THE STRANGE SCHEMES
OF
RANDOLPH MASON
BY
MELVILLE DAVISSON POST
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK LONDON
27 West Twenty-thIrd Street 24 Bedford Street, Strand
Sbt jfetrichetbotkti Jhss
1896


CopyrIght, 1896
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
Zbe Imicketbocfcer iprese, Hew HJorft


JOHN A. HOWARD
SKILFUL LAWYER, AND COURTEOUS GENTLEMAN





? - 9 -io
CONTENTS
PAGE
IntroductIon i
I.
The Corpus DelIctI 11
II.
Two Plungers of Manhattan .... 69
3 III.
C Woodford's Partner 93
IV.
The Error of WIllIam van Broom . . .143
V.
The Men of the JImmy 169
«
VI.
The SherIff of Gullmore 199
VII.
The AnImus FurandI 249





THE STRANGE SCHEMES
INTRODUCTION.
HE teller of strange tales is not the least
1 among benefactors of men. His cup of
Lethe is welcome at times even to the strongest,
when the tedium vita of the commonplace is in its
meridian. To the aching victim of evil fortune, it
is ofttimes the divine anaesthetic.
To-day a bitter critic calls down to the story-
teller, bidding him turn out with the hewers of
wood and the drawers of water, for the reason
that there is no new thing, and the pieces with
which he seeks to build are ancient and well worn.
"At best," he cries, " the great one among you can
OF
RANDOLPH MASON.

i


2
INTRODUCTION.
produce but combinations of the old, some quaint,
some monstrous, and all weary." But the writer
does not turn out, and the world swings merrily
on.
Perhaps the critic forgets that if things are old,
men are new; that while the grain field stands
fast, the waves passing over it are not one like the
other. The new child is the best answer.
The reader is a clever tyrant. He demands
something more than people of mist. There must
be tendons in the ghost hand, and hard bones in
the phantom, else he feels that he has been cheated.
Perhaps, of all things, the human mind loves
best the problem. Not the problem of the aba-
cus, but the problem of the chess-board when the
pieces are living; the problem with passion and
peril in it ; with the fresh air of the hills and the
salt breath of the sea. It propounds this riddle to
the writer: Create mind-children, O Magician,
with red blood in their faces, who, by power in-
herited from you, are enabled to secure the fruits
of drudgery, without the drudgery. Nor must the
genius of Circumstance help. Make them do
what we cannot do, good Magician, but. make


INTDROUCTION. 3
them of clay as we are. We know all the old
methods so well, and we are weary of them.
Give us new ones.
Exacting is this taskmaster. It demands that the
problem builder cunningly join together the Fancy
and the Fact, and thereby enchant and bewilder,
but not deceive. It demands all the mighty mo-
tives of life in the problem. Thus it happens that
the toiler has tramped and retramped the field of
crime. Poe and the French writers constructed
masterpieces in the early day. Later came the
flood of "Detective Stories" until the stomach
of the reader failed. Yesterday, Mr. Conan Doyle
created Sherlock Holmes, and the public pricked
up its ears and listened with interest
It is significant that the general plan of this kind
of tale has never once been changed to any degree.
The writers, one and all, have labored, often with
great genius, to construct problems in crime, where
by acute deduction the criminal and his methods
were determined ; or, reversing it, they have sought
to plan the crime so cunningly as to effectually con-
ceal the criminal and his methods. The intent has
always been to baffle the trailer, and when the iden-


4 INTRODUCTION.
tity of the criminal was finally revealed, the story
ended.
The high ground of the field of crime has not
been explored; it has not even been entered.
The book-stalls have been filled to weariness with
tales based upon plans whereby the detective, or fer-
reting power of the State might be baffled. But,
prodigious marvel! no writer has attempted to con-
struct tales based upon plans whereby the punish-
ing power of the State might be baffled.
The distinction, if one pauses for a moment to
consider it, is striking. It is possible, even easy,
deliberately to plan crimes so that the criminal
agent and the criminal agency cannot be detected.
Is it possible to plan and execute wrongs in such a
manner that they will have all the effect and all the
resulting profit of desperate crimes and yet not be
crimes before the law?
There is, perhaps, nothing of which the layman
is grossly ignorant as of the law. He has grown
to depend upon what he is pleased to call common
sense. Indeed his refrain, " The law is common
sense," has at times been echoed by the judiciary.
There was never a graver error. The common


INTRODUCTION. 5
sense of the common man is at best a poor guide
to the criminal law. It is no guide at all to the
civil law.
There is here no legal heresy. Lord Coke, in
the seventeenth century, declared that the law was
not the natural reason of man, and that men could
not, out of their common reason, make such laws
as the laws of England were. The laws have not
grown simpler, surely, and if they could not be
constructed by the common reason of men, they
could certainly not be determined by it. That
men have but indistinct ideas of the law is to
be regretted and deplored. For their protection
they should know it; and there is need of this
protection. The voices of all men were not joined
in the first great cry for law and order, nor are
they all joined now. The hands of a part of man-
kind have ever been set against their fellows; for
what great reason no man can tell. Maybe the
Potter marred some, and certainly evil Circum-
stance marred some. But, by good hap, industry
has always, and intelligence has usually, been on
the law's side. Ofttimes, however, the Ishmaelites
raise up a genius and he, spying deep, sees the


6
INTRODUCTION.
weak places in the law and the open holes in it,
and forces through, to the great hurt of his fellows.
And men standing in the market-places marvel.
We are prone to forget that the law is no perfect
structure, that it is simply the result of human
labor and human genius, and that whatever laws
human ingenuity can create for the protection of
men, those same laws human ingenuity can evade.
The Spirit of Evil is no dwarf; he has developed
equally with the Spirit of Good.
All wrongs are not crimes. Indeed only those
wrongs are crimes in which certain technical ele-
ments are present. The law provides a Procrus-
tean standard for all crimes. Thus a wrong, to
become criminal, must fit exactly into the measure
laid down by the law, else it is no crime; if it
varies never so little from the legal measure, the
law must, and will, refuse to regard it as criminal,
no matter how injurious a wrong it may be. There
is no measure of morality, or equity, or common
right that can be applied to the individual case.
The gauge of the law is iron-bound. The wrong
measured by this gauge is either a crime or it is
not. There is no middle ground.


8
INTRODUCTION.
superlative knave, could be presumed to suggest
the committing of wrongs entailing grievous injury
upon innocent men. On the other hand, no knave
vicious enough to resort to such wrongs could be
presumed to have learning enough to plan them,
else he would not be driven to such straits. Hence
the necessity for a character who should be with-
out moral sense and yet should possess all the
requisite legal acumen. Such a character is Ran-
dolph Mason, and while he may seem strange he
is not impossible.
That great shocks and dread maladies may lop
off a limb of the human mind and leave the other
portions perfect, nay, may even wrench the human
soul into one narrow groove, is the common lesson
of the clinic and the mad-house. An intellect,
keen, powerful, and yet devoid of any sense of
moral obligation, would be no passing wonder to
the skilled physician; for no one knows better
than he that often in the house of the soul there
are great chambers locked and barred and whole
passages sealed up in the dark. Nor do men mar-
vel that great minds concentrated on some mighty
labor grow utterly oblivious to human relations


INTRODUCTION. g
and see and care for naught save the result which
they are seeking. The chemist forgets that the
diamond is precious, and burns it; the surgeon
forgets that his patient is living and that the knife
hurts as it cuts. Might not the great lawyer,
striving tirelessly with the problems of men, come
at last to see only the problem, with the people in
it as pieces on a chess-board?
It may be objected that the writer has prepared
here a text-book for the shrewd knave. To this it
is answered that, if he instructs the enemies, he
also warns the friends of law and order; and that
Evil has never yet been stronger because the sun
shone on it.
It should not be forgotten that this book deals
with the law as it is and with no fanciful interpre-
tation of it. The colors are woven into a gray
warp of ancient and well settled legal principles,
obtaining with full virtue in almost every state.
The formula for every wrong in this book is as
practical as the plan of an architect and may be
played out by any skilful villain. Nor should it
be presumed that the instances dealt with are ex-
haustive. The writer has presented but a few of


IO INTRODUCTION.
the simpler and more conspicuous; there is, in
truth, many another. Indeed the wonder grows
upon him that the thief should stay up at night
to steal.
Wheeling, W. Va., June I, 1896.


I.
THE CORPUS DELICTI
[See Lord Hale's Rule, Russell on Crimes. For the law in
New York see 18th N. Y. Reports, 179; also N. Y. Reports,
49, page 137. The doctrine there laid down obtains in almost
every State, with the possible exception of a few Western
States, where the decisions are muddy.]
II





THE CORPUS DELICTI.
I.
HAT man Mason," said Samuel Walcott,
X "is the mysterious member of this club.
He is more than that; he is the mysterious man of
New York."
"I was much surprised to see him," answered
his companion, Marshall St. Clair, of the great law
firm of Seward, St. Clair, & De Muth. "I had
lost track of him since he went to Paris as counsel
for the American stockholders of the Canal Com-
pany. When did he come back to the States?"
"He turned up suddenly in his ancient haunts
about four months ago," said Walcott, "as grand,
gloomy, and peculiar as Napoleon ever was in his
palmiest days. The younger members of the
club call him 'Zanona Redivivus.' He wanders
through the house usually late at night, apparently
without noticing anything or anybody. His


14 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
mind seems to be deeply and busily at work,
leaving his bodily self to wander as it may happen.
Naturally, strange stories are told of him; indeed,
his individuality and his habit of doing some unex-
pected thing, and doing it in such a marvellously
original manner that men who are experts at it
look on in wonder, cannot fail to make him an
object of interest.
"He has never been known to play at any
game whatever, and yet one night he sat down
to the chess table with old Admiral Du Brey.
You know the Admiral is the great champion
since he beat the French and English officers in
the tournament last winter. Well, you also know
that the conventional openings at chess are scien-
tifically and accurately determined. To the utter
disgust of Du Brey, Mason opened the game with
an unheard of attack from the extremes of the
board. The old Admiral stopped and, in a kindly
patronizing way, pointed out the weak and absurd
folly of his move and asked him to begin again
with some one of the safe openings. Mason
smiled and answered that if one had a head that
he could trust he should use it; if not, then it was


