“Help! Help!”  
This thrilling cry rang out upon the night air in one of the side streets of New York City.
 
The few pedestrians in the bleak, storm-swept vicinity paused and instinctively looked for the cause of this blood-curdling appeal.
 
Someone was in trouble.
 
That was certain.
 
But who was it and what was the nature of the trouble?
 
As usual, no officer chanced to be within call. Two men who were on their way home from business, however crossed the street with long strides and plunged into a dingy area.
 
It was illy lighted by a gaslight over the door of a wretched tenement.
 
No person could be seen in the area, but one of the men, whose name was Mortimer Smith, bent over and cried:
 
“My soul! This looks as if murder had been done!”
 
His companion, a merchant named Benjamin Hanks, echoed:
 
“Murder beyond a doubt!”
 
The snow in the area was trodden and saturated with blood. All the ghostly evidences of a crime save the body of the victim were there.
 
The trail of blood led to the door of the wretched dwelling.
 
The two men noted this, and for a moment seemed about to enter the dwelling. But Smith said:
 
“We had better call the police.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Undoubtedly they have taken the body of the victim into that house.”
 
“That is true.”
 
“Let us give the alarm.”
 
These two well-meaning and worthy citizens started for an officer. They reached the nearest corner and found a patrolman just pulling in an electric call.
 
Upon their statement of the case the officer made it a hurry call, and then hastily returned to the area with them.
 
He tried the door of the tenement.
 
It was locked.
 
He pressed his weight upon the door and forced it in.
 
A dark hallway was seen. All was silence of the tomb.
 
Naturally the guardian of the peace hesitated ere entering the place alone and in the dark.
 
It was a rough quarter where crimes were of common occurrence.
 
But just at this moment the hurry wagon arrived with more officers.
 
A quick consultation was held.
 
The police captain at once surrounded the house. That is, men went to the alley in its rear while the place was entered from the front.
 
2
The two citizens, Smith and Hanks, were held as witnesses.
 
But just as the officers with dark-lanterns entered the tenement they were met by a sudden wall of smoke.
 
The crackling of flames was heard.
 
“Fire!” cried the police captain.
 
The word was echoed by the others. The inference was easy.
 
The criminals had sought to conceal the evidences of their crime by means of the flames.
 
The fire alarm was given and into the street now there dashed the fire companies.
 
Lines of hose were quickly run into the building and preparations made to subdue the fire.
 
Not one of the inmates of the place had thus far put in an appearance. Indeed, it seemed deserted.
 
But while the police had been hesitating about entering the smoke-filled dwelling, two men had joined them.
 
“Hello! What is wrong here?” said one of them, a tall, strong-framed man, dressed in a tightly-buttoned blue coat, old-fashioned stock collar and wide-brimmed slouch hat.
 
“Ah, Old King Brady!” cried the police captain. “Here is a case for you. It looks like murder and attempt to conceal it by means of arson.”
 
“Who has entered the place?”
 
“Nobody as yet.”
 
“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.”
 
“Bah!” cried Old King Brady. “By that time evidence of the crime will be missing. Come on, Harry!”
 
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.
 
“No use, Harry!” cried Old King Brady. “We are beaten for just now. We must get out of here.”
 
The detectives reached the stairs. But escape in this direction was cut off. Flames were in their faces.
 
3
At the other end of the corridor was a window opening upon the street. The detectives made a rush for this.
 
They reached it just as the sash was carried away by a stream of water from the firemen’s hose. This gave the detectives a chance.
 
Drawing a deep breath of fresh air they felt returning strength.
 
Harry vaulted lightly over the sill. It was fifteen feet to the area below. The firemen shouted, but Harry dropped to the flagging.
 
Old King Brady followed.
 
In another moment they were safe within the fire lines.
 
By this time a great crowd was in the street, attracted in spite of the driving storm.
 
The firemen were badly handicapped by the snow, but yet fought their way bravely while the rickety tenement was being consumed.
 
The fire was not allowed to spread, but the tenement was reduced to ashes.
 
Then the crowd dispersed.
 
The detectives left the scene and returned to their lodgings for the night.
 
One thing was certain.
 
A tragedy had been enacted, which the flames concealed and the only clew which the Bradys had secured was the delicate lady’s handkerchief.
 
This alone could furnish the only suggestion to be gained in any way from the affair.
 
Whether it would prove a sufficient means for the complete revelation of the mystery or not, remained to be seen.
 
The detectives hoped it would.