll show you. Call off the dog.”

Murray called off the hound and Ike went to the spot where the animal had made his stop. He flashed his light on the wall and only the ordinary surface that can be seen in any stone wall was apparently presented, and Ike said:

“I am bothered as well as the dog.”

“I fear we’ll be compelled to torture that fellow upstairs into a confession.”

“He will never confess, you could kill him first. I know his breed.”

Ike took a stick of wood and knocked on the wall and listened carefully, and suddenly he bent his head down and listened more acutely. Finally he picked up a spade lying near by and commenced to pick at the mortar until at length he ejaculated:

“It’s all right, we’ve got it.”

He worked away and soon had a stone removed and a passage—a very small passage—was disclosed. There was not room for a man to pass through, but a child could.

“You stay here,” said Ike. “I’ll crawl.”

“Look out, lad; let me test the air. You do not know what you are doing.”

The detective drew a candle from his pocket, lit it and thrust it in the opening. Ike watched, and after a moment said:

“It’s all right,” and commenced to crawl in.

The detective drew his pistol and stood guard at the opening, and he was compelled to hold his hound by main force, for the animal sought to crawl in after Ike, and the latter fact established to a certainty that the prisoner was not far off.

Ike crawled along and finally came to an opening. He thrust his lamp forward, and a sight met his gaze that for an instant almost paralyzed him. There before him, stretched upon a clammy bottom in a mess of straw, lay the body of a man, and Ike decided that it was upon a dead body he was gazing and cold chills ran through his heart as he muttered:

“The scoundrels have murdered him and hidden his body here.”

Even as the lad spoke, however, the apparently dead man moved and Ike called out:

“Is that you, Alfred Burlein?”

A pale-faced man—so pale that he looked like a moving corpse—half rose and glanced toward the spot whence the voice came. Ike flashed the light in his face and recognized young Burlein, and called out:

“It’s all right. I am here.”

“Who?” demanded the poor prisoner in a feeble voice.

“The little fraud who tried to knock you out of another tenner.”

Even as our hero uttered the words he mentally added: “I said I’d get those words back on him.”

Ike got into the place and soon released young Burlein, who had been bound and strapped to a stake driven far down in the soil.

Burlein attempted to ask questions, but Ike said:

“No time to explain now. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

The lad made an examination of the surroundings and finally reached the conclusion that it was an old cistern, an old ice house, or possibly an old vault. Evidently it had been closed from without and Herman had made the entrance through which Ike had come.

“How did he get you in here?” asked Ike. “He never carried you through that entrance.”

“No, he let me down from the top and then closed the entrance over.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that is the way we will get you out.”

Our hero left his lantern with Burlein and crawled back and reported. Then he with Murray’s aid located the side of the wall, fixed the distance with the two outer corners, and then went out again. They located the point above where the opening terminated in the cellar, and then paced the distance, and soon dug down to the trap cover. Finding a ladder they descended and a little later Burlein was raised to the open air. His strength quickly returned and he was able to walk with the detective and our hero over to the clubhouse. On the way he explained that the little food he had received had been brought to him by a child who had crawled through the same opening by which Ike had crept.

Explanations followed all round and Burlein could not find words to express his gratitude to our little hero, who was reluctant to listen to the words of praise and thanks that were showered upon him.

The following morning the detective took the town constable with him and went over to the farmhouse and carefully examined with Ike the ingenious methods the man Herman had adopted to hide the two entrances to the old vault, and even Murray admitted that if it had not been for Ike’s persistent confidence he would have been baffled.

The man Herman was placed under guard, the constable and the gamekeeper from the club standing guard, and on the very first train Murray, our hero and Burlein started for New York.

Burlein went direct to his rooms, all hands agreeing to meet at Mr. Smith’s office at eleven o’clock. At the time named all hands were there. Murray had gone earlier and had explained the startling discoveries to the merchant. At eleven o’clock, as stated, the parties all met in the banker’s office and were stowed away in a little inner room, and a little later Fellman arrived with his counsel, all shysters well known around New York.

