A MYSTERIOUS HOUSEHOLD. 1 Solomon Savage started in the early stage for the city. His nephew and heir had caused him a deal of anxiety lately. He had purchased his place in the country to suit Fred's romantic taste. He had given up his comfortable quarters up-town, his early newspaper, his social chat at the club, his peep at the new pictures, his opening nights at the comedies; had been content to settle down for the rest of his days among these lakes and mountains, just to please Fred. Because, besides being his nephew and heir, Fred was the only child of his dead sister, and his uncle's idol. And now Fred wouldn't be content in the country for a week at a time; he was always coining excuses to go to the city, and the house was like a tomb without him. He was dreamy and abstracted. Something was the matter with the lad, and this something was connected with these altogether uncalled-for raids upon the city. mansions on the east side of town that wear so ponderous, so substantial, so spacious a look, and yet from which all glory has departed. Two hundred and nineteen had the appearance of possessing at one time a romantic history, but that time had long gone by. Now it might be an infirmary, a boarding-house, or a private asylum. Still the street was broad, houses and shops seemed commonplace enough, nothing “queer" that he could sce. The old gentleman walked slowly up the steps; his colour rose a little, but his face wore a look of determination, such as a soldier wears entering action. He took from his pocket a heavy silver card-case, and pulled gently the bell-handle. No answer. Five minutes passed, and he pulled againthis time a little less gently. Then he waited. Five minutes more passed, and the shaggy white eyebrows of the old gentleman drew close together; his florid face reddened impstiently; he pulled the bell roughly; a loud peal resounded sepulchrally through the lower regions of the house. Presently a shuffling Mr. Savage wrote to his lawyer to find out step approached the door, a heavy bolt shot the mystery, and got this reply:— "Dear Sir,-Your nephew spends the most of his time at No. 219 Blank Street. Can't tell much about the house or its inmates. Should suppose they were a queer set. Yours respectfully, JOSEPH FERRET. "Solomon Savage, Esq." "Queer!' What could the man mean by queer?'" Mr. Savage, becoming thoroughly alarmed, determined upon solving the mystery himself. All the way down in the stage, and jolting along in the cars, Mr. Savage repeated to himself the word " "queer." back, there was heard the clanking of a chain. The door opened an inch and a half; a broad, flat nose, the tip of a frowzy head, appeared. a capacious mouth opened. "Give that card to your master, and tellI wouldn't for a hundred pound go near the masther; it'd be as much as my life was worth." "Give that card to your mistress, and tell Bother the card! Tell me your business, and I'll see to it." My dear woman," said the old gentleman, benignly, "my business is not with the ser vants of the household." At the same time Mr. Savage extended a gold piece, as a sop to this obdurate Cerberus. At about the hour of two P. M. an old gentleman might have been seen walking down Blank | Street. He wore a shining suit of broadcloth, a broad-brimmed white hat, linen of the finest material, elaborately ruffled, unexceptionable | boots and gloves, tortoise-shell eye-glasses, and carried a gold-headed cane. His face wore an expression of mild benignity. Good-nature beamed from his blue eyes, good health from his smooth, florid skin; good family from the arch in his nose and his foot; and good spirits from the merry crow's-feet about every comfortable wrinkle. Altogether he was about as The door closed heavily within an inch of winning-looking an old gentleman as one would the old gentleman's nose. He remained. care to see. He walked slowly, scrutinizing as thunder-struck, upon the sill. He looked he went the street and the passers-by. about him appealingly; then he slowly de At last he came to 219-one of those old scended the steps. His face lost its look of From Harper's Magazine (New York). Then git along to the divil wid your cards and your money, an' don't be takin' up people's time wid yer chat!" mild benignity, a gleam of anger darted from his blue eyes, the crow's-feet took a fierce expression. Loudly resounded his gold-headed cane upon the pavement. Plainly the