Chapter XIV: An Intruder in the Home of the Bats

We left Frank Mansfield standing in company with Detective Hook before the fence of Trinity church-yard, beyond which moved the form of the woman who had tracked his footsteps to the bank upon the night previous--of his mother, whom both he and his companion knew to have met her death in the upper room of the little rear house behind the Donegal Shades.

It was for an instant only that the figure faced them.

Had the warning words spoken behind them proceeded from those pale, set lips?

Such undoubtedly was the case.

And as if to make the matter still more plain, even as they gazed upon the apparition through the palings of the graveyard fence, the words were repeated again.

"Again I say to you, my son, seek not the parchment. Watch and wait, for the day of vengeance is at hand."

Suddenly the figure of the woman had come to a halt.

Raising one thin hand aloft to the starlit sky above, these words escaped her lips.

Then advancing with a gliding movement among the crumbling stones of the old burial ground, the outline of her form seemed to fade away in the darkness, to mingle with the shadows of the great church, of the snow-capped tombs.

It was all the work of an instant. Not half the time was consumed in the happening that has elapsed in telling the tale.

As though animated by a common thought, the detective and young Frank Mansfield had leaped toward the church-yard wall.

The fence offered no obstacle.

They dropped in the snow among the headstones.

"After her, boy!" whispered Hook. "After her without an instant's delay; there's some crooked work going on here, and it will go hard with some one, but I'll find out what it is."

But Frank Mansfield did not heed him.

He no more believed in ghosts than did Caleb Hook.

If the woman by the side of whose dead body he had knelt in the house on Catherine street had been his poor, insane mother, driven mad by such a combination of afflictions as woman is seldom called upon to bear, then who was this?

He needed no encouragement from the man by his side to spur him on to solve the mystery for himself.

The day had been clear and more than unusually warm, causing the snow to soften considerably, but as night had approached the thermometer had fallen, forming a hard crust upon the smooth surface among the stones.

With a bound Frank reached the point in the church-yard at which the apparition had appeared, Detective Hook pressing close behind.

It was unoccupied by human form.

The headstones were there, the shadows of the church were there, the leafless branches of the great trees rattled gloomily above their heads.

But the woman whose warning words had fallen so plainly upon their ears was nowhere to be seen.

She had disappeared--disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

There was not so much as the outline of her footsteps to be seen upon the hardened crust of the snow.

"Come," whispered Hook, "this is the way she went, over toward the New Church street wall. She cannot get out; there are but two gates, and both are locked at night; it is twenty feet to the ground on the side towards which she disappeared, to say nothing of the fence she would have to climb."

They picked their way among the tombs to the rear of the church.

Here, in the cold starlight, the entire expanse of the church-yard was plainly visible from the fence on the Rector street side to the wall of the great Trinity Building at the upper end.

Not the faintest trace of the woman could be seen.

Footsteps there were in abundance, but the hardened crust had formed over them, showing plainly that they were the footsteps of persons who had passed over the snow some time before.

As it was Sunday, and service had been held in the Trinity Church twice at least during the day, there was nothing strange in this.

A score of people might have amused themselves wandering about among the moldering tombs, as the church-yard is free to all.

Detective Hook examined these footprints carefully.

Among them he recognized his own and those measured by him the night before.

At one point he observed also many smaller than the rest, as though made by the feet of boys; and these were particularly numerous in the vicinity of a great flat tomb-stone, embedded apparently in the solid earth, about which the snow had all been cleared away.

"Mr. Hook," whispered Frank, nervously, "what can this mean?"

"My boy, you have me there. I can't tell any more than yourself."

"It is very, very strange. I saw my mother as plainly as I see you now. I heard her words spoken in her own voice."

"You are positive that it was your mother, Frank?" said the detective, musingly, as he stood contemplating the great flat stone.

"Positive? Of course I am. It is almost enough to make me feel that I am going mad myself. I should doubt my own vision, my hearing even, had you not both seen and heard too."

"There is nothing to doubt," replied Hook with sudden emphasis, turning his gaze at the same time upon the boy, who stood trembling with excitement before him.

"What you saw I saw, what you heard was heard also by me. No, no, my boy, there is no madness in this case. If you are positive that the woman murdered in Catherine street was your mother, that the woman I followed through the streets last night was your mother, then, although I am an utter disbeliever in spiritual manifestations of all kinds, I see but one conclusion to draw----"

As the detective paused, staring about the church-yard in deep perplexity, Frank felt a shudder pass through his frame from his head to his feet.

If the man by his side did not believe in ghosts, no more did he.

And yet----

Well, the woman seen by them both was gone, and that was all there was to it.

The whole expanse of the rear of the Trinity church-yard, toward which she had moved, now lay spread out before them.

If her gliding figure had vanished into thin air it could not have disappeared more effectually than it had.

"Come," said Hook, abruptly moving at the same time toward the low wall on the Rector street side, "there's no use in remaining longer; we shall learn nothing here to-night."

