come
into contact with that community, and impart their disease and pollution
to those who are now healthy and pure. Those vaults may be regarded as
the moral sewers of the city--the scum and filth of our vast population
accumulate in them. With reference to the desperadoes who congregate
there, their living is made by robbery and outrage throughout the city;
and all, sooner or later, are liable to be arrested and imprisoned for
their offences.'

'I admit the force of your reasoning,' said Frank--'yet I cannot but
deeply deplore the existence of such a den of horrors.'

'A den of horrors indeed!' rejoined the magistrate. 'Why, sir, there are
at this moment no less than six murderers in the Vaults--one of whom
escaped from his cell the night previous to the day on which he was to
be hung. The gallows was erected in the prison yard--but when the
sheriff went to bring the convict forth to pay the penalty of his crime,
his cell was empty; and upon the wall was written with charcoal,--'_Seek
me in the Dark Vaults!_' The police authorities once blocked up every
known avenue to the caverns, with the design of starving out the
inmates; but they might have waited till doomsday for the accomplishment
of that object, as the secret outlet which I have mentioned enabled the
villains to procure stores of provisions, and to pass in and out at
pleasure. I am glad that your scheme, Mr. Sydney, will tonight place in
the grip of the law, two of these miscreants, one of whom, the Dead Man,
has long been known as the blackest villain that ever breathed. He is a
fugitive from justice, having a year ago escaped from the State Prison,
where he had been sentenced for life, for an atrocious murder; he had
been reprieved from the gallows, thro' the mistaken clemency of the
Executive. He will now be returned to his old quarters, to fulfil his
original sentence, and pass the remainder of his accursed life in
imprisonment and exclusion from the world, in which he is not fit to
dwell.'

Frank now took leave of the magistrate, and, accompanied by the young
pickpocket, returned to his own residence. It was now about five
o'clock, and growing quite dark; a drizzly rain was falling intermingled
with snow. Frank conducted the boy to his library, and having carefully
closed and locked the door, said to him--

'_Kinchen_, don't you know me?'

The boy started, and gazed earnestly at him for a few moments, and then
shook his head.

'Wait here a short