The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bradys Beyond Their Depth; or The Great Swamp Mystery, by A New York Detective

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It was a dark, rainy night in March when this thrilling cry, in a man's voice, came from a house in West Thirty-sixth street, New York.

Two detectives were passing along from Seventh avenue, toward Broadway, when the wild appeal brought them to a sudden pause.

"Somebody in distress, Harry," replied the tall, gaunt old man, as he shot a keen glance around. "This is a dangerous neighborhood."

The stylishly-dressed youth of twenty nodded, felt to see if he had a revolver in his pocket, and pointed at an undertaker's wagon standing in front of one of a row of houses opposite.

"Queer hour for that fellow to be doing business!" he remarked. "There isn't a light in any of that row of houses, yet the undertaker must be in one of them."

"By Jove, the undertaker must be making a job for himself!" exclaimed Old King Brady, pushing his big white hat back, and exposing a strong-featured, smooth-shaven face, in the light of a street lamp.

He unbuttoned the old blue frock-coat he wore, disclosing a standing collar and stock, drew out his watch and fob, and added:

They glided swiftly into the area of a flat house, and keenly watched proceedings.

Old and Young King Brady, as the pair were called, were the two most celebrated detectives in the Secret Service. They were not related.

On the contrary, they came of different families. But, since the time James Brady took an interest in Harry, and taught him his profession, they had been partners, and made themselves dreaded by all evil doers.

Both were shrewd, brave and daring to a fault, and Harry's ambition made him strive to excel his tutor in every way.

The boy was first to catch view of a man in the open doorway opposite, and he dimly observed that he was tall, thin, dressed in black, wore a high hat, and had a mustache and a pair of bushy side-whiskers.

"He's carrying something," added the old detective. "Ah—it's a coffin, ain't it?"

"A wooden box shaped like one. There's another man on ——[2] the other end of it," said Harry, whose interest was aroused. "They're coming out."

As they staggered under the weight of the box, the detectives inferred that it was heavy. The Bradys could now see a rope tied around it.

Just as they shoved the box into the vehicle, Old King Brady darted across the street, and tapped the tall, thin man on the arm.

"You are mistaken," said Old King Brady, exhibiting his badge. "I am an officer. We heard cries of murder emanate from that building, and this is a singular hour for an undertaker to be removing a corpse."

"My card, sir," he said, politely. "Name of Solomon Gloom. This is a case of smallpox. House has been quarantined. Here's my Health Board permit to remove the corpse. The rule is to take 'em at night."

"Well," said the officer, hesitatingly, "that part may be all right. Who is dead?"

"Albert Reid, the old cotton broker, sir. Got him in a metallic casket in this box. Going to take him to the crematory at Fresh Pond."

"Came from old Reid's crazy son. He didn't want us to cart away the body. Had a regular fight with him to drive him away. He yelled and fought like a tiger. Really, I thought he'd arouse the whole neighborhood. Had to lock him in a closet."

"Certainly, my dear sir, certainly. Sim, wait in the wagon for me a moment and I'll go up and show the gentleman in. But really, sir, you're running a great risk. It's a contagious disease, and——"

"Oh, I'll chance it," quietly said Old King Brady, as he took a chew of tobacco, and eyed Harry, who was still lurking in the area, opposite.

"As you please, sir. Come ahead," said Mr. Gloom, and as they went up the steps into the big front yard, the man called Sim swung himself up on the driver's seat, and took the whip and reins in his hands.

He stepped into the gloomy vestibule ahead of the undertaker, when Mr. Gloom suddenly struck him in the back with both hands.

The old detective was knocked forward, plunged into the hall and fell upon his hands and knees.

Quick as a flash the undertaker darted back, slammed the door shut, fastened it with a key already in the lock and rushed down the steps.

But Harry had seen him lock Old King Brady in the house, and was at that moment rushing across the street toward them, crying:

Up went Harry's hands, and he fell prostrate, with blood streaming from a wound on the side of his head.

With a snort, the galled beast sprang forward and raced madly along the street toward Broadway, from whence a policeman was running.

Away dashed the policeman to investigate and the wagon kept on to Sixth avenue, swung around the corner and dashed downtown, under the elevated road.

Finding that it resisted all his efforts, he lit a match, and going hastily into the house, he was astonished to find it empty and untenanted.

In the middle of the parlor floor lay a curious-looking dagger, which looked as if it had been buried in a human body, and the bare boards were stained with the same life fluid.

"There's been a murder committed here," flashed through the detective's mind, as he picked up the knife and put it in his pocket, "and those men have carried away their victim's body in that box!"

He rushed to one of the parlor windows and flung it open, just in time to see Harry get shot. The sight made Old King Brady frantic with fury.

It only took him a moment to reach his pupil's side, and lifting the limp form in his arms, carried him to the sidewalk, under the lamp-post.

Before the policeman reached the boy, he had regained his senses, and found Old King Brady wiping his face and sticking court-plaster over the cut.

Most of the neighbors had their heads out their windows to see what caused the pistol shot, and the policeman came up panting.

"Yes. We had a fuss with the driver of an undertaker's wagon," the old detective explained. "Harry got shot, but it's only a flesh wound."

"A little sore, but otherwise all right," replied the boy, pluckily suppressing a faint feeling, and getting upon his feet. "Where are they?"

"I think so," the boy replied. "Ride, if you can. It's a suspicious case, Old King Brady. They wouldn't attempt murder to prevent us from prying into this affair, unless they had a powerful reason for it. The policeman had better search that house while we are gone."

"Come on then, my boy. I've got evidence that a dark crime was just committed in that empty house. We'd better verify my suspicions."

And they hastened over to Broadway, boarded a car and were rapidly carried to Fourteenth street, where they alighted to make inquiries.

A cabman was standing beside his horse at Union Square, and the old detective approached him and asked, hastily:

They entered the cab and were driven to Courtlandt street, as different people they spoke to said they had seen the undertaker's wagon as far as that point.

"Yes," replied the policeman. "I just came from there. Two men had it. I'll describe them."

And away went the Bradys to the Pennsylvania depot at the foot of Courtlandt street.

It was a suspicion of the Bradys that the mysterious box would be shipped out of the city by rail, that led them to see if the wagon had gone to the depot.

But they learned that a man answering Solomon Gloom's description had checked it through to Savannah, Georgia, and it had been sent over the river and was put in the baggage car.

"The connecting boat goes in three minutes, sir," replied the porter, glancing at his watch.

"Old King Brady, we must go out on that train," said the boy, quickly. "It's our only chance to find out what's in that box."

"Run for the ticket office, then," said the veteran, promptly. "Mr. Gloom is evidently going out on the train with it. If there's any crooked work going on here we may be able to arrest him."

They rushed to the office, procured tickets, and just had time to jump aboard the boat as it pulled out of the slip.

Seeing nothing of Mr. Gloom in that car, they sat down to map out a course of action, as everything had hitherto been done on the spur of the moment.

"This is a most singular case, Harry," the old detective exclaimed. "We may be on a wild-goose chase, or we may be on the eve of exposing a revolting crime. Everything up to the present moment leads me to believe in the latter idea. We can only verify our suspicion by opening that big box and looking at the contents. This I intend to do."

"Our safest course will be to capture Solomon Gloom first, and then confront him with the contents of the box," replied Harry. "If we find a corpse there, we may learn whose it is and why the man was killed."

"Very true," assented Old King Brady, with a nod, as he pushed his white hair back from his massive brow. "And if we don't find a corpse in the box we'll have the satisfaction of arresting Gloom for shooting you."

"The man lied outrageously to you, in order to fool [4] you," said Harry. "So there isn't much reliance to be placed on anything he said, till we prove it."

"Let's see his business card," said the old detective, "now that I've got a light."

To his surprise he found that it really was the business card of one Solomon Gloom, undertaker, of Seventh avenue.

Once more he was surprised to discover that it was a genuine printed form stating that Mr. Gloom was permitted to remove the corpse of Albert Reid from the Thirty-sixth street house to the Fresh Pond Crematory. The permit added that the broker had died of small-pox.

It had a double-edged blade, eight inches long, as thin as paper, and was embossed with the initials P. V., in frosted letters.

"It's an oddity," replied the old detective. "But it isn't a certainty that these are the initials of the person who last used it."

"You'd better keep those three things," advised Harry, thoughtfully. "They may come in handy if this case amounts to anything."

"If they serve us no better purpose, we can show them to our chief when we get back to New York, so he will have evidence of what we are doing," said Old King Brady, with a faint smile.

"He expected a report from us to-night, on the case he put us on, but he won't get it," said Harry, grimly.

The boy referred to some work they had been doing before they stumbled upon the Thirty-sixth street affair.

Information had reached the Central Office that Oliver Dalton, a Broad street broker, suspected his nephew, Ronald Mason, of robbing his mail.

The detectives had gone to the broker's house in West Thirty-eighth street to get the particulars privately. But the man's daughter, Lizzie, told them her father had not yet come home. They waited for him till nearly eight o'clock, and as Mr. Dalton did not appear, they were going back to headquarters when they stumbled upon the suspicious case already recorded here.

"Well," said the boy, "are you ready to go through the cars on a hunt for Solomon Gloom? We must make sure of our man before he has a chance to alight at a way station and elude us."

Old King Brady bent nearer to Harry, to reply, when suddenly a cloth was thrown over their heads by a man who sat behind them.

While the detectives were struggling to extricate their heads, they inhaled the deadly fumes and were overcome by the drug.

No one had seen the deed, as they occupied the last seats in the aisle and not an undue noise had arisen to attract attention.

Seeing the detectives stupid from the drug, a low chuckle escaped the man, and he rose to his feet and muttered:

"Sleep, you dogs! Tracked me, eh? Well, it won't do you any good. You'll be snoring long after we reach Georgia. And when you do arouse yourselves, you'll find the box gone from this train. This must be a mighty good disguise, if you failed to recognize Solomon Gloom in it—really, a very clever disguise."

And he chuckled again, glanced at the gray suit and bicycle cap he wore, felt of the false beard covering his face and walked into one of the forward cars where he had a chance to remain until the opportunity came for him to alight at his destination.

The lightning express train went thundering along over the rails and the Bradys slept on until mid-day.

"If it were, he was cleverly disguised and must have been the fellow who sat behind us apparently reading a newspaper," replied Harry.

There were two more passenger coaches, a smoking car and a baggage car ahead, and the detectives searched them thoroughly for the undertaker.

"He must have checked the box through on a ticket he bought for Savannah, and then hid somewhere on this train."

"Which shows what a foxy gentleman we have to contend with," muttered Old King Brady, grimly. "He feared pursuit."

They had no trouble to persuade the conductor of the importance of seeing what the box contained, and they all had a talk with the baggage master.

As the Bradys promised to have him absolved from blame, he finally gave his permission to them to open the box.

Harry cut the rope that bound it and Old King Brady pried off the lid with an axe taken from one of the racks.

As the lid fell off, they were startled to see the body of a man lying in the box.

But the detectives saw that he was a man of about fifty, his portly form clad in a dark suit of clothes. His head was partly bald on top and his hair was gray. There was a closely-trimmed mustache of the same color on his upper lip, and his flesh, although pallid, had not yet changed to the waxen hue of death.

It was evident that he was a victim of foul play, for his hands were bound behind his back, and his ankles tied together, while a gag was secured over his mouth as if to stifle his outcries.

The detectives had no chance to observe any more, just then, for there suddenly sounded a quick danger signal of the locomotive's whistle.

The engineer shut off steam, put on the brakes, and the startled conductor rushed from the car with the lantern, leaving the place in gloom.

"Next to a big swamp," replied Harry. "And, by Jove—see—see! There's an obstruction—a heap of sleepers piled across the rails beyond the bonfire."

"What the deuce can that mean?" muttered Old King Brady. "Bandits trying to rob this train? It don't seem possible, in this neighborhood."

Some of the brakemen ran ahead, and under the conductor's direction they removed the obstructions from the rails.

The fire seemed to have been built where it was to show the engineer the pile of sleepers, and the brakemen scattered it, when the barrier was removed.

"Now I see through it. Those obstructions were put on the rails to stop the train at this point so that the body could be removed from this car."

"Accessories of the villain who killed that man!" cried the boy. "They've carried the body off in the swamp to hide the evidence of their crime. Come, Old King Brady, alight here and see if we can trace it."

