Detective Bob Bridger — page 204: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DETECTIVE BOB BRIDGER. 197 of the rest, and, bounding up the stone steps, rapped loudly on the door. The building was dark, and it was evident that the deputy had retired to his cot in his office. The stirring events of the night had not permitted nize to sleep too soundly, however, and as the main party arrived at the jail’s steps, the door of the prison opened. The deputy appeared in the door-way bare-headed, in his night-clothes, and glared upon his midnight visitors in astonishment. “Did you search that prisoner ?” demanded the Scotch detective, excitedly. ‘*No, sir,” returned the deputy. ‘Then get your keys—we must search him at once.” The deputy vanished to procure his keys, and the Scotch detective darted within the corridor. Half way toward the room, at the rear, he suddenly paused. ‘‘Gentlemen,” he said, turning about, ‘‘I feel—yes, I know, that we have come too late. I smell the odor of death. Pere Videre is dead !” ‘‘Nonsense!” sneered Bridger. “‘I’ll wager you he’s as lively as a cricket.” As he spoke Bridger hastened toward the grated door of the room where Videre had been confined. Light streamed forth through the bars into the hall-way, and it was evident that the prisoner’s lamp was still burning. On the instant that Bridger reached the door, and peered within the room, he started back with a gesture of horror. But the Scotch detective, on reaching his side, rested his hands upon the iron bars and gazed calmly upon the scene within. Shaking his head solemnly, he said : “T knew it! I knew it!” | Pere Videre’s dead body layin a pool of blood to the right of the table within. In his hand was clutched a bloody pocket-knife, and a deep gash in his throat told the method of his suicide. A moment later the deputy flung open the door. The body was still warm, but life was extinct. ‘‘T trust,” said the Seotch detective, with evident emo- tion, “that no blame will attach to me for this terrible business. ” ‘‘None whatever, my dear boy,” quoth the sheriff. ‘For my part, ” said the railway's attorney, “T will hold ~ Eomichbooks: (E() mn