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 15
the part of wisdom to follow blindly the dead
forms of some man who had a head. Du Brey
was naturally angry and set himself to demolish
Mason as quickly as possible. The game was
rapid for a few moments. Mason lost piece after
piece. His opening was broken and destroyed
and its utter folly apparent to the lookers-on.
The Admiral smiled and the game seemed all one-
sided, when, suddenly, to his utter horror, Du
Brey found that his king was in a trap. The fool-
ish opening had been only a piece of shrewd strat-
egy. The old Admiral fought and cursed and
sacrificed his pieces, but it was of no use. He was
gone. Mason checkmated him in two moves and
arose wearily.
"' Where in Heaven's name, man,' said the old
Admiral, thunderstruck, ' did you learn that mas-
terpiece?'
"' Just here,' replied Mason. 'To play chess,
one should know his opponent. How could the
dead masters lay down rules by which you could
be beaten, sir? They had never seen you'; and
thereupon he turned and left the room. Of
course, St. Clair, such a strange man would soon


16 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
become an object of all kinds of mysterious
rumors. Some are true and some are not. At
any rate, I know that Mason is an unusual man
with a gigantic intellect. Of late he seems to have
taken a strange fancy to me. In fact, I seem to
be the only member of the club that he will talk
with, and I confess that he startles and fascinates
me. He is an original genius, St. Clair, of an
unusual order."
"I recall vividly," said the younger man, "that
before Mason went to Paris he was considered one
of the greatest lawyers of this city and he was
feared and hated by the bar at large. He came
here, I believe, from Virginia and began with the
high-grade criminal practice. He soon became
famous for his powerful and ingenious defences.
He found holes in the law through which his
clients escaped, holes that by the profession at
large were not suspected to exist, and that fre-
quently astonished the judges. His ability caught
the attention of the great corporations. They
tested him and found in him learning and unlim-
ited resources. He pointed out methods by which
they could evade obnoxious statutes, by which


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 
they could comply with the apparent letter of the
law and yet violate its spirit, and advised them
well in that most important of all things, just how
far they could bend the law without breaking it.
At the time he left for Paris he had a vast client-
age and was in the midst of a brilliant career.
The day he took passage from New York, the bar
lost sight of him. No matter how great a man
may be, the wave soon closes over him in a city
like this. In a few years Mason was forgotten.
Now only the older practitioners would recall him,
and they would do so with hatred and bitterness.
He was a tireless, savage, uncompromising fighter,
always a recluse."
"Well," said Walcott," he reminds me of a
great world-weary cynic, transplanted from some
ancient mysterious empire. When I come into the
man's presence I feel instinctively the grip of his
intellect. I tell you, St. Clair, Randolph Mason
is the mysterious man of New York."
At this moment a messenger boy came into the
room and handed Mr. Walcott a telegram. "St.
Clair," said that gentleman, rising, " the directors
of the Elevated are in session, and we must hurry."
a


18 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
The two men put on their coats and left the
house.
Samuel Walcott was not a club man after the
manner of the Smart Set, and yet he was in fact
a club man. He was a bachelor in the latter thir-
ties, and resided in a great silent house on the
avenue. On the street he was a man of substance,
shrewd and progressive, backed by great wealth.
He had various corporate interests in the larger
syndicates, but the basis and foundation of his
fortune was real estate. His houses on the avenue
were the best possible property, and his elevator
row in the importers' quarter was indeed a literal
gold mine. It was known that, many years before,
his grandfather had died and left him the property,
which, at that time, was of no great value. Young
Walcott had gone out into the gold-fields and had
been lost sight of and forgotten. Ten years after-
ward he had turned up suddenly in New York and
taken possession of his property, then vastly in-
creased in value. His speculations were almost
phenomenally successful, and, backed by the now
enormous value of his real property, he was soon
on a level with the merchant princes. His judg-


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 19
ment was considered sound, and he had the full
confidence of his business associates for safety and
caution. Fortune heaped up riches around him
with a lavish hand. He was unmarried and the
halo of his wealth caught the keen eye of the ma-
tron with marriageable daughters. He was in-
vited out, caught by the whirl of society, and
tossed into its maelstrom. In a measure he recip-
rocated. He kept horses and a yacht. His din-
ners at Delmonico's and the club were above re-
proach. But with all he was a silent man with a
shadow deep in his eyes, and seemed to court the
society of his fellows, not because he loved them,
but because he either hated or feared solitude.
For years the strategy of the match-maker had
gone gracefully afield, but Fate is relentless. If
she shields the victim from the traps of men, it is
not because she wishes him to escape, but be-
cause she is pleased to reserve him for her own
trap. So it happened that, when Virginia St.
Clair assisted Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant at her mid-
winter reception, this same Samuel Walcott fell
deeply and hopelessly and utterly in love, and it
was so apparent to the beaten generals present, that


20 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant applauded herself, so to
speak, with encore after encore. It was good to
see this courteous, silent man literally at the feet
of the young debutante. He was there of right.
Even the mothers of marriageable daughters ad-
mitted that. The young girl was brown-haired,
brown-eyed, and tall enough, said the experts, and
of the blue blood royal, with all the grace, cour-
tesy, and inbred genius of such princely heritage.
Perhaps it was objected by the censors of the
Smart Set that Miss St. Clair's frankness and hon-
esty were a trifle old-fashioned, and that she was
a shadowy bit of a Puritan; and perhaps it was
of these same qualities that Samuel Walcott re-
ceived his hurt. At any rate the hurt was there
and deep, and the new actor stepped up into the
old time-worn, semi-tragic drama, and began his
role with a tireless, utter sincerity that was deadly
dangerous if he lost.
II.
Perhaps a week after the conversation between
St. Clair and Walcott, Randolph Mason stood in


THE CORPUS DELICTI.
21
the private writing-room of the club with his
hands behind his back.
He was a man apparently in the middle forties;
tall and reasonably broad across the shoulders;
muscular without being either stout or lean. His
hair was thin and of a brown color, with erratic
streaks of gray. His forehead was broad and high
and of a faint reddish color. His eyes were restless
inky black, and not over-large. The nose was big
and muscular and bowed. The eyebrows were black
. and heavy, almost bushy. There were heavy fur-
rows, running from the nose downward and out-
ward to the corners of the mouth. The mouth
was straight and the jaw was heavy, and square.
Looking at the face of Randolph Mason from
above, the expression in repose was crafty and
cynical; viewed from below upward, it was
savage and vindictive, almost brutal; while from
the front, if looked squarely in the face, the stranger
was fascinated by the animation of the man and at
once concluded that his expression was fearless
and sneering. He was evidently of Southern ex-
traction and a man of unusual power.
A fire smouldered on the hearth. It was a crisp


22
THE CORPUS DELICTI.
evening in the early fall, and with that far-off touch
of melancholy which ever heralds the coming win-
ter, even in the midst of a city. The man's face
looked tired and ugly. His long white hands were
clasped tight together. His entire figure and face
wore every mark of weakness and physical exhaus-
tion; but his eyes contradicted. They were red
and restless.
In the private dining-room the dinner party was
in the best of spirits. Samuel Walcott was happy.
Across the table from him was Miss Virginia St.
Clair, radiant, a tinge of color in her cheeks. On
either side, Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant and Marshall
St. Clair were brilliant and light-hearted. Walcott
looked at the young girl and the measure of his
worship was full. He wondered for the thousandth
time how she could possibly love him and by what
earthly miracle she had come to accept him, and
how it would be always to have her across the
table from him, his own table in his own house.
They were about to rise from the table when one
of the waiters entered the room and handed Walcott
an envelope. He thrust it quickly into his pocket.
In the confusion of rising the others did not notice


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 23
him, but his face was ash-white and his hands
trembled violently as he placed the wraps around
the bewitching shoulders of Miss St. Clair.
"Marshall," he said, and despite the powerful
effort his voice was hollow, " you will see the ladies
safely cared for, I am called to attend a grave
matter."
"All right, Walcott," answered the young man,
with cheery good-nature, " you are too serious, old
man, trot along."
"The poor dear," murmured Mrs. Steuvisant,
after Walcott had helped them to the carriage and
turned to go up the steps of the club,—" The poor
dear is hard hit, and men are such funny creatures
when they are hard hit."
Samuel Walcott, as his fate would, went direct
to the private writing-room and opened the door.
The lights were not turned on and in the dark he
did not see Mason motionless by the mantel-shelf.
He went quickly across the room to the writing-
table, turned on one of the lights, and, taking the
envelope from his pocket, tore it open. Then he
bent down by the light to read the contents. As
his eyes ran over the paper, his jaw fell. The skin


24 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
drew away from his cheek-bones and his face
seemed literally to sink in. His knees gave way
under him and he would have gone down in a heap
had it not been for Mason's long arms that closed
around him and held him up. The human
economy is ever mysterious. The moment the
new danger threatened, the latent power of the man
as an animal, hidden away in the centres of intelli-
gence, asserted itself. His hand clutched the
paper and, with a half slide, he turned in Mason's
arms. For a moment he stared up at the ugly
man whose thin arms felt like wire ropes.
"You are under the dead-fall, aye," said Mason.
"The cunning of my enemy is sublime."
"Your enemy?" gasped Walcott. "When did
you come into it? How in God's name did you
know it? How your enemy?"
Mason looked down at the wide bulging eyes of
the man.
"Who should know better than I?" he said.
"Haven't I broken through all the traps and plots
that she could set?"
"She? She trap you?" The man's voice was
full of horror.


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 2$
"The old schemer," muttered Mason. "The
cowardly old schemer, to strike in the back; but
we can beat her. She did not count on my helping
you—I, who know her so well."
Mason's face was red, and his eyes burned. In
the midst of it all he dropped his hands and went
over to the fire. Samuel Walcott arose, panting,
and stood looking at Mason, with his hands behind
him on the table. The naturally strong nature and
the rigid school in which the man had been trained
presently began to tell. His composure in part
returned and he thought rapidly. What did this
strange man know? Was he simply making shrewd
guesses, or had he some mysterious knowledge of
this matter? Walcott could not know that Mason
meant only Fate, that he believed her to be his
great enemy. Walcott had never before doubted
his own ability to meet any emergency. This
mighty jerk had carried him off his feet. He was
unstrung and panic-stricken. At any rate this man
had promised help. He would take it. He put
the paper and envelope carefully into his pocket,
smoothed out his rumpled coat, and going over to
Mason touched him on the shoulder.


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 27
He bent forward and rested his arms on the
table. His streaked gray hair was rumpled and on
end, and his face was ugly. For a moment Wal-
cott did not answer. He moved a little into the
shadow; then he spread the bundle of old yellow
papers out before him.
"To begin with," he said, " I am a living lie, a
gilded crime-made sham, every bit of me. There
is not an honest piece anywhere. It is all lie. I
am a liar and a thief before men. The property
which I possess is not mine, but stolen from a dead
man. The very name which I bear is not my own,
but is the bastard child of a crime. I am more
than all that—I am a murderer ; a murderer before
the law ; a murderer before God ; and worse than a
murderer before the pure woman whom I love
more than anything that God could make."
He paused for a moment and wiped the per-
spiration from his face.
"Sir," said Mason, " this is all drivel, infantile
drivel. What you are is of no importance. How
to get out is the problem, how to get out."
Samuel Walcott leaned forward, poured out a
glass of brandy and swallowed it.