Heavy banks of dark clouds were flying across the lowering sky. Occasionally the big silvery moon burst from the rifts and flooded the landscape with its mellow light.

Not far away from where the Bradys stood they saw the big box lying beside the track, turned over on its side.

"I'm afraid we are beyond our depth, Old King Brady," he remarked. "This mystery keeps growing all the time, and we can't seem to fathom it."

It showed them a river on one side and a broad expanse of gloomy swamp land on the other.

Night insects were chirping amid the weeds, and frogs were croaking dismally among the waving reeds and rushes.

Off in the centre of the swamp were some tangled trees and bushes, heaps of rocks overgrown with moss and trailing vines, and an object which had the dim outline of being an old rookery of some sort.

Young King Brady moved along the edge of the boggy ground with its little pools of water, tufts of coarse grass and tracts of black, oozing mud.

An old, rotten board walk from the railroad bed to the trees, caught his view and he suddenly called to the old detective:

[6] "I see a light among those trees. Here's a path. Let's follow it into the swamp."

"Be cautious!" warned the old detective. "If those rascals have carried the body from the box to the midst of those trees, they will be on the lookout for any possible pursuers and may give us a warm reception."

"By creeping along the path on our hands and knees. The reeds on each side will hide our bodies from view."

They went down on their haunches and crept along in single file, out into the dismal swamp, and drew near the oasis.

From behind a clump of bushes they beheld an old wooden shanty, in the windows of which there glowed a dim light.

The detectives keenly watched it, hoping they might catch view of some human beings about the place.

At the end of quarter of an hour, they were suddenly startled by hearing a wild, piercing cry in human tones, of:

It was the same voice, using the very same words they had heard the night before in West Thirty-sixth street, New York!

"Good gracious! That's queer!" exclaimed Old King Brady, in tones of intense astonishment. "Did you hear it, Harry?"

"That cry was uttered by the same person we heard in New York, and I'm convinced that it was the man called Albert Reid."

"You only suppose so. There was circumstantial evidence that he was. But after all he may yet be alive."

"You may be right. The man in the box may not have been dead after all. Perhaps he was alive, under the influence of a drug. The man who drugged us may have drugged him, too, you know.

There was the noise of a scuffle, then a voice which sounded very much like that of a negro roared in furious tones:

Not half the intervening distance had been covered, when suddenly the noise ceased and the light went out.

They remained perfectly still and the trees cast a dark shadow over the scene which the moon could not dispel.

Staring around, Old King Brady observed that there was only one door and the two windows they had been watching—one at the rear and the other at the side of the little building.

He saw by the moonlight that the little island on which the hut stood was in the midst of the swamp.

No one could leave the hut, cross the swamp and reach the mainland so quick that he could not see them escaping in such a short space of time.

[7] He plainly saw that the walls were not double, and that the floor was merely covered with common dirt.

"They ain't here, sure enough," said the old detective, "and they didn't leave here. Now, how could they vanish, and where did they go?"

They went at it with renewed zest, and spent two hours vainly searching for the means those speakers employed to drop out of sight.

By this time the sun had risen and flooded the scene, dispelled the vapors that hung over the bog and lighted up the surrounding country.

"We'd better get out of here," said Old King Brady. "I see a fine old residence over there on the mainland. Let's get over there and get our breakfast. I'm going to keep at this swamp till I solve that mystery."

It was a fine country residence with many acres of ground, part of which was formed by the swamp.

This reply startled the detectives, for the owner was the very man whose case of mail robbery had been placed in their hands.

"See here, my friend," said Old King Brady to the darky, "do you know anything about that little hut standing out there in the swamp?"

"Dat hut? Sho'. Nobuddy nebber go in no mo'. Useter be fo' Massa Dalton when he go out shootin' reed birds."

"Golly, no. Only in de winter. Comes heah wif Missy Lizzy an' his nephew, Ronald. Me an' my ole gal keep de house fo' dem de rest ob de time."

"Dey only jes' lef' heah las' month, an' went back to York. But Lawdy, whut should Massa Ronald do but come back all ob a sudden las' night wif dat ornary niggah cuss, Sim Johnson, an' git bilin' drunk, an' dey gwine out an' didn' come back till de roosters crowed dis mawnin'."

He led the detectives up a path to the house and when they were seated in the kitchen, his big, fat wife, Dinah, bustled around and soon had a savory breakfast set before them.

The detectives praised her cooking and paid the old servants so well for their attention that the faithful pair voted them as fine gentlemen.

"The action of Ronald Mason in coming here so oddly with his uncle's valet strikes me very strangely," remarked Old King Brady, as they trudged along the road toward the station. "In fact, it is a most singular proceeding. He evidently poses before his rich uncle as a paragon of virtue. Behind the old man's back he is evidently a high roller."

"Well, yes. It takes plenty money for a young man to lead a riotous life. If Mason draws a big salary in his uncle's office, where he is employed as a clerk, he may be able to afford it. If he is poorly paid, he may be at the bottom of the mail robberies we were called upon to investigate. See the point?"

[8] "I think we had better keep an eye on that frisky young gentleman when we return to New York," continued the old detective, wisely. "It may lead to a solution of the problem we are so anxious to solve for the broker."

Upon reaching Swamp Angel, they soon located the little hotel and there turned into bed for a few hours' sleep.

However, they did not complain, and went away to search the swamp again for some trace of the missing body.

In fact, after a useless search, covering a period of three days, they at length gave up the hunt in despair and returned to New York.

It was useless to remain prowling around that bleak swamp trying to dig up a mystery that baffled all their ingenuity.

"We went beyond our depth," said Harry, when they reached New York. "The game was too hard to solve. The mystery of the murdered man in the box must remain unsolved. It can go on record as one of the many strange cases that have baffled the detectives before. It's our duty now to report the matter to our chief, drop it, and resume our attempt to locate the broker's mail thief."

"Then come to headquarters at once," said Old King Brady, as they left the cars.

"Well, where have you two been keeping yourselves hidden during the past week? I haven't seen or heard from you lately."

He listened attentively, with a grave look upon his face, while they were giving him the facts, and said when they finished:

"Then that murder mystery was too much for you, and you went beyond your depth trying to solve it, eh? Well, it's just as well you let it drop."

"You had better go up to his house and get the particulars from his daughter. She is frantic to find her father. Some points might be gained in the broker's Broad street office."

The chief did not seem to have many facts in relation to the case, so the detectives finally left him.

Harry handed him a business card and he carried it into a private office in the rear. A few minutes later he came out, with a smile on his face, and said to the detectives:

He ushered the Bradys into the private office and they there beheld Ronald Mason, the broker's nephew, sitting at his desk.

About thirty years of age, his tall, thin figure clad in stylish clothing, Ronald Mason was a clean-shaven individual, with hard features.

When the detectives came in, they saw him bending a queer, searching look at them, and he then asked in low tones:

They had seen the odd look he gave them, and set him down for a tricky and dangerous man to deal with.

"That's correct. We've reported the matter to the police. I presume you are here to get information about him, ain't you?"

"Simply this: Last Monday he left this office at five o'clock and proceeded to the Union Club. At about eight o'clock, after his dinner, a telegram was brought in to him. He showed some agitation, put on his hat, took his umbrella and hastily departed. No one seems to know where he went. That was the last we've seen or heard of him since. We informed the police and nothing has yet come of it."

Ronald Mason was keenly watching the effect his words produced upon the detectives, and he noted their looks of astonishment.

"Yes. He was afflicted with an incurable disease. He never told any one about it except me. He had the consumption."

"Yes. He sometimes had no desire to live, only to perish in the end of a lingering malady, which was bound to prove fatal, anyway."

"Oh, yes. I'm capable of doing it. In fact, even when he was here I've been in the habit of attending to most all of it. He recently hasn't done much more than sign checks."

A startled look flashed across Mason's face, an expression of deep fear shone for an instant in his cold eyes, and he sprang to his feet.

By an effort of will he subdued his alarm, a dark frown mantled his brow and he glared furiously at the detectives and demanded:

"Then what do you mean by asking such an impertinent question, sir?" haughtily demanded Mason.

"Only this," replied Old King Brady, calmly. "We were down at your uncle's place at Swamp Angel, in Georgia, the other night, and learned there that you and Sim Johnson were on a toot there together."

"Perhaps," he assented. "But if it isn't, I'll tell you how you may know that we were aware of it. My partner and I are the two who called there to see you, and couldn't, as you were then supposed to be sleeping off your jag."

"How did you happen to go way down there to my uncle's place in Georgia, looking for me, I'd like to know?"

"Well, to bring this interview to a close, I deny your ugly insinuation, and declare that I was not out of New York since my uncle vanished. Now, if you have nothing to say except to cast aspersions upon my character, I will wish you good-morning, as I am busy and my time is valuable."

A cab was awaiting them out in Broad street and they entered it, and were driven rapidly uptown on the west side.

"Well," said Harry, "if he were dressed like an undertaker, wore false side-whiskers and called himself Solomon Gloom, don't you think he would resemble the villain who shot me in Thirty-sixth street?"

Mason certainly bore a startling resemblance to the man who had shipped the box of human remains to Georgia.

[10] "The Lord knows. It's hard to say. But I suspect he is. If he and Mr. Gloom were the same person, what possible object could he have had in putting that man out of the way?"

The cab brought them to the palatial residence the missing broker had occupied, and a ring at the bell brought a negro flunky to the door.

Then he uttered a startled cry, and retreating into the hall, he made a movement as if he were going to close the door in their faces.

Despite the fact that the coon now wore a dress suit, the detectives recognized him as the driver of the undertaker's wagon, whom "Mr. Gloom" had addressed as "Sim."

"Don't you lie to me! We know you, I tell you, and by Jove we are going to make you tell who that man was you murdered!"

"It was Ronald Mason with you, disguised. We know that. You and he were down at Swamp Angel together, on a spree. We know that, too. And now, you black scoundrel, we want to know who that man was you murdered, blast you! We saw the box and body stolen at the swamp near Mr. Dalton's winter residence, and we know now that you and Mason were at the bottom of that mysterious piece of rascality. What does it all mean, confound you?"

Harry's excited voice brought a beautiful, stylishly-clad young girl down the stairs, and there was a look of surprise in her big, dark eyes.

"Pardon me, Miss Dalton," interrupted Old King Brady. "We are officers of the law. This man is mixed up in a suspicious case. We want him to confess his villainy. Don't interfere, please."

The crayon picture of a man hanging on the wall met Harry's glance, and pointing excitedly at it, he cried:

"See, Old King Brady! There's a photograph of the murdered man we saw in the box this coon was handling!"

When Old King Brady heard what Harry said, he felt convinced that the boy made no error. He plainly saw that the crayon portrait was an excellent picture of the man whose body vanished in the swamp.

And he recited all that transpired from the time they first heard that cry for help in Thirty-sixth street, up to the present moment.

"Then you have reason to believe that the man was alive when you heard his voice coming from that old hut in the swamp?"

"And you believe my cousin Ronald and this negro were at the bottom of the whole thing?" continued the girl.

"We do. It's our opinion that Mason sent your father a decoy telegram to the Union Club, and lured him to the empty house in Thirty-sixth street. We believe he and Sim Johnson arranged to attack and drug him there. We [11] think, when they either killed or drugged him, they packed him in the box and shipped it by rail to Georgia. The fact that some unknown party on the cars chloroformed us leads us to suppose it was Mason, who may have been on the cars disguised. We also think they had accomplices at Swamp Angel to stop the train so they could steal the box and hide the body of the man it contained in the swamp. The fact of Mason and the negro being there at the time, confirms this suspicion of them being at the bottom of the job."

"Your suspicions seem to be well founded, sir, but it may be only a theory on your part, after all," said the girl.

"Then with your father out of the way, so he could no longer object, Mason might have figured that he would have better success winning you."

"So I presume. However, it shows an incentive to get rid of your father. Now, there's another consideration. I refer to money."

"Then he did not tell the truth," said the girl, contemptuously. "My father often told me that every cent he had was willed to me exclusively."

While this was going on, Young King Brady had been holding the negro by the arm. But they became so interested in what Lizzie was saying that neither one paid much attention to him.

Old King Brady heard his partner's warning cry and turned around, but ere he could do anything the chair crushed down upon his head and he fell upon his back in the middle of the floor.

Both smarted from the blows, but were otherwise uninjured and they rushed to the window and jumped out into the front yard.

Rushing out to the street they gazed around, but failed to see anything of the fugitive valet.

