"Do you? It may be so, but you do not know that it was Callister and myself who killed old Jeremiah Mansfield in his bed hoping to gain the buried treasure which we never found. You do not know that we robbed Mansfield's store of the funds intrusted to his care, and casting suspicion upon him drove his wife mad as was mine already, and sent him with a blackened name down to a defaulter's grave. "We did that, Caleb Hook, and more. We robbed the Webster bank, and concocted the conspiracy to throw the burden of that crime on Frank Mansfield's son, the lad arrested by you." "And you did all this," said the detective, sternly. "Reuben Tisdale, you are justly punished, you----" "Hush, hush! If that were all I might still wish to live. "Listen, for my breath grows short. You saw a woman dead in an upper room in the house in the rear of this evil den?" "Yes, yes, Mrs. Marley--what of her?" "Mrs. Marley was not her name. She was Maria Tisdale--my wife. Detective Hook, it was my hand that struck her down. I did it in anger, God forgive me, poor insane creature that she was. I saw her hovering about the Webster bank--I thought she had found in the street certain papers which I dropped, and----" "And you killed her?" "I did; I--ah! Take her off! take her off! There she is bending over me! Her hand is above my throat now!" "Hush! hush!" whispered the detective. "There is no one here but ourselves. "My God, the man is dying!" he exclaimed, as the eyes of Reuben Tisdale closed and the head rested more heavily on his arm. "No--I--I--still live." The words came faintly from the parted lips. "Drag me to the wall--there--right--behind--you. Stop--them--they rob the--Lispenard bank--at--twelve--to-night. Callister--made plans--I--revenge--revenge--oh! God have mercy on my sinful soul!" They were the last words of Reuben Tisdale on earth. Even as they were uttered, dragged across the slimy floor of the cellar by the detective, he stretched forth his hand and pressed a groove in what appeared to be a wall of solid stone. It moved, it opened, a door flew back, displaying a dark and narrow passage at the very moment the man breathed his last. Laying him gently down. Caleb Hook, trembling with weakness and excitement, moved toward the secret passage now disclosed. "Saved--saved!" he murmured, faintly. "Means of escape are open before me, but--oh, God! how weak I am! This mist before my eyes--this trembling in my limbs! I--I--help--oh, help!" The "Jonah" has spoken. Have his revelations come too late? Apparently, for the trembling form of Caleb Hook sinks lifeless across the very entrance to the secret passage. CHAPTER XXVIII. A FRUSTRATED CRIME--THE END. Since the startling events at the Three Oaks, terminating with the complete destruction of that gloomy old mansion by fire, another day has passed, and night has settled down upon the city of New York once more.