28
THE CORPUS DELICTI.
"Well," he said, speaking slowly, "my right
name is Richard Warren. In the spring of 1879 I
came to New York and fell in with the real Samuel
Walcott, a young man with a little money and
some property which his grandfather had left him.
We became friends, and concluded to go to the
far west together. Accordingly we scraped to-
gether what money we could lay our hands on,
and landed in the gold-mining regions of Cali-
fornia. We were young and inexperienced, and
our money went rapidly. One April morning we
drifted into a little shack camp, away up in the
Sierra Nevadas, called Hell's Elbow. Here we
struggled and starved for perhaps a year. Finally,
in utter desperation, Walcott married the daughter
of a Mexican gambler, who ran an eating-house
and a poker joint. With them we lived from hand
to mouth in a wild God-forsaken way for several
years. After a time the woman began to take a
strange fancy to me. Walcott finally noticed it,
and grew jealous.
"One night, in a drunken brawl, we quarrelled,
and I killed him. It was late at night, and, be-
side the woman, there were four of us in the poker


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 29
room,—the Mexican gambler, a half-breed devil
called Cherubim Pete, Walcott, and myself. When
Walcott fell, the half-breed whipped out his
weapon, and fired at me across the table; but
the woman, Nina San Croix, struck his arm,
and, instead of killing me, as he intended, the
bullet mortally wounded her father, the Mexican
gambler. I shot the half-breed through the fore-
head, and turned round, expecting the woman to
attack me. On the contrary, she pointed to the
window, and bade me wait for her on the cross-
trail below.
"It was fully three hours later before the woman
joined me at the place indicated. She had a bag
of gold dust, a few jewels that belonged to her
father, and a package of papers. I asked her why
she had stayed behind so long, and she replied that
the men were not killed outright, and that she had
brought a priest to them and waited until they had
died. This was the truth, but not all the truth.
Moved by superstition or foresight, the woman had
induced the priest to take down the sworn state-
ments of the two dying men, seal it, and give it to
her. This paper she brought with her. All this I


30 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
learned afterwards. At the time I knew nothing
of this damning evidence.
"We struck out together for the Pacific coast.
The country was lawless. The privations we en-
dured were almost past belief. At times the
woman exhibited cunning and ability that were
almost genius; and through it all, often in the
very fingers of death, her devotion to me never
wavered. It was dog-like, and seemed to be her
only object on earth. When we reached San
Francisco, the woman put these papers into my
hands." Walcott took up the yellow package,
and pushed it across the table to Mason.
"She proposed that I assume Walcott's name,
and that we come boldly to New York and claim
the property. I examined the papers, found a
copy of the will by which Walcott inherited the
property, a bundle of correspondence, and sufficient
documentary evidence to establish his identity be-
yond the shadow of a doubt. Desperate gambler
as I now was, I quailed before the daring plan
of Nina San Croix. I urged that I, Richard
Warren, would be known, that the attempted
fraud would be detected and would result in in-


32 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
been stolen by the Mexican, her father. She her-
self had been raised and educated as best might be
in one of the monasteries along the Rio Grande,
and had there grown to womanhood before her
father, fleeing into the mountains of California,
carried her with him.
"When we landed in New York I offered to an-
nounce her as my wife, but she refused, saying that
her presence would excite comment and perhaps
attract the attention of Walcott's relatives. We
therefore arranged that I should go alone into the
city, claim the property, and announce myself as
Samuel Walcott, and that she should remain under
cover until such time as we would feel the ground
safe under us.
"Every detail of the plan was fatally successful.
I established my identity without difficulty and
secured the property. It had increased vastly in
value, and I, as Samuel Walcott, soon found myself
a rich man. I went to Nina San Croix in hiding
and gave her a large sum of money, with which
she purchased a residence in a retired part of the
city, far up in the northern suburb. Here she
lived secluded and unknown while I remained in
the city, living here as a wealthy bachelor.


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 33
"I did not attempt to abandon the woman,
but went to her from time to time in disguise
and under cover of the greatest secrecy. For a
time everything ran smooth, the woman was
still devoted to me above everything else, and
thought always of my welfare first and seemed
content to wait so long as I thought best. My
business expanded. I was sought after and con-
sulted and drawn into the higher life of New York,
and more and more felt that the woman was an
albatross on my neck. I put her off with one
excuse after another. Finally she began to sus-
pect me and demanded that I should recognize
her as my wife. I attempted to point out the diffi-
culties. She met them all by saying that we should
both go to Spain, there I could marry her and we
could return to America and drop into my place
in society without causing more than a passing
comment.
"I concluded to meet the matter squarely
once for all. I said that I would convert half of
the property into money and give it to her, but
that I would not marry her. She did not fly into
a storming rage as I had expected, but went
quietly out of the room and presently returned


34 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
with two papers, which she read. One was the
certificate of her marriage to Walcott duly authen-
ticated; the other was the dying statement of her
father, the Mexican gambler, and of Samuel Wal-
cott, charging me with murder. It was in proper
form and certified by the Jesuit priest.
"' Now,' she said, sweetly, when she had finished,
'which do you prefer, to recognize your wife, or
to turn all the property over to Samuel Walcott's
widow and hang for his murder?'
"I was dumbfounded and horrified. I saw the
trap that I was in and I consented to do anything
she should say if she would only destroy the
papers. This she refused to do. I pleaded with
her and implored her to destroy them. Finally
she gave them to me with a great show of return-
ing confidence, and I tore them into bits and threw
them into the fire.
"That was three months ago. We arranged to
go to Spain and do as she said. She was to sail this
morning and I was to follow. Of course I never
intended to go. I congratulated myself on the fact
that all trace of evidence against me was destroyed
and that her grip was now broken. My plan was


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 39
everything that you shall need and give you full
and exact instructions in every particular. These
details you must execute with the greatest care, as
they will be vitally essential to the success of my
plan."
Through it all Walcott had been silent and
motionless. Now he arose, and in his face there
must have been some premonition of protest, for
Mason stepped back and put out his hand. "Sir,"
he said, with brutal emphasis, "not a word. Re-
member that you are only the hand, and the hand
does not think." Then he turned around abruptly
and went out of the house.
In.
The place which Samuel Walcott had selected
for the residence of Nina San Croix was far up
in the northern suburb of New York. The place
was very old. The lawn was large and ill-kept; the
house, a square old-fashioned brick, was set far
back from the street, and partly hidden by trees.
Around it all was a rusty iron fence. The place
had the air of genteel ruin, such as one finds in the
Virginias.


40 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
On a Thursday of November, about three o'clock
in the afternoon, a little man, driving a dray,
stopped in the alley at the rear of the house. As
he opened the back gate an old negro woman came
down the steps from the kitchen and demanded to
know what he wanted. The drayman asked if the
lady of the house was in. The old negro answered
that she was asleep at this hour and could not be
seen.
"That is good," said the little man, " now there
won't be any row. I brought up some cases of
wine which she ordered from our house last week
and which the Boss told me to deliver at once, but
I forgot it until to-day. Just let me put it in the
cellar now, Auntie, and don't say a word to the
lady about it and she won't ever know that it was
not brought up on time."
The drayman stopped, fished a silver dollar out
of his pocket, and gave it to the old negro. "There
now, Auntie," he said, " my job depends upon the
lady not knowing about this wine; keep it mum."
"Dat's all right, honey," said the old servant,
beaming like a May morning. "De cellar door is
open, carry it all in and put it in de back part and


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 41
nobody aint never going to know how long it has
been in 'dar."
The old negro went back into the kitchen and
the little man began to unload the dray. He car-
ried in five wine cases and stowed them away in
the back part of the cellar as the old woman had
directed. Then, after having satisfied himself that
no one was watching, he took from the dray two
heavy paper sacks, presumably filled with flour,
and a little bundle wrapped in an old newspaper;
these he carefully hid behind the wine cases in the
cellar. After a while he closed the door, climbed
on his dray, and drove off down the alley.
About eight o'clock in the evening of the same
day, a Mexican sailor dodged in the front gate and
slipped down to the side of the house. He stopped
by the window and tapped on it with his finger.
In a moment a woman opened the door. She
was tall, lithe, and splendidly proportioned, with a
dark Spanish face and straight hair. The man
stepped inside. The woman bolted the door and
turned round.
"Ah," she said, smiling, "it is you, Seflor?
How good of you."


42 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
The man started. "Whom else did you ex-
pect ?" he said quickly.
"Oh !" laughed the woman, " perhaps the Arch-
bishop."
"Nina !" said the man, in a broken voice that
expressed love, humility, and reproach. His face
was white under the black sunburn.
For a moment the woman wavered. A shadow
flitted over her eyes, then she stepped back. "No,"
she said, " not yet."
The man walked across to the fire, sank down
in a chair, and covered his face with his hands.
The woman stepped up noiselessly behind him
and leaned over the chair. The man was either
in great agony or else he was a superb actor,
for the muscles of his neck twitched violently and
his shoulders trembled.
"Oh," he muttered, as though echoing his
thoughts, "I can't do it, I can't!"
The woman caught the words and leaped up as
though some one had struck her in the face. She
threw back her head. Her nostrils dilated
and her eyes flashed.
"You can't do it!" she cried. "Then you do


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 43
love her! You shall do it! Do you hear me?
You shall do it! You killed him! You got rid
of him! but you shall not get rid of me. I have
the evidence, all of it. The Archbishop will have
it to-morrow. They shall hang you! Do you
hear me? They shall hang you!"
The woman's voice rose, it was loud and shrill.
The man turned slowly round without looking up,
and stretched out his arms toward the woman.
She stopped and looked down at him. The fire
glittered for a moment and then died out of her
eyes, her bosom heaved and her lips began to
tremble. With a cry she flung herself into his
arms, caught him around the neck, and pressed
his face up close against her cheek.
"Oh! Dick, Dick," she sobbed, " I do love you
so! I can't live without you! Not another hour
Dick! I do want you so much, so much, Dick!"
The man shifted his right arm quickly, slipped
a great Mexican knife out of his sleeve, and passed
his fingers slowly up the woman's side until he
felt the heart beat under his hand, then he raised
the knife, gripped the handle tight, and drove the
keen blade into the woman's bosom. The hot


