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Page 23
"Yes, indeed," replied her father amiably.
And when he returned to the boat-deck that afternoon for tea (which, by
the way, he never drank, being a thorough-going coffee merchant), he
said to Kitty: "You win on points. If Webb doesn't pan out, why, we
can discharge him. I'll take a chance at a man who isn't afraid to
look you squarely in the eyes."
At the precise time when Kitty retired and Thomas went aft for his good
night pipe--eleven o'clock at sea and nine in New York--Haggerty found
himself staring across the street at an old-fashioned house. Like the
fisherman who always returns to the spot where he lost the big one, the
detective felt himself drawn toward this particular dwelling. Crawford
did not live there any more; since his marriage he had converted it
into a private museum. It was filled with mummies and cartonnages,
ancient pottery and trinkets.
What a game it had been! A hundred thousand in precious gems, all
neatly packed away in the heels of Crawford's old shoes! And where was
that man Mason? Would he ever return? Oh, well; he, Haggerty, had got
his seven thousand in rewards; he was living now like a nabob up in the
Bronx. He had no real cause to regret Mason's advent or his escape.
Yet, deep in his heart burned the chagrin of defeat: his man had got
away, and half the game (if you're a true hunter) was in putting your
hand on a man's shoulder and telling him to "Come along."
He crossed the street and entered the, alley and gazed up at the
fire-escape down which Mason had made his escape. What impelled the
detective to leap up and catch the lower bars of the ground-ladder he
could not have told you. He pulled himself up and climbed to the
window.
Open!
Haggerty had nerves like steel wires, but a slight shiver ran down his
spine. Open, and Crawford yet on the high seas. He waited, listening
intently. Not a sound of any sort came to his ears. He stepped inside
courageously and slipped with his back to the wall, where he waited,
holding his breath.
Click! It seemed to come from his right.
"Come out o' that!" he snarled. "No monkey-business, or I'll shoot."
He flashed his pocket-lamp toward the sound, and aimed.
A blow on the side of the head sent the detective crashing against a
cartonnage, and together the quick and the dead rolled to the floor.
Instinctively Haggerty turned on his back, aimed at the window and
fired.
Too late!
CHAPTER IX
When the constellation, which was not included among the accepted
theories of Copernicus, passed away, Haggerty sat up and rubbed the
swelling over his ear, tenderly yet grimly. Next, he felt about the
floor for his pocket-lamp. A strange spicy dust drifted into his nose
and throat, making him sneeze and cough. A mummy had reposed in the
overturned cartonnage and the brittle bindings had crumbled into
powder. He soon found the lamp, and sent its point of vivid white
light here and there about the large room.
Pursuit of his assailant was out of the question. Haggerty was not
only hard of head but shrewd. So he set about the accomplishment of
the second best course, that of minute and particular investigation.
Some one had entered this deserted house: for what? This, Haggerty
must find out. He was fairly confident that the intruder did not know
who had challenged him; on the other hand, there might be lying around
some clue to the stranger's identity.
Was there light in the house, fluid in the wires? If so he would be
saved the annoyance of exploring the house by the rather futile aid of
the pocket-lamp, which stood in need of a fresh battery. He searched
for the light-button and pressed it, hopefully. The room, with all its
brilliantly decorated antiquities, older than Rome, older than Greece,
blinded Haggerty for a space.
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