He had hidden himself so completely that they could find no trace of him, although they scoured the neighborhood for an hour.

They returned to the house and told Lizzie the bad news, and the old detective said:

"I expected to pump some valuable information from him about Ronald Mason. But that hope is gone. We shall have to watch out for that pair. In the meantime, if you wish us to recover your father's body, dead or alive, you must maintain the utmost secrecy of what we said, Miss Dalton."

The detectives promised to exert every effort to find her father, and finally took their leave of her.

On the following day the Bradys went to the office of Solomon Gloom, the undertaker, on Seventh avenue, and met him in his office.

Having described the man who had the wagon and carried off the body, Old King Brady asked the undertaker:

"Yes, sir. I also got them a Health Board permit for small-pox, so they could remove their relative's body. The party died of small-pox."

That satisfied the Bradys to the means the abductors employed to personate the undertaker and carry out their plot.

The officers next went to the Union Club and made an effort to secure the telegram which brought Mr. Dalton from the clubhouse the night he was summoned away and vanished from view.

"Whoever sent it knew the broker was going to have us run down the thieves who were robbing him."

"As Ronald Mason admitted to us that he practically ran the business, he must have known that we were going to work up the case. Our chief told Mr. Dalton we would. Therefore it must be another example of Mason's perfidy."

"Come to the telegraph office. We'll see if we can trace the party who sent this despatch."

By dint of diligent inquiry the Bradys learned which office the forged despatch had been sent from, and went there.

The Bradys kept Ronald Mason closely shadowed for several days. They saw that he was living the mechanical life of a sober business man.

He was at his desk every morning at nine o'clock, and departed at five in the evening for home, in a cab. He did not depart from the house during the night, and received no callers there.

They had a deep-rooted suspicion that Mason had been working a plot to get rid of his uncle so he could inherit part of Mr. Dalton's money, and win the broker's daughter for his bride without any opposition.

At the end of the week a telegraph boy delivered a message at the broker's residence, about nine o'clock at night.

Within a few minutes after the lad departed the front door opened and a man in shabby clothes, with a beard on his face, cautiously emerged.

He glanced up and down the deserted street and seeing nobody, he hastily ran down the steps and stole rapidly away.

Safely hidden in the area of an empty house opposite, the Bradys observed him, and a smile crossed Harry's face as he nudged his partner and whispered:

"If he were not up to some mischief, he would not be so careful to conceal his identity," Harry remarked, drily.

They let the young man get some distance ahead before they ventured out in the street. Then they separated, to avoid attracting special attention.

Mason walked down Eighth avenue to Thirty-fourth street and boarded a horse-car going east. The detectives followed it afoot until they reached Broadway, and at Herald Square they secured a cab.

Mason rode to the East river before he alighted and finally made his way afoot along the river front until he reached a pier.

Instantly a man climbed up over the string piece from a rowboat in which sat a solitary individual, close to the piles.

As it was a clear night, the detectives had no trouble to see that the man who joined Mason was a negro.

For a few moments the pair held a whispered conversation, and then climbed down the piles and got into the rowboat.

He was a little old man, in a blue blouse and felt hat, and his face was covered by a gray beard.

When Mason and the negro were aboard, the boatman rowed out on the river, shipped his oars and let the skiff drift with the tide.

It was a large object, but the detectives could not make out at that distance what it really was.

They saw the three men working over it for a while, and finally push it overboard again so the boat could tow it.

When this was done the light craft was rowed down the river and the detectives lost track of it altogether.

An hour later, as they stood on the corner, the man they suspected as Mason came along, and Old King Brady stepped in front of him.

"Let me pass!" growled the other in low, ugly tones, as he shot a savage glance at the old detective, and made an effort to go by.

"Oh, I ain't fooling. I've taken such a huge interest in your whiskers that I'd like to have a handful as a keepsake."

A slight pull dislodged them from the man's face, causing him to recoil, giving utterance to a smothered cry of alarm.

"Bless my heart, so it is," added the old detective, feigning to be very much astonished at the discovery. "How strange! Why, Mr. Mason, what in the world are you going around masquerading this way for, at such a late hour of the night?"

He knew it was useless to pretend he was not the man they mentioned and he swore at them, and cried, fiercely:

"How angry you are. My! My! Keep cool, Mr. Mason. Wrath isn't going to mend matters for you in any way."

"Now, don't get excited," laughed Old King Brady. "You must know, sir, that we are engaged upon very important business. Some time ago we saw you come out of that house, and thinking you were a burglar we followed you down to the East river."

"Oh, dear, yes. And we saw you meet Sim Johnson on the pier, and we saw you get into the rowboat with your bundle, and we saw the little old man with the gray beard row you out on the stream, and then we saw you all pull up the object you had towing astern, take it into the boat, work over it a while, toss it back, and row away."

He eyed the detectives with such a vindictive look that they could see he would have knocked their heads off if he dared.

"Really, I can't say. You were too far from the dock for us to distinguish exactly what it was. But it looked something like the corpse of a man."

"Do you think so? We don't. But you've aroused our curiosity about that mysterious trip on the river and we'd like to know what it all meant."

"Oh, I suppose not—voluntarily. Anyway, you ought to tell us why you are so intimate with your uncle's negro valet——"

"You make me sick!" exclaimed Mason, wearily. "Sim told me all about your looney suspicions about he and I making away with my uncle. But I defy you to prove any of your crack-brained theories. You are on the wrong trail, Brady. And I advise you to leave me alone, or by jingo, I'll defend myself and make it very warm for you."

"I'll tell you nothing of my personal affairs!" roared Mason. "Clear out! Mind your own business. Leave me alone! I don't want to have anything to do with you fellows! Do you understand?"

And he scowled and stamped his foot on the pavement and rushed past them and hastily entered his house.

"Yes. We are wearing on his nerves. He knows we are watching him, and it makes him very uneasy. However, when we get good proof of his guilt, we'll nail him, and that will end his rascality."

They felt confident that Mason would not come out again that night and therefore went home.

When the Bradys entered the morgue they found Lizzie Dalton there, bitterly weeping, and the keeper showing her the body said to be her father's.

The man's head was gone, as if it had been severed by the wheels of a passing boat. The hands were nearly destroyed and the clothing was in a good state. The keeper was asking the girl:

"It must be," replied Lizzie, with a sob. "On the finger is a ring which I know belonged to him, the clothing certainly is his and the keys, papers and penknife found in the pockets belonged to him. As you can see, the envelopes have his name and address on them."

"We hope you will make no error, Miss Dalton. Let the identification be complete. Everything depends upon your verdict."

"Oh, I am positive it is poor papa," said the weeping girl, "for no one but he could have had the things found on this corpse."

When they left her at her door and departed, the Bradys were in a bewildered state of mind and the old detective said:

"But how about the body we traced to the swamp in Georgia? Could it have been brought North again and thrown in the river here?"

"Very true. But there's no way to account for the finding of this body here unless that's what happened."

"So it appears. We may be deep enough to solve an ordinary mystery, but the depth of this one seems to be too much for us. At first we imagined we had the whole thing thoroughly sifted out. Now we've received a severe setback. It brings us to where we started, practically. All our theories may have been wrong. Sim Johnson and Ronald Mason may be innocent men. Perhaps we wronged them by unjust suspicions based upon circumstantial evidence."

"I don't see what else we can do now. If the man found in the river is Dalton, the body is in such a state that it will be utterly impossible to tell whether he was a victim of foul play, suicide, or accident. There is absolutely nothing about the body to indicate what the cause of his death was."

"Well, we never before found a job we couldn't finish successfully," said the old detective. "But how we are to unravel the mystery of this man's death is beyond my power of thinking."

"Because we haven't satisfied ourselves about what Mason and the black valet were doing on the river with that boatman. If we find that the old gray-bearded fellow was the one who brought the body to the morgue, it would seem to indicate that Mason and the coon know something about how Mr. Dalton may have met his doom. Remember the object they had towing behind the boat may have been the old broker's corpse. We can find out by attending the coroner's inquest and gaining a glimpse of the man who picked up the body."

On the following day they went to the morgue again and there found the coroner and his jury.

As the boatman who found the body was the only witness present the Bradys saw him the moment they entered the building.

He was the same little old man whom they had seen rowing Mason and Johnson out on the river.

Satisfied of this and having learned his address, the detectives left the building with renewed hope in their hearts.

"No doubt about it, Harry. But then, he may have found the body long before he met the negro and Mason. [15] He may have learned whose corpse it was and telegraphed to Mason to come down to the river and identify it."

"I tell you, Old King Brady, the whole circumstance is so suspicious that I'm yet of the opinion that the whole thing is a deep-laid plot, and I'm convinced that we will get at the bottom of the mystery if we keep a watch on the foxy Mr. Mason."

Harry looked pleased to hear this, and they went downtown and put their plan in operation at once.

The body was taken from the morgue and was buried from Mr. Dalton's house, Lizzie and Mason being the chief mourners.

Having called on him and explained their suspicions of Mason, they asked him if he had seen Mr. Dalton's will.

He told them that Mason had given it to him that morning, with a request that it be read at the house that afternoon.

It was then sealed up and according to Mason's story, had been in Mr. Dalton's safe a long time, in the Broad street office.

"We must hear the contents of that will," said Old King Brady. "As Mason is an unscrupulous man, we fear he may have tampered with it."

"You might disguise yourselves and go with me," suggested the lawyer. "I could tell Mason you were called on as witnesses."

Both were expert at such work, and quickly made such a wonderful change in their outward appearance that they could safely defy recognition.

Harry was made up as a stylish young woman, and Old King Brady, in a black wig and beard, looked like a minister.

The lawyer did not know them when they returned to his office, and laughed heartily when he found out who they were.

"I never saw such skillful disguising done before," he exclaimed, admiringly, "and I can assure you that Mason will not know who you are."

They proceeded to Mr. Dalton's house and were introduced to Lizzie and the broker's nephew as two witnesses to the reading of the will.

When all were seated and the lawyer had made a few remarks about his business, he opened the seals on the will and read it aloud.

By this paper the old broker left a fortune amounting to half a million, most of which was invested in stocks, bonds and mortgages.

After speaking of the high regard in which he held Ronald Mason, the broker went on to say that he earnestly desired his daughter to marry the young man. If she did so she was to receive half the fortune. If she failed to do so, every cent was to go to Mason.

"I don't believe my father ever wrote such a will. He always was opposed to Mason marrying me. So was I. And what is more, if I forfeit every dollar coming to me, I'll never marry that man!"

"Then if you reject the terms of that will you are entitled to nothing, and therefore you can clear out of here. This house and everything is mine. I am the master here now. You get out!"

"Hold on, there! I've got something to say about this," said Old King Brady, as he flung off his disguise and seized the disputed will.

When Ronald Mason saw that the supposed minister was his enemy, Old King Brady, a tigerish expression leaped to his eyes.

"In the first place," said he, forcibly, "the provisions of this instrument are entirely unnatural. Who ever heard [16] of a kind, indulgent father disinheriting his only child for not marrying a man whom we all know he formerly refused to accept as a son-in-law? Who would believe Oliver Dalton criminal enough to leave his tenderly-nurtured daughter an absolute beggar, dependent upon the cold charity of the world? What has this girl done to forfeit her birthright? What has this man done that Dalton should leave his daughter penniless, for his sake?"

"Queer? Why, it's utterly ridiculous!" cried Old King Brady, in tones of supreme contempt. "It's beyond reason. Only an insane father would be guilty of such a deed. Moreover, I have my doubts about the signature attached to this paper. It looks similar to Mr. Dalton's signature which I have appended to a letter now in my pocket. But there are certain formations in the letters that lead me to suppose this signature on the will is a rank forgery. I'm going to prove that idea by giving the will and some of Mr. Dalton's signatures to a handwriting expert. He will magnify them and throw the image of the enlarged signatures on a screen by means of a magic-lantern. Any one can then tell at a glance if this signature is a forgery or not."

"So it shall," grimly answered Old King Brady. "So it shall. And this lawyer will contest it on behalf of Miss Dalton, and baffle your design to rob her. And if it is proven that the will is a forgery, you can rest assured that I'll arrest you for the crooked work the moment I get my hands on you!"

And snapping his fingers at the old detective, Mason rushed from the room, put on his hat and left the house.

Left alone with the girl and the lawyer, Old King Brady held a conference with them and settled upon a plan of legal action.