44 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
blood gushed out over his arm, and down on his
leg. The body, warm and limp, slipped down in
his arms. The man got up, pulled out the knife,
and thrust it into a sheath at his belt, unbuttoned
the dress, and slipped it off of the body. As he
did this a bundle of papers dropped upon the
floor; these he glanced at hastily and put into his
pocket. Then he took the dead woman up in his
arms, went out into the hall, and started to go up
the stairway. The body was relaxed and heavy,
and for that reason difficult to carry. He doubled
it up into an awful heap, with the knees against
the chin, and walked slowly and heavily up the
stairs and out into the bath-room. There he laid
the corpse down on the tiled floor. Then he
opened the window, closed the shutters, and lighted
the gas. The bath-room was small and contained
an ordinary steel tub, porcelain-lined, standing
near the window and raised about six inches above
the floor. The sailor went over to the tub, pried
up the metal rim of the outlet with his knife, re-
moved it, and fitted into its place a porcelain disk
which he took from his pocket; to this disk was
attached a long platinum wire, the end of which he


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 45
fastened on the outside of the tub. After he had
done this he went back to the body, stripped off
its clothing, put it down in the tub and began to
dismember it with the great Mexican knife. The
blade was strong and sharp as a razor. The man
worked rapidly and with the greatest care.
When he had finally cut the body into as small
pieces as possible, he replaced the knife in its
sheath, washed his hands, and went out of the
bath-room and down stairs to the lower hall. The
sailor seemed perfectly familiar with the house. By
a side door he passed into the cellar. There he
lighted the gas, opened one of the wine cases, and,
taking up all the bottles that he could conveniently
carry, returned to the bath-room. There he poured
the contents into the tub on the dismembered
body, and then returned to the cellar with the
empty bottles, which he replaced in the wine cases.
This he continued to do until all the cases but one
were emptied and the bath tub was more than half
full of liquid. This liquid was sulphuric acid.
When the sailor returned to the cellar with the
last empty wine bottles, he opened the fifth case,
which really contained wine, took some of it out,


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 47
his'horrible work. At the end of a few hours there
was only a swimming mass in the tub. When the
man looked at four o'clock, it was all a thick
murky liquid. He turned off the gas quickly
and stepped back out of the room. For perhaps
half an hour he waited in the hall; finally, when
the acids had cooled so that they no longer
gave off fumes, he opened the door and went in,
took hold of the platinum wire and, pulling the
porcelain disk from the stop-cock, allowed the awful
contents of the tub to run out. Then he turned
on the hot water, rinsed the tub clean, and replaced
the metal outlet. Removing the rubber tubes, he
cut them into pieces, broke the porcelain disk, and,
rolling up the platinum wire, washed it all down
the sewer pipe.
The fumes had escaped through the open win-
dow; this he now closed and set himself to put-
ting the bath-room in order, and effectually remov-
ing every trace of his night's work. The sailor
moved around with the very greatest degree of
care. Finally, when he had arranged everything
to his complete satisfaction, he picked up the two
burners, turned out the gas, and left the bath-room,


48 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
closing the door after him. From the bath-room
he went directly to the attic, concealed the two
rusty burners under a heap of rubbish, and then
walked carefully and noiselessly down the stairs
and through the lower hall. As he opened the
door and stepped into the room where he had
killed the woman, two police-officers sprang out
and seized him. The man screamed like a wild
beast taken in a trap and sank down.
"Oh ! oh !" he cried, " it was no use! it was no
use to do it!" Then he recovered himself in a
manner and was silent. The officers handcuffed
him, summoned the'patrol, and took him at once to
the station-house. There he said he was a Mexi-
can sailor and that his name was Victor Ancona;
but he would say nothing further. The following
morning he sent for Randolph Mason and the
two were long together.
IV.
The obscure defendant charged with murder has
little reason to complain of the law's delays. The
morning following the arrest of Victor Ancona, the
newspapers published long sensational articles,


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 49
denounced him as a fiend, and convicted him.
The grand jury, as it happened, was in session.
The preliminaries were soon arranged and the case
was railroaded into trial. The indictment contained
a great many counts, and charged the prisoner
with the murder of Nina San Croix by striking,
stabbing, choking, poisoning, and so forth.
The trial had continued for three days and had
appeared so overwhelmingly one-sided that the
spectators who were crowded in the court-room
had grown to be violent and bitter partisans, to
such an extent that the police watched them
closely. The attorneys for the People were
dramatic and denunciatory, and forced their case
with arrogant confidence. Mason, as counsel
for the prisoner, was indifferent and listless.
Throughout the entire trial he had sat almost
motionless at the table, his gaunt form bent over,
his long legs drawn up under his chair, and his
weary, heavy-muscled face, with its restless eyes,
fixed and staring out over the heads of the jury,
was like a tragic mask. The bar, and even the
judge, believed that the prisoner's counsel had
abandoned his case.


50 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
The evidence was all in and the People rested.
It had been shown that Nina San Croix had re-
sided for many years in the house in which the
prisoner was arrested; that she had lived by her-
self, with no other companion than an old negro
servant; that her past was unknown, and that she
received no visitors, save the Mexican sailor, who
came to her house at long intervals. Nothing
whatever was shown tending to explain who the
prisoner was or whence he had come. It was
shown that on Tuesday preceding the killing the
Archbishop had received a communication from
Nina San Croix, in which she said she desired to
make a statement of the greatest import, and ask-
ing for an audience. To this the Archbishop replied
that he would willingly grant her a hearing if she
would come to him at eleven o'clock on Friday
morning. Two policemen testified that about
eight o'clock on the night of Thursday they had
noticed the prisoner slip into the gate of Nina San
Croix's residence and go down to the side of the
house, where he was admitted; that his appearance
and seeming haste had attracted their attention;
that they had concluded that it was some clandes-


52 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
domestic a sum of money and dismissed her, with
the instruction that she was not to return until sent
for. The old woman testified that she had gone
directly to the house of her son, and later had
discovered that she had forgotten some articles
of clothing which she needed ; that thereupon she
had returned to the house and had gone up the back
way to her room,—this was about eight o'clock;
that while there she had heard Nina San Croix's
voice in great passion and remembered that she
had used the words stated by the policemen; that
these sudden, violent cries had frightened her
greatly and she had bolted the door and been
afraid to leave the room; shortly thereafter, she
had heard heavy footsteps ascending the stairs,
slowly and with great difficulty, as though some
one were carrying a heavy burden; that therefore
her fear had increased and that she had put out
the light and hidden under the bed. She remem-
bered hearing the footsteps moving about up-stairs
for many hours, how long she could not tell.
Finally, about half-past four in the morning, she
crept out, opened the door, slipped down stairs,
and ran out into the street. There she had found


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 53
the policemen and requested them to search the
house.
The two officers had gone to the house with the
woman. She had opened the door and they had
had just time to step back into the shadow when
the prisoner entered. When arrested, Victor
Ancona had screamed with terror, and cried out,
"It was no use! it was no use to do it!"
The Chief of Police had come to the house and
instituted a careful search. In the room below,
from which the cries had come, he found a dress
which was identified as belonging to Nina San
Croix and which she was wearing when last seen
by the domestic, about six o'clock that evening.
This dress was covered with blood, and had a slit
about two inches long in the left side of the bosom,
into which the Mexican knife, found on the
prisoner, fitted perfectly. These articles were
introduced in evidence, and it was shown that the
slit would be exactly over the heart of the wearer,
and that such a wound would certainly result in
death. There was much blood on one of the chairs
and on the floor. There was also blood on the
prisoner's coat and the leg of his trousers, and the


54 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
heavy Mexican knife was also bloody. The blood
was shown by the experts to be human blood.
The body of the woman was not found, and the
most rigid and tireless search failed to develop the
slightest trace of the corpse, or the manner of
its disposal. The body of the woman had dis-
appeared as 'completely as though it had vanished
into the air.
When counsel announced that he had closed for
the People, the judge turned and looked gravely
down at Mason. "Sir," he said, "the evidence
for the defence may now be introduced."
Randolph Mason arose slowly and faced the
judge.
"If your Honor please," he said, speaking slowly
and distinctly, "the defendant has no evidence to
offer." He paused while a murmur of astonish-
ment ran over the court-room. "But, if your
Honor please," he continued, "I move that the
jury be directed to find the prisoner not guilty."
The crowd stirred. The counsel for the People
smiled. The judge looked sharply at the speaker
over his glasses. "On what ground?" he said
curtly.


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 55
"On the ground," replied Mason, "that the
corpus delicti has not been proven."
"Ah !" said the judge, for once losing his judi-
cial gravity.
Mason sat down abruptly. The senior counsel
for the prosecution was on his feet in a moment.
"What!" he said, "the gentleman bases his
motion on a failure to establish the corpus delicti 1
Does he jest, or has he forgotten the evidence?
The term 'corpus delicti' is technical, and means
the body of the crime, or the substantial fact that
a crime has been committed. Does any one doubt
it in this case? It is true that no one actually saw
the prisoner kill the decedent, and that he has so
sucessfully hidden the body that it has not been
found, but the powerful chain of circumstances,
clear and close-linked, proving motive, the criminal
agency, and the criminal act, is overwhelming.
"The victim in this case is on the eve of
making a statement that would prove fatal to the
prisoner. The night before the statement is
to be made he goes to her residence. They
quarrel. Her voice is heard, raised high in the
greatest passion, denouncing him, and charging


56 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
that he is a murderer, that she has the evidence
and will reveal it, that he shall be hanged, and that
he shall not be rid of her. Here is the motive for
the crime, clear as light. Are not the bloody
knife, the bloody dress, the bloody clothes of the
prisoner, unimpeachable witnesses to the criminal
act? The criminal agency of the prisoner has not
the shadow of a possibility to obscure it. His
motive is gigantic. The blood on him, and his
despair when arrested, cry 'Murder! murder!'
with a thousand tongues.
"Men may lie, but circumstances cannot. The
thousand hopes and fears and passions of men
may delude, or bias the witness. Yet it is be-
yond the human mind to conceive that a clear,
complete chain of concatenated circumstances
can be in error. Hence it is that the greatest
jurists have declared that such evidence, being
rarely liable to delusion or fraud, is safest and
most powerful. The machinery of human jus-
tice cannot guard against the remote and im-
probable doubt. The inference is persistent
in the affairs of men. It is the only means by
which the human mind reaches the truth. If you


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 57
forbid the jury to exercise it, you bid them work
after first striking off their hands. Rule out the
irresistible inference, and the end of justice is come
in this land; and you may as well leave the spider
to weave his web through the abandoned court-
room."
The attorney stopped, looked down at Mason
with a pompous sneer, and retired to his place at
the table. The judge sat thoughtful and motion-
less. The jurymen leaned forward in their seats.
"If your Honor please," said Mason, rising,
"this is a matter of law, plain, clear, and so well
settled in the State of New York that even counsel
for the People should know it. The question be-
fore your Honor is simple. If the corpus delicti, the
body of the crime, has been proven, as required by
the laws of the commonwealth, then this case
should go to the jury. If not, then it is the duty
of this Court to direct the jury to find the prisoner
not guilty. There is here no room for judicial dis-
cretion. Your Honor has but to recall and apply
the rigid rule announced by our courts prescribing
distinctly how the corpus delicti in murder must be
proven.


