Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1899-04-02

! Without this treasure trOve" l should
have had to trust to brute force alone;
as it was, l could afford to take things
easily.
l placed my captive in an armchair
and stood over him, the muzzle of his
own late property within suggestive
distance of his forehead BY this time
his spectacles had fallen off, revealing
the pink-rimmed, light eyes of the man
| in the knickerbockers who had first
attracted my attention at Euston in
the morning-or was it a month ago?
| 1--we just ten minutes to waste on
you, my friend" l said, thinking of
the girl who anxiously awaited my re-
! turn in the room across the corridor;
land perhaps it would be still pleas
anter for both of us if we could make
! information, and l mean to have it,
Now, who employed you to play the
spy on me?"
| His eyes showed white round the
small iris. and he swallowed with a
swapping noise, as if something within
him had broken. but he did not an
swer. The trigger under the crook of
, my finger had been at halfcock; now 1
i fully cooked it.
/ You wouldn't shoot" His voice
clacked dryly against his teeth, and he
had to moisten his stiff lips with his
tongue before he could articulate.
| Wouldn't -" l echoed. I'm not a
patient man, and as | dare say you
know my story | won't take up our
time in explaining that l have nothing
/ to lose. II you attempt to irritate or
| thwart me your blood be on your own
head. You'll never leave this room
alive, no matter what the consequences
may be to me! Out with it, will you?
! Who's your Employer"
In truth, I had no intention of killing
this pitiable wretch quivering like A
| mass of horrid jelly in his chair. But
! all is fair in war, and | knew well that
if | were to get what wanted, it could
| only be by frightening him within an
inch OF his worthless life. Luck was
favoring me so far, and my grasp of the
revolver was almost a caress.
Il swear to you that I don't know"
whispered the man, as the wind whis-
pers among cracking autumn leaves.
Wait! don't shoot-for the love of
Heaven! I'll tell you what | do
! know. I'm member of a private de-
tectlve agency in London-Platt's
You've heard of it, maybe. A little
more than three weeks ago the chief
sent for me to his private Office. There
was an old gentleman there with him
who-who watched me as l listened to
instructions. l was to follow Captain
i mean Mr.-Napier, who had just
out never mind that, sir. I was to
keep an eye on him everywhere and
report what he did, every night, to an
address which-which was given to
ne"
What is the address," l questioned
so quickly that l hoped he would not
have time to concoct lie.
"A lodging house, sir, in Alfred-place
West, South Kensington. 1t was-I
swear it was there!" which an agonized
stare at my face, which may have ex-
pressed unbelief. at was No. 29A.
Sometimes the old gentleman, a Mr.
Nathan Builder, was there to see me;
sometimes younger man, whose name
l never heard
Describe this Mr.. Nathan Builder"
l commanded briefly.
"A large gentleman, sir, with curly
iron-grey hair, bushy black eyebrows
that met above a Jewish-looking nose,
big moustache that fell over his
mouth like fringe, and close crop
ped beard
HIM" | commented And the
younger man."
About thirty-eight or forty; red
haired and pitted with smallpox. The
last time | saw him he had on a black
wig. That was last night, sir, about
half-past eleven, the usual time"
"Ah," said l, small CLEAN of light
breaking into my darkness. "Was he
wearing a coachman's livery last
night?"
II couldn't tell you that, sir. He