Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 October 1890 — CHAPTER VII. [ARTICLE]

CHAPTER VII.

TWO SURPRISES. “Mat Hyland, you’re a fool!” CTHarsh words these, yet the detective to whom they were addressed made no indignant rejoinder; on the contrary he nodded his head approvingly, though the sad expression upon his face seemed to deepen somewhat. “You not only spotted him, but had him dead to rights. You ran upon him, or rather he ran upon you, and you couldn’t land the fish when he’d hooked bimseif on your tackle. I’m ashamed of you, Mat Hyland!” The person who was so freely upbraiding the unfortunate detective paused in his walk, and spat upon the ground to Emphasize Jiis dissust. Mat Hyland did exactly the same thing. Lest the reader think this a strange coincidence, we must explain that the upbraiding personage and the officer were one and the same man. Mat was, in soliloquy, administering to himself a well-deserved rebuke. “Not in all the ten years and more that you’ve been on the force,” he continued, as he resumed his walk down Clark street, “did you ever make such a break before. You’d better hand in your resignation in the morning. “They say he cut across to State street, but I don’t believe it. He must have a confederate, but I’ll bet my chance of promotion, which isn’t much just now, that he’s right in the block where he gave me the slip. I’d rather he get off scotfree than have anyone else catch him now. I reckon they’re all gone, so I’ll go back and make a systematic search for him." )\ ith this the officer turned and walked briskly in the direction opposite the one in which he had been moving. The time was but a few minutes after the precipitation of our hero into the dark, dank collar by the trio of guilty plotters. “Ye can’t come in! This is no public house, mind that!” These words, spoken by a toothless old erone of a woman, assailed the ears of the detective as he endeavored to anter a tumble-down building not far from the spot where Cole Winters hod so cleverly eluded him. “Can’t I, Granny Green? We’ll see about that!” “But there’s nothin’ crooked a goin’ on here,” faltered the old hag, ns Hyland threw open his coat .and displayed upon his breast a silver star, the insignia of his official character. m l know that, Granny. I’m looking for

* man, though. Oat of my way, and, mind yon, not a word of my presence here; that is. if vou value " *1 won’t blab." A moment later the" detective was exploring the old building, which was tenanted by half a score of families, and presented a scene of squalor and wretchedness that the officer had never seen surpassed. Bis examination, though thorough, was rapid. He stumbled over drunken men and women who lay beside empty bottles and beer cans upon the floor, tie invaded sleeping apartments and tosse 1 about the heap; of rags which served as beds. “Find anybody?"crooned the old woman who rented" out the miserable apartments, as the officer encountered her on the ground floor. “Several things, Granny, but not the one I seek just now.” “I'm dreadful sorry. I'll open the door for you; it's got a funny kind of a catch.” “I won ttrouble you; I'm going downstairs. ” “Bless you, this is the last floor." “But you have a cellar?" “Not a sign of one." “I know better! It was in the cellar of this house that I captured one of the Cronin suspects last spring. Out of my way!” With a muttered curse the old woman complied, and Hyland was soon descending a rickety flight of stairs, toward a dark and exceedingly bad-smelling cellar. When its damp, almost slimy bottom was reached, he produced and lighted a diminutive but rather powerful darklantern, by the light of which he began an investigAion of the subterranean plaee. It was divided into a number of rooms, and had once, evidently, been used as a human habitation, though this must l*ave •been before the grading of the street had shut off the supply of light and air. Hurriedly the anxious officer ran through the place. He encountered no end of debris, but no sign of life except huge rats which scampered about. Satisfied that his quest was a vain one, he prepared to return to the upper world. Just then a peculiar sound smote his hearing. He listened intently, and upon its repetition startled visibly. “A groau!” he muttered. “There’s no doubt of it. But where?”

Once more he fruitlessly examined the moldering rooms. He was strangely puzzled and almost despairing when, for the third ’time, he heard the ominous sound. Studying the direction from whence it proceeded, he was not long in solving the mystery. In one of the rooms, behind a pile of rubbish, he discovered an opening in the stone 'wall which separated the cellar from the one next adjacent. “The work of a crook who was close pressed ” commented the detective. “It was lucky that my Cronin man didn’t find it last spring. Well, here’s for it.” Cautiously and with considerable difficulty the officer crept through the irregularly shaped opening. Once again in a standing posture he flashed his lantern about to gain some idea of the sur oundin s. He had barely discerned that he was in a long basement undivided by partitions, when he saw lying on the ground the semblance of a human form. “Cole Winters!” cried be, excitedly, a moment later, as he stood over the inanimate form of onr hero. Setting down the lantern the detective began a systematic examination of the young man. “He’s alive, and I con see no wounds or bruises to account for his condition,” mused he, perplexedly. Just then the open trap-door above him attracted his eye. “Ha! I see! In trying to escape he fell down here and is suffering from the shock. I’ll soon revive him.”

Hylnnd took out a small vial labeled ammonia, and poured a little of the pungent fluid upon his handkerch es. This he applied to the nostrils of our hero. “While I’m waiting for it to take effect I may as well search him,” decided the highly elated officer. In a moment he had discovered and drawn from one of his coat pockets a small bundle of saws and files, of the kind used by burglars. “I’ve got him dead to rights,” chuckled Hyland, immeasurably pleased at the evidence of crookedness. “I’ll bet he’s got a jimmy in his boots.” A hurried examination proved this theory to be incorrect, but it served also to reveal an object in one of Cole’s bootlegs. In a trice Hyland had drawn it from its hiding place. “Greit heavens!” he ejaculated, his hands trembling like an aspen-leaf in the wind. “The missing bonds! Ten, twenty—l believe they’re all here. Good! Capital! My promotion ” A groan interrupted him. Mat Hyland was a humane man, and the sound of suffering recalled him to his prisoner. He replaced the saws and files in Cole’s pocket,.thrust the bonds into his own, and having removed the handkerchief, laised the inanimate form in his arms. “He breathes freer,” soliloqnized the detective, “and is in no danger of dying. I want to keep this matter to myself for the present. I’ll go to the nearest drug store for restoratives. When I take him away from here it will be with a full confession and tbe names of his accomplices, for I’m sure he had one at least.” He laid Cole back upon the ground, and glided away lo the opening in the wall. Two minutes later he had gained the sidewalk and was hurrying up the street. He met with a number of provok'ng delays. The druggist was an unreasonable time in giving him the articles he impatiently demanded. At the doorway he encountered a brother officer, who for some minutes engaged him in conversation about an important matter. Lastly, a small boy ran against him, dashing the package from his hand aud breaking the inclosed bottles upon the sidewalk. By the time he had duplicated the restoratives fully half an hour had elapsed. He lost no time in returning to the dismal cellar. As he crawled through the opening in the wall, and darted forward the rays of his lantern, a cry of mingled chagrin and dismay swept his white lips. The trap-door in the floor was closed, and Cole Winters had disappeared from the place.