The game of chance is played by all—
The rich, the poor, the great, the small;
Fate's hand the wheel of fortune drives,
And marks the epoch of our lives.
The street was one of the shortest in the city, extending only the one block from Broadway to the Bowery, and the house itself was plain, dark and unattractive, but Sam Lee led the way with an ease that betokened much familiarity with the neighborhood.
Sir Frederic had thought it best to enlist the services of a detective and now the four men entered the narrow hall and ascended a flight of stairs as noiselessly as possible.
Sam Lee was still ahead, and arriving at the[Pg 195] door above, he gave three short, sharp raps, following these with a peculiar double knock that could hardly be mistaken if once heard. Evidently the signal was so well given that the wary watchman within did not doubt the friendship of the executor and neglected to open the wicket as was his usual custom before admitting any one. Instead, he opened the door a tiny bit while he put his eye cautiously to the crack, but before he could get a satisfactory glimpse of the new comers, Sam Lee's heavy, cork soled shoe was forced into the narrow opening and four stalwart, determined shoulders were braced against the door with a force that sent the careless watchman spinning backward across the dimly lighted passage.
There were seven or eight men in the inner room when they entered, but in less time than it takes to tell they had all disappeared but one, and he, too, would have vanished had not Sam Lee darted into his very arms and screamed like a parrot in his unintelligible gibberish. As quick as flash, Sir Frederic and the detective grasped the rambler's arms, but after the first wild rush, he made no attempt to escape but stood silently[Pg 196] before them as if surprised, but in no way alarmed, at their somewhat extraordinary proceedings.
"This can not be the man," said Sir Frederic, doubtfully.
"Yes! Yes! Me know him!" yelled Sam Lee, over and over, while he held to the victim's coat tails with a grasp of vengeance.
"We will soon see," said the detective, grimly, as without ceremony he pulled both hat and hair from his prisoner's head.
With a movement as quick as lightning the man's hand flew back to his pistol pocket and in another moment the detective would, in all probability, have fallen, shot through the heart, had not Sam Lee, who was still holding fast to the coat observed the rapid movement and seized the would be murderer's arm with his wiry fingers. An awful struggle followed. As if knowing well it was his last chance for life and liberty, the man fought fiercely, with the strength of a lion, but he was finally held and the all conquering irons snapped upon his wrists. Then the false beard was removed and once more Sir Frederic looked upon the face of Maurice Sinclair as he had seen[Pg 197] him upon the evening of that memorable reception. Older and more haggard he looked beneath the light of the rusty chandelier, and rascal though he was, Sir Frederic felt a thrill of pity for the reckless nature that should bring its owner to such bitter degradation. Sir Frederic was the last to leave the room and, as he reached the door, he looked again to note more accurately the nature of the place.
Faro, seemed to be the inducement, and that the game was well patronized was evident by the quantity of bills and silver strewn recklessly about the floor during the precipitate retreat of the players.
Not a soul was visible when they descended the narrow stairs, and save for the perpetual chatter of Sam Lee, no word was spoken during the short walk that brought the prisoner within the protecting walls of Police Headquarters. Whether or no the Mongolian's chatter was understood by the silent prisoner could not be determined, for once only, did he betray the slightest interest in his talk. Sam Lee had evidently referred to some incident of the past, as the word "Calcutta" was[Pg 198] plainly recognized, and although the look accompanying his words was dark and threatening, the effect upon the handcuffed man was only to make him throw his head back and laugh long and heartily, as if well pleased at the untimely recollection.
Not until he heard that laugh did Sir Frederic really believe in his prisoner's identity. He had heard that musical, ringing laugh once before in Mrs. Sinclair's parlor and now he was certain there was no mistake. After seeing their charge safely guarded, Sir Frederic and Dr. Seward left their cards and promised to supply all further information the following day.
Sam Lee's dark face was still contorted with painful memories, and as the three men rode slowly homeward, Sir Frederic tried to ascertain the wrong which he felt positive the Chinaman had suffered at the hands of the man they had just left. He learned enough from the broken English to prove his vague surmise correct, for the words, "Calcutta Sister," and "Revenge" were only too suggestive of the nature of Sam Lee's grievance. "Sam Lee wait and wait," he said, "some time[Pg 199] get revenge," and then with the same warning shadow upon his face, he bade them set him down at a quiet corner, and the two friends, sympathizing deeply with his unmistakable sorrow, shook his taper fingers and drove rapidly homeward.