58 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
"The prisoner here stands charged with the
highest crime. The law demands, first, that the
crime, as a fact, be established. The fact that the
victim is indeed dead must first be made certain
before any one can be convicted for her killing, be-
cause, so long as there remains the remotest doubt
as to the death, there can be no certainty as to the
criminal agent, although the circumstantial evi-
dence indicating the guilt of the accused may
be positive, complete, and utterly irresistible. In
murder, the corpus delicti, or body of the crime, is
composed of two elements:
"Death, as a result.
"The criminal agency of another as the means.
"It is the fixed and immutable law of this State,
laid down in the leading case of Ruloff v. The
People, and binding upon this Court, that both
components of the corpus delicti shall not be estab-
lished by circumstantial evidence. There must be
direct proof of one or the other of these two com-
ponent elements of the corpus delicti. If one is
proven by direct evidence, the other may be pre-
sumed; but both shall not be presumed from cir-
cumstances, no matter how powerful, how cogent,


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 59
or how completely overwhelming the circumstances
may be. In other words, no man can be convicted
of murder in the State of New York, unless the
body of the victim be found and identified, or
there be direct proof that the prisoner did some
act adequate to produce death, and did it in
such a manner as to account for the disappearance
of the body."
The face of the judge cleared and grew hard.
The members of the bar were attentive and alert;
they were beginning to see the legal escape open
up. The audience were puzzled; they did not
yet understand. Mason turned to the counsel for
the People. His ugly face was bitter with contempt.
"For three days," he said, "I have been tor-
tured by this useless and expensive farce. If
counsel for the People had been other than play-
actors, they would have known in the beginning
that Victor Ancona could not be convicted for
murder, unless he were confronted in this court-
room with a living witness, who had looked into
the dead face of Nina San Croix; or, if not that, a
living witness who had seen him drive the dagger
into her bosom.


60 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
"I care not if the circumstantial evidence in this
case were so strong and irresistible as to be over-
powering ; if the judge on the bench, if the jury,
if every man within sound of my voice, were con-
vinced of the guilt of the prisoner to the degree of
certainty that is absolute; if the circumstantial
evidence left in the mind no shadow of the remot-
est improbable doubt; yet, in the absence of the
eye-witness, this prisoner cannot be punished, and
this Court must compel the jury to acquit him."
The audience now understood, and they were
dumbfounded. Surely this was not the law. They
had been taught that the law was common sense,
and this,—this was anything else.
Mason saw it all, and grinned. "In its tender-
ness," he sneered, " the law shields the innocent.
The good law of New York reaches out its hand
and lifts the prisoner out of the clutches of the
fierce jury that would hang him."
Mason sat down. The room was silent. The
jurymen looked at each other in amazement. The
counsel for the People arose. His face was white
with anger, and incredulous.
"Your Honor," he said, " this doctrine is mon-


62
THE CORPUS DELICTI.
Lord Hale obtains in this State and is binding upon
me. It is the law as stated by counsel for the
prisoner: that to warrant conviction of murder
there must be direct proof either of the death, as
of the finding and identification of the corpse, or
of criminal violence adequate to produce death,
and exerted in such a manner as to account for the
disappearance of the body; and it is only when
there is direct proof of the one that the other can
be established by circumstantial evidence. This is
the law, and cannot now be departed from. I do
not presume to explain its wisdom. Chief-Justice
Johnson has observed, in the leading case, that it
may have its probable foundation in the idea that
where direct proof is absent as to both the fact of
the death and of criminal violence capable of pro-
ducing death, no evidence can rise to the degree
of moral certainty that the individual is dead by
criminal intervention, or even lead by direct infer-
ence to this result; and that, where the fact of death
is not certainly ascertained, all inculpatory circum-
stantial evidence wants the key necessary for its
satisfactory interpretation, and cannot be depended
on to furnish more than probable results. It may


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 63
be, also, that such a rule has some reference to the
dangerous possibility that a general preconception
of guilt, or a general excitement of popular feeling,
may creep in to supply the place of evidence, if,
upon other than direct proof of death or a cause of
death, a jury are permitted to pronounce a prisoner
guilty.
"In this case the body has not been found and
there is no direct proof of criminal agency on the
part of the prisoner, although the chain of circum-
stantial evidence is complete and irresistible in the
highest degree. Nevertheless, it is all circum-
stantial evidence, and under the laws of New York
the prisoner cannot be punished. I have no right
of discretion. The law does not permit a convic-
tion in this case, although every one of us may be
morally certain of the prisoner's guilt. I am,
therefore, gentlemen of the jury, compelled to di-
rect you to find the prisoner not guilty."
"Judge," interrupted the foreman, jumping up
in the box, "we cannot find that verdict under our
oath; we know that this man is guilty."
"Sir," said the judge, " this is a matter of law
in which the wishes of the jury cannot be con-


64 THE CORPUS DELICTI.
sidered. The clerk will write a verdict of not
guilty, which you, as foreman, will sign."
The spectators broke out into a threatening
murmur that began to grow and gather volume.
The judge rapped on his desk and ordered the
bailiffs promptly to suppress any demonstration on
the part of the audience. Then he directed the
foreman to sign the verdict prepared by the clerk.
When this was done he turned to Victor Ancona;
his face was hard and there was a cold glitter in his
eyes.
"Prisoner at the bar," he said, " you have been
put to trial before this tribunal on a charge of
cold-blooded and atrocious murder. The evidence
produced against you was of such powerful and
overwhelming character that it seems to have left
no doubt in the minds of the jury, nor indeed in
the mind of any person present in this court-room.
"Had the question of your guilt been submitted
to these twelve arbiters, a conviction would
certainly have resulted and the death penalty
would have been imposed. But the law, rigid,
passionless, even-eyed, has thrust in between you
and the wrath of your fellows and saved you from


66
THE CORPUS DELICTI.
immemorial had labored to perfect, and now when
the skilful villain sought to evade it, they saw how
weak a thing it was.
v.
The wedding march of Lohengrin floated out
from the Episcopal Church of St. Mark, clear and
sweet, and perhaps heavy with its paradox of
warning. The theatre of this coming contract
before high heaven was a wilderness of roses worth
the taxes of a county. The high caste of Manhat-
tan, by the grace of the check-book, were present,
clothed in Parisian purple and fine linen, cunningly
and marvellously wrought.
Over in her private pew, ablaze with jewels, and
decked with fabrics from the deft hand of many a
weaver, sat Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant as imperious
and self-complacent as a queen. To her it was
all a kind of triumphal procession, proclaiming her
ability as a general. With her were a choice few
of the genus homo, which obtains at the five-o'clock
teas, instituted, say the sages-, for the purpose of
sprinkling the holy water of Lethe.
"Czarina," whispered Reggie Du Puyster, lean-


THE CORPUS DELICTI. 67
ing forward, "I salute you. The ceremony sub
jugum is superb."
"Walcott is an excellent fellow," answered Mrs.
Steuvisant; "not a vice, you know, Reggie."
"Aye, Empress," put in the others, "a purist
taken in the net. The clean-skirted one has come
to the altar. Vive la vertu!"
Samuel Walcott, still sunburned from his cruise,
stood before the chancel with the only daughter of
the blue-blooded St. Clairs. His face was clear
and honest and his voice firm. This was life and
not romance. The lid of the sepulchre had closed
and he had slipped from under it. And now, and
ever after, the hand red with murder was clean as
any.
The minister raised his voice, proclaiming the
holy union before God, and this twain, half pure,
half foul, now by divine ordinance one flesh,
bowed down before it. No blood cried from the
ground. The sunlight of high noon streamed
down through the window panes like a benediction.
Back in the pew of Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant,
Reggie Du Puyster turned down his thumb.
"Habet!" he said.


--


\
II.
TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN
69



I


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
OR my part, Sidney," said the dark man,
1 "I don't agree with your faith in Provi-
dence at all. For the last ten years it has kept too
far afield of our house in every matter of import-
ance. It has never once shown its face to us ex-
cept for the purpose of interposing some fatal
wrecker just at the critical moment. Don't you
remember how it helped Barton Woodlas rob our
father in that shoe trust at Lynn? And you will
recall the railroad venture of our own. Did not
the cursed thing go into the hands of a receiver
the very moment we had gotten the stock cornered?
And look at the oil deal. Did not the tools stick
in both test wells within fifty feet of the sand, and
all the saints could not remove them? I tell you
I have no faith in it. The same thing is going to
happen again."


73 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
"There is some truth in your rant, brother,"
replied the light man, "but I cling to my super-
stition. We have a cool million in this thing,
a cool million. If we can only break the Chicago
corner the market is bound to turn. The thing is
below the cost of production now, and this western
combine is already groggy. Ten thousand would
break its backbone, and leave us in a position to
force the market up to the ceiling."
"But how in Heaven's name, Sidney, are we
going to get the other five thousand? To-day at
ten I put up everything that could be scraped to-
gether, begged, or borrowed, and out of it all we
have scarcely five thousand dollars. For any good
that amount will do we might as well have none at
all. We know that this combine would in all
probability weather a plunge of five thousand,
while a bold plunge of ten thousand would rout it
as certainly as there is a sun in heaven, but we
only have half enough money and no means of get-
ting another dollar. If there were ten millions in
it the case would be the same. The jig is up."
"I don't think so, Gordon. I don't give it up.
We must raise the money."


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 73
"Raise the money !" put in the other, bitterly;
"as well talk of raising the soul of Samuel. Did n't
I say that I had raised the last money that human
ingenuity could raise; that there was not another
shining thing left on earth to either of us, but
our beauty?—And it would take genius to raise
money on that, Sidney, gigantic genius."
He stopped, and looked at his brother. The
brother poured his soda into the brandy, and said
simply, "We must find it."
"You find it," said Gordon Montcure, getting
up, and walking backward and forward across the
room.
For full ten minutes Sidney Montcure studied
the bottom of his glass. Then he looked up, and
said, " Brother, do you remember the little bald-
headed man who stopped us on the steps of the
Stock Exchange last week?"
"Yes; you mean the old ghost with the thin,
melancholy face?"
"The same. You remember he said that if we
were ever in a desperate financial position we
should come to the office building on the Wall
Street corner and inquire for Randolph Mason,


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 75
Gordon and Sidney Montcure were high-caste
club men of the New York type, brokers and
plungers until three p.m., immaculate gentlemen
thereafter. Both were shrewd men of the world.
And as they left the Ephmere Club that night,
that same club and divers shop-men of various
guilds had heavy equitable interests in the success
of their plans.
Shortly after ten the following morning, the two
brothers entered the great building in which Ran-
dolph Mason was supposed to have his office.
There, on the marble-slab directory, was indeed
the name; but it bore no indication of his business,
and simply informed the stranger that he was to be
found on the second floor front. The two men
stepped into the elevator, and asked the boy to
show them to Mr. Mason's office. The boy put
them off on the second floor, and directed them to
enquire at the third door to the left. They found
here a frosted glass door with "Randolph Mason,
Counsellor," on an ancient silver strip fastened to
the middle panel. Sidney Montcure opened the
door, and the two entered. The office room into
which they came was large and scrupulously clean.


