Part 22 (1/2)

”I am delegated to be your escort,” replied Sloan.

”What is your hour of meeting?”

”Twelve o'clock.”

”Ah, a midnight affair. All right, Sam; you'll find me waiting for you at the hotel.”

Here they separated. Webster realized that quite an important period in his Baltimore experience was opening up before him, and that all his detective skill would probably be called into play to foil a band of conspirators. How to thwart the schemes of these Knights of Liberty, whose purpose, as he understood, was to a.s.sist in the overthrow of the Government of the United States, was now the question to be solved.

He did not, however, attempt to form any plans at this time, but waited for such developments as he had no doubt would be made that night. He resolved to learn the nature of the plots that were in existence, before he commenced counterplotting.

Promptly at eleven o'clock Sam Sloan put in an appearance at the hotel, and he and Webster proceeded toward the place of meeting. The night was dark and stormy, just the right sort of night, Webster thought, for the concocting of h.e.l.lish plots and the performance of evil deeds.

”That night, a chiel might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.”

The stars were hidden from view by ma.s.ses of flying clouds; the wind whistled shrilly through the trees and spires; while the deep, threatening murmurs of distant thunder were accompanied by fitful flashes of lightning, which illumined the scene with a weird, quivering light. Few shops were open in the localities through which they pa.s.sed.

Occasionally a light was seen struggling through the screened window of a saloon, and the sound of midnight orgies within indicated that business had not been suspended there; but elsewhere all was dark and still.

Sloan led the way to a remote quarter of the city, and into a street which bore a particularly bad reputation. Here he stopped, and said:

”I must blindfold you, Webster, before proceeding further. This is a rule of the order which cannot, under any circ.u.mstances, be departed from.”

Webster submitted quietly, while a thick bandage was placed over his eyes and securely fastened. Then Sloan took him by the arm and led him forward.

Blindfolded as he was, he knew that they turned suddenly into an alleyway, and he also knew when they pa.s.sed through a gate, which Sloan closed behind them. He rightly conjectured that they were now in a sort of paved court, in the rear of a building.

”Come this way and make no noise,” whispered Sloan.

The next moment the latter knocked on a door with a low, peculiar rap, that was like a signal. Immediately a guarded voice on the inside was heard:

”Are you white?”

”Down with the blacks!” responded Sloan.

Nothing more was said. A chain clanked inside, a bolt shot back, and the door creaked on its hinges as it swung open.

Webster was led through, and he and his conductor began to ascend a flight of stairs, so thickly carpeted that they emitted no sound from the footsteps upon them.

At the head of the stairs they were again accosted:

”Halt! Who comes there?”

”Long live Jeff Davis,” muttered Sloan.

Pa.s.sing on through another door, they found themselves in a small, square apartment, although, so far as Webster was concerned, there was no ocular proof of this. There seemed to be several persons here, and a voice, that was evidently meant to be tragical and impressive, demanded:

”Whom have we here?”

”Most n.o.ble Chief,” said Sloan, humbly, ”I have a friend in charge, who wishes to become a worthy member of this league.”

”His name?”