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_CHICAGO CHARLIE'S DIAMOND DASH: OR, TRAPPING THE TUNNEL THIEVES. A Story of the White City_ by A.K. Sims (pseud. for John Harvey Whitson (1854 - 1936)) Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 786, November 15, 1893. CHAPTER III. SOME STARTLING EVIDENCE. THE FAMOUS and mysterious Borden murder case was then attracting wide-spread attention; a case in which a young woman was charged with having slain her parents in the most cold blooded manner. Column-long accounts of the trial were being paraded daily in the papers, and Chicago Charlie could not but recur to what he had read, as he hastened up the street leading to the Malcomb residence. He knew how quick is the public to seize on anything suggestive or sensational, and the fear that suspicion might point its dark finger at Daisy Malcomb in that terrible way, filled him with the liveliest fears. He was troubled, too, lest the inspector should refuse him his request. He knew that if another were detailed to take hold of this already baffling case, that one of the first things done would be the arrest of Daisy. His pulses were bounding as he walked up the flagged path and rung the door bell. A servant came, to whom Clingstone stated his desire to see the young lady of the house. It was like receiving a blow in the face, when the servant, who knew him well, refused him entrance, saying that Miss Daisy had given strict orders that she was not to be disturbed. "Then she knows of the----" "She knows of the death of her father, yes, sir, if that is what you were going to say! News of it was brought to her some time ago. She is in her room, now, and absolutely refuses to see any one. "Will you not mention my name to her? Perhaps she will----" The servant, who was of the supercilious kind, drew back at this, and closed the door in Clingstone's face. Charlie choked down his wrath and his great grief, and walked thoughtfully back to the street. He found the coroner ready for business, when he again sought the office. One or two unimportant witnesses had already been examined, and the janitor was now undergoing the process of telling all he knew, in response to innumerable questions. The coroner scribbled something on a blank and gave it to an officer, when the janitor told of Daisy Malcomb's visit to the office, and Chicago Charlie groaningly recognized the disagreeable fact that she was to be summoned as a witness. The body of John Malcomb had been removed, but the suggestive blood stains were still visible. Clingstone, sitting where he could accomplish it without much observation, pushed a rug across the blood marks with his foot. Selwyn Fisher, looking shakier and paler than ever, was next asked to make a formal statement of what he knew. There was only one point in the Englishman's testimony that surprised the pained officer, and that may be given in Fisher's words: "Yes, sir; I was 'ere hin the office with John Malcomb last night, hand we 'ad a little game hof cards together; not for much money, you hunderstand, but just to pass haway the time, sir! And Malcomb finally got hangry with me, hand hordered me to leave the room!" The coroner metaphorically pricked up his ears. "How was that?" "Well you see, sir, Hi'd been ha bantering 'im habout that girl hof 'is, hand ha tellin' im that she was the prettiest female hin the city, sir; hand finally Hi hoffered to lay 'im a wager. "Hi hoffered to pay 'im twenty thousand dollars, sir, hagainst the 'and hof the girl! Hand 'e got mad hat that, sir, hand told me to leave the place, sir, hor 'e'd shoot my blawsted 'ead off! Hof course Hi couldn't stand that kind of talk from ha friend, don't you know, so I hups and takes my 'at hand leaves!" Chicago Charlie wished at the moment that he might have his fingers around the throat of the Britisher, and the glare in his eyes would have been observable had any one been looking at him. All attention, however, was centered on the Englishman. "And you two were alone in the office?" "We were, sir!" "About what time last evening was that?" "Habout nine o'clock, sir; for when Hi got down honto the street, hit was two minutes hafter, has shown by my watch!" The look of suspicion with which Chicago Charlie had before regarded Fisher deepened again in his eyes. He was not allowed much time to reflect on the remarkable testimony of Fisher, when all eyes were directed to the door, and he beheld Daisy Malcomb enter, heavily veiled, and walking with an uncertain and quivering step. He saw that her form was convulsed by the agony she was silently enduring, and his great love made him wish that he might hurry to her assistance. But prudence held him in his seat. If he was to have the management of this special detective work, he realized that he must be cautious how he permitted the public to see what was passing in his mind. He must not let his feelings sway him, for he knew not but that some detective officer was in the room, sent by the inspector for the purpose of watching his conduct during the trial. Yet it was hard on him to permit another to place for Daisy a chair and assist her to it. The coroner, probably willing to spare her all he could, called her name immediately, and administered the usual oath. Then came the customary questions, varied to suit each individual. "You visited your father in his office last evening, did you not?" queried the coroner. A number of seconds, during which she was evidently trying to obtain control of her voice, elapsed before she spoke--seconds that seemed interminably long to the breathless, listening crowd. Many spectators had gathered, for the news of the murder had already been bruited abroad; spectators from every walk of life, almost, but chiefly belonging to the idle and half vicious classes. And these craned their necks and stared at the veil which hid from view the features of the trembling girl. Chicago Charlie, with heart bleeding for her, wondered if any there thought of the Borden murder case, so strongly impressed at that moment on his mind; and, thus wondering, he prayed that, if such thoughts existed, they might not prejudice the public mind against her. "I did not, sir!" The silence became more profound, as these words fell