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Updated: May 22, 2025
August Bordine smiled at the look that came to the face of the girl. He had known Victoria Vane and her brother for several months. He was never prepossessed in favor of her brother, and he often thought her "soft," to use a vulgar expression. "I do believe the girl would make love to me if I would permit it, by giving her the least encouragement.
See where the steel of the assassin entered her poor neck, and cut to the life. Oh, Vic, my poor darling! you shall be avenged. I will go to the ends of the earth but I will find your slayer and have his life." Ransom Vane was white as death, and trembled like a leaf. "I will go for a doctor," said Bordine. "A doctor? See the life-blood there.
It will be remembered that a man had been listening through an open window to the conversation between the detective and August Bordine in the early morning. That man was no less a personage than Andrew Barkswell, whose strong resemblance to the young engineer had so complicated affairs. He, of course, preferred to meet the detective in a way that the latter little suspected.
Then the peddler whistled to his dog, and walked away, leaving the sick man alone in the fisherman's shanty. "Who is guilty? that's the question," muttered Hiram Shanks when once out of hearing of the sick man. "Bordine certainly doesn't act like a guilty wretch, and I, for one, believe him innocent.
Yonder stands August Bordine," and the criminal pointed toward the widow's son. And then, with a wailing cry, poor Rose reeled and sank fainting to the arms of Mrs. Bordine. At this moment the officer snapped a pair of handcuffs over the wrists of Barkswell, thus securing him. However, the officers seemed puzzled, and stared at August as if undecided what course to pursue.
"And might have proved a grievous one." "Certainly. I am satisfied that it is no worse." "And you can forgive me?" "Certainly." The two men clasped hands in apparent friendship. Nevertheless the detective had a lingering suspicion that he was making more of a fool of himself than ever. He tried to smother this, and to appear frank and genial before Bordine.
"And you do hate me, Rose?" "No " "Thank Heaven for that." "Leave me now, Mr. Bordine." "Mr. Bordine!" he cried bitterly. "It is August no longer. You would drive me from you without permitting me to explain. You are unjust, Rose." "Never. Would to Heaven I could be!" What did she mean? A sudden, wild hope entered the heart of the schemer.
"I see that I was going a little too far, but my excuse is that I am anxious to leave no stone unturned to effect the capture of that low villain, Bordine. It may be that he will have another murder to answer for after to-night." Rose shuddered at the thought. The gulf between her and August Bordine was widening to the shores of eternity, and even beyond.
That Barkswell was the forger who was wanted in New York the detective was assured. He judged this from a photograph that he had in his possession the subject of which, however, had a full beard, and this had prevented Keene's recognizing the likeness when he was first introduced to Barkswell, alias Bordine, by young Ransom Vane.
The saloon of Billy Bowlegs was a low resort, and Detective Keene realized that it was not a safe place for a member of his profession were he recognized by any of the law-breakers who frequented the place. The detective was deeply puzzled with regard to August Bordine.
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