76 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
The walls were literally covered with maps of every
description. Two rows of mammoth closed book-
cases extended across the room, and there were
numerous file cases of the most improved pattern.
At a big flat-topped table, literally heaped with let-
ters, sat their friend, the little bald, melancholy
man, writing as though his very life and soul were
at stake.
"We desire to speak with Mr. Mason, sir," said
Sidney Montcure, addressing the little man. The
man arose, and went into the adjoining room. In
a moment he returned and announced that Mr.
Mason would see the gentlemen at once in his
private office.
They found the private office of Randolph
Mason to be in appearance much like the private
office of a corporation attorney. The walls were
lined with closed bookcases, and there were piles
of plats and blue prints and bundles of papers
scattered over a round-topped mahogany table.
Randolph Mason turned round in his chair as
the men entered.
"Be seated, gentlemen," he said, removing his
eye-glasses. "In what manner can I be of ser-


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 77
vice?" His articulation was metallic and pre-
cise.
"We have had occasion to hear of your ability,
Mr. Mason," said Gordon Montcure, "and we have
called to lay our difficulty before you, in the hope
that you may be able to suggest some remedy. It
may be that our dilemma is beyond the scope of
your vocation, as it is not a legal matter."
"Let me hear the difficulty," said Mason,
bluntly.
"We are in a most unfortunate and critical posi-
tion," said Gordon Montcure. "My brother and
myself are members of the Board of Trade, and, in
defiance of the usual rule, occasionally speculate
for ourselves. After making elaborate and careful
investigation, we concluded that the wheat market
had reached bottom and was on the verge of a
strong and unusual advance. We based this con-
clusion on two safe indications: the failure in pro-
duction of the other staples, and the fact that the
price of wheat was slightly below the bare cost of
production. This status of the market we believed
could not remain, and on Monday last we bought
heavily on a slight margin. The market continued


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. Jg
ing your time unnecessarily," he added; "our case
is, of course, remediless."
Mason did not at once reply. He turned round
in his chair and looked out of the open window.
The two brothers observed him more closely.
They noticed that his clothing was evidently of
the best, that he was scrupulously neat and clean,
and wore no ornament of any kind. Even the eye-
glasses were attached to a black silk guard, and
had a severely plain steel spring.
"Have you a middle name, sir ?" he said, turn-
ing suddenly to Sidney Montcure.
"Yes," replied the man addressed, " Van Guil-
der; I am named for my grandfather."
"An old and wealthy family of this city, and
well known in New England," said Mason; "that
is fortunate." Then he bent forward and looking
straight into the eyes of his clients said: "Gentle-
men, if you are ready to do exactly what I direct,
you will have five thousand dollars by to-morrow
night. Is that enough?"
"Ample," replied Gordon Montcure; "and we
are ready to follow your instructions to the letter
in any matter that is not criminal."


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 81
and he can find no purchaser for such a palace in
such a little city. The mere fact that he cannot
do exactly as he pleases is a source of huge vexa-
tion to such a man as old Barton Woodlas, of the
Shoe Trust."
The two Montcures apparently gave no visible
evidence of their mighty surprise and interest at
the mention of the man who had robbed their
father, yet Mason evidently saw something in the
tail of their eyes, for he smiled with the lower half
of his face, and continued: "You, sir," he said,
speaking directly to Sidney Montcure, " must go
to Lynn and buy this house in the morning."
"Buy the house!" answered the man, bitterly,
"your irony approaches the sublime; we have
only five thousand dollars and no security. How
could we buy a house?"
"I am meeting the difficulties, if you please,
sir," said Mason, "and not yourself. At ten to-
morrow you must be at Lynn. At two p.m. you
will call upon Barton Woodlas, giving your name
as Sidney Van Guilder, from New York. He
knows that family, and will at once presume your
wealth. You will say to him that you desire to


82 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
purchase a country place for your grandfather, and
heard of his residence. The old gentleman will at
once jump at this chance for a wealthy purchaser,
and drive you out to his grounds. You will criti-
cise somewhat and make some objections, but will
finally conclude to purchase, if satisfactory terms
can be made. Here you will find Barton Woodlas
a shrewd business dealer, and you must follow my
instructions to the very letter. He will finally
agree to take about fifty thousand dollars. You
will make the purchase proposing to pay down five
thousand cash, and give a mortgage on the property
for the residue of the purchase money, making
short-time notes. Five thousand in hand and a
mortgage will of course be safe, and the old gen-
tleman will take it. You demand immediate pos-
session, and as he is not residing in the house you
will get it. Go with him at once to his attorney,
pay the money, have the papers signed and re-
corded, and be in full possession of the property
by four o'clock in the afternoon."
Mason stopped abruptly and turned to Gordon
Montcure. "Sir," he said curtly, " I must ask you
to step into the other office and remain until I have


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 85
I am too late. He is evidently into his old
tricks."
"Old tricks," said the little fat man, growing
pale, " what in Heaven's name is wrong with him?
Speak out, man; speak out!"
"To come at once to the point," said Gordon
Montcure, "Mr. Van Guilder is just a little off-
color. He is shrewd and all right in every way
except for this one peculiarity. He seems to have
an insane desire to purchase fine buildings and
convert them into homes for his horses. He has
attempted to change several houses on Fifth
Avenue into palatial stables, and has only been
prevented by the city authorities. In all human
probability the house you have sold him will be
full of stalls by morning."
"My house full of stalls!" yelled the little fat
man, " my house that I have spent so much money
on, and my beautiful grounds a barn-yard!
Never! never! Come on, sir, come on, we must
go there at once!" And Barton Woodlas waddled
out of the room as fast as his short legs could
carry him. Gordon Montcure followed, smiling.
Both men climbed into Montcure's carriage and
hurried out to the suburban residence. The


86 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
grounds were indeed magnificent, and the house a
palace. As they drove in, they noticed several
Italian laborers digging a trench across the lawn.
Barton Woodlas tumbled out of the carriage and
bolted into the house, followed by Montcure. Here
they found a scene of the greatest confusion. The
house was filled with grimy workmen. They were
taking off the doors and shutters, and removing
the stairway, and hammering in different portions
of the house until the noise was like bedlam.
Sidney Van Guilder stood in the drawing-room,
with his coat off, directing his workmen. His
clothing was disarranged and dusty but he was ap-
parently enthusiastic and happy. "Stop, sir ! stop!"
cried Barton Woodlas, waving his arms and rushing
into the room. "Put these dirty workmen out of
here and stop this vandalism at once! At once!"
Sidney Van Guilder turned round smiling.
"Ah," he said, "is it you, Mr. Woodlas? I am
getting on swimmingly you see. This will make a
magnificent stable. I can put my horses on both
floors, but I will be compelled to cut the inside all
out, and make great changes. It is a pity that you
built your rooms so big."


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.' 87
For a moment the little man was speechless with
rage; then he danced up and down and yelled:
"Oh, you crazy fool! You crazy fool! You are
destroying my house! It won't be worth a dollar!"
"I beg your pardon," said Van Guilder, coldly,
"this is my house and I shall do with it as I like.
I have bought it and I shall make a home for my
horses of it by morning. It cannot possibly be any
business of yours."
"No business of mine !" shouted Woodlas, " what
security have I but the mortgage? And if you go
on with this cursed gutting the mortgage won't be
worth a dollar. Oh, my beautiful house! My
beautiful house! It is awful, awful! Come on,
sir," he yelled to Gordon Montcure, " I will find a
way to stop the blooming idiot!"
With that he rushed out of the house and rolled
into the carriage, Gordon Montcure following.
Together the two men were driven furiously to the
office of Vinson Harcout, counsellor for the Shoe
Trust.
That usually placid and unexcitable gentleman
turned round in astonishment as the two men
bolted into his private office. Woodlas dropped


88 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
into a chair and, between curses and puffs of
exhaustion, began to describe his trouble. When
the lawyer had finally succeeded in drawing from
the irate old man a full understanding of the mat-
ter, he leaned back in his chair and stroked his
chin thoughtfully.
"Well," he said, " this is an unfortunate state of
affairs, but there is really no legal remedy for it.
The title to the property is in Mr. Van Guilder.
He is in possession by due and proper process of
law, and he can do as he pleases, even to the extent
of destroying the property utterly. If he chooses
to convert his residence into a stable, he certainly
commits no crime and simply exercises a right
which is legally his own. It is true that you have
such equitable interest in the property that you
might be able to stop him by injunction proceed-
ings—we will try that at any rate."
The attorney stopped and turned to his steno-
grapher. "William," he said, "ask the clerk if
Judge Henderson is in the court-room." The
young man went to the telephone and returned in
a moment. "Judge Henderson is not in the city,
sir," he said. "The clerk answers that he went to


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 89
Boston early in the day to meet with some judicial
committee from New York and will not return
until to-morrow."
The lawyer's face lengthened. "Well," he said,
"that is the end of it. We could not possibly
reach him in time to prevent Mr. Van Guilder
from carrying out his intentions."
Gordon Montcure smiled grimly. Mason had
promised to inveigle away the resident judge by
means of a bogus telegram, and he had done so.
"Oh!" wailed the little fat man, " is there no
law to keep me from being ruined? Can't I have
him arrested, sir?"
"Unfortunately, no," replied the lawyer. "He
is committing no crime, he is simply doing what
he has a full legal right to do if he so chooses, and
neither you nor any other man can interfere with
him. If you attempt it, you at once become a
violator of the law and proceed at your peril. You
are the victim of a grave wrong, Mr. Woodlas.
Your security is being destroyed and great loss may
possibly result. Yet there is absolutely no remedy
except the possible injunction, which, in the
absence of the judge, is no remedy at all. It is