from the lips of Daisy Malcomb. Recalling the evidence given by the janitor, the coroner could scarcely credit his hearing. So he framed the question anew: "Were you not up there last evening?" "Yes, sir; but I did not see my father!" A deep sigh welled from the throng. The sensation was likely to be spoiled, after all! "Who did you meet, if any one?" "No one. I was up here, first, in the afternoon, when my father told me to return for him at eight. It was about nine, though, when I came, and he had already gone." "And you saw no one?" "No, sir!" "You did not see that man over there?" indicating the Englishman. She lifted her veil, showing a dark, handsome face, and glanced at Fisher, but still replied: "I saw no one!" Chicago Charlie could see that the exposed face was pained and drawn, as was to be expected. "Nine o'clock, did you say?" "Yes, sir. I looked at my watch, to see how much I was behind time, and it was three or four minutes before nine o'clock." "And no one was in the office?" "I think not. The office was dark, and I did not enter!" Every one thought of the testimony given by the Englishman concerning the time, and several curious glances were bestowed on him. After a few further questions, Daisy was permitted to depart. Chicago Charlie did not attempt to follow, feeling sure he would be the next witness--as he was. He told how Fisher had summoned him from the street; of what they had discovered, and going into the minutest details, at the coroner's request. Again Fisher was called to the stand. "Why did you wish to see John Malcomb this morning?" was the sharp inquiry. The Englishman trembled. "Because hof that quarrel, sir, hif hit may be called ha quarrel. We 'ad halways been the best hof friends, hand Hi couldn't bear that we should be enemies, at this late day!" The explanation seemed sufficient. Then a witness was called whose testimony was to startle Chicago Charlie out of what little composure he had left. This witness was the police officer he had summoned to take charge of the room during his absence. He came forward and produced a bloody knife, which he held up for the coroner's inspection. "You may state where you obtained that knife, Mr. Mangle!" "Yes, sir. I found it lying in the corner over there, just before you reached the office; and when you came in you will remember that I showed it to you." Chicago Charlie looked at the corner indicated, and saw that some papers were lying in it, under which the knife might have lain concealed. But he did not think it had thus escaped his notice, for he felt he had made a close search of the premises. The thought that it had been placed there since, for a purpose, came to him like a flash. He looked again at the knife, which the coroner was passing around for the inspection of the jurymen; and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He recognized the knife. It was a small knife, but with a long, slender and keen blade. It was a knife he had given to Daisy Malcomb not a month before! He turned aside his face for fear some one would observe the anguish there depicted. He had seen that the knife-blade and handle were smeared with blood. Had that knife taken the life of John Malcomb? He would not believe it. At least he refused to listen to the suggestion that the owner of the knife had dealt the fatal blow. That was too preposterous, too horrible, for belief. No one but an insane man would harbor it for a minute. The terror that possessed him during the next few minutes can scarcely be realized. He felt that he ought, as an officer of the law, to tell what he knew concerning the weapon. Yet he shook, clinging almost blindly to his chair, in the great fear that he might be called up and asked some further questions. He could not reveal that! It would be supreme folly, he thought, to give out that information, until he had made an investigation. His feeling of gratitude was intense, when he observed he was not to be called. The policeman had turned the knife over to the coroner, and the jurymen were deliberating. How he listened for the result of their discussion! It came at last: A general verdict of murder, by some person or persons unknown. Daisy was safe for the present; and the great work of Chicago Charlie's life had commenced; for he was resolved to run down this mystery, even if he had to resign his position to enable him to do it. Henceforth, he was Chicago Charlie, the detective, and he was destined to prove he was not unworthy of that title. CHAPTER IV. "WHO WAS SHE?" AS SOON as he felt at liberty to leave the room, Chicago Charlie slipped out, and hastened once more to the Malcomb residence. It was a pleasantly-situated house, with neatly-kept walks and trees, and the sun that morning was flooding it with light. Yet there was about it an air of marked and suggestive stillness. The presence of death brooded there, which not even the flooding sunshine could drive away. There was crape on the door, and a glance at the curtains of the windows of one of the lower rooms told that the body of John Malcomb was reposing within, robed for the grave. Chicago Charlie would have known this, without any such evidence, for the carriage of an undertaker was drawn up at the curb. His pull at the bell was answered by the servant who had previously sent him away. Resolved not to be balked this time, the young detective pushed past the man and into the house. "You will take this card to Miss Daisy Malcomb!" he commanded, frowning at the man, who had followed. "I am sure she will see me! If not, tell her it is important!" The man looked doubtfully at the card, hesitating as if he thought of refusing, then disappeared with it, leaving Chicago Charlie to await his return. He was back, though, in a remarkably short time, and led the way to a little room on the second floor, where the detective found the girl, sitting disconsolately at a window, a servant having just left her side. Taking this as a good omen, Chicago Charlie advanced unhesitatingly. She arose, sobbingly, to greet him. Without a word he drew her away from the window, and folded her in his arms, as if he would by that act shield her from all harm. "My dear Daisy! How you must suffer! I came two hours or more ago, but you would