old gentleman felt himself insulted. It was hard. His appearance was certainly calculated to win respect; but the noble blood | of the O'Haras was at that time hot with rage. She had been cheated six ounces in the meat. If St. Patrick himself had appeared at the door he would have met with a grim reception from Bridget. "Be careful of the door," she said, five minutes after, to her Chinese assistant, "an' don't for your life let a soul near the house. I'm goin' to that baste of a butcher's, an' I'll be back in a jiffy." Chang looked up mildly from his work. He was mopping the kitchen-mopping it in a way that delighted the breast of Bridget O'Hara. "Go on wid yer work, man," she said, "and don't stir from the kitchen whilst I'm gone." Chang smiled vacantly. "The divil take the haythen, he don't hear a word I say," said Bridget; "but he's safe to lave here for a minit or two. There never was sach savin' in soap and slop before in the house. What a jewel he is, to be sure, at three-andsixpence a day. Be gorra, if he was a Christian I couldn't be fond of him. Other folks can have their pets-I'm sure if there's a divil born it's Toffy-and why shouldn't I have mine? Go on, me boy," she said, absolutely patting his pigtail; "you're doin' finely, me man!" And off went Bridget to the butcher's. Now as she crossed the corner, an old gentleTan saw her from the opposite side of the way. He started. That bullet-head, that broad, flat nose, and capacious mouth, were familiar to him. Was it possible the abusive Cerberus had left her post? Swiftly he retraced his steps; quickly he reached 219. Again he accended the steps, rang the bell, and waited. Rang again, and waited-and again. Fiercely, loudly, desperately he tugged at the bell. No answer. What kind of people lived here? Was it a deaf and dumb asylum? With one last, despairing pull he descended the steps. Defeat was in his downcast look, despair was in his slow footfall. This house was absolutely, then, denied him. There was no getting in for love nor money. But as he passed the basement window, dejectedly, he saw a face that attracted his attention. It was yellow and melancholy and mild-eyed. The cheek-bones were high, the eyes were long and The fingers that rested upon the window-sill had nails of a prodigious length, narrow. but scrupulously clean. There was neatness about the creature, and humility. His pigtail was nicely braided, and put up out of the dust in a round ball on the top of his head. Mr. Savage went down the area steps, and looked in the window, smiling benignantly. Chang also smiled. Mr. Savage smiled still more benignantly, and pointed to the area door. Chang smiled, but seemed not to understand this pantomime. Mr. Savage walked to the door, and knocked gently, looking at the window appealingly. He waited there a while, and knocked again. The door remaining closed, he returned to the window. Chang was there, still smiling blandly, but vacantly. Mr. Savage said one word in a low tone. was seldom, if ever, profane-he considered it a vulgarity-but the word certainly sounded like profanity. He "Can't get in," he said, "for love nor money." Suddenly it occurred to him that he had not shown his bit of gold to Chang. It was the colour of his skin-even of the balls of his eyes; it might please him somehow. He took it from his pocket, and held it out to Chang invitingly. Chang looked at it curiously, as if he never before had seen anything like it. Then he extended his long-nailed fingers toward it. Finding the pane of glass between them, he drew back reluctantly. Mr. Savage pointed to the door, coaxingly, as he would to a child. Chang looked in the direction of the door, and smiled innocently. Mr. Savage went to the door, and knocked very gently. Chang followed softly, mechanically unloosed the chain, and, as Mr. Savage passed into the hall, he looked after him abstractedly, holding the bit of gold in his long slim hand. "Poor fellow!" said Mr. Savage, "it's almost a shame to take advantage of such simplicity.' As Mr. Savage went softly up the kitchen stairs, Chang put his plaything under his pigtail, relocked the door, and commenced polishing the tins. When Bridget returned they shone marvellously, so that she could see herself in every inch of the dish-pan. "Och, ye jewel," she said, again patting his pigtail. "How chape ye are at three-and-sixpence a day." Chang turned a yellow-white when she touched