After a little preliminary talk Mr. Smith said:

“Mr. Fellman, I am not wholly satisfied with your statement.”

The shysters spoke for Fellman and in an independent tone said:

“That is for your own discomfort, sir. We are not responsible for the acts of the scoundrel who not only swindled you but my innocent and confiding client, Mr. Fellman.”

“No, I am not satisfied,” said Mr. Smith, “and I wish a gentleman in whom I have much confidence to exchange a few words with you.”

A moment later Murray entered the office and addressing the lawyer who was acting for Fellman said:

“How far, sir, are you implicated in this fraud?”

“How dare you?” fumed the lawyer.

Murray showed his badge.

“Oh, I see!” ejaculated the lawyer with a sneer. “You wish to scare us, eh? You mean to bulldoze us—blackmail us.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, sir, I repudiate the insinuations of fraud in behalf of my client.”

“You do?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

Murray gave a signal and Alfred Burlein entered the room. If a ghost had stalked in the effect could not have been more striking. Fellman and his lawyer both looked like ghosts.

Murray again addressed Fellman’s lawyer.

“You are his counsel?”

“Well, he called me in, but I did not understand.”

“Oh, I see, you are prepared to desert a sinking ship. That’s all right, you can clear decks first, though. And now here is a proposition: Fellman is to confess, make restitution and leave the country with his brother in forty-eight hours or take the consequences of several of the most daring crimes. What will he do?”

The lawyer looked at his client and the latter asked:

“Am I to be permitted to go?”

“Yes, simply because I believe it better to have scoundrels like you and yours out of the country—better than to have you in jail, for you might come forth and commit greater crimes.”

“We accept your offer,” said the lawyer, after a few moments’ conference with his trembling client.

The settlement was made, and within forty-eight hours Fellman, with his brother Herman and the latter’s family, sailed away from New York forever.

Ike was well rewarded and Mr. Smith offered to take him into his business and make a merchant of him, but our hero answered:

“No, sir; I thank you, but I am going to become a detective.”

Ike returned to Mrs. Pell. He had made money and he provided a nice little home, and his prospects were brilliant under an arrangement he made with Detective Murray, to whom he had demonstrated not only his remarkable skill as a ventriloquist but also his more than wonderful keenness in detective work.

Our story is complete. But in the near future we propose in a new story to relate the wonderful adventures of Nimble Ike as a detective, wherein, as Detective Murray’s aid, he performed detective feats in which he utilized his wonderful gift and his extraordinary intelligence.

THE END.

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None genuine unless the fac-simile of CURTIS & PERKINS, New York, is on the outside wrapper. Sold by Druggists throughout the world.

MOTHERS will find MRS. WINSLOW’S SOOTHING SYRUP the Best Remedy to use for their children during the Teething period.

“OLD SLEUTH’S OWN” SERIES.

Each book in the following list is written by that famous writer “Old Sleuth,” and is for sale by every newsdealer for 10 cents, or they will be sent by mail, postpaid, for 10 cents each, or six books for 50 cts. Address all orders to J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING CO., 67 Rose St., New York.

10—Yankee Rue, the Ex-Pugilist Detective.

11—Cool Tom, the Sailor Boy Detective.

12—Aggravating Joe, the Prince of Fun and Mischief.

13—A Clever Boy Detective. A Tale of Magic and Ventriloquism.

14—A League of Three; or, A Boy’s Detective Stratagems.

15—Woodchuck Jerry; or, The Terror of the Town.

16—A Straight-out Detective; or, New York under a Flashlight. A Tale of Wonderful Incidents.

17—Three Little Tramps; or Footing It to the West.

18—The Little Colonel; or, Fun in and Around Sea Serpent Lake.

19—Jack the Juggler; or the Wonderful Boy Hypnotist.

20—The Runaway; or, How He Got into West Point.

