"I got in with a mob of hoboes at Patapsco," said Patsy. "I know their holes, and when I left the train at Patapsco town and went toward the river, I felt sure I'd strike 'em. And what do you think? The main hiker is Snub-nosed Johnny, who used to be train-boy on the Boston and Albany. The minute I lamped him I knew the game was mine. Inside of five minutes he handed me out a dope about Jilson and Mannion that put me on velvet. Both these guineas were with the gang, Mannion for a few days, Jilson for several weeks. "Johnny said Jilly and Mannion—the hoboes called him Serious Silas—had their blocks together about all the time. One day he saw Serious writing a letter for Jilly. The letter, he afterward discovered, was to Jilly's mother, who lives at Hagerstown. Did I go to Hagerstown? Cert. And I found the old lady. She is over seventy, sickly, and a washerwoman. Had she heard from her son lately? Her old, honest, patient face lit up with a smile that was heavenly in its sweetness. Yes, indeed, she had heard from the dear boy, who had forsaken his evil ways and was now at honest work in Baltimore.
"He had not forgotten his old mother, for during the past month he had sent her one hundred dollars. And,[188] what was better still, he was on the way to making a lot of money all in a heap, and when he had made it, he intended to send enough to keep her for the rest of her life. Then she broke down and cried, but the tears were tears of joy. My eyes were wet, too, and I could not say a word to undeceive her."
"You are a good boy, Patsy," said Nick, with a look of approbation, "and I'll see that Mrs. Jilson gets the money she is expecting."
The days came and went. Chick appeared, remained a day, and went off again. Patsy made several trips out of the city. Nick remained, like a spider watching its web. On the afternoon of the day preceding the probate day, upon which so much depended, the detective and Patsy were sitting in the E Street room, talking over matters pertaining to the morrow's program.
The windows of the room overlooked the street. The detective, while talking to Patsy, was seated near one of the windows, and he had occasionally looked out. As Patsy was preparing to go out, Nick's eye, turning toward the street, fell upon the form of Peter Mannion, who, cane in hand and with soldierly dignity, was walking along the opposite sidewalk. He glanced up once, saw Nick's face, and then quickly turned his head.
The appearance of the man in that quarter, while it might not mean anything, yet gave rise in Nick's mind to a suspicion that the uncle was out for a purpose. Although Peter Mannion might think that the scheme upon which he was working was perfect in all its details, yet[189] the presence in Washington of the noted detective, Nick Carter, on the day preceding the calling of the probate cases would have a disquieting effect upon his nerves. Nick said a few quick words to Patsy, who at once put on his hat, left the room, and went down the stairs.
The boy did not follow Peter Mannion, but went unconcernedly up the street toward the railway depot. He walked slowly, and Nick, without showing his face to passers-by in the street, saw that the uncle had taken note of Patsy, had turned about and was now following him. The detective's face showed satisfaction. What the next act on the program would be he could not guess, but that there was an act scheduled for near performance he would have staked his existence.
The day passed without incident. Toward dark Nick went out and had dinner in a Pennsylvania Avenue restaurant. After his refreshment he walked about, enjoying his cigar and the calm, soft night. He was standing on the marble walk of the little triangular square at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Seventh Street, listening to a colored quartet, the singing adjunct of an outdoor gospel meeting, when Peter Mannion passed him. Nick did not turn his head, and he was satisfied that the uncle was going on under the impression that he had not been observed. Where was he going?
Nick became a shadower, and when he saw the uncle disappear through the double doors of the Metropolitan Hotel, a look of disappointment crept into his face. All[190] at once an idea, containing a queer suggestion, came to him. Egress from the rear of the hotel would take a person either on to John Marshall Avenue or C Street, and by either route there was a short and easy walk to the detective's quarters on E Street.
Hurrying around the corner, Nick saw no sign of his quarry on the avenue. He then hastened to C Street. Peter Mannion was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he had not had time to get there. The detective in the dark shade cast by the sidewalk trees waited for ten minutes, his observation covering both ways of departure from the hotel premises. Then he went to the hotel, entered the office, which held only the clerk and several colored attachés, and asked if a person, describing Peter Mannion, had been in that evening. The reply of the clerk was that the gentleman referred to had engaged a room for the night, and had then gone out.
"By the front way?"
"Yes."
"I may have been making a mountain out of a mole-hill," thought Nick, as he went out, "but I don't like the look of things. Peter has a card to play, and I will confess that he is a deeper man than I imagined."
Arrived at the stairway leading to his rooms, he scrutinized it carefully from top to bottom. No trap was there. In the corridor above his searching eye again came into play. All was as it should be. Before his own door he paused and listened. Silence within. Then With his pass-key he unlocked the door and threw it[191] open, but did not enter. The lights inside were out, but the illumination from the street enabled him to see that everything appeared to be as he had left it. True, he could not see into the closet, but, stooping, he could see under the bed.
He was in this posture, when the door of a room on the opposite side of the corridor opened quickly; a man sprang out, and, with uplifted sand-bag, struck the detective a powerful blow on the head. Nick flattened out and did not move. Swiftly the body of the unconscious detective was dragged into his room, and the door closed and locked. Fifteen minutes later Nick opened his eyes, to find that he could neither move nor speak. His enemy had restored him to consciousness, but had taken the p............