his pigtail. The Chinese have a reverence for this portion of their toilet that perhaps Christians do not understand. In the meantime Mr. Savage had reached the wide corridor that extended the whole length of the house. A circular staircase was before him, at the top of which beamed a strong light. Upon one of the uppermost balusters, in the full radiance of this light, there was a black object. It was not a cat nor a dog. What was it? A chicken? a jet-black chicken? No; for two fierce black eyes shone furiously down upon him with more intelligence and malignity than ever gleamed in the eyes of a chicken. The house was frightfully still. On either side of the corridor heavy oaken doors remained hopelessly closed. Mr. Savage paused and looked up again, fascinated by those fierce black eyes. Suddenly he heard a groan. It came from the room on the left. Then a low, sobbing sound, and a heavy fall. The old gentleman stepped hastily forward, the blood freezing in his veins. "Murdered! Dead!" cried a woman's voice. "And I alive!" "Estelle," she said, in a tone of grief and excitement, "I have killed him! Estelle, the deed is done; but oh! oh! how sorry 1 am. It seems to me that I shall never get over the sacrilege of it. Oh, it was fearful! It was too, too pitiful!" "Dear aunt," replied a girlish voice-"dear Polly, don't think of it in such a light! It had to be, you know-we needed the money so much!" But you don't know, Estelle-you can't tell how wretchedly I feel about it. I was so fond of him-I had just began to be so inter ested in him." "And I too, Polly. I I did admire him so much!" And I could have managed it, Estelle. If I had only had time I could have let him live But I was compelled to do it immediately, and now he is dead! Let me go back, Estelle; [ Mr. Savage paused at the heavy oaken door must be alone-I am heart-broken!” -paused, and collected his wits. "Oh, misery!" repeated the agonized voice of a woman. Murdered! Dead! And I alive!" Mr. Savage remembered that he was alone and unarmed, and prudently stepped into a neighbouring closet. Almost closing the door, he remained perfectly still. Evidently there was foul play in this house, and he could do nothing, situated as he was, but listen and wait. Besides, the crime was committed. There could be no help rendered now. The sobbing continued, and at intervals he heard the heart-rending complaint of the woman: "Murdered! Dead! And I alive!" It might have been a quarter of an hour that this continued; and whenever Mr. Savage looked up he found the eyes peering curiously and savagely down. Then the door on the right opened, and he heard the silken rustle of a woman's drapery. There passed close by him so close that he inhaled a delicate, sweet perfume a woman of thirty or thereabout: a blonde, with pale yellow hair drawn back from her forehead, eyes of a deep lustrous violet, a small sensitive mouth, and beautiful chin. Her hands were white and slim, the nails rosy and marvellously shaped. Mr. Savage noticed the hands particularly, for she clasped and unclasped them with a movement of sorrow or "Dear aunt dear Polly, I am so sorry for Mr. Savage felt cold to the marrow of his bones. What crime had been committed by these two delicate women?-these creatures. whose nearness was to him a charm in spite of himself. Whom had this pale, passionate blonde killed, and whom did this girlish Estelle lament so pitiably? A question shaped itsel in his mind, but faltered on his lips. The one word, "Fred," escaped them. Then he sank back, livid and trembling, in his closet. Fred was young and lovable and interesting. Fred had money, a watch, diamond pin, and studs Great Heaven! could such a thing be possible! Ferret, the lawyer, had said this was the only house Fred frequented, and the inmates were a queer set. Ah, the word queer was too mild! As Mr. Savage leaned back in his closet, plunged in this painful reverie, a door opened on the upper floor; he raised his eyes, and there, by the side of the malignant creature with the black eyes, stood a man! A loose dressing-gown hung about him in awkward folds, a scarlet cap rested on the back of his head, from under which a mop of reddish hair fell almost to his shoulders. His face was flaming red, even to the tip of his nose, and across his cheek was a deeper stain-a smear that was crimson, yes, blood-red! "Polly," shouted this new apparition, "Polly, Polly, pretty Poll!" "Caw!" cried the discordant voice of the bird by his side. Shut up, Mephistopheles!" said the man. "Polly, Polly!" "Caw, caw!" cried the bird. "If you don't shut up, Toffy, I'll wring your neck. Polly. Come, Polly, come; why drive me to necessity? Come, I tell you. Poll-e-e-e! Now, Polly," he continued to shout, "if you don't come out I'll commence to count. Polly, will you?