CHAPTER XVIII.
NICK IN A TRAP.
"I got in with a mob of hoboes at Patapsco," said Patsy. "I know their holes, and when I left the train at Patapsco town and went toward the river, I felt sure I'd strike 'em. And what do you think? The main hiker is Snub-nosed Johnny, who used to be train-boy on the Boston and Albany. The minute I lamped him I knew the game was mine. Inside of five minutes he handed me out a dope about Jilson and Mannion that put me on velvet. Both these guineas were with the gang, Mannion for a few days, Jilson for several weeks.
"Johnny said Jilly and Mannion—the hoboes called him Serious Silas—had their blocks together about all the time. One day he saw Serious writing a letter for Jilly. The letter, he afterward discovered, was to Jilly's mother, who lives at Hagerstown. Did I go to Hagerstown? Cert. And I found the old lady. She is over seventy, sickly, and a washerwoman. Had she heard from her son lately? Her old, honest, patient face lit up with a smile that was heavenly in its sweetness. Yes, indeed, she had heard from the dear boy, who had forsaken his evil ways and was now at honest work in Baltimore.
"He had not forgotten his old mother, for during the past month he had sent her one hundred dollars. And, what was better still, he was on the way to making a lot of money all in a heap, and when he had made it, he intended to send enough to keep her for the rest of her life. Then she broke down and cried, but the tears were tears of joy. My eyes were wet, too, and I could not say a word to undeceive her."
"You are a good boy, Patsy," said Nick, with a look of approbation, "and I'll see that Mrs. Jilson gets the money she is expecting."
The days came and went. Chick appeared, remained a day, and went off again. Patsy made several trips out of the city. Nick remained, like a spider watching its web. On the afternoon of the day preceding the probate day, upon which so much depended, the detective and Patsy were sitting in the E Street room, talking over matters pertaining to the morrow's program.
The windows of the room overlooked the street. The detective, while talking to Patsy, was seated near one of the windows, and he had occasionally looked out. As Patsy was preparing to go out, Nick's eye, turning toward the street, fell upon the form of Peter Mannion, who, cane in hand and with soldierly dignity, was walking along the opposite sidewalk. He glanced up once, saw Nick's face, and then quickly turned his head.
The appearance of the man in that quarter, while it might not mean anything, yet gave rise in Nick's mind to a suspicion that the uncle was out for a purpose. Although Peter Mannion might think that the scheme upon which he was working was perfect in all its details, yet the presence in Washington of the noted detective, Nick Carter, on the day preceding the calling of the probate cases would have a disquieting effect upon his nerves. Nick said a few quick words to Patsy, who at once put on his hat, left the room, and went down the stairs.
The boy did not follow Peter Mannion, but went unconcernedly up the street toward the railway depot. He walked slowly, and Nick, without showing his face to passers-by in the street, saw that the uncle had taken note of Patsy, had turned about and was now following him. The detective's face showed satisfaction. What the next act on the program would be he could not guess, but that there was an act scheduled for near performance he would have staked his existence.