90 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
an exasperating and unfortunate position for you,
but, as I said, there is nothing to be done."
The face of Barton Woodlas grew white and his
jaw dropped. "Gone!" he muttered, " all gone,
five thousand dollars and a stable as security for
forty thousand! It is ruin, ruin!"
"I am indeed sorry," said the cold-blooded
attorney, with a feeling of pity that was unusual,
"but there is no remedy, unless perhaps you could
repurchase the property before it is injured."
"Ah," said the little fat man, straightening up
in his chair, " I had not thought of that. I will do
it. Come on, both of you," and he hurried to the
carriage without waiting for an answer.
At the residence in question the three men found
matters as Barton Woodlas had last seen them, ex-
cept that the trench across the lawn was now half
completed and the doors and shutters had all been
removed from the house and piled up on the
veranda.
Sidney Van Guilder laughed at their proposition
to repurchase. He assured them that he had long
been looking for just this kind of property, that
it suited him perfectly, and that he would not


TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN. 91
think of parting with it. The attorney for Wood-
las offered two thousand dollars' advance; then
three, then four, but Sidney Van Guilder was im-
movable. Finally Gordon Montcure suggested
that perhaps the city would not allow his stable
to remain after he had completed it, and advised
him to name some price for the property. Van
Guilder seemed to consider this possibility with
some seriousness. He had presumably had this
trouble in New York City, and finally said that he
would take ten thousand dollars for his bargain.
Old Barton Woodlas fumed and cursed and ground
his teeth, and damned every citizen of the State of
New York from the coast to the lakes for a thief, a
villain, and a robber.
Finally, when the Italians began to cut through
the wall of the drawing-room and the fat old
gentleman's grief and rage were fast approaching
apoplexy, the lawyer raised his offer to seven
thousand dollars cash, and Sidney Van Guilder
reluctantly accepted it and dismissed his workmen.
The four went at once to the law office of Vinson
Harcout, where the mortgage and notes were can-
celled, the money paid, and the deed prepared, re-


92 TWO PLUNGERS OF MANHATTAN.
conveying the property and giving Barton Woodlas
immediate possession.
HI.
At nine-thirty the following morning, the two
brothers walked into the private office of Randolph
Mason and laid down seven thousand dollars on
his desk. Mason counted out two thousand and
thrust it into his pocket. "Gentlemen," he said
shortly, " here is the five thousand dollars which
I promised. I commend you for following my in-
structions strictly."
"We have obeyed you to the very letter," said
Gordon Montcure, handing the money to his
brother, " except in one particular."
"What!" cried Mason, turning upon him, " you
dared to change my plans?"
"No," said Gordon Montcure, stepping back,
"only the fool lawyer suggested the repurchase
before I could do it."
"Ah," said Randolph Mason, sinking back into
his chair, "a trifling detail. I bid you good-
morning."






WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
I.
AFTER some thirty years, one begins to appre-
ciate in a slight degree the mystery of things
in counter-distinction to the mystery of men. He
learns with dumb horror that startling and unfore-
seen events break into the shrewdest plans and
dash them to pieces utterly, or with grim malice
wrench them into engines of destruction, as though
some mighty hand reached out from the darkness
and shattered the sculptor's marble, or caught the
chisel in his fingers and drove it back into his heart.
As one grows older, he seeks to avoid, as far as
may be, the effect of these unforeseen interposi-
tions, by carrying in his plans a factor of safety,
and, as what he is pleased to call his " worldly wis-
dom" grows, he increases this factor until it is a
large constant running through all his equations
dealing with probabilities of the future. Whether
95



96 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
in the end it has availed anything, is still, after six
thousand years, a mooted question. Nevertheless,
it is the manner of men to calculate closely in
their youth, disregarding the factor of safety, and
ignoring utterly the element of Chance, Fortune,
or Providence, as it may please men to name this
infinite meddling intelligence. Whether this arises
from ignorance or some natural unconscious con-
viction that it is useless to strive against it, the race
has so far been unable to determine. That it is
useless to, the weight of authorities would seem to
indicate, while, on the other hand, the fact that
men are amazed and dumbfounded when they first
realize the gigantic part played by this mysterious
power in all human affairs, and immediately there-
after plan to evade it, would tend to the conviction
that there might be some means by which these
startling accidents could be guarded against, or at
least their effect counteracted.
The laws, if in truth there be any, by which these
so-called fortunes and misfortunes come to men, are
as yet undetermined, except that they arise from
the quarter of the unexpected, and by means often-
times of the commonplace.


98 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
with it all, the eyes of old Silas Beaumont had
followed his every act, in season and out of sea-
son, tirelessly. It was a favorite theory of old
Beaumont, that the great knave was usually the man
of irreproachable habits, and necessarily the man
of powerful and unusual abilities, and that, instead
of resorting to ordinary vices or slight acts of ras-
cality, he was wont to bide his time until his repu-
tation gained him opportunity for some gigantic
act of dishonesty, whereby he could make a vast
sum at one stroke.
Old Beaumont was accustomed to cite two scrip-
tural passages as the basis of his theory, one being
that oft-quoted remark of David in his haste, and
the other explanatory of what the Lord saw when
he repented that he had made man on the earth.
Like all those of his type, when this theory had
once become fixed with him, he sought on all occa-
sions for instances by which to demonstrate its
truthfulness. Thus it happened that the honesty
and industry of young Harris were the very grounds
upon which Beaumont based his suspicions and his
acts of vigilance.
When it was proposed that Carper Harris should




WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 99
go to Europe in order to buy certain grades of pot-
tery which the firm imported, Beaumont grumbled
and intimated that it was taking a large risk to in-
trust money to him. He said the sum was greater
than the young man had been accustomed to handle,
that big amounts of cash were dangerous baits, and
then he switched over to his theory and hinted that
just this kind of opportunity would be the one
which a man would seize for his master act of
dishonesty. The other members of the firm ridi-
culed the idea, and arranged the matter over Silas
Beaumont's protest.
Thus it happened that about seven o'clock on
the eventful Friday, Carper Harris left Baltimore
for New York. He carried a small hand-bag con-
taining twenty thousand dollars, with which he
was to buy foreign exchange. Arriving at the
depot he had checked his luggage and had gone
into the chair-car with only his overcoat and the
little hand-bag. He laid his overcoat across the
back of the seat and set the little satchel down in
the seat beside him. He had been particularly care-
ful that the money should be constantly guarded,
and for that reason he had attempted to keep his


IOO WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
hand on the handle of the bag during the entire
trip, although he was convinced that there was no
danger or risk of any consequence, for the reason
that no one would suspect that the satchel con-
tained cash. When he arrived in New York he
had gone directly to his hotel and asked to be
shown up to his room. It was his intention to
look over the money carefully and see that it was
all right, after which he would have it placed in
one of the deposit boxes in the hotel safe until
morning.
When Harris set the hand-bag down on the
table under the light, after the servant had left
the room, something about its general appearance
struck his attention, and he bent down to examine
it closely. As he did so his heart seemed to leap
into his throat, and the cold perspiration burst out
on his forehead and began to run down his face in
streams. The satchel before him on the table was
not the one in which he had placed the money in
Baltimore, and with which he had left the count-
ing-house of Beaumont, Milton, & Company. The
young man attempted to insert the key in the lock
of the satchel, but his hand trembled so that he



102 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
friends would turn against him, and join with
Beaumont, and seek to make the severity of their
accusation against him atone for their previous
trust and confidence, and their disregard of what
they would now characterize as Mr. Beaumont's
unusual foresight. And then, if they would listen
to explanation, what explanation was there to
make? He had left their counting-house with the
money in the afternoon, and now in New York in
the evening he claimed to have been robbed.
And how? That some one had substituted another
hand-bag for the one with which he started, with-
out attacking him and even without his slightest
suspicion—a probable story indeed! Why, the
hand-bag there on the table was almost exactly
like the one he had taken with him to the com-
pany's office. No one but himself could tell that
it was not the same bag. The whole matter would
be considered a shrewd trick on his part,—a cun-
ningly arranged scheme to rob his employers of
this large sum of money. In his heated fancy he
could see the whole future as it would come.
The hard smile of incredulity with which his story
would be greeted,—the arrest that would follow,—



WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 103
the sensational newspaper reports of the defalca-
tion of Carper Harris, confidential clerk of the
great wholesale house of Beaumont, Milton, &
Company. The newspapers would assume his
guilt, as they always do when one is charged with
crime; they would speak of him as a defaulter,
and would comment on the story as an ingeni-
ous defence emanating from his shrewd counsel.
Even the newsboys on the street would convict
him with the cry of, "All about the trial of the
great defaulter!" The jury its very self, when it
went into the box, would be going there to try a
man already convicted of crime. This conviction
would have been forced upon them by the reports,
and they could not entirely escape from it, no
matter how hard they might try. Why, if one of
them should be asked suddenly what he was doing,
in all possibility, if he should reply without stop-
ping to think, he would answer that he was trying
the man who had robbed Beaumont, Milton, &
Company. So that way was barred, and it was a
demon with a flaming sword that kept it.
The man arose and began to pace the floor.
He could not go back and tell the truth. What


104 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
other thing could he do? It was useless to inform
the police. That would simply precipitate the
storm. It would be going by another path the
same way which he had convinced himself was so
effectually blocked. Nor did he dare to remain
silent. The loss would soon be discovered, and
then his silence would convict him, while flight
was open confession of the crime.
Carper Harris had one brother living in New
York,—a sort of black sheep of the family, who
had left home when a child to hazard his fortunes
with the cattle exporters. The family had attempted
to control him, but without avail. He had shifted
around the stock-yards in Baltimore, and had gone
finally to New York, and was now a commission
merchant, with an office in Jersey City. The re-
lation between this man and the family had been
somewhat strained, but now, in the face of this
dreaded disaster, Harris felt that he was the
only one to appeal to—not that he hoped that his
brother could render him any assistance, but be-
cause he must consult with some one, and this
man was after all the only human being whom he
could trust.


WOODFORD'S PARTNER. I05
He hastily scribbled a note, and, calling a
messenger, sent it to his brother's hotel. Then
he threw himself down on the bed and cov-
ered his face with his hands. What diabolical
patience and cunning Fate sometimes exhibits!
All the good fortune which had come to young
Harris seemed to have been only for the purpose
of smoothing the way into this trap.
11.
"What is wrong here, Carper?" said William
Harris, as he shut the door behind him. "I
expected to find a corpse from the tone of your
note. What's up?"
The commission merchant was a short heavy
young man with a big square jaw and keen gray
eyes. His face indicated bull-dog tenacity and
unlimited courage of the sterner sort.
Carper Harris arose when his brother entered.
He was as white as the dead. "William," he said,
"I wish I were a corpse!"
"Ho! ho !" cried the cattle-man, dropping into
a chair. "There is a big smash-up on the track,
that is evident. Which is gone, your girl or your
job?"