In the meantime Mason had gone downtown, with Young King Brady carefully shadowing him at a safe distance.

He entered Mr. Dalton's office and remained there until long after all the clerks had gone home.

Harry remained outside the building on the watch for him, and at about seven o'clock saw him emerge.

He dropped a letter in a lamp-post letter-box and rapidly strode across town and entered a liquor saloon.

While waiting for his man to emerge from the saloon, the boy made a bundle of the disguise and wrapped it in a newspaper.

Getting uneasy over the prolonged absence of the man, Harry strode into the saloon, glanced around and failed to see Mason.

"Yes. What became of a fellow of this description who came in here half an hour ago?" said Harry, and he minutely described Mason.

"Why, he went out the side door after getting a drink of whisky," said the bartender. "He seemed to be in a hurry to catch a train."

"Well, he asked me what time the train for Savannah left, and as I told him he only had a few moments to catch it, he hurried out."

"The villain is heading for the South again!" flashed across the boy's mind. "I'll see if I can verify this idea."

He went over to the railroad ticket office and closely questioned the agent, who admitted that a man such as the detective described had bought a ticket for Swamp Angel and gone.

He could not understand why the man was running away from New York so soon after the incident at Dalton's house.

"It looks as if he had a guilty conscience and feared exposure," muttered the boy, as he made his way home.

Old King Brady was there ahead of him and Harry told him about Mason's flight to the South.

On the following morning a letter reached them from Mason, worded in the following manner:

In half an hour they reached Dalton's office and found [17] a policeman in charge, all the clerks frantic with alarm, and the safe open.

"Well, we know who did the job. The clerks must go, and we must close and lock the doors after I secure a few papers."

They had a talk with the chief clerk, got all the details, and the place was then vacated and locked up.

Returning to the street the detectives strode down Broad street toward the Battery, and the old sleuth remarked:

"As we know about where to find him," answered Harry, "we may be able to recover the booty when we go after him."

Just then a little old man with a gray beard came waddling out of Bridge street, clad in a blue jumper and an old felt hat.

The moment Harry saw him he sprang forward, clutched him by the arm, swung him around, and said:

"Yes, and we are going to arrest you, Martin, for your connection with the case of the drowned man you brought to the morgue."

"Oh, we saw you, Ronald Mason and the coon fooling with that corpse in your boat on the river before you brought it to the morgue, and we want to know what you were up to."

"Well, that there nigger was aboardin' with me. The other night him an' me was on ther river carryin' some scrap iron from a boat where I bought it an' we found that dead body. As soon as ther coon saw it, he tied it to ther boat an' said he an' his boss would palm it off for somebody else. So he went ashore an' telegraphed to Mason to fetch down a suit of Dalton's clothes an' things to make it look as if the body was Dalton's. When Mason come, we rowed out on the river, stripped the corpse, put on him the things Mason brought, chucked him overboard and I set them ashore down the river an' towed the body to the morgue where I left it. They paid me ten dollars to keep my mouth shut about what they done."

His story cleared up a great deal of mystery and left the real fate of Oliver Dalton a matter of doubt again.

Realizing the importance of Martin Kelly's confession, Harry now turned to his partner and said, significantly:

They brought him before a notary public, and having written out his statement and secured his signature and oath, they let him go, after learning that Johnson did not return to his house since the body was found.

"That Mason was a clever schemer. But we've foiled his plan to palm off a stranger's body for that of the missing broker. We must let Lizzie Dalton know how she was duped. There's every possibility yet that her father is still alive. With this doubt pending, the will need not be probated yet."

"Steps have already been begun to test the signature," said Old King Brady. "By this afternoon we shall know positively whether that signature to the will is a forgery or not."

"We'll have to run down Mason and make him pay the penalty of his crime," replied the veteran detective, decisively.

"Yes, indeed," replied Harry, "and it is our belief that he is still concealed down South in the big swamp on his estate. We are going back there to investigate the matter."

"And I sincerely hope you will be successful in finding him," fervently replied the girl. "In fact, I am so anxious about the matter that I shall go down to Swamp Angel myself as soon as I can get my affairs so regulated here that I can go away."

"I hope so. And if your work is going to keep you in the vicinity of our place, I want you to make your headquarters there."

They thanked her for the invitation and after some further talk they left the house and headed for the writing-expert's office.

They had furnished him with several check-vouchers, and other specimens of Mr. Dalton's handwriting procured at his office.

He had a projecting machine, and, lighting it, he placed the signature on the will and several more signatures of Mr. Dalton in the machine.

Magnified, the finest lines of the writing were now as coarse as a broom handle, so that every little mark was plainly visible.

"Explanations are useless here," said the expert, smilingly. "You can easily see for yourself all I could tell you. The three signatures which are alike are taken from a check, a letter and a bill. You will notice there isn't the slightest deviation in any of the lines from the fixed method Mr. Dalton had of signing his name. The odd-looking signature is the one affixed to the will. Here you will see that the loops, straight lines, curves and angles are all entirely unlike the original; the width of the lines and shading are different, and the angle at which the letters are set is not the same as that in the others."

In fact, they had every evidence before them that the will was a base forgery and they were well satisfied.

Old King Brady detailed to him all that transpired, and he listened very attentively until the detective finished.

"The whole thing is a big plot on Mason's part to get his uncle's money and daughter at one swoop."

"Very true. He's a bad egg. Capture him and you may find out what he has done with Oliver Dalton."

"I've become convinced of another fact since finding out what a villain that fellow is," said Old King Brady.

"Well, you recollect that when we began this case it was for the purpose of finding out who was stealing money from the broker's mail," said the detective.

"In view of all that happened, it begins to look as if Mason was the guilty party the Federal Government is after."

"It wouldn't surprise me a bit if you brought home that crime to his door," said the chief. "If, as you say, he had such extensive control of the business, he must have handled all the mail. It would then have been an easy matter for him to purloin the contents of many of the envelopes without being detected."

"The misfortune now is that he's gone so we cannot set a trap to catch him in the act," said Old King Brady. "If anything now is found out about the matter, it will only be learned from Mason himself making a clean breast of the crooked work."

"Convict him of his other misdeeds," said the chief, lighting a cigar, "and you'll have evidence enough to send the villain to jail for a long time. If Mr. Dalton is dead, you can lay the crime at his door, for he was the only person in the world who hoped to be benefited by the demise of his benefactor."

On the following afternoon they were ready to depart from New York, and they each wore a clever disguise.

While Old King Brady in boots and whiskers might have passed for a respectable old farmer, Harry had every appearance of being a typical Texan cowboy.

Harry crossed over to the west side of the city and boarding a Belt Line horse-car, he paid his fare and glanced around.

The boy's picturesque costume and fierce big mustache attracted the attention of all the passengers.

He returned their curious stares with interest, and looking from one to the other, his gaze finally rested upon a negro sitting in a corner of the car with a big black-enamel valise on his lap.

"Great Scott!" he muttered. "It's Mason's friend, the valet. Where is the black rascal going with that big valise? Shall I put the nippers on him? What is he doing over here on West street?"

"No. I'll shadow him and find out where he is going. It will be time enough to arrest him when I find he's trying to get away."

To Harry's astonishment he saw the darky buy a ticket for Swamp Angel, and then the truth flashed across the boy's mind.

"He's going to the very place I'm heading for," thought the boy, "and he must be doing that at the request of Ronald Mason. In that case he's sure to meet the man. What a good decoy duck he will make! By Jove, I've only got to shadow him and he will lead me right to the very place where his employer is concealed. Then we'll be enabled to arrest Mason right away."

Old King Brady met Harry on the Jersey side and Young King Brady told his partner about Sim.

A smile of intense satisfaction crossed the old detective's bewhiskered face, and he strode along behind the valet and saw him board the train.

On the following night they all alighted at Swamp Angel and the negro took to the railroad track and started to tramp in the direction of the swamp where Mr. Dalton's body had disappeared.

There was plenty shelter from the negro's gaze for the detectives, and they silently and stealthily sped along in pursuit of their decoy.

The Bradys paused near some rocks and saw two rifle barrels aimed over the top of them, in the hands of two masked men.

Just as the detectives were about to reach for the revolvers they carried, the same rough voice sang out, quickly:

It would have been sheer folly to disobey that command, for the masked men had a bead drawn on the officers.

They felt chagrined over the careless way in which they walked right into the ambuscade, and raised their hands.

"Goldurn yer!" cried Old King Brady. "What on airth dew yer mean by holdin' up a feller citizen this way?"

He was nicely clad, wore a big felt hat, had long hair hanging down on his shoulders and a brown mustache on his upper lip.

A hideous half mask of black hid the upper half of his face and the Winchester he carried was aimed at the officers.

The moment the officers heard his voice they recognized him, despite his disguise, as Ronald Mason.

"Oh, go 'long!" said Old King Brady. "Can't a man walk along here without bein' held up like a burglar by you chaps? Gosh durn it, if it's robbery yer up ter, it's mighty little money you'll find on me."

"Sim, take a good look at those gents and if you happen to find any guns about their clothes just relieve them of them."

He got so close to Old King Brady that he suddenly detected the fact that the detective was wearing a wig and false beard.

It effected a startling change in Old King Brady's appearance, and Mason recognized him at once, and roared furiously:

"Lawd amassy!" groaned Sim, all his courage departing, and he made a sudden dash for the swamp and rushed away, spattering up showers of mud and water.

The man with the rifle pulled the trigger, intending to shoot the old detective, but his weapon missed fire.

"Run!" yelled his companion behind the rocks, and he shot at Harry just as Mason made a dash for shelter.

A bullet whistled by dangerously close to Young King Brady's cheek, and he discharged a shot at the running man.

All hands had gone plunging among the weeds and shrubbery, and in an instant were swallowed up by the verdure.

"A warm welcome, Harry," said Old King Brady, when they met on the railroad track five minutes later.

"Can't be helped. We know Mason is really here, however. He's desperate now, and won't hesitate to murder us if he can, to avoid arrest."

"Must be the party who helped him to get the box off the train, and carry the body of Mr. Dalton to the house in the swamp."

"Oh, Mason hadn't a hand in stealing the box from the baggage car. He got off before the cars reached this point of the swamp, I'm sure."

"Then that fellow must have had other helpers, as he could not very well have done the job unaided," said Harry.

[20] "Let us get around to the board walk, and try to reach the hut. If they are heading for that building, we can meet them there."

The water was mostly quite shallow, but there were places where the detectives could not see bottom.

In a short time they reached the island in the swamp, and, leaping ashore, they ran over to the hut.

He made a circuit of the island, scanning every section of the swamp, and finally returned to his partner, and said:

"More than likely. As Mason is skulking about this neighborhood, he, of course, must be living in the big house."

They saw numerous channels by following which they could reach the mainland quite close to the big house.

Gliding slowly over the water, the boat finally touched the shore, and the two detectives debarked and pulled the punt up on the bank.

The detectives glided in the direction of the voice, and, passing through the shrubbery, they parted the bushes, and entered a clearing.

A little brook was gushing from the midst of the verdure, and emptied its waters into a shallow pool, the bottom of which was composed of pure white sand.

Pausing on the brink of this pool, the detectives glanced searchingly around, and heard the negro laughing amid the shrubbery.

In fact, they were so absorbed in looking for the negro that they did not see two men crouching in the bushes close behind them.

When but a few feet separated them from the Bradys, they made a combined rush, with their hands outstretched.

Before they could defend themselves, however, the on-comers struck them heavily, and knocked the detectives into the pool.

Too late the Bradys realized that the negro had been decoying them purposely to that dangerous place.

Trying to scramble to their feet, the Bradys found their legs going down in the treacherous sand rapidly.

They made the most desperate efforts, but only floundered around helplessly, and each moment got caught more firmly in the deadly sand.

The moment Ronald Mason and his companion hurled Old and Young King Brady in the bed of quick-sand, they ran away.

Finding it impossible to extricate themselves from the deadly grip of the treacherous sand, the detectives ceased their struggles.

They were shouting this way when Mason came from behind the rocks, pulled off his mask, and grinned sardonically at them.

"I won't. See all the harm you've done me. In the first place, you've cheated me out of a fortune. In the second place, you prevented me from getting the girl I loved. In short, you've baffled me at every turn, after I made the most elaborate preparations to succeed."

"Oh, that be hanged! You'd kill me to do your duty, and I'm justified in ridding myself of such enemies as you two are."