21—The Three Boy Detectives; or, The Story of Three Daring Country Lads.

22—Young Ginger; or Fun in and Around New York.

23—Snap and Jenny, the Song and Dance Artists.

24—Bicycle Jim; or, A Smart Boy Detective.

25—A Little Cowboy in New York; or, In Search of His Dad.

26—Archie the Tumbler; or, How He Became a Great Jockey.

27—Flyaway Ned; or, The Old Detective’s Pupil.

28—Preston Jayne; or, In Search of His Dad.

29—“Dudie” Dunne, the Exquisite Detective.

30—A Little Giant; or, The Feats and Frolics of an Athlete.

31—A Young Aladdin; or, The Old Miser’s Ward.

32—The Duke of Omaha; or, The Adventures of a Little Giant.

33—Kefton The Detective; or, The Wonder of the Age. A Genuine “Old-Time” Detective Tale.

34—Billy the Tramp; or, The Mystery of a Little Emigrant.

35—A Cute Boy Detective; or, Magic Dick’s Phenomenal Trail.

36—The Prince of Ventriloquists; or, Nimble Ike’s Greatest Trick.

37—Cad Metti, the Female Detective Strategist.

38—A Wonderful Detective; or Magic Dick’s Greatest Shadow.

39—Resolute Jack; or, Ups and Downs in New York.

40—Little Dead Sure; or, The Secret Special’s Aid.

41—The Twin Ventriloquists; or Nimble Ike and Jack the Juggler.

42—Amzi the Detective; or, Morning, Noon and Night in New York.

43—Tracked on a Wheel; or, Bicycle Jim’s Great Chase.

44—Crusoe Harry; or, The Treasures of the Lost Ship.

45—A Terrible Youth; or, Magic Dick’s Thrilling Adventures in Paris.

46—A Golden Legacy; or, Wonder Jack’s Luck.

47—The King of Fun; or, Aggravating Joe’s Latest Pranks.

48—Arlie Bright; or, How He Became a Naval Cadet.

49—Pawnee Tom; or, Adrift in New York.

50—Nimble Ike’s Mystery; or, The Secret of the Box.

51—The Little Miner; or, A Poor Boy’s Great Find.

52—A Boy Fugitive; or, Fooling His Pursuers.

53—The Mechanic’s Son; or, From Penury to Wealth.

54—Tricks and Triumphs; or, Jack the Juggler’s Ordeal.

55—The Young Engineer; or, Making Her Spin.

56—Detective Hanley; or, The Testimony of a Face.

57—Nimble Ike’s Romance; or, The Mysteries of a Cavern.

58—Gipsy Reno, The Detective.

59—Detective Gay; or, The King of Disguises.

60—A Female Ventriloquist; or, A Pretty Girl’s Magic Feats.

61—His Greatest “Shadow;” or, Jack the Juggler’s Last Trail.

62—Lorie; or, The Phantom Ventriloquist.

63—The Two Conspirators; or, A Great Surprise.

64—Detective Kennedy; or, Always Ready.

65—Malcolm the Wonder.

66—Jack Breakaway; or, Always on Top.

67—Weaver Webb; or, The Young Champion.

68—Plucky Bob; or, The Wildest Boy in The Land.

69—Jolly Jess; or, The Boy Who Won a Princess.

70—A Ten Day Mystery; or, The Wonder’s Shadow in New York

71—A Great Boy; or, The Find of a Million.

72—Creco the Swordsman; or, The Man of Mystery.

73—Kingsley the Detective; or, The Single Clue.

74—A Detective’s Enigma; or, Malcolm Weir’s Puzzling “Shadow.”

75—A Plucky Girl; or, A Farmer’s Daughter in New York.

76—Days and Nights of Peril; or, Nimble Ike in Harness Again.

77—Carrol Moore; or, How He Became a Detective.

78—Grant McKenzie; or, A Boy’s Battles and Struggles.

79—Breezy Frank; or, A Great Disguise.