-one. Polly, will you?-two. Polly, will you?-three!" Crash, bang, came an immense billet of wood bumping down the stairs! The door on the right opened, the blonde appeared on the threshold. No longer pale-two angry spots burned on either cheek. "Idiot!" she said, in a voice of suppressed rage. "Wretch of infamy, what do you want?" "Loveliest and best," he cried, leaning over the balusters. "I want a leg. You'll find one in your room there. Polly, beloved, don't bring me the leg of a boy this time-one of a man, sweetest, muscular, and well-formed!" "It's just like your carelessness, leaving them lying about in that way. They're all rating away, and the rats have been nibbling them "Never mind, charmer; there's plenty more where they came from!" "Shiftless imbecile! Heaven knows what will be the result of your criminal carelessness. If I coined my very heart's blood into money it would all go the same way." Polly disappeared for a moment, and soon nt up the stairs with a burden that struck a ill to the bones of Mr. Savage. What, then, yas this sanguinary monster? A devourer of human legs! Gracious heavens! perhaps this Lew dainty was the leg of his beloved Fred. And these two women pitied and deplored, hated and abhorred, this horrible infirmity, but d it unscrupulously. A cold sweat burst from the pores of the horrified Mr. Savage. He felt like Fatima in the fatal closet of Blue Beard. Dearly had he paid for his curiosity. Almost a groan burst from his lips. This, then, was the burden that had rested on Fred's mind. Lured to this fearful den, fascinated and enthralled by these women, he had fallen a prey to their infamous wiles, and now perhaps he was foully murdered, his poor bones ubbled by noxious reptiles. Mr. Savage runched his teeth to keep silence. He resolved upon an immediate retreat, but determined to return with a corps of police. These crimes VOL. IIL should be known and avenged. But upon stepping forward he found, almost under his feet, Mephistopheles, the crow! "Caw!" cried the creature, and Mr. Savage started with dismay. "Caw, caw, caw!" Mr. Savage endeavoured to thrust the bird aside, but it ruffled its feathers, hopped up and down, and screeched defiantly. "The divil seize the black baste," said Bridget, from the kitchen. "What's the matther with him now?" "Caw, caw, caw!" screamed the bird, louder than ever. "Toffy, silence there!" shouted the monster from the upper floor. "Caw, caw!" shrieked Mephistopheles, dashing himself against the closet-door. Polly appeared from her room, pale again and composed. What is it, Mephistopheles?" she said, majestically. 'Poor Toffy," said the musical voice of Estelle; "what's the matter with poor Toffy?" "Caw, caw!" screamed the crow, becoming more and more furious and excited. "I'll tell you what," said the monster from above, "there's somebody in that closet." Such a sudden scuttling of petticoats then took place as was wonderful to see. Polly retreated to her doorway, Estelle fairly barred herself in, and Bridget remained on the kitchen stairway. "If it ain't a ghost I'll tackle it," said Bridget. "But I've known for this many a day that Toffy was a divil; and, be gorra, it might be the ould gintleman himself come afther him." come. Mr. Savage knew then that his time was In a moment a sad retrospection occupied his mind, as it will that of a drowning man. He even thought of his legs, and for the first time in his life regretted that they were more than ordinarily well shaped and muscular for one of his years. Having breathed one short prayer, Mr. Savage opened the door, and confronted his adversaries. "Murderers," he said, "do your worst! Add my poor body to the rest of your victims. My nephew has already fallen a prey to your infamy. I am but an old man, and do not dread to follow him." Mr. Savage folded his arms, and looked about 60 him with grim defiance. Surprise and consternation fell upon the group of listeners. The sanguinary monster cast a look upon Polly significant and suggestive. He whispered something behind his hand. "Poor old man," said Polly; "he's so handsome and so becomingly dressed. I'm so sorry for him, Tom." "Ah, madam," said Mr. Savage, "since you have commenced to pity me, I know what I may expect. Even thus you deplored the fate of your last victim. He was young and lovable, but you killed him, nevertheless." "What'll we do with him?" said Tom. "How did the craythur get in?" said Bridget. "He was at the door this morning, but I put him away wid a flea in his ear." "Shall I let him go, Poll?" said Tom. "Ah no; let's keep him for a while, and see what we can do with him," said Polly; and accordingly Tom sprang suddenly forward, and, opening the door of a little room, thrust Mr. Savage in, and locked the door upon the outside. Five minutes after the house was as still as ever. Mr. Savage gave himself up for lost. This, then, was one of those dens of crime and horror at which the world grew pale. He did not dare look at the walls of his prison, fearing they would narrow about him. He feared to take a step forward, feeling certain that the carpet concealed a trap-door. How would they kill him? he wondered. One thing was certain-they'd manage it skilfully to save his legs. Gracious powers! was he, then, to die? The old gentleman raised the hat from his head and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. His knees trembled beneath him. And yet he was not a coward. If it had been the will of Heaven that he should die an open, commonplace death, he could have met it like a man-as one who has no crime upon his conscience. But to be caught in this horrible trap and butchered! The thought was terrible! Every moment the love of life grew stronger, within him. He looked about him despairingly. Then he listened attentively. He thought he heard a peculiar step. It was low and shuffling; not only these, but soft and dragging; it was the step of Chang. The features of Mr. Savage immediately lost their terrified expression, a gleam of hope shone in his face. He took from his pocket a piece of gold and thrust it beneath the door, just far enough to be perceptible without being available. seem like a toy in the eyes of the Chinese. Nevertheless, he placed a five-dollar greenback by the side of the gold piece. Chang opened the front-door and commenced polishing the knobs. Once in a while he looked at the pretty gold piece and the funny paper with pictures on it under the door by his side. Then he gazed abstractedly about him with his mild melancholy eyes. The spacious corridor was dark and still. Chang walked slowly to the room that contained Mr. Savage. Innocently he turned the key in the lock. Out darted poor Mr. Savage-out the door and down the street. Chang picked up the playthings from under his feet, and shut the door of the room. He seemed to like the paper with funny pictures on it almost as well as he did the gold piece. He put them both under his pigtail, and went on polishing the knobs. How they did shine when Bridget came up the stairs! Och, ye darlint! More power to your elbow!" she said, and again patted his pigtail approvingly. And again did the poor savage shrink from this familiarity. Out darted poor Mr. Savage, breathlessly, wildly. His gray hairs streamed behind him. His eyes wore a strained, eager expression. People gazed upon him wonderingly. At last he reached Fred's lodgings. Stumbling up the stairs, when he reached the landing he saw a light in the front room. His heart com menced to beat wildly. Who lighted the gas? Surely not his boy, his beloved lad! If he was yet alive-if they had both escaped! He staggered forward, opened the door, and saw Fred sitting in his arm-chair, his feet on the window-sill, smoking his meerschaum. The poor old gentleman fell upon his nephew's neck and sobbed outright. "My boy! my dear lad!" he cried. Alive and well!" Fred's meerschaum fell to the ground, and broke in pieces on the floor. He got upon his feet, still with his uncle's arms about him. "Why, uncle," he said-"Uncle Sol, what can be the matter?" man. "Oh, Fred, my boy," gasped the old gentle"Such an escape! Thank God, we are both alive and well. Such an escape!" "A railroad accident?" said Fred, forcing his uncle into the arm-chair, and taking his hat and gloves. "Worse than that, Fred; far worse." 'A garrotter?" Fred asked, taking off his uncle's boots, and loosening his neck-tie. "Worse, oh, much worse," gasped the old gentleman. |