"Well, I know that very well. It's stale news. But I had an object in what I did, and you interfered and foiled me. I didn't do any one much harm, and——"

"Dalton employed us to expose you, and we'd been at his house on the night you and Johnson were posing in Thirty-sixth street as undertakers."

"No use denying it now," laughed Mason. "I freely admit that I did get away with thousands of his dollars in that way. No use trying to conceal it. You'll never get out of there alive to prosecute me. And even if you do, you've got enough other evidence against me to send me up as high as a kite."

By this time the Bradys were sunk in the quick-sand to their hips, and were unable to move in any direction.

"Well, we can't arrest you now for that crime," said Old King Brady, "but I've got a feeling that we shall do so yet."

The Bradys began to shout for help again, and Mason paused, and, darting an angry look at them, he shouted threateningly:

"Oh, we won't shoot to kill," growled the scowling rascal, "but we will riddle your carcasses with painful wounds."

Once more the detectives began to call for assistance, for they now were sunk to their armpits in the sand.

Their voices sounded hoarse and smothered, and a despairing feeling was creeping into their hearts, but they kept on shouting.

Just then the shots and yells were heard by an old track-walker of the railroad, and he rushed around the swamp shouting:

This unwelcome voice to Mason caused a look of alarm to flit over his pale features, and, fearing arrest, he sped away.

The villain calculated that the detectives would be buried out of sight long before assistance could reach them.

They kept on shouting, and the track-walker finally found them by being guided by the tones of their voices.

For a minute the detectives thought he deserted them. But he soon reappeared with a sapling he had cut with his pocket-knife.

Standing on the embankment, he reached out the end to Old King Brady, who lifted his hands above the water and grasped it.

The track-walker used all his strength, for the sand clung to the old detective tenaciously, and dragged him up.

Around him the sand stirred up and the water bubbled and eddied as it rushed into the opening left by his body.

After a fearful struggle Old King Brady was dragged free of the sand, and drawn to the shore, panting and drenched.

It was only by keeping his head thrown back that he kept his mouth above water, and his two hands were raised.

Quick to act, and paying no heed to his own exhaustion, Old King Brady grasped the pole and thrust it out to the boy.

Between the old detective and the track-walker he was [22] hauled up and pulled ashore in a half-fainting condition. It was some time ere he revived.

But when his faculties returned, and the old track-walker had been thanked, the boy told their benefactor all that had happened.

Shortly afterward the track-walker departed to resume his lonely tramp along the road-bed with a sledge over his shoulder to replace any spike or frogs dislodged by the passing cars.

They were thoroughly rested now, and, having examined their pistols and found them in working order, they proceeded up the hill.

Within a short time they reached the house, and rang the front door bell for admittance.

George Scott, the big negro whom they had met at the gate when they were there before, opened the door and grinned at them.

"Good Lawdy, no," replied the colored man. "An' de blame rascal better not come in dis yere house, or I'll blow de roof ob his head off, sho's yo's bo'n. I done know all he's been a-doin', I does."

"Missy Lizzie, sah. She arrive heah ter-day, bress her heart, an' she seen yo' a-comin', an' done tell me fo' ter ask yo' right inter de parlor. She be downstairs in a moment, Massa Brady. Come right in, gemmen, come right in."

And he led the detectives into the parlor, flung open the blinds, and left the room.

In a few moments the door opened and Lizzie Dalton stepped into the room and approached them, with a smile and extended hand.

"So you found Ronald Mason prowling around the swamp, after you traced Sim Johnson down here from New York?" asked the broker's daughter, after the first salutations were over, and all were seated.

"We were under the impression that he had been making this house his abode," replied Old King Brady, in some surprise.

"No, indeed. George, the caretaker, declares that nobody but he and his wife have been in this house since you two gentlemen were here last."

"It puzzles me to account for Mason haunting the swamp and never coming near this house. Why is he hanging around that dismal swamp? What is the attraction that keeps him there with no friends or companions but those two negroes?"

"No, no. He would not select such a malarious hole when there are so many pleasanter places for him to abide in. There is a deeper reason behind it. We must find out what it is."

"When he learns I am here, Mr. Brady, he may take it into his head to continue his persecutions."

"If your father should yet be alive and they should have him concealed somewhere around this swamp, it might account for their presence here."

"Yes, yes," she assented, eagerly. "You've proven conclusively that my poor father was not the man found in the river."

"In view of the fact that the game is up, so far as Mason is concerned, I can't fathom any object he may have in keeping your father a prisoner any longer. That is, of course, presuming he really has your father alive and imprisoned anywhere."

"Well," said the girl, reflectively, "I cannot give an opinion on that point at all. I can only keep on hoping that you may soon find my father, dead or alive. It would end this dreadful suspense and uncertainty about his fate."

At this juncture George's wife stuck her kinky head in at the door and announced that dinner was awaiting them.

Having washed and made their toilets as best they could, they went down and joined Lizzie in the dining-room.

The Bradys abandoned their disguises, merely wearing their top boots, and thoroughly scoured the swamp.

It nettled the detectives, and finally drove them to the conclusion that the rascally trio had gone away.

It therefore seemed quite evident that they cleared out [23] of that neighborhood entirely, and assured of this, the Bradys started for home afoot that night.

"We shall have to leave here to-morrow," said the old sleuth, "and get upon their track elsewhere, Harry."

"As they more than likely went by rail, we could easily make inquiries of the passing train crews for some tidings of them."

Just then the pounding of horses' hoofs upon the road reached their ears, and they rushed behind a heap of rocks.

The moon was rising in the cloudy sky, lighting up the dusty road, and the detectives caught view of two men on horseback.

They were coming from the direction of Pine Creek, the next railroad station beyond Swamp Angel, and carried bundles of provisions.

As Harry's glance fell upon the pair, he grasped Old King Brady's arm, and muttered in low, excited tones:

Up came the horsemen, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the detectives were watching them, and Mason was laughing and saying:

"The fools were searching the swamp for us during the past three days, Nick, and they couldn't find a sign of us."

"Ha, ha, ha," laughed the negro. "'Specs dey am not so smart as dey fink dey am. An' what's mo', dey nebber find us."

Landing in the road in front of the two startled men, they grasped the horses' bridles at the bits, and the frightened beasts paused and reared up.

He dug spurs into his horse's flanks, and the brute sprang forward, maddened with pain, and knocked the old detective down.

Over him bounded the horse, and the next moment it went galloping away into the woods a few yards ahead, and vanished.

As soon as he stopped the negro's horse, the black man raised a stick he carried and aimed a blow at the boy's head.

The descending stick hit the horse and it gave a sudden leap that dismounted the man, and went plunging away at a furious rate.

Out came Harry's handcuffs, "click!" they snapped on his wrists, and in another instant the man was a prisoner.

When Old King Brady reached the boy he was pulling a big navy revolver out of the man's hip pocket.

He was a short, heavily-built fellow, clad in rags, and had as villainous a face as any they had ever seen.

"Ain't you the man who built a bonfire on the railroad track some time ago, to stop a train from running into an obstruction?"

"So you could steal a box containing Mr. Dalton's body from the baggage car during the confusion?"

The Bradys were surprised at the prompt manner in which the negro answered the questions put to him. But they presently observed that he was keeping a wary eye upon their revolvers, and evidently feared to get shot if they caught him lying to them.

Moreover, Old King Brady showed plainly by the questions he asked that he was familiar with the true inwardness of the things he accused Nick of. It made the darky think the old detective knew more about the case than he actually did know.

"You tried to shoot us, and you tried to kill us in the quick-sand. That gives us the right to put you on trial for your life, charged with attempted murder. You are in a pretty bad fix, old man. I wouldn't give two cents for your life. You know what little evidence is required here to hang a Georgia nigger. Therefore you can realize what your fate will be."

"We are inclined to pity you, as you were merely an ignorant tool in the hands of a very wicked man. But of course you can't expect us to be lenient unless you aid us to capture Ronald Mason, and recover Mr. Dalton, either dead or alive."

"Dunno. But I 'spects it's kaze he am a-tryin' fo' ter git de ole man ter sign a paper, an' de broker won't do it."

"What a shame! Now, tell me: On the night you got Dalton from the box, was the old gentleman drugged?"

"Fearful! Yo' see, he had worked his hands free from de bonds. Done gib me a strong tussle when I was a-gwine ter take him into—into——"

As Old King Brady made this threat he pushed his revolver against Nick's forehead, and the coon gave a wild yell of terror.

"I'll solve the mystery of this swamp, or I'll murder you!" fiercely cried the old detective. "Do you hear me, sir?"

"Is that where you carried Dalton on the night you took him from the cars?" demanded Old King Brady.

"Ob co'se," replied the coon. "An' if Mason find out dat I done tell yo' about it, 'spect he'd kill me like a dog."

"No doubt he would," said the old detective. "He is capable of doing almost any kind of villainy. Where were you to-night?"

"Well, the great swamp mystery turns out to be a very simple matter, now that we fully understand it, Old King Brady."

"Yes, indeed. And if we find Mr. Dalton kept a prisoner it will go mighty hard with Mason when we capture him. I'm glad to hear that the old broker had the nerve to resist his demands, for it looks to me as if his nephew were trying [25] to amass all the money he can get his hands on in order to escape from here as soon as possible."

Returning to the Dalton mansion, and meeting Lizzie, they told her what they discovered by pumping the negro.

She was, of course, delighted to learn that her father was alive, and was eager for the detectives to go to his rescue.

"I don't see why you are putting it off so long," exclaimed the girl, petulantly. "I can get you all the help you may need."

"Let us work our own way," quietly answered the boy. "Knowing that we've captured Nick, and may have pumped him, Mason will very likely be on the lookout for us, and meet us with a hot reception. By waiting, it will lead him to think we don't know anything about his subterranean abode. Then, when we attack, we will have a better chance of taking him by surprise."

"You are right," she admitted, reluctantly. "I'm so anxious to have something done for my poor father's instant relief that I can hardly suppress my impatience, though."

"We understand your feelings in the matter," replied Old King Brady, quietly. "But we know best how to handle your cousin. If you will leave the matter to our judgment, we will stand a better chance of making a success of our plans."

"Very well, Mr. Brady. Do as you think best. All I ask is that you will not lose any time about going to my father's rescue."

A careful examination was made of the dreary waste of mud and water, but they failed to see any signs of their men.

It was a bright, sunny day, but a dense vapor hung over the marshy land, and the officers went through it to the island.

They expected by coming so early in the morning to catch their enemies sleeping. But a discovery Harry made dispelled this idea.

Upon examining the spot, he found a natural chimney coming up through the ground, out of which the smoke was pouring.

"That's evidence enough that there's a cave under the island, and the column of smoke shows that Mason and the valet have started a fire to cook their breakfast. When we get in, we are likely to find them at that occupation. Are you ready for the attempt?"

Nick had explained where the trap was located, and they soon found a cunningly hidden ring, and pulled it upward.

The Bradys drew their pistols, got their dark lanterns ready for use, and descended the stairs for a distance of fifteen feet.

They found themselves in a big natural cavern, and as they flashed their lantern lights around in the gloom, a cry of the most intense astonishment burst from their lips.

The detectives were gazing in amazement where the lights of their lanterns rested, and beheld a wonder of nature very seldom seen.

The flight of stairs wound around one of the walls, and beside the bottom step there was a yawning hole in the ground fifty feet in diameter.

"This hole must be of enormous depth!" the boy exclaimed, "else we would have heard that stone hit the bottom."

"Look at the church organ rising up from the depths against that side of the abyss," said Old King Brady, pointing across the chasm.

His light rested upon a number of stalactites forming what looked exactly like the pipes of an enormous organ.

Huge pendants like great icicles hung from the ceiling, and similar formations rose from the floor.

In some cases the ends of the pendants nearly touched the points of the stalagmites rising from the bottom, and not a few were dropping pure, clear water, which formed little pools that ran in rivulets to the great well, and there vanished in the bowels of the earth.

[26] It was quite cold there, yet there was a strong, fresh, invigorating taste to the air, which was agreeable to the lungs.

At various parts of the walls were other natural formations, and among them, in a niche, the figure of a woman holding a child.

"For beauty, the Mammoth Caves of Kentucky cannot compare with this place," said Young King Brady, in tones of delight.

He pointed at an arched aperture, and they crept into it on their hands and knees, and went ahead a dozen yards, then paused.

It looked as if some convulsion of nature had ripped the earth apart, and they crept back to the main cavern and tried another opening.

Following it for some distance, they suddenly caught view of a lurid glare ahead as they turned an abrupt bend, and halted.

They got down on their hands and knees again, and went on to the spot where the passage opened into a smaller cave.

The floor, walls and ceiling were a delicate shade of pink, and the icicles formed many fantastic shapes that sparkled in the firelight.

Pausing, the detectives now saw that the place was about fifty feet in diameter, with a vaulted roof, through a hole in which the smoke from a big log fire was pouring upward.

Upon the floor there were some skins of animals, benches, boxes, dishes and other articles used for cooking and comfort.

Two men were lying upon the ground smoking pipes before the big fire, and as the lights glowed upon their faces, the detectives observed that they were Roland Mason and Sim Johnson.

"Sim," the white man was saying, "are you quite sure the detectives have got Nick locked up in jail?"

"Dat's whut I heered dis mornin' in de town, Massa Ronald," replied the negro, in serious tones.

"Peahs ter me, if dem yere 'tectives wuz a-gwine ter pump any news outen dat coon, dey would hab done it las' night, an' come right heah aftah us, sah."

"Their absence is all that relieves my mind, Sim. I quite agree with your idea. Still, Nick may weaken later on, and make a clean breast of it."

"Yes. He hasn't had anything to eat for three days, and his spirit is broken entirely. He's begging me for food."

"I'm going to tackle him once more. I'm sure he will obey now. You see, there's a balance of $75,000 in Dalton's bank, in ready cash. It can't be drawn without a check, and I'm bound to get such a check. Once I have the money I'll let him go."

While the negro was procuring the light, Mason got his check, and they crossed the cavern, entered a narrow fissure in the wall, and vanished.

It suddenly disappeared around a bend, and the officers observed, its dim rays illuminating a small chamber, as black as midnight.

Reaching the end of the passage, the Bradys glanced through the big opening and saw a small cavern of the same crystal formation as the two other caves, excepting that everything here was black and dark brown from some chemical discoloration.

An iron ring was mortised in the side of it, to which a short, rusty chain was fastened. This chain held a human being a prisoner by being padlocked around his ankle.

His face was pale and haggard, his eyes deeply sunken in their sockets, his hair dishevelled, and his face covered with a short beard.

From privations his figure was so shrunken that his clothing hardly fit him, and the garments were so dirty and torn that he looked like a tramp.

The villain stood looking at the pitiful object he had so basely wronged with a cold, calculating glance, and finally said to him:

"Oh, I know very well it's unpleasant," testily answered Mason, "but you might have spared yourself all the suffering you have been undergoing for the past three days had you done as I asked. You know me, Dalton. I've started a desperate game to get your money, and I've been baffled at every turn by those accursed Bradys. This is my last resource to raise money enough to get out of the country, and, by Heavens, I'll win, or you'll die!"

In the hard, cruel expression of Mason's eyes he read his doom, and he was so overcome with absolute misery of mind and body that he leaned against the rock and cried like a child. All hope had left him.

He was not moved by the signs of weakness his prisoner showed. On the contrary, he gloated over it.

This was the surest indication to him that Dalton was upon the verge of collapse, and intended to give in.

He waited for his victim to get over the first paroxysm of grief, and watched him as closely as a cat watches a mouse.

"Well, which shall it be—obey me, and sign a check, or remain chained here like a wild beast, and perish of starvation?"

Slowly the prisoner removed his trembling hands from his wan, pinched face, and said in reproachful tones:

"The moment you affix your signature to this check, we will give you food. And the moment I get the money, you will get your liberty."

Mason drew the pen and paper from his pocket, eagerly strode over to the poor wretch, and held them out to him.

But instead of taking the pen, Dalton gave one mighty leap, clutched the wretch by the throat with both hands, and, choking the villain till he grew black in the face, he yelled frantically:

"I've got you at last, you dog; and by the eternal, I'll kill you, if it's the last thing I do on earth! Die, confound you, die! And this is the vengeance I've been craving all through the moments of torture you've put me to in the past!"

He hurled Mason upon the floor, pinioned him to the ground, with a knee on his chest, and Sim, with an oath, rushed to his master's aid.

The Bradys were very much astonished by the violent turn affairs had taken. In the prisoner's desperate attack they saw the last expiring act of a wronged man thirsting to avenge his injuries.

But when the negro showed signs of attacking Mr. Dalton, they realized that it was about time for them to act.

A yell of agony escaped the negro, and he paused and staggered back with a wound in his side which filled him with pain.

They heard the patter of rushing footsteps crossing the floor, and made violent efforts to get out and unmask their lanterns.

Only a few moments passed before they had a light flashing on the scene, and they swept it around the cavern.

Mr. Dalton stood by the rock, trembling and anxious, and after a few moments of silence, he asked, eagerly:

When he finished the old broker was thoroughly amazed at the great crime Mason committed in order to rob him.

"Will you please tell us how your rascally nephew first managed to get you into his power, Mr. Dalton?" asked Harry, in curious tones.

"It was a very simple plan," replied the old broker. "He knew that I was going to get you to run down the thief who was robbing my mail. But he did not know that I suspected him of the crime. At any rate, on the night you mentioned, I had gone to the Union Club. A telegram reached me, saying you wished to see me at a house in Thirty-sixth street. I went there. Mason and my valet were waiting there for me. They attacked me. I shouted for help. They chloroformed me, bound and gagged me, put me in a box they had prepared for my reception, and—well, all became a blank."

"It was a prearranged plot," the broker replied. "That was evident. I came to my senses in the box, and realized that I was being carried off on a railway car. Then you opened the box. The next thing I knew, the box I was in was thrown from the car. The shock stunned me. When I recovered I found myself being carried over a swamp into a hut. The gag was off my mouth, and I shouted for help."

"The negro who carried me brought me down here and secured me this way. Then Mason made his appearance. For the first time I then learned that he was the author of all my trouble. He was bound to secure my bank balance, and I refused to sign a check so he could get it. Infuriated over my persistent refusal, he tortured and starved me. The rest you probably know."

Just then Old King Brady finished cutting the lock, and the man was free and able to walk.

"Do you know anything about the passage by means of which the villains escaped from here?" asked Old King Brady.

"Oh, yes. I've often explored this place," replied Mr. Dalton, readily. "It's a passage leading under the swamp to the mainland."

"When I entered the Thirty-sixth street house the night you were abducted, I found a curious dagger lying on the floor, and blood-stains on the boards. These clews led me to suppose a murder had been committed there. Do you know anything about those things?"

"Yes," replied the broker. "The dagger was one I had purchased as a curiosity that evening from a shop in Fourth avenue. When those two men attacked me, I drew it, and cut the negro before they got the best of me by knocking it from my hand. Sim bound up his wound, and then they knocked me down and drugged me."

They left the passage among some rocks in the grounds above the house, and saw Lizzie Dalton near by.

She sat on a log gazing away toward the big swamp with a sad expression upon her pretty face.

She sprang to her feet as if electrified, glanced around at him with a joyful look beaming all over her face, and cried emotionally:

The next moment they rushed into each other's arms, and kissed and wept over each other, their hearts too full for utterance.

"Let's notify the authorities along the line of the railroad in both directions to keep a lookout for the pair."

Acting upon this suggestion, they quietly stole away, leaving the reunited and happy father and daughter talking over past events.

Proceeding to Swamp Angel, and learning that neither [29] of the villains had yet put in an appearance there, they got the telegraph instrument operating, and flashed a warning message all along the line.

News reached them that neither Mason nor Johnson had made any attempt to get away on the cars yet.

In discussing this on their way back to Dalton's the old detective came to a wise conclusion, when he said:

"After all, they ain't apt to show themselves for a while yet, Harry. Both know the game is up, and that we'll be on the lookout for them to escape. They'll expect us to make a bee line for the railroad depots the first thing. Therefore, they'll shun the stations."

"It's more than likely. Now that we've got the railroad guarded so they can't escape, it will be best for us to watch the swamp, and I think we'll find them lurking there until they think the excitement blows over. They won't expect us to look for them there. That will make our task all the easier, Harry."

"I'm agreeable. If we can pounce upon the pair while they're asleep, we will be spared the difficulty of a fight in taking them."

The detectives advised him not to go to New York, or to let on to any one that he was alive, until they had captured his enemies.

When they got around on the south side of the swamp, they heard the murmur of voices coming from a dense thicket.

They had a clear and uninterrupted view of the broad expanse of swamp, and to their delight saw the two men they were hunting for.

The waters of a lagoon washed the swampy shore directly in front of the place where the two detectives were crouching.

A flat-bottomed boat was tied to a log, and Sim Johnson was just in the act of casting it loose, when the detectives saw him.

Roland Mason sat in the stern, a big felt hat on his head, the wig and false mustache adjusted, and he was laughing heartily, and saying:

"We wouldn't have known their plans if I hadn't gone over to the house to-day and listened outside the open window, to all they were saying to Oliver Dalton," replied the rascal.

"Of course. We must ride away from here on horseback, and get back into the interior, as the railroad stations here are being watched for us. Once we are a day's travel from this accursed place, we can board the cars of some other road, and get down to New Orleans, where we'll be safe."

The two desperadoes were completely surprised by the sudden appearance of the two noted detectives.

He did not raise it to aim, but took the young detective unawares, and the ball grazed Harry's skull, and stunned him.

Dropping his pistol, he flung up his hands, reeled back, and fell over the side of the boat upon the mud, unconscious.

At the same moment Sim, electrified, sprang convulsively at Old King Brady and knocked the pistol aside.

The coon seized the detective's wrists, and in a moment a terrific struggle ensued between the pair.

"You treacherous dogs! We might have expected such crooked work as this!" he cried. "But you won't escape me, I can tell you!"

But Mason had discreetly seized the oars, and was then rowing away with all his strength, in a violent effort to escape.

The great detective gave his wrist a sudden twist that tore it out of the darky's grip, and caught hold of Sim by the throat.

Out came the old detective's handcuffs, and the next instant they were snapped upon Sim's wrists behind his back.

"Now, don't you budge an inch till I tell you to!" panted the old man-hunter threateningly, as he aimed his pistol at Johnson.

First he was overjoyed to find that the boy was alive, then he carefully examined the wound on his scalp and saw it was only skin deep.

With a hatful of water he bathed the young detective's temples, and while so employed gazed around in quest of Mason.

His head was very sore, but otherwise he suffered no ill effects from the wound he received, and cried eagerly:

While Harry took possession of the scared darky, Old King Brady ran around the swamp at the top of his speed toward the spot Mason was heading the boat for, and kept out of the rascal's view.

In this manner Old King Brady reached the grounds surrounding Oliver Dalton's house, and suddenly caught view of Mason.

He had landed, and was kneeling down beside a rock, under which was a hollow space from which he was drawing a package.

Hearing the old detective coming, he bounded to his feet, and raised his revolver to fire. But he was not quick enough.

"No. I'll reserve your life for a prison cell, so you may repent of your sins at your leisure, and ultimately become a reformed man!"

The shot brought Mr. Dalton and his daughter from the house, and as they rushed over to the spot, the broker cried joyfully:

Just then Harry came along with Johnson in tow, and the two prisoners were handcuffed together, and were taken to Swamp Angel and locked up.

As Mr. Dalton was anxious to get back to New York, the detectives got their three prisoners and accompanied the broker and his daughter north a few days later, and they finally reached the metropolis.

Of course everybody was surprised to see the broker appear alive and well, after believing so long he was dead and buried.

In due time Roland Mason and his two negro pals were put on trial for their many offenses, and the testimony of the Bradys convicted them.

Mr. Dalton soon had his business re-established, and found that after all his losses by Mason's peculations were not very heavy since the time he was supposed to have been found dead.

From that time onward the Bradys had the warmest friends in Lizzie Dalton and her father. But they certainly earned their esteem.

They had gone beyond their depth several times while unravelling the great swamp mystery, but success crowned their efforts in the end.

Praised for the good work they did by their chief, and lauded to the skies by the press, they became more celebrated than ever.

But their work for the Secret Service was not ended with the happy finish of the Dalton case. They were soon busy with a new piece of detective work that taxed all their ingenuity.

But we have reserved a history of their exploits while so engaged for another story.

Read "THE BRADYS' HOPELESS CASE; OR, AGAINST PLAIN EVIDENCE," which will be the next number (96) of "Secret Service."

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Each book consists of sixty-four pages, printed on good paper, in clear type and neatly bound in an attractive, illustrated cover. Most of the books are also profusely illustrated, and all of the subjects treated upon are explained in such a simple manner that any child can thoroughly understand them. Look over the list as classified and see if you want to know anything about the subjects mentioned.

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SPORTING.

No. 21. HOW TO HUNT AND FISH.—The most complete hunting and fishing guide ever published. It contains full instructions about guns, hunting dogs, traps, trapping and fishing, together with descriptions of game and fish.

No. 26. HOW TO ROW, SAIL AND BUILD A BOAT.—Fully illustrated. Every boy should know how to row and sail a boat. Full instructions are given in this little book, together with instructions on swimming and riding, companion sports to boating.

No. 47. HOW TO BREAK, RIDE, AND DRIVE A HORSE.—A complete treatise on the horse. Describing the most useful horses for business, the best horses for the road; also valuable recipes for diseases peculiar to the horse.

No. 48. HOW TO BUILD AND SAIL CANOES.—A handy book for boys, containing full directions for constructing canoes and the most popular manner of sailing them. Fully illustrated. By C. Stansfield Hicks.

FORTUNE TELLING.

No. 1. NAPOLEON'S ORACULUM AND DREAM BOOK.—Containing the great oracle of human destiny; also the true meaning of almost any kind of dreams, together with charms, ceremonies, and curious games of cards. A complete book.

No. 23. HOW TO EXPLAIN DREAMS.—Everybody dreams, from the little child to the aged man and woman. This little book gives the explanation to all kinds of dreams, together with lucky and unlucky days, and "Napoleon's Oraculum," the book of fate.

No. 28. HOW TO TELL FORTUNES.—Everyone is desirous of knowing what his future life will bring forth, whether happiness or misery, wealth or poverty. You can tell by a glance at this little book. Buy one and be convinced. Tell your own fortune. Tell the fortune of your friends.

No. 76. HOW TO TELL FORTUNES BY THE HAND.—Containing rules for telling fortunes by the aid of the lines of the hand, or the secret of palmistry. Also the secret of telling future events by aid of moles, marks, scars, etc. Illustrated. By A. Anderson.

ATHLETIC.

No. 6. HOW TO BECOME AN ATHLETE.—Giving full instruction for the use of dumb bells, Indian clubs, parallel bars, horizontal bars and various other methods of developing a good, healthy muscle; containing over sixty illustrations. Every boy can become strong and healthy by following the instructions contained in this little book.

No. 10. HOW TO BOX.—The art of self-defense made easy. Containing over thirty illustrations of guards, blows, and the different positions of a good boxer. Every boy should obtain one of these useful and instructive books, as it will teach you how to box without an instructor.

No. 25. HOW TO BECOME A GYMNAST.—Containing full instructions for all kinds of gymnastic sports and athletic exercises. Embracing thirty-five illustrations. By Professor W. Macdonald. A handy and useful book.

No. 34. HOW TO FENCE.—Containing full instruction for fencing and the use of the broadsword; also instruction in archery. Described with twenty-one practical illustrations, giving the best positions in fencing. A complete book.

No. 61. HOW TO BECOME A BOWLER.—A complete manual of bowling. Containing full instructions for playing all the standard American and German games; together with rules and systems of sporting in use by the principal bowling clubs in the United States. By Bartholomew Batterson.

TRICKS WITH CARDS.

No. 51. HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH CARDS.—Containing explanations of the general principles of sleight-of-hand applicable to card tricks; of card tricks with ordinary cards, and not requiring sleight-of-hand; of tricks involving sleight-of-hand, or the use of specially prepared cards. By Professor Haffner. With illustrations.

No. 72. HOW TO DO SIXTY TRICKS WITH CARDS.—Embracing all of the latest and most deceptive card tricks, with illustrations. By A. Anderson.

No. 77. HOW TO DO FORTY TRICKS WITH CARDS.—Containing deceptive Card Tricks as performed by leading conjurers and magicians. Arranged for home amusement. Fully illustrated.

MAGIC.

No. 2. HOW TO DO TRICKS.—The great book of magic and card tricks, containing full instruction of all the leading card tricks of the day, also the most popular magical illusions as performed by our leading magicians; every boy should obtain a copy of this book, as it will both amuse and instruct.

No. 22. HOW TO DO SECOND SIGHT.—Heller's second sight explained by his former assistant, Fred Hunt, Jr. Explaining how the secret dialogues were carried on between the magician and the boy on the stage; also giving all the codes and signals. The only authentic explanation of second sight.

No. 43. HOW TO BECOME A MAGICIAN.—Containing the grandest assortment of magical illusions ever placed before the public. Also tricks with cards, incantations, etc.

No. 68. HOW TO DO CHEMICAL TRICKS.—Containing over one hundred highly amusing and instructive tricks with chemicals. By A. Anderson. Handsomely illustrated.

No. 69. HOW TO DO SLEIGHT OF HAND.—Containing over fifty of the latest and best tricks used by magicians. Also containing the secret of second sight. Fully illustrated. By A. Anderson.

No. 70. HOW TO MAKE MAGIC TOYS.—Containing full directions for making Magic Toys and devices of many kinds. By A. Anderson. Fully illustrated.

No. 73. HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH NUMBERS.—Showing many curious tricks with figures and the magic of numbers. By A. Anderson. Fully illustrated.

No. 75. HOW TO BECOME A CONJURER.—Containing tricks with Dominoes, Dice, Cups and Balls, Hats, etc. Embracing thirty-six illustrations. By A. Anderson.

No. 78. HOW TO DO THE BLACK ART.—Containing a complete description of the mysteries of Magic and Sleight of Hand, together with many wonderful experiments. By A. Anderson. Illustrated.

MECHANICAL.

No. 29. HOW TO BECOME AN INVENTOR.—Every boy should know how inventions originated. This book explains them all, giving examples in electricity, hydraulics, magnetism, optics, pneumatics, mechanics, etc., etc. The most instructive book published.

No. 56. HOW TO BECOME AN ENGINEER.—Containing full instructions how to proceed in order to become a locomotive engineer; also directions for building a model locomotive; together with a full description of everything an engineer should know.

No. 57. HOW TO MAKE MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.—Full directions how to make a Banjo, Violin, Zither, Aeolian Harp, Xylophone and other musical instruments; together with a brief description of nearly every musical instrument used in ancient or modern times. Profusely illustrated. By Algernon S. Fitzgerald, for twenty years bandmaster of the Royal Bengal Marines.

No. 59. HOW TO MAKE A MAGIC LANTERN.—Containing a description of the lantern, together with its history and invention. Also full directions for its use and for painting slides. Handsomely illustrated, by John Allen.

No. 71. HOW TO DO MECHANICAL TRICKS.—Containing complete instructions for performing over sixty Mechanical Tricks. By A. Anderson. Fully illustrated.

LETTER WRITING.

No. 11. HOW TO WRITE LOVE-LETTERS.—A most complete little book, containing full directions for writing love-letters, and when to use them; also giving specimen letters for both young and old.

No. 12. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS TO LADIES.—Giving complete instructions for writing letters to ladies on all subjects; also letters of introduction, notes and requests.

No. 24. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS TO GENTLEMEN.—Containing full directions for writing to gentlemen on all subjects; also giving sample letters for instruction.

No. 53. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS.—A wonderful little book, telling you how to write to your sweetheart, your father, mother, sister, brother, employer; and, in fact, everybody and anybody you wish to write to. Every young man and every young lady in the land should have this book.

No. 74. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS CORRECTLY.—Containing full instructions for writing letters on almost any subject; also rules for punctuation and composition; together with specimen letters.

THE STAGE.

No. 41. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK END MEN'S JOKE BOOK.—Containing a great variety of the latest jokes used by the most famous end men. No amateur minstrels is complete without this wonderful little book.

No. 42. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK STUMP SPEAKER—Containing a varied assortment of stump speeches, Negro, Dutch and Irish. Also end men's jokes. Just the thing for home amusement and amateur shows.

No. 45. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK MINSTREL GUIDE AND JOKE BOOK.—Something new and very instructive. Every boy should obtain this book, as it contains full instructions for organizing an amateur minstrel troupe.

No. 65. MULDOON'S JOKES.—This is one of the most original joke books ever published, and it is brimful of wit and humor. It contains a large collection of songs, jokes, conundrums, etc., of Terrence Muldoon, the great wit, humorist, and practical joker of the day. Every boy who can enjoy a good substantial joke should obtain a copy immediately.

No. 79. HOW TO BECOME AN ACTOR.—Containing complete instructions how to make up for various characters on the stage; together with the duties of the Stage Manager, Prompter, Scenic Artist and Property Man. By a prominent Stage Manager.

HOUSEKEEPING.

No. 16. HOW TO KEEP A WINDOW GARDEN.—Containing full instructions for constructing a window garden either in town or country, and the most approved methods for raising beautiful flowers at home. The most complete book of the kind ever published.

No. 30. HOW TO COOK.—One of the most instructive books on cooking ever published. It contains recipes for cooking meats, fish, game, and oysters; also pies, puddings, cakes and all kinds of pastry, and a grand collection of recipes by one of our most popular cooks.

No. 37. HOW TO KEEP HOUSE.—It contains information for everybody, boys, girls, men and women; it will teach you how to make almost anything around the house, such as parlor ornaments, brackets, cements, Aeolian harps, and bird lime for catching birds.

ELECTRICAL.

No. 48. HOW TO MAKE AND USE ELECTRICITY.—A description of the wonderful uses of electricity and electro magnetism; together with full instructions for making Electric Toys, Batteries, etc. By George Trebel, A.M., M.D. Containing over fifty illustrations.

No. 64. HOW TO MAKE ELECTRICAL MACHINES.—Containing full directions for making electrical machines, induction coils, dynamos, and many novel toys to be worked by electricity. By R. A. R. Bennett. Fully illustrated.

No. 67. HOW TO DO ELECTRICAL TRICKS.—Containing a large collection of instructive and highly amusing electrical tricks, together with illustrations. By A. Anderson.

ENTERTAINMENT.

No. 9. HOW TO BECOME A VENTRILOQUIST.—By Harry Kennedy. The secret given away. Every intelligent boy reading this book of instructions, by a practical professor (delighting multitudes every night with his wonderful imitations), can master the art, and create any amount of fun for himself and friends. It is the greatest book ever published, and there's millions (of fun) in it.

No. 20. HOW TO ENTERTAIN AN EVENING PARTY.—A very valuable little book just published. A complete compendium of games, sports, card diversions, comic recreations, etc., suitable for parlor or drawing-room entertainment. It contains more for the money than any book published.

No. 35. HOW TO PLAY GAMES.—A complete and useful little book, containing the rules and regulations of billiards, bagatelle, backgammon, croquet, dominoes, etc.

No. 36. HOW TO SOLVE CONUNDRUMS.—Containing all the leading conundrums of the day, amusing riddles, curious catches and witty sayings.

No. 52. HOW TO PLAY CARDS.—A complete and handy little book, giving the rules and full directions for playing Euchre, Cribbage, Casino, Forty-Five, Rounce, Pedro Sancho, Draw Poker, Auction Pitch, All Fours, and many other popular games of cards.

No. 66. HOW TO DO PUZZLES.—Containing over three hundred interesting puzzles and conundrums, with key to same. A complete book. Fully illustrated. By A. Anderson.

ETIQUETTE.

No. 13. HOW TO DO IT; OR, BOOK OF ETIQUETTE.—It is a great life secret, and one that every young man desires to know all about. There's happiness in it.

No. 33. HOW TO BEHAVE.—Containing the rules and etiquette of good society and the easiest and most approved methods of appearing to good advantage at parties, balls, the theatre, church, and in the drawing-room.

DECLAMATION.

No. 27. HOW TO RECITE AND BOOK OF RECITATIONS.—Containing the most popular selections in use, comprising Dutch dialect, French dialect, Yankee and Irish dialect pieces, together with many standard readings.

No. 31. HOW TO BECOME A SPEAKER.—Containing fourteen illustrations, giving the different positions requisite to become a good speaker, reader and elocutionist. Also containing gems from all the popular authors of prose and poetry, arranged in the most simple and concise manner possible.

No. 49. HOW TO DEBATE.—Giving rules for conducting debates, outlines for debates, questions for discussion, and the best sources for procuring information on the questions given.

SOCIETY.

No. 3. HOW TO FLIRT.—The arts and wiles of flirtation are fully explained by this little book. Besides the various methods of handkerchief, fan, glove, parasol, window and hat flirtation, it contains a full list of the language and sentiment of flowers, which is interesting to everybody, both old and young. You [several words missing] without one.

No. 4. HOW TO DANCE is the title of a new and handsome little book just issued by Frank Tousey. It contains full instructions in the art of dancing, etiquette in the ball-room and at parties, how to dress, and full directions for calling off in all popular square dances.

No. 5. HOW TO MAKE LOVE.—A complete guide to love, courtship and marriage, giving sensible advice, rules and etiquette to be observed, with many curious and interesting things not generally known.

No. 17. HOW TO DRESS.—Containing full instruction in the art of dressing and appearing well at home and abroad, giving the selections of colors, material, and how to have them made up.

No. 18. HOW TO BECOME BEAUTIFUL.—One of the brightest and most valuable little books ever given to the world. Everybody wishes to know how to become beautiful, both male and female. The secret is simple, and almost costless. Read this book and be convinced how to become beautiful.

BIRDS AND ANIMALS.

No. 7. HOW TO KEEP BIRDS.—Handsomely illustrated, and containing full instructions for the management and training of the canary, mocking-bird, bobolink, blackbird, paroquet, parrot, etc.

No. 39. HOW TO RAISE DOGS, POULTRY, PIGEONS AND RABBITS.—A useful and instructive book. Handsomely illustrated. By Ira Drofraw.

No. 40. HOW TO MAKE AND SET TRAPS.—Including hints on how to catch moles, weasels, otter, rats, squirrels and birds. Also how to cure skins. Copiously illustrated. By. J. Harrington Keene.

No. 50. HOW TO STUFF BIRDS AND ANIMALS.—A valuable book, giving instructions in collecting, preparing, mounting and preserving birds, animals and insects.

No, 54. HOW TO KEEP AND MANAGE PETS.—Giving complete information as to the manner and method of raising, keeping, taming, breeding, and managing all kinds of pets; also giving full instructions for making cages, etc. Fully explained by twenty-eight illustrations, making it the most complete book of the kind ever published.

MISCELLANEOUS.

No. 8. HOW TO BECOME A SCIENTIST.—A useful and instructive book, giving a complete treatise on chemistry; also experiments in acoustics, mechanics, mathematics, chemistry, and directions for making fireworks, colored fires, and gas balloons. This book cannot be equaled.

No. 14. HOW TO MAKE CANDY.—A complete hand-book for making all kinds of candy, ice-cream, syrups, essences, etc., etc.

No. 15. HOW TO BECOME RICH.—This wonderful book presents you with the example and life experience of some of the most noted and wealthy men in the world, including the self-made men of our country. The book is edited by one of the most successful men of the present age, whose own example is in itself guide enough for those who aspire to fame and money. The book will give you the secret.

No. 19. FRANK TOUSEY'S UNITED STATES DISTANCE TABLES, POCKET COMPANION AND GUIDE.—Giving the official distances on all the railroads of the United States and Canada. Also table of distances by water to foreign ports, hack fares in the principal cities, reports of the census, etc., etc., making it one of the most complete and handy books published.

No. 38. HOW TO BECOME YOUR OWN DOCTOR.—A wonderful book, containing useful and practical information in the treatment of ordinary diseases and ailments common to every family. Abounding in useful and effective recipes for general complaints.

No. 55. HOW TO COLLECT STAMPS AND COINS.—Containing valuable information regarding the collecting and arranging of stamps and coins. Handsomely illustrated.

No. 58. HOW TO BE A DETECTIVE.—By Old King Brady, the world-known detective. In which he lays down some valuable and sensible rules for beginners, and also relates some adventures and experiences of well-known detectives.

No. 60. HOW TO BECOME A PHOTOGRAPHER.—Containing useful information regarding the Camera and how to work it; also how to make Photographic Magic Lantern Slides and other Transparencies. Handsomely illustrated. By Captain W. De W. Abney.

No. 62. HOW TO BECOME A WEST POINT MILITARY CADET.—Containing full explanations how to gain admittance, course of Study, Examinations, Duties, Staff of Officers, Post Guard, Police Regulations, Fire Department, and all a boy should know to be a Cadet. Compiled and written by Lu Senarens, Author of "How to Become a Naval Cadet."

No. 63. HOW TO BECOME A NAVAL CADET.—Complete instructions of how to gain admission to the Annapolis Naval Academy. Also containing the course of instruction, descriptions of grounds and buildings, historical sketch, and everything a boy should know to become an officer in the United States Navy. Compiled and written by Lu Senarens, author of "How to Become a West Point Military Cadet."

PRICE 10 CENTS EACH OR 3 FOR 25 CENTS.
Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York

SECRET SERVICE.

OLD AND YOUNG KING BRADY, DETECTIVES.

PRICE 5 CTS.

32 PAGES.

COLORED COVERS.

ISSUED WEEKLY

1. The Black Band; or, The Two King Bradys Against a Hard Gang. An Interesting Detective Story.

2. Told by the Ticker; or, The Two King Bradys on a Wall Street Case.

3. The Bradys After a Million; or, Their Chase to Save an Heiress.

4. The Bradys' Great Bluff; or, A Bunco Game that Failed to Work.

5. In and Out; or, The Two King Bradys on a Lively Chase.

6. The Bradys' Hard Fight; or, After the Pullman Car Crooks.

7. Case Number Ten; or, The Bradys and the Private Asylum Fraud.

8. The Bradys' Silent Search; or, Tracking the Deaf and Dumb Gang.

9. The Maniac Doctor; or, Old and Young King Brady in Peril.

10. Held at Bay; or, The Bradys on a Baffling Case.

11. Miss Mystery, the Girl from Chicago; or, Old and Young King Brady on a Dark Trail.

12. The Bradys' Deep Game; or, Chasing the Society Crooks.

13. Hop Lee, the Chinese Slave Dealer; or, Old and Young King Brady and the Opium Fiends.

14. The Bradys In the Dark; or, The Hardest Case of All.

15. The Queen of Diamonds; or, The Two King Bradys' Treasure Case.

16. The Bradys on Top; or, The Great River Mystery.

17. The Missing Engineer; or, Old and Young King Brady and the Lightning Express.

18. The Bradys' Fight For a Life; or, A Mystery Hard to Solve.

19. The Bradys' Best Case; or, Tracking the River Pirates.

20. The Foot in the Frog; or, Old and Young King Brady and the Mystery of the Owl Train.

21. The Bradys' Hard Luck; or, Working Against Odds.

22. The Bradys Baffled; or, In Search of the Green Goods Men.

23. The Opium King; or, The Bradys' Great Chinatown Case.

24. The Bradys in Wall Street; or, A Plot to Steal a Million.

25. The Girl From Boston; or, Old and Young King Brady on a Peculiar Case.

26. The Bradys and the Shoplifters; or, Hard Work on a Dry Goods Case.

27. Zig Zag the Clown; or, The Bradys' Great Circus Trail.

28. The Bradys Out West; or, Winning a Hard Case.

29. After the Kidnappers; or, The Bradys on a False Clue.

30. Old and Young King Bradys' Battle; or, Bound to Win Their Case.

31. The Bradys' Race Track Job; or, Crooked Work Among Jockeys.

32. Found in the Bay; or, The Bradys on a Great Murder Mystery.

33. The Bradys in Chicago; or, Solving the Mystery of the Lake Front.

34. The Bradys' Great Mistake; or, Shadowing the Wrong Man.

35. The Bradys and the Mail Mystery; or, Working for the Government.

36. The Bradys Down South; or, The Great Plantation Mystery.

37. The House in the Swamp; or, The Bradys' Keenest Work.

38. The Knock-out-Drops Gang; or, The Bradys' Risky Venture.

39. The Bradys' Close Shave; or, Into the Jaws of Death.

40. The Bradys' Star Case; or, Working for Love and Glory.

41. The Bradys In 'Frisco; or, A Three Thousand Mile Hunt.

42. The Bradys and the Express Thieves; or, Tracing the Package Marked "Paid."

43. The Bradys' Hot Chase; or, After the Horse Stealers.

44. The Bradys' Great Wager; or, The Queen of Little Monte Carlo.

45. The Bradys' Double Net; or, Catching the Keenest of Criminals.

46. The Man in the Steel Mask; or, The Bradys' Work for a Great Fortune.

47. The Bradys and the Black Trunk; or, Working a Silent Clew.

48. Going It Blind; or, The Bradys' Good Luck.

49. The Bradys Balked; or, Working up Queer Evidence.

50. Against Big Odds; or, The Bradys' Great Stroke.

51. The Bradys and the Forger; or, Tracing the N. G. Check.

52. The Bradys' Trump Card; or, Winning a Case by Bluff.

53. The Bradys and the Grave Robbers; or, Tracking the Cemetery Owls.

54. The Bradys and the Missing Boy; or, The Mystery of School No. 6.

55. The Bradys Behind the Scenes; or, The Great Theatrical Case.

56. The Bradys and the Opium Dens; or, Trapping the Crooks of Chinatown.

57. The Bradys Down East; or, The Mystery of a Country Town.

58. Working for the Treasury; or, The Bradys and the Bank Burglars.

59. The Bradys' Fatal Clew; or, A Desperate Game for Gold.

60. Shadowing the Sharpers; or, The Bradys' $10,000 Deal.

61. The Bradys and the Firebug; or, Found in the Flames.

62. The Bradys in Texas; or, The Great Ranch Mystery.

63. The Bradys on the Ocean; or, The Mystery of Stateroom No. 7.

64. The Bradys and the Office Boy; or, Working Up a Business Case.

65. The Bradys in the Backwoods; or, The Mystery of the Hunters' Camp.

66. Ching Foo, the Yellow Dwarf; or, The Bradys and the Opium Smokers.

67. The Bradys' Still Hunt; or, The Case that was Won by Waiting.

68. Caught by the Camera; or, The Bradys and the Girl from Maine.

69. The Bradys in Kentucky; or, Tracking a Mountain Gang.

70. The Marked Bank Note; or, The Bradys Below the Dead Line.

71. The Bradys on Deck; or, The Mystery of the Private Yacht.

72. The Bradys in a Trap; or, Working Against a Hard Gang.

73. Over the Line; or, The Bradys' Chase Through Canada.

74. The Bradys in Society; or, The Case of Mr. Barlow.

75. The Bradys in the Slums; or, Trapping the Crooks of the "Red Light District."

76. Found in the River; or, The Bradys and the Brooklyn Bridge Mystery.

77. The Bradys and the Missing Box; or, Running Down the Railroad Thieves.

78. The Queen of Chinatown; or, The Bradys Among the "Hop" Fiends.

79. The Bradys and the Girl Smuggler; or, Working for the Custom House.

80. The Bradys and the Runaway Boys; or, Shadowing the Circus Sharps.

81. The Bradys and the Ghosts; or, Solving the Mystery of the Old Church Yard.

82. The Bradys and the Brokers; or, A Desperate Game in Wall Street.

83. The Bradys' Fight to a Finish; or, Winning a Desperate Case.

84. The Bradys' Race for Life; or, Rounding Up a Tough Trio.

85. The Bradys' Last Chance; or, The Case in the Dark.

86. The Bradys on the Road; or, The Strange Case of a Drummer.

87. The Girl in Black; or, The Bradys Trapping a Confidence Queen.

88. The Bradys in Mulberry Bend; or, The Boy Slaves of "Little Italy."

89. The Bradys' Battle for Life; or, The Keen Detectives' Greatest Peril.

90. The Bradys and the Mad Doctor; or, The Haunted Mill in the Marsh.

91. The Bradys on the Rail; or, A Mystery of the Lightning Express.

92. The Bradys and the Spy; or, Working Against the Police Department.

93. The Bradys' Deep Deal; or, Hand-in-Glove with Crime.

94. The Bradys in a Snare; or, The Worst Case of All.

95. The Bradys Beyond Their Depth; or, The Great Swamp Mystery.

96. The Bradys' Hopeless Case; or, Against Plain Evidence.

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, by

FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,

24 Union Square, New York.

THIS GIVES YOU FAIR WARNING!

IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS of our Libraries and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be obtained from this office direct. Cut out and fill in the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the books you want and we will send them to you by return mail. POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.

FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York. 1900.

Dear Sir—Enclosed find cents for which please send me:

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