80—Zantelli; or, A Wonderful Pursuit. A Romantic Detective Story.

81—“Straight to the Mark;” A Detective’s Trick.

82—Young Dash; or, The Detective’s Apprentice.

83—Life in New York. A Thrilling Detective Tale.

84—On the Wing; or, Detective Bird’s Great Capture.

85—Under a Veil; or, His Greatest Mystery. A Detective Story.

86—A Straight Clue; or, Malcolm Weir’s Great Feat.

87—Detective Payne; or, A Shadower’s Wonderful Adventures.

88—A Famous Boy; or, The Story of a Homeless Hero.

89—A Great Capture; or, New Tactics in Detective Work.

90—Desmond Dare; or, Taking Desperate Chances.

91—The Wizard Tramp. A Thrilling Detective Story.

92—A Desperate Chance; or, The Wizard Tramp’s Revelation.

93—A Remarkable “Shadow;” or, Detective Payne’s Tragic Quest.

94—Dead Straight; or, Harlow Jack’s Life Mystery.

95—Allie Baird, the Settler’s Son. A Weird Tale of the Wilderness.

96—Creston, the Detective; or, Following a Light Clue.

97—Marie the Dancing Girl. A Great Story of New York Life.

98—A Close Call; or, Detective Mead’s Dilemma.

99—Young Vigilance; or, A Broken Link. A Detective Narrative.

100—A Dashing Fugitive; or, True to His Purpose.

101—Clyde, the Resolute Detective; or, His Own Mystery.

102—Lively Luke; or, Keen as a Razor.

103—Billy Preston; or, Ready for Anything.

104—The Twin Athletes; or, Always on Top.

105—Seth Bond; or, A Lost Treasure Mystery.

106—Jack and Gil; or, The Wonderful Adventures of Two Acrobats.

107—The King’s Detective; or, A New York Detective’s Great Quest.

108—A Remarkable Feat; or, Jack and Gil’s Great Detective Work.

109—Tom, the Young Explorer; or, A Magnificent Reward.

110—Two Wonderful Detectives; or, Jack and Gil’s Skill.

111—A Mystery of One Night; or, Detective Murray’s Single Clue.

112—A Successful “Shadow;” or, Jack and Gil’s Greatest Catch.

113—A Beautiful Fugitive; or Saved by a Detective.

114—The Manordale Mystery. A Strong Detective Story.

115—The Central Park Mystery; or, Detective Work in New York.

116—Detective Dale; or Conflicting Testimonies.

117—A Struggle to Win; or, A Gypsy Boy’s Secret.

118—Thrifty Abe; or, From the Bottom to the Top.

119—Ramsay, the Detective.

120—Gipsey Rose, the Female Detective.

121—Young Harold; A New England Boy’s Adventures.

122—Norval, the Detective; or, Dodging and Hiding.

123—Young Chauncey.

124—Daring Maddie; A Great Detective Story.

125—Red Cecil, the Detective.

126—A Detective’s Daughter.

127—Fire Bomb Jack; or, Freaks of a Mystery Man.

128—An Amazing Wizard; or, The Fatal Resemblance.

129—A Marvelous Escape.

130—Only a Photograph; or, Detective Kempton’s Quest.

131—A Tragic Quest; or, A Baffling Shadow.

132—Vavel. The Wonderful Treasure Seeker.

133—Romance of a Salvation Army Girl.

COMIC POST CARDS.

DO YOU

KNOW

That the Fad of To-day is Collecting Post Cards?

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- Coming in with the tide (tied.)

- I would be better off.

- I expect to make a hit soon.

- I am being detained.

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- I’m all to the Mary.

- I’m taking a month off.

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ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO

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57 Rose Street, New York.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NIMBLE IKE, THE TRICK VENTRILOQUIST: A ROUSING TALE OF FUN AND FROLIC ***

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Table of Contents

NIMBLE IKE THE TRICK VENTRILOQUIST.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

Transcriber’s Notes:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE