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Updated: May 6, 2025
"It has been a great campaign," said McNerney, as he saw Braun, guarded by four soldiers, start slowly toward the village under the convoy of Sergeant Breyman. "He spent but little of the plunder! Here we have recovered nearly two hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars in bills and good cheques! He evidently feared to attract attention by any undue luxury."
He will never get away from me, alive or dead; back he goes to New York." And yet McNerney forgot his keenest daily precautions, deceived by the apparent helplessness of the wounded murderer.
The German police must not see this. To-night you and I will gather up the harvest!" The athletic young men worked with a will. In five minutes the panting McNerney said, "Safe enough now from the ox-eyed German detective! Let us go down. How badly is he hurt?" "His right arm is merely disabled! It's a very severe flesh wound," complacently answered the doctor.
Only a few gruff sentences had ever escaped the murderer on the long voyage, and only a horrible curse had answered the proposition of Atwater and McNerney that a full confession might, in some way, soften the brute's impending doom. The room where Braun was confined was bare of all lethal implements with which he might effect a suicide, and two stalwart men were his room-mates.
There was no mistake, for McNerney had whispered, "It's the Sixth Avenue druggist, sure enough! I am a made man for life!" The few household servants were being paraded and questioned by the German official, while Dennis McNerney, followed by Leah, glided through the rooms of the second story. A glance told the practical officer where Braun had made his own headquarters.
"My father!" she cried, as she fell on her knees and prayed that the mantle of shame should not fall upon his yet raw grave. It was half an hour after Doctor Atwater and McNerney began to question Emil Einstein that the young scapegoat at last dropped his policy of lying braggadocio.
"I will work; I will go where I cannot be hunted into a deeper hell than my accusing conscience brings up!" There was a grim vigilance in every movement of Dennis McNerney as he watched the now haggard-eyed Braun in the tank cell far below the decks, where Fashion's children gaily chattered.
Was it fancy, or did McNerney see a grim, human face glaring out of the window of a round tower at the angle of the facade? "Here; this way!" cried McNerney, as he stumbled into a little garden where trellised grapevines in olden days made a shaded walk for the Lady of Adler's Horst. The group of men stopped aghast as a woman dashed wildly out of a door opening into a long conservatory.
"Go ahead, and God speed you. These gentlemen will furnish all the money you need." "Then it's a go!" bluntly answered the officer. "I feel it in my bones we'll get them to-night." After a whispered colloquy with the two friends, McNerney offered his hand to the agitated woman. "I'll risk my life for you, Miss," he said. "There's a desperate man behind this deed.
McNerney, sure of his princely reward, now never left his prisoner, and the recovered funds were duly locked in the liner's great steel steamer safe. So it was left to William Atwater to draw out, bit by bit, the whole story of Irma Gluyas' wasted life. A pale-faced, stately beauty, steadfast and silent, was the wretched woman who had innocently lured Clayton to the murder chamber.
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