Chapter 9 IN WHICH FRANK MANSFIELD MAKES AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY.

Had it occurred to Officer Schneider to remain quietly in the precise spot at which his prisoner had disappeared until the Trinity Church clock struck the hour of four, his patience would have been rewarded by seeing the iron door in the grave-yard wall cautiously open, and the head and shoulders of a boy thrust out into the silent street.

But as neither that exceedingly astute member of the New York police force-the finest in America, we believe it has been said-nor any one else was about at the time, the head and shoulders were followed by a well-developed pair of arms and legs, and a boy stepped out upon the snow.

Instantly this boy was followed by another, after which the iron door was softly closed from within.

Turning their faces toward the north, both boys started upon the dead run up New Church street, and whipping around the corner of Cedar street like a flash, suddenly slackened their steps, and began slowly to ascend the hill in the direction of Broadway.

In the stillness of the Sabbath morning not a sound is to be heard.

The great city sleeps, its ceaseless roar is hushed.

Even as the virtue of charity covereth a multitude of sins, so has covered the pure snow everything in and about these silent streets with an unbroken mantle of white.

Let us glance at these two solitary travelers as they move along, and seek to learn who and what they may be.

As to the larger of the pair there can be no doubt.

Frank Mansfield disguised or Frank Mansfield in his usual dress must to the reader, who has free admission to all our secrets, be Frank Mansfield still.

And we find him now clad in a rough, well-worn suit of clothes, with a blue woolen shirt and a low, slouch, felt hat, not unlike the garments which a few hours since we saw adorning the person of Barney, the bootblack, one of the "bats" in the vault of the church-yard wall.

But his hands are free-there is no doubt of that, for he has one inserted in each side-pocket of his short monkey-coat as he hurries along by the side of his companion through the snow.

And for this relief, one may as well say right here, Frank had to thank a sharp file, procured by one of his new-found friends and Master Barney's strength of arm.

As to the second boy, he is likewise a "bat from the wall."

The special "bat," in fact, mentioned by Barney in his graphic description of the robbery of the Webster Bank as having taken upon himself to track the burglars to their home.

He was a well-built fellow of some eighteen or nineteen years, rough and uncouth in his dress and speech, but immeasurably superior, as could be seen at a glance, to either of his companions encountered by Frank in the vault.

He rejoiced among his fellow "bats" in the short and easily-remembered appellation of "Jerry Buck."

"Are you sure you'd know the place again, Jerry?" asked Frank, as they walked along.

It was for the purpose of pointing out the house into which the three bank-robbers had disappeared that the two boys had now sallied forth.

"Positive," replied the boy, quickly. "It was down in Cherry street, just behind the Catherine Market. I never let up on 'em till I seed 'em go in."

"There were three of them, you say?"

"Yes-one big feller with a carpet-bag, his head all tied up in a comforter, and two others, one with a big bag over his shoulder, an' the other with nothin' at all."

As Frank said nothing further, and his companion evinced an equal disinclination to talk, the boys, having now turned into Broadway, moved along in silence until they reached the newspaper offices which line the right-hand side of Park Row and Printing House Square.

At each one of these they made a halt, Jerry Buck entering at the basement doors, and elbowing his way among a crowd of men and boys, emerged with an ever increasing bundle of morning papers under his arm.

For Jerry was a newsboy as well as a "bat in the wall," and had his living to get on Sunday as upon the other days of the week.

"Now, we won't stop no more," he said briefly, as his complement of papers was completed at last. "Let's hurry up, for as soon as it's light I've got to get to work."

He turned into Frankfort street as he spoke, and leading the way past the great arches of the Brooklyn Bridge, entered Cherry street at its junction with Franklin square.

Continuing along that thoroughfare, clean to the eye at least for once, the boys passed the end of the Catherine Market, and at a sign from Jerry came to a halt before a dirty brick tenement.

"That's the place," he said. "I saw them all three go in that door."

"You are sure?"

"Certain. I can't make no mistake about it, for I used to live in that house once myself."

"And I suppose they are there now, the miserable scoundrels," exclaimed Frank, looking up at the house. "Jerry, I think the best thing I can do is to go directly and inform the police."

"Maybe it is. You've got education and ought to know better than I, but there's another road out of this place by way of the alley in the rear. Perhaps I'd better show you that first."

He led the way around the corner into Catherine street, and paused before an old tumble-down rookery bearing the sign "The Donegal Shades, by P. Slattery," above the door.

Here in the neighborhood of the busy market there were signs of abundant life.

Men, women and boys were moving up and down the sidewalk, to and fro, bent on their various affairs.

"That's the place," said Jerry, pointing toward an alley leading to the rear of the saloon.

As Frank raised his eyes in response to the sign a man sprang toward them with a loud shout.

It was the detective who had arrested him at the bank that night.

By the light of a neighboring street-lamp Frank recognized him at a glance.

With an exclamation he sprang away just as the man's hand was stretched out to grasp his coat, and, followed by Jerry Buck, who did not comprehend the situation at all, dashed up the street with the speed of the wind, without pausing to look behind.

But Jerry was possessed of no such fears as at that moment filled our hero's breast.

As they turned the corner of Cherry street he shot a hurried glance behind him and beheld the singular accident already described, which served to bring the detective to a sudden halt.

"Hist! hist!" he whispered, seizing Frank by the arm. "He's down, and there comes one of the bank burglars now!"

Even as he spoke the man who had dropped the basket of fish dashed round the corner and past them up Cherry street at the top of his speed.

"That's the one wot carried the bag!" whispered the boy, excitedly. "Who's the feller that made you cut an' run?"

"The detective what arrested me-I don't know his name."

"The deuce? Well, you don't want him to see you, and there's no danger of it. I can give him the slip twenty times in this neighborhood-never you fear. If yer a-goin' to give yerself up you' better do it. Don't let that fellow take you in, or they won't believe a word you say."

But the detective on whom their eyes were fixed from around the corner of the building by the side of which they stood, showed no disposition to follow.

On the contrary.

He remained stooping over the basket dropped by the flying man in the snow.

As the boys watched him there emerged from the alley at the side of the Donegal Shades two men, who, moving unobserved through the crowd which had now gathered about the building, hurried up Catherine street, passed within two feet of the spot where the boys now were.

"I know the big fellow," whispered Jerry Buck, seizing Frank by the arm. "That's another of them-that's the fellow who carried the carpet-bag away from the bank."

But Frank Mansfield made no response.

He stood staring at the vanishing forms like one in a trance.

If the larger of the two men was one of the robbers of the Webster Bank, what was his companion doing in such company as his?

For the man who walked by the burglar's side was the old-time friend of the boy himself-was the father of the girl he loved-that most respectable stock operator and member of the Tenth Baptist Church, Elijah Callister, and no one else!

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