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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Wal, ef that's yer game, I'll meet ye at Billy Bowleg's saloon, to-morrer at this time. Is't a bargain?" "It's a bargain, Perry." Then the two clasped hands. August Bordine recognized the man now as the tramp who had assaulted Victoria Vane, that day, when he was up at Eastman's woods on a hunting excursion.
"What a queer looking man," remarked the maid, as she stood at the window watching the movements of the one-eyed peddler and his dog team. "Queer indeed," murmured Rose. That evening Rose Alstine received a caller whom she little expected the woman she had seen in the summer-house in the arms of August Bordine. "Can I see you alone for a moment, Miss Alstine?" "Certainly."
Bordine entered here with the delicate dagger in her hand. The plush-lined dressing-case in front of the mirror stood open, and into this the widow laid the glittering toy. Shutting down the cover she left the room, and resumed her seat in the big arm-chair. As may be supposed, no sleep visited the old lady that night. She was too deeply worried on account of the strange happenings of the night.
It was evident that a grave mistake had been made, and Bordine resolved to carry on the deception with a view to learning something of the intentions of the villain or villains who had plotted the destruction of Keene. "Let's see, how much was I to give you for this?" "Durn it, that was fur you to say, Andy. I want you to be liberal now."
"I beg your pardon, but does Mr. Vane live here?" A man of small stature, smooth face and the keenest eyes Bordine had ever seen in human head, stood before him. He lifted a broad-brimmed straw hat and fanned himself as though heated, although the air was quite cool for the season. "Do you mean Ransom Vane?" "Yes, sir." "He lives here." "Very good "
"And this is your work, August Bordine, after all the confidence I placed in you," uttered the detective, in a rebuking voice. "It was merely a game of wits, Mr. Keene. I was too smart for you, in spite of the fact that you're reputed to be the sharpest man-tracker in Gotham. I think it would pay you to hire me for a spell." "This, then, was a put-up job?" "That's about the size of it."
It won't be long before the authorities as well as the people will be astounded with the arrest of Victoria Vane's murderer. It will astound them because they will find in the real murderer not the man they expect." The peddler spoke so enthusiastically as to attract the notice of his listener. "Are you on the track of the assassin?" questioned Bordine. "I am." "Then you are a detective?"
Just at this point a dark form glided up behind the detective and dealt him a stunning blow on the head, felling him to the ground. "Thar, pardner, I reckon that beak won't git no furder with his pris'ner." Bordine was dumbfounded. Who was the rough-spoken man who had come to his rescue by perhaps dealing the detective a death-blow? "He put the darbies on, did he?"
When she had finished, her face blanched and she sank suddenly away. "Quick! the cordial!" cried Shanks, but it was too late. When the man lifted her head to administer the medicine the woman hung a dead weight. "She is dead," said the doctor. Mrs. Bordine was once more back at her cottage home, thanks to the kindly influence of Miss Rose Alstine.
"No; you may keep it," answered Bordine quickly. "It may lead to some clew." "But I say the letter is yours. You wrote it." "Certainly not." "But see here;" and Vane pointed to the mutilated signature. Bordine started when he saw how closely the name resembled his own. "Do you deny that you wrote that?" demanded Ransom Vane, fiercely. "Certainly; I did not write it."
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