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Read Ebook: The Bradys' Race for Life; or Rounding Up a Tough Trio: A Detective Story of Life by Doughty Francis Worcester
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Ebook has 1906 lines and 31088 words, and 39 pages
"Is anybody in there?"
"We do not know."
"Humph! What are you waiting for?"
"The smoke is so dense that it is not safe. The firemen will soon have the blaze under control."
This to his younger companion. The officers were startled and the police captain cried:
"Why, Brady, you don't think of entering that place?"
"Yes, I do!"
"Why, that is foolhardy. You'll not come out alive!"
"No matter. It is my duty!"
"You must not attempt it!"
The man with the wide-brimmed hat laughed sardonically.
"Come on, Harry," he said to his young companion, "this is work for us."
"All right, partner."
And then before the police could recover from their surprise, both plunged into the dark hallway and the smoke.
"Here, stop them!" cried the police captain. "They are going to their death."
But it was too late.
The Bradys, detectives of the first class, and the best in the Secret Service, were out of sight.
The men in that police squad were what might be ordinarily termed brave men.
But not one of them cared to follow the two detectives.
But Old King Brady, Gotham's greatest detective, and his protege and pupil, Harry Brady, knew that if the mystery was to be solved, great risk must be incurred.
So they plunged unhesitatingly into the burning dwelling. The possibility of death never deterred either from exact fulfillment of duty.
They dashed through the smoke and reached the foot of a flight of stairs.
As near as he could, Old King Brady located the fire.
He believed that it was confined to a point in the rear of the tenement and had, as yet, not extended beyond one room.
Each of the detectives carried a dark-lantern.
It could hardly furnish light enough to penetrate the pall of stifling smoke, but yet enabled them to find their way up the stairs.
Choking and gasping they made their way bravely from room to room.
The dwelling was humbly furnished.
It was plainly the abode of people of small means. It was dingy and meagre.
The Bradys looked for a clew to the supposed crime.
Suddenly Harry went down on his knees and focused his lantern on the floor.
He cried excitedly:
"Ah, here is the clew!"
A trail of blood marked the floor. In the trail lay a white handkerchief of dainty texture.
The detectives examined it closely. Harry gave an exclamation.
On one corner in ink was marked a name:
"Evelyn Grimm."
This was the name.
It was a clew.
The detectives realized this. At once they began to follow the trail of blood.
They felt certain of a sure revelation of the mystery. The blood trail led to the door of a room at the end of the corridor.
This door was closed and locked.
What was beyond it, the detectives could only guess.
But in their mind's-eye they saw the mangled remains of the murderer's victim. So they threw themselves against the door.
And beneath their combined weight it gave way.
As it crashed in, however, they were met by an impassable barrier.
Flames and smoke filled the doorway and forbade their entrance. They were driven back.
In fact it now became a question of self-preservation.
The old building was like a tinder-box.
The Bradys seemed to be literally penned in by the fire and smoke.
There was no time to lose.
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