Blindfolded | Page 6

end to the investigation, and half doubted
the evidence of my eyes.
"Well," said the policeman, with a sigh of relief, "there's nothing here."
I suspected that his doubts of my sanity were returning.
"Here is where it was done," I asserted stoutly, pointing to the spot
where I had seen the struggling group from the window. "There were
surely five or six men in it."

The policeman turned his lantern on the spot. The rough pavement had
taken no mark of the scuffle.
"It's hard to make sure of things from above in this light," said the
policeman, hinting once more his suspicion that I was confusing
dreams with reality.
"There was no mistaking that job," I said. "See here, the alley leads
farther back. Bring your light."
"Aisy, now," said the policeman. "I'll lead the way. Maybe you want
one yourself, as your friend has set the fashion."
A few paces farther the alley turned at a right angle to the north,
yawning dark behind the grim and threatening buildings, and filled
with noisome odors. We looked narrowly for a body, and then for
traces that might give hint of the passage of a party.
"Nothing here," said the policeman, as we came out on the other street.
"Maybe they've carried him into one of these back-door dens, and
maybe they whisked him into a hack here, and are a mile or two away
by now."
"But we must follow them. He may be only wounded and can be
rescued. And these men can be caught." I was almost hysterical in my
eagerness.
"Aisy, aisy, now," said the policeman. "Go back to your room, now.
That's the safest place for you, and you can't do nothin' at all out here.
I'll report the case to the head office, an' we'll send out the alarm to the
force. Now, here's your door. Just rest aisy, and they'll let you know if
anything's found."
And he passed on, leaving me dazed with dread and despair in the
entrance of the fateful house.
The sounds of drunken pleasure were lessening about me. The custom
had fallen off in the saloon across the street to such extent that the

proprietor was putting up the shutters. The saloon on the corner of the
alley was still waiting for stray customers and I crossed over to it with
the thought that the inmates might give me a possible clue. A man
half-asleep leaned back in a chair by the stove with his chin on his
breast. Two rough-looking men at a table who were talking in low
tones pretended not to notice my entrance, but their furtive glances
gave more eloquent evidence of their interest than the closest stare.
The barkeeper eyed me with apparent openness. I called for a glass of
wine, partly as an excuse for my visit, and partly to revive my shaken
spirits.
"Any trouble about here to-night?" I asked in my most affable tone.
The barkeeper looked at me with cold suspicion.
"No, sir," he said shortly. "This is the quietest neighborhood in town."
"I should think there would be a disturbance every time that liquor was
sold," was my private comment, as I got the aftertaste of the dose. But I
merely wished him good night as I paid for the drink, and sauntered
out.
I promptly got into my doorway before any one could reach the street
to see whither I went, and listened to a growling comment and a
mirthless laugh that followed my departure. Hardly had I gained my
concealment when the swinging doors of the saloon opened cautiously,
and a face peered out into the semi-darkness. With a muttered curse it
went back, and I heard the barkeeper's voice in some jest about a failure
to be "quick enough to catch flies."
Once more in the room to wait till morning should give me a chance to
work, I looked about the dingy place with a heart sunk to the lowest
depths. I was alone in the face of this mystery. I had not one friend in
the city to whom I could appeal for sympathy, advice or money. Yet I
should need all of these to follow this business to the end--to learn the
fate of my cousin, to rescue him, if alive and to avenge him, if dead.

Then, in the hope that I might find something among Henry's effects to
give me a clue to the men who had attacked him, I went carefully
through his clothes and his papers. But I found that he did not leave
memoranda of his business lying about. The only scrap that could have
a possible bearing on it was a sheet of paper in the coat he had changed
with me. It bore a rough map, showing