108 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
Carper Harris could not speak. His emotion
choked him. He seized his brother's hand and
wrung it in silence, while the tears streamed down
his face.
"Come, come," said the cattle-man, " this won't
do! Brace up! I am simply lending you the
money. You can return it if you ever get able.
If you don't, why, it came easy, and I won't ever
miss the loss of it."
"May God bless you, brother!" stammered
Carper Harris. "You have saved me from the
very grave, and what is more—from the stigma of
a felon. You shall not lose this money by me.
I will repay it if Heaven spares my life."
"Don't go on like a play-actor, Carper," said
the cattle-man, rising and turning to the door.
"Pull yourself together, gather up your duds, and
skip out to London. The stuff will be there by
the time you are ready for it." Then he went out
and closed the door behind him.
in.
"I had to lie to him," said William Harris.
"There was no other way out of it. I knew it


IIO WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
upon another. It is a bitter law, but it is, never-
theless, a law as fixed as gravity."
"I see," said the commission merchant; "but
how is this loss to be shifted on any one? The
money is gone for good; there is no way to get it
back, and there is no means by which we can
switch the responsibility to the shoulders of any
other person. The money was placed in Carper
Harris's custody, he was instructed to use great
care in order to prevent any possible loss. He
left Baltimore with it. The story of his robbery
would only render him ridiculous if it were urged
in his behalf. He alone is responsible for the
money; there is no way to shift it."
"I said, sir," growled Mason, "that the loss
must be shifted. What does the responsibility
matter, provided the burden of loss can be placed
upon other shoulders? How much money have
you?"
"Only the five thousand dollars which I re-
ceived from the sale of his securities," answered
the man. "The story which I told him about the
sixteen thousand was all a lie; I have scarcely a
thousand dollars to my name, all told."



WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
Mason looked at the cattle-man and smiled
grimly. "So far you have done well," he said; "it
seems that you must be the instrument through
which this cunning game of Fate is to be blocked.
You are the strong one; therefore the burden
must fall on your shoulders. Are you ready to
bear the brunt of this battle?"
"I am," said the man, quietly; "the boy must
be saved if I have to go to Sing Sing for the next
twenty years."
IV.
The traveller crossing the continent in a Pull-
man car is convinced that West Virginia is one
continuous mountain. He has no desire to do
other than to hurry past with all the rapidity of
which the iron horse is capable. He can have no
idea that in its central portion is a stretch of roll-
ing blue-grass country, as fertile and as valuable
as the stock-farm lands of Kentucky; with a
civilization, too, distinctly its own, and not to be
met with in any other country of the world. It
seems to combine, queerly enough, certain of the
elements of the Virginia planter, the western ranch-


112 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
man, and the feudal baron. Perhaps nowhere in
any of the United States can be found such de-
cided traces of the ancient feudal system as in this
inland basin of West Virginia, surrounded by great
mountain ranges, and for many generations cut off
from active relations with the outside world. Nor
is this civilization of any other than natural
growth. In the beginning, those who came to this
region were colonial families of degree,—many of
them Tories, hating Washington and his govern-
ment, and staunch lovers of the king at heart, for
whom the more closely settled east and south
were too unpleasant after the success of the Revo-
lution. Many of them found in this fertile land
lying against the foot-hills, and difficult of access
from either the east or west, the seclusion and
the utter absence of relations with their fellows
which they so much desired. With them they
brought certain feudal customs as a basis for the
civilization which they builded. The nature of
the country forced upon them others, and the
desire for gain—ever large in the Anglo-Saxon
heart—brought in still other customs, foreign and
incongruous.



Woodford's partner. 113
Thus it happened that at an early day this
country was divided into great tracts, containing
thousands of acres of grass lands, owned by
certain powerful families, who resided upon it,
and, to a very large extent, preserved ancient
customs and ancient ideas in relation to men.
The idea of a centrally situated manor-house was
one adhered to from the very first, and this dif-
fered from the Virginia manor in that it was more
massive and seemed to be built with the desire
of strength predominating, as though the builder
had yet in mind a vague notion of baronial de-
fences, and some half hope or half fear of grim
fights, in which he and his henchmen would defend
against the invader. Gradually, after the feudal
custom, the owner of one of these great tracts
gathered about him a colony of tenants and re-
tainers, who looked after his stock and grew to be
almost fixtures of the realty and partook in no
degree of the shiftless qualities of the modern
tenant. They were attached to the family of the
master of the estate, and shared in his peculiarities
and his prejudices. His quarrel became their own,
and personal conflicts between the retainers of


114 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
different landowners were not infrequent. At
such times, if the breaches of the peace were of
such a violent order as to attract the attention of
the law, the master was in honor bound to shield
his men as far as possible, and usually his influence
was sufficient to preserve them from punish-
ment.
Indeed it was the landowner and his people
against the world. They were different from the
Virginians in that they were more aggressive and
powerful, and were of a more adventurous and
hardy nature. They were never content to be mere
farmers, or to depend upon the cultivation of the
soil. Nor were they careful enough to become
breeders of fine stock. For these reasons it came
about that they adopted a certain kind of stock
business, combining the qualities of the ranch and
the farm. They bought in the autumn great herds
of two-year-old cattle, picking them up along the
borders of Virginia and Kentucky. These cattle
they brought over the mountains in the fall, fed
them through the winter, and turned them out in
the spring to fatten on their great tracts of pasture
land. In the summer this stock was shipped to


I16 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
are involved, and the slightest fall in the market
will often result in big loss. With the shipping
feature of this business have grown certain cus-
toms. Sometimes partnerships will be formed to
continue for one or more weeks, and for the pur-
pose of shipping one drove of cattle or a number
of droves; and when the shippers are well known
the cattle are not paid for until the shipper returns
from the market, it being presumed that he would
not carry in bank sufficient money to pay for a
large drove.
It is a business containing all the peril and
excitement of the stock exchange, and all its
fascinating hope of gain, as well as its dreaded
possibility of utter ruin. Often in a grimy caboose
at the end of a slow freight train is as true and
fearless a devotee of Fortune, and as reckless a
plunger as one would find in the pit on Wall
Street, and not infrequently one with as vast plans
and as heavy a stake in the play as his brother of
the city. Yet to look at him—big, muscular, and
uncouth—one would scarcely suspect that every
week he was juggling with values ranging from ten
to sixty thousand dollars.



Woodford's partner. 117
One Monday morning of July, William Harris,
a passenger on the through St. Louis express of
the Baltimore & Ohio, said to the conductor that
he desired to get off at Bridgeport, a small shipping
station in this blue-grass region of West Virginia.
The conductor answered that his train did not
stop at this station, but that as the town was on a
grade at the mouth of a tunnel he would slow up
sufficiently for Mr. Harris to jump off if he desired
to assume the risk. This Harris concluded to do,
and accordingly, as the train ran by the long open
platform beside the cattle pens, he swung himself
down from the steps of the car and jumped. The
platform was wet, and as Harris struck the planks
his feet slipped and he would have fallen forward
directly under the wheels of the coach had it not
been that a big man standing near by sprang for-
ward and dragged him back.
"You had a damned close call there, my friend,"
said the big man.
"Yes," said Harris, picking himself up, "you
cut the undertaker out of a slight fee by your
quick work."
The stranger turned sharply when he heard


118 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
Harris's voice and grasped him by the hand.
"Why, Billy," he said, "I did n't know it was
you. What are you doing out here?"
"Well, well!" said Harris, shaking the man's
hand vigorously, " there is a God in Israel sure.
You are the very man I am looking for, Wood-
ford."
Thomas Woodford was a powerfully built man—
big, and muscular as an ox. He was about forty, a
man of property, and a cattle-shipper known
through the whole country as a daring speculator
of almost phenomenal success. His plans were
often gigantic, and his very rashness seemed to be
the means by which good fortune heaped its favors
upon him. He was in good humor this morning.
The reports from the foreign markets were favor-
able, and indications seemed to insure the proba-
bility of a decidedly substantial advance at home.
He put his big hand upon Harris's arm and fairly
led him down the platform. "What is up, Billy?"
he asked, lowering his voice.
"In my opinion," answered Harris, "the big
combine among the exporters is going to burst
and go up higher than Gilderoy's kite, and if we


120 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
"The exporters have all the ships chartered and ex-
pect Ball & Holstein to furnish the cattle for next
week's shipments. I believe that old Ball will kick
out of the combine and tell the other exporters in
the trust that they may go to the devil for their cat-
tle. You know what kind of a panic this will cause.
The space on the boats has been chartered and
paid for, and it would be a great loss to let it
stand empty. Nor could they ship the common
stock on the market. All these men have foreign
contracts, made in advance and calling for certain
heavy grades of stock, and they are under contract
to furnish a certain specified number of bullocks
each week. They formed the combine in order to
avoid difficulties, and have depended on a pool of
all the stock contracted for by the several firms,
out of which they could fill their boats when the
supply should happen to be short or the market
temporarily high. The foreign market is rising,
and the old man is dead sure to hold on to the
good thing in his clutches. I was so firmly con-
vinced that the combine was going to pieces that I
at once jumped on the first train west and hurried
here to see you. The exporters must fill their con-


122
WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
right kind, Billy," answered the cattle-shipper en-
thusiastically. "Izzard picked them out of a drove
of at least a thousand last fall, and he has looked
after the brutes and pampered them like pet cats.
They will go over sixteen hundred, every one of
them, and they are as fat as hogs and as broad on
the backs as a bed. I could slip out to his place
and buy them to-night and have them here in time
to car to-morrow, if you think we can give the old
man his price."
"They will bring six and a half in New York,
and go like hot cakes," said Harris, " but you will
have to get out of this quick or you may run into
a crowd of buyers from Baltimore."
"All right, Billy," said the cattle-shipper, rising
and pulling on his coat," I will tackle the old man
to-night. We had better go to Clarksburg, and
there you can lay low, and can come up to-morrow
on the freight that stops here for the cattle. I will
go out to Izzard's from there, and drive here by
noon to-morrow. The accommodation will be
along in about a half hour. I will go down and
order the cars."
"Wait a moment, Woodford," said Harris, " we



Woodford's partner. 123
ought to have some written agreement about this
business."
"What is the use ?" answered the shipper. "We
will go in even on it, but if you want to fix up a
little contract, go ahead, and I will sign it. By the
way, old Izzard is a little closer than most anybody
else; we may have to pay him something down."
"I thought about that," said Harris, "and I
brought some money with me, but I did n't have
time to gather up much. I have about six thou-
sand dollars here. Can you piece out with that?"
"Easy," replied the shipper. "The old devil
would not have the