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Updated: May 5, 2025
And she was utterly unable to travel at any but a very gentle rate. So she gave herself plenty of time. It was a very bright afternoon and all the world was astir. Fleda shielded herself with a thick veil and went up one of the narrow streets, not daring to venture into Broadway; and passing Waverly Place which was almost as bright, turned down Eighth-street.
Another Eighth-street stage, which came rattling toward the ferry, brought a fine specimen of the juvenile vagrant and dare-devil, seated on the step. Bog looked out of the boiler yard, and hailed him with a shrill whistle, formed by thrusting two fingers in the mouth, and blowing fiercely.
But Old Tom Burton had rushed out of the saloon and was hastening at his awkward gallop to the Eighth-street station of the elevated. He was going to tell Mary in person and to bring her home. Around the turn of the rails he saw a train coming, and, urged by his obsession of haste, he strove for a greater speed. The top steps were slippery, and Old Tom was giddy and his legs uncertain.
The prisoner persisted in his story that he knows nothing about the murder, and after a little further examination he was taken down stairs and locked up on the charge of murder. Jackson was taken from the Mayor's office through the long corridor on the Eighth-Street side of the City Hall by Detective Bill Bulmer, who walked on the right side of him and held his arm.
Bog emerged from his seclusion, and followed him at a distance, always keeping somebody between him and the object of his pursuit. At the corner of Astor Place, young Van Quintem stopped; and Bog came to a halt also, half a block behind. The next minute, the Eighth-street stage, going up, approached the corner at a rapid rate, as if the driver were hurrying home to his supper.
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