not see me; and now I have come again. You will let me assist you? comfort you? do something for you?" There was entreaty in the tones. "I did not know you had called!" she asserted, a light flash of pleasure suffusing her pallid cheeks, where were many traces of tears. "I supposed the servant would admit you, even though I had given orders that I was not to be disturbed!" His arms tightened about her. Then he conducted her to a chair and drew one close up at her side, kissing her as he did so. She began to sob, showing all the bitterness of her fresh grief. "It is terrible!" he confessed. "But you must endeavor to remain calm!" "The manner of his death is what hurts so!" she averred, between the shaking sobs. "That my father should be killed in that cruel manner! It is dreadful! Dreadful! And he was so kind to me, and so good; and he loved me so! Oh! I don't know what I shall do! I feel at times as if I was losing my mind!" The anguish on the young officer's face was painful to see. Yet, before this outburst of grief, he was silent. Words failed him. He knew not what to do or say;-realizing how weak and impotent are mere words at such a time. "You must not distress yourself so!" he pleaded. "I know it is dreadful! But tears can do no good, now!" He took her trembling hands in his, and was startled at their feverishness. "You are making yourself ill!" he urged. "Perhaps you need a physician more than anything else. Your palms are burning hot!" "No! No! I am not sick!" But when she looked up, he observed that while her cheeks were pale, her eyes were feverishly bright. "What did they learn at the--the trial?" she questioned. It was the point to which he would have directed speech, had he known how. "I wanted to talk to you about that!" he averred. "I think I will be assigned to look into this case, for I have resolved to ferret it out and find the--the murderer! I have already applied to the inspector for the assignment." Her glance showed her gratitude. "The man must be found and punished!" she declared, with unexpected sternness. "I can never rest until that is accomplished." "Nor I!" his pulse quickening. "But the murderer was not a man. The crime was by a woman!" "By a woman?" Her voice shook with horror. "Surely you must be mistaken! That seems incredible! No woman could be guilty of such a thing!" "I have good reasons for thinking otherwise!" and he clasped the hands yet more firmly. "I distinctly saw a woman's tracks in the dust on the floor, and the print of a woman's fingers on the table at which your father must have been sitting when the fatal blow was given. I am sure the murderer was a woman. You say you were not in the office last night; those tracks and marks were made last night; and some woman made them. If I could lay my hands on her, I am sure I should have the guilty one!" She shuddered, involuntarily. Chicago Charlie was thinking of the knife, but he thought it best to withhold that information for the time. "How can you tell when the marks were made?" she queried, her curiosity quickened. "By their general appearance! If very old--much more than twelve hours old--they would not have been so distinct. Yet they were not sufficiently fresh and clear to have been made this morning. It is not likely any one would venture on a deed of that kind in broad daylight. Therefore, they must have been made last night!" He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "What I wanted to ask you is this: Has any strange woman called on you lately, or been in the house?" She started as if stung. "Why, it could not be! Yes, a woman was here last evening! Her coming was what kept me from visiting the office promptly, as I promised father I would!" Chicago Charlie's breath came quick and fast, like that of a hound scenting a trail. "Who was that woman?" "I cannot tell you who she was! She was dark--very dark--and wore a heavy veil. Her eyes were as black as night, and so was her hair. She wanted me to let her tell my fortune, and--I foolishly consented. You do not think that she--that that could have brought about--that my delay here could have caused father's death?" Her eyes were filled with remorse and horror. Even faster came the detective's breath and louder thumped his heart. Here was information worth having! He felt sure that this dark-eyed fortune-teller had not come there simply to tell fortunes. She had come to get a weapon with which to commit that foul crime;--a weapon from Malcomb's own house, so that the crime might be laid at the door of another! At the door of Malcomb's daughter! The mystery of the Borden murder had evidently not only suggested itself to him; it had suggested itself to this murderess, who had acted on it. In vain he sought to recall the face of some well-known adventuress or desperate woman who might have committed the crime. "Describe her minutely!" he requested. "I do not know that I can, any more than I have already." "Was she young or old?" "Young! I should say not more than twenty. Surely a girl of that age could not do that!" "Handsome?" "Rather pretty. Her cheeks and lips were red and plump, and she had a good form." "How was she dressed?" "In an ordinary dark dress. I did not notice her clothing closely, for she had on a dark shawl." "I will find her," he declared, "if she remains in the city! And I don't think she can escape me, even should she leave. She is the woman that killed your father. I feel sure of it!" Having obtained this information, he was anxious to hurry at once with it to the inspector. The description tallied with the footprints and marks found in the office, and he did not doubt that the inspector would see that this was the murderess, and not Malcomb's daughter. It explained everything. The finding of the bloody knife, and all. Yet he could not refrain from secretly cursing himself for overlooking so important a thing in his search as that knife! Notwithstanding his desire to hasten away, he lingered for many long minutes, and had the satisfaction, as he left the residence, of knowing that Miss Daisy Malcomb was in much better frame of mind than when he came. And, most important of all, he had gained the clue needed to begin his work. (End of the second instalment) (Prepared by Virginia Conn)