Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Read online

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  VERNET DISCOMFITED.

  While the discomfited Vernet kept watch alone with the dead, his menwere running up and down the alleys, listening, peering, searching inby-places, in the hope of finding the hiding-place, or to overtake theflight, of the fugitive sailor and his idiot guide.

  More than an hour they consumed in this search, and then they returnedto their superior officer to report their utter failure.

  "It is what I expected," said Vernet, with severe philosophy. "Thosefellows are no common rascals. They have spoiled our Raid; before this,every rogue in the vicinity has been warned. I would not give a copperfor all we can capture now."

  And Vernet was right, the Raid was a failure. Mustering his men, he madethe tour of the streets and alleys, but everywhere an unnatural silencereigned. The Thieves' Tavern was fast shut and quite silent; thedrinking dens, the streets and cellars, where riot and infamy reigned,were under the influence of a silent spell.

  It was only the yelp of a dog, heard here and there as Silly Charlie andAlan Warburton sped through the streets and lanes, but its effect wasmagical. It told the rioters, the crooks and outlaws in hiding, thatthere was danger abroad,--that the police were among them. And theirorgies were hushed, their haunts became silent and tenantless; whileevery man who had anything to fear from the hands of justice--and whatman among them had not?--slunk away to his secret hiding-place, and laida fierce clutch upon revolver or knife.

  The Raid was an utter failure; and Van Vernet, as he led his menruefully homeward, little dreamed of the cause of the failure.

  This night's work, which had been pre-supposed a sure success, had beenspoiled by a fool. A most unusual fool,--of that Vernet was fully aware;only a fool as he played his part. But he had played it successfully.

  Vernet had been duped by this seeming idiot, and foiled by thesailor-assassin. Of this he savagely assured himself, in the depths ofhis chagrin.

  But, shrewd man as he was, he never once imagined that under the ragsand tinsel, the dirt and disfigurement of the fool, the strong will andactive brain of _Richard Stanhope_ were arrayed against him; nor dreamedthat "Warburton, the aristocrat," the man who had wounded his pride andlooked down upon him as an inferior, had escaped from his clutches inthe garb of a common sailor.

  Arrived at head-quarters, Vernet laid before his Chief a full report ofthe night's misadventures, and concluded his narrative thus:

  "It has never before been my misfortune to report so complete a failure.But the affair shall not end here. I have my theory; I intend to rundown these two men, and I believe they will be worth the trouble I shalltake on their account. They were both shams, I am sure. The sailor neversaw a masthead; he could not even act his part. The other--well, heplayed the fool to perfection, and--he outwitted _me_."

  One thing troubled Vernet not a little. Richard Stanhope did not make alate appearance at the Agency. He did not come at all that night, orrather that morning. And Vernet speculated much as to the possible causeof this long delay.

  It was late in the day when Stanhope finally presented himself, and thenhe entered the outer office alert, careless, _debonnaire_ as usual;looking like a man with an untroubled conscience, who has passed thelong night in peaceful repose.

  Vernet, who had arrived at the office but a moment before, lifted hisface from the newspaper he held and cast upon his _confrere_ aninquiring glance.

  But Dick Stanhope was blind to its meaning. With his usual easy morningsalutation to all in the room, he passed them, and applied foradmittance at the door of his Chief's private office. It was promptlyopened to him, and he walked into the presence of his superior asjauntily as if he had not, by his unaccountable absence, spoiled themost important Raid of the season.

  It was a long interview, and as toward its close the sounds ofuproarious laughter penetrated to the ears of the loungers in the outerroom, Van Vernet bit his lip with vexation. Evidently the Chief was notvisiting his displeasure too severely upon his dilatory favorite.

  Vernet's cheeks burned as he realized how utterly he had failed. Notonly had he heaped confusion upon himself, but he had not succeeded inlessening Stanhope's claim to favoritism by bringing upon him thedispleasure of the Agency.

  While he sat, still tormented by this bitter thought, Stanhopere-entered the room, and walking straight up to Vernet brought his handdown upon the shoulder of that gentleman with emphatic heartiness, whilehe said, his eyes fairly dancing with mischief, and every other featurepreternaturally solemn:

  "I say, Van, old fellow, how do you like conducting a Raid?"

  It was a moment of humiliation for Van Vernet. But he, like Stanhope,was a skilled actor, and he lifted his eyes to the face of hisinquisitor and answered with a careless jest, while he realized that inthis game against Richard Stanhope he had played his first hand, and hadlost.

  "It shall not remain thus," he assured himself fiercely; "I'll play asmany trumps as Dick Stanhope, before our little game ends!"

  * * * * *

  When Walter Parks returned from his two days' absence, and called at theoffice to receive the decisions of the two detectives, the Chief said:

  "You may consider yourself sure of both men, after a little. DickStanhope, whose case promised to be a very short one, has asked formore time. And Van Vernet is in hot chase after two sly fellows, andwon't give up until they are trapped. You may be sure of them both,however. And in order that they may start fair, after their present workis done, I have arranged that you meet them here to-night, and let themlisten together to your statement."

  "I like the idea," said Walter Parks earnestly, "and I will be here atthe appointed time."

  That evening, Vernet and Stanhope,--the former grave, courteous, andattentive; the latter cool, careless, and inconsequent as usual,--satlistening to the story of Arthur Pearson's mysterious death, told withall its details.

  As the tale progressed, Van Vernet became more attentive, more eager,his eyes, flashing with excitement, following every gesture, notingevery look that crossed the face of the narrator. But Dick Stanhope satin the most careless of lounging attitudes; his eyes half closed orwandering idly about the room; his whole manner that of an individualrather more bored than interested.

  "It's a difficult case," said Van Vernet, when the story was done. "Itwill be long and tedious. But as soon as I have found the man or men Iam looking for, I will undertake it. And if the murderer is aboveground, I do not anticipate failure."

  But Stanhope only said:

  "I don't know when I shall be at your disposal. The affair I have inhand is not progressing. Your case looks to me like a dubious one,--thechances are ninety to one against you. But when I am at liberty, if Vanhere has not already solved the mystery, I'll do my level best foryou."