It has been an eventful day for many, no doubt; of its events for our hero, Frank Mansfield, his mother restored to reason and the world, and his faithful friends, the "Bats in the Wall," we have no time to speak.
Meanwhile, the virtuous Mr. Callister appeared at his office as usual, and figured prominently in several large transactions on the floor of the Stock Exchange.
The new clerk, Mr. Maxwell, however, did not appear at the office, nor had Detective Hook been seen by any one.
The police authorities, now thoroughly alarmed by his continued absence, caused a general alarm to be sent out, and during the entire day his brother detectives searched for him in all directions, but in vain.
Now, upon the night of the day in question, had any one chanced to stand upon the bulkhead of the East river front at a point somewhere between Catherine street and the Market slip, they might have observed a man of most singular appearance creep apparently out of the solid wall of the bulkhead itself, and, with evident effort, leap to the deck of a little sloop lying within arm's-length of the street line.
Once upon the deck of the sloop, he did not pause, but seizing the string-piece of the bulkhead, drew himself to the ground above, and standing erect, gave vent to a sigh of relief.
And no wonder.
From head to foot he was a mass of dripping mud.
"Safe—safe at last!" he muttered; "safe and free to act once more. It still lacks something of twelve—if my strength holds out I may make it yet. I will make it. Let Elijah Callister beware, for the day of his reckoning at last has come."
Turning abruptly he crossed South street and disappeared in the dark shadows of the great warehouses which cluster around the East river shore.