Gaining the fence, he vaulted lightly to the street.

Frank, following his example, stood by his side.

"Well, which way are you going?" asked the detective. "I am tired, and off for home."

"Oh, I stay with some friends to-night."

"Friends! What friends? Be careful. If we are going to work together, you must follow my instructions to the letter. Are you sure of these friends of yours? Won't they give you away?"

"I have no fear of that," replied the boy, quietly. "I've had some experience with treacherous friends. I know that I can depend on these."

"Very well. Go to them, then, and meet me--let me see--you can meet me to-morrow at my house at four o'clock, if you don't see me before that time. Meanwhile, I'll keep this box and these papers, including your grandfather's will. We'll lay out a regular course of action together next time we meet. If we only had that parchment, the way would be plain; but it seems that we are obliged to follow the advice we have received so strangely to-night, whether we want to or not--to watch and wait."

Pressing Frank warmly by the hand, Caleb Hook turned abruptly and walked off up Broadway.

He did not look behind him, nor even turn his head.

Passing Trinity Church and the grave-yard beyond, his form was presently lost to view among the high buildings which line either side of the street.

And not until then did Frank Mansfield move from the place where the detective had left him, but remained leaning against the iron fence at the corner of Rector street and Broadway.

No sooner had Caleb Hook disappeared, than he turned, and keeping close within the shadow of the wall, moved down Rector street in the direction of New Church.

As he passed opposite the Webster Bank he turned and gazed upon it with feelings of mingled shame and an utter despisal of himself.

If he had had no hand in the robbery, he had at least been ready to betray the secrets of those who had trusted him for hope of paltry gain.

Within the banking-room lights were burning, and the boy could see his fellow clerks poring over books and papers in the endeavor to discover the extent of the bank's loss before opening for business next day.

Deeply depressed, and with a sense of utter self-contempt strong upon him, Frank slunk by those lighted windows, and turning the corner of New Church street, still keeping close to the grave-yard wall, paused before the great iron door.

Leaning against it, he cast a hasty glance up and down.

The street was deserted. Not a soul was anywhere visible.

But stay!

It might have been fancy, but as he looked a second time it seemed to the boy, in his excited state of mind, that a woman's form at that moment turned the corner of Rector street upon the opposite side of the way and disappeared from view.

Darting to the corner at the top of his speed, he swept the short street at one glance.

That he had been mistaken was evident.

From Broadway above to the river front below not a living thing was to be seen.

"If this thing keeps up I shall go mad myself," he muttered, brokenly. "I see my dead mother now at every turn."

Pausing once more in front of the iron door in the church-yard wall, he gave utterance to a peculiar bat-like cry.

Presently, as though from a great distance, the cry was repeated.

Whether from above or below no one could have told.

Indeed, it seemed as much as anywhere to come from out of the wall itself.

Frank remained silently waiting.

Presently the great iron door swung slowly back, and a boy's head appeared in the opening.

"Is that you, Frank Mansfield?"

"Yes. Is that you, Jerry Buck?"

"Slide in, young feller," said the boy, in a whisper. "I'm a-scart to hold the door open long. After all that happened last night I'm expecting every minute that some one will catch onto our hole in the wall."

His sentence was completed within the old tomb itself, for Frank had entered at the first word, the door being closed behind him and securely barred.

"Come up to the den," said Jerry, leading the way up the steps. "Most of the fellers is in to-night and are abed long ago. I know'd you'd keep your promise and come, so me and Barney sat up to let you in."

Entering the inner apartment of the tomb, Frank found that the boy had spoken the truth.

Barney the boot-black sat smoking a clay pipe by the side of the table, upon which was a loaf of bread and a mug.

"Hello! I know'd you'd come!" said the bootblack, springing up. "Have you had your supper? I kept some in case you didn't."

"Thank you. I've had all I want," replied Frank, sinking wearily upon an old stool. "I'm tremendously obliged to you fellows for your kindness to me. Mebbe I shall be able to return it some of these days."

"That's all right," put in Jerry Buck. "If I can help any friend of Barney's, I'm glad to do it."

"Hush!" cried Barney, holding up his finger warningly as Frank was about to reply. "Jerry, as true as I live there's some one up above. I didn't hear no signal, did you?"

The three boys stood motionless.

Above their heads, at the top of the ladder, down which Frank had seen the two boys descend upon the occasion of his first visit to the tomb, a grating sound was heard--such a sound as might be made by the rising of a tightly-fitting trap-door.

At the same instant two feet were seen upon the top round of the ladder, which, descending, were followed by the legs and body of a man.

"Twigged at last, by thunder!" exclaimed Jerry Buck, uttering a warning cry, which had the effect of instantly arousing several sleeping boyish forms stretched upon pieces of old carpet at various angles upon the floor.

At the same instant a man sprang from the ladder and stood in their midst.

"Good-evening, boys," he said, quietly. "So this is where you hang out? Upon my word, now, it ain't half a bad place. I've slept in many a worse one myself."