CHAPTER XXII.

CHAMBERLAIN'S CAPTURE.

"How'd he manage to get away? confound you!" exclaimed Crowley, turning upon the reporter in the bitterness of his soul. "He managed it while my back was turned answering your nonsensical questions."

"Nonsensical! Look a-here, officer, I can prove to you in just one minute and a half that my questions were anything but nonsensical."

"Oh, don't bother me!"

"Well, but how _do_ you suppose he got away? I'd really like to know that--good point--great sensation--man supposed to be fatally wounded finds he's a prisoner--the trusty officer left in charge merely steps to the door for a moment to consult and advise with a well-known gentleman of the press, when, on turning back, presto, change! the bird had flown!

"Yes, I can work it in that the greatest mystery hangs about his disappearance--that is, you know, unless we can find out just how he managed it."

"Well," said Old Spicer, suddenly turning upon the reporter, "I think we can satisfy your laudable curiosity upon that point."

"Ah! you do, eh! How so, pray?"

"See this closet?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, step a little further this way. You see there's a door opening from it into the next room. The place has been so arranged that it can be used as a closet for either room, you perceive?"

"Ah, yes, to be sure, or so that it might be used as a passageway--as in the present case, eh?"

"Exactly. Now, then, the question is, has the wounded man, in his supposed weakly condition, been able to escape from the hotel? Crowley, please summons Killett. We must institute a thorough search."

"I'll take a hand in that," exclaimed the reporter, with alacrity, "and I hope I shall find him."

"Why are you so anxious on that point?" asked Old Spicer, curiously.

"Why, you see I want to make a little noise in the world before I start for New Haven to hunt out the murderer or murderers of Charley Way."

"Oh! you are going to do a little detective work up there, are you?"

"Yes, sir; I'm jist going to pipe that mystery, you bet."

"Well, sir, I wish you all the success possible--all the glory there is left to gain."

"Are you speaking sarcastically, sir?"

"By no means."

"I thought I detected something of the kind in the tone of your voice."

By this time Killett had made his appearance, and the detectives, the reporter, and nearly every one connected with the hotel, spread themselves through the house in search of the missing man.

After an hour they returned to the point from whence they had started, and were obliged to confess that their efforts had been in vain. Emory E. Bissell had utterly vanished, and left no trace behind!

"Well," said Killett, drawing Old Spicer aside, and speaking in a low tone, "there can be no question about it, the fellow was playing 'possum, and he's got clean away. What had we better do now?"

"He must be found," said Old Spicer, decidedly.

"No question about that; but where shall we look first?"

"Have you no suggestion to make on that point yourself?"

"I think he's still in this neighborhood."

"I think it's quite possible; and, if you're willing, I'll leave you here for a time and look after another matter."

"All right, old fellow, only don't let us lose track of one another."

"Of course we mustn't do that," and Old Spicer, a little irritated by the escape of both Chamberlain and Bissell, hurried away.

He went straight to Cora Bell's rooms, and had a long and serious talk with her. He then went to the place where he and Killett had spent so much time earlier in the day, and wrote two long letters, which he posted with his own hand. After this he went to Inspector Byrnes' office, on Mulberry Street, and was closeted with that celebrated detective for more than two hours; and then, being quite worn out, he made his way to a neighboring hotel and went to bed.

Early the next morning he started out again.

A little later he found himself in the Bowery. He had just crossed Third Street, walking in the direction of Fourth, when he saw a figure ahead of him that attracted his attention.

It was that of a rather good-looking young man of about twenty-three years of age.

The blood tingled in the old detective's veins. His heart beat faster--his pulse quicker.

He hurried forward.

The young man turned into a saloon. Old Spicer followed him.

The young man called for a drink. The detective did likewise.

The young man cast a suspicious glance at the elder, threw a nickel on the bar and hurried out.

Old Spicer also threw down a piece of money and started for the door.

"It must be done now," he thought; "but it will be a tough job taking him alone."

At that instant he caught sight of two men coming up the street.

They were Detectives Frank Mangin and James Maguire.

Old Spicer immediately gave them a signal, and hurrying forward, they came up in front of the young man. Old Spicer still remaining behind him.

"Chamberlain," said Mangin, in a determined tone of voice, "you are our prisoner."

The street was crowded with people. Chamberlain, who was a muscular young fellow nearly six feet tall, uttered a fearful oath, sprung forward, threw the detective to one side, and drew a revolver.

The crowd instantly scattered.

But the detectives grappled with him, and Old Spicer coming up quickly, knocked the pistol out of his hand, while Maguire, striking him a blow in the side of the head, sent him headlong on the pavement.

In a twinkling of an eye he was on his feet again, but with a pair of steel bracelets on his wrists, and after a few hurried words between Old Spicer and the two detectives, he was marched away to Inspector Byrnes' office.

"That's all right," said Old Spicer, in a tone of quiet satisfaction, when they were gone. "Now I can attend to the other matter," and he took the Third Avenue elevated road to Harlem River.

Two hours and a half later he returned, and met Killett, Stark and Rouse in the inspector's office.

"I am very glad indeed to find you here," he said. "I was afraid I might have to leave without seeing you."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Killett, in a tone of wonder.

"I'm going to Connecticut," replied Spicer.

"What, and give up the chase for Bissell, Hawks and Bunce?"

"They will all be there by the time I am," said the old man, quietly.

"How's that?" asked Killett, in great surprise.

"They are all passengers on board the schooner Bouncing Betsey, which will land them in the neighborhood of Stony Creek, and I already have my men on the lookout for them there."

"You have done some pretty tall work to-day, to find out all that, and put matters into the shape you have."

"Yes, I have not been idle, neither last night nor to-day."

"When do you start for home?"

"On the next train."

"I believe I'll go with you. Bunce, of course, will have to be brought back here."

"Of course he will, and I wish you would bear me company."

"I suppose the authorities will hold Chamberlain and Taylor until the governor grants a requisition for their being taken out of the state?"

"Yes, all that has been arranged."

"And Cora Bell--what's to be done with her?"

"She will come up to Connecticut the moment I send for her. Stark or Rouse, I wish one of you, or if you can't get away, that Cosgrove would come up with her."

"All right, sir. We'll see to it."

"Well, then, I believe that's all. And now good-bye, my friends." And after shaking Silas and Reub by the hand, the old detective hurried away in company with Adam Killett.