"Yes—yes; they locked me in an asylum, but I outwitted them and got away, but too late to save my boy from harm. They drew the net around him, but I will tear it off. I will live to see those wretches swing for their crimes when Frank is rich and prosperous. I say it, sir, and I mean it. God will grant a mother's prayer!"
She fumbled at her dress as she spoke these words, and producing a package of greasy, worn papers, thrust them into the detective's hand.
"Read—read!" she exclaimed, her eyes darting to the right and left more wildly than before. "I have written it all down for the world to read when my work is done. But you, who love my boy, shall read it now."
"Say, mister, don't try to talk to her no more," whispered the boy, pulling Hook slyly by the coat. "She always goes on like that when she gets talking about these here things. It's my opinion she's a little off."
"I'll read them carefully, and return them in due time, my dear lady," replied the detective, in a quiet tone, taking the hint. "What we have to do now is to find out what's going on in the room below if we can. It's my belief those fellows are up to no good."
"You can just bet your life on that, Mr. Hook," whispered the newsboy. "They're concocting a scheme to rob the Lispenard bank. I caught on to it through the hole. Just you come over here and listen for yerself. Look a-here, missus, it's all right; you can just set down there and be as quiet as you can. Him an' me'll attend to this here business alone."
Sinking into a chair, the woman, burying her face in her hands, began muttering wildly to herself, while Jerry, taking the detective by the arm, drew him toward the hole behind the stove.
"There, boss, just you put your ear down there," he whispered. "There's a hull raft of them fellers down below, and them that busted the vault of the Webster Bank's among 'em too. I seed 'em an' I know 'em. I was a-tryin' fer to foller 'em up meself fer ter help her along"—he gave a jerk with his thumb toward the woman behind them—"but since you've dropped onto me an' are disposed to help, I'll just turn the hull business over to you, fer you ought to understand it better nor me."
"Quite right, Jerry," whispered Hook, throwing himself flat upon his stomach and bending over the hole in the floor, while the newsboy, less clumsily, did the same.
Beneath, voices in earnest discussion could be plainly heard; the voice of that pious and most excellent man, Mr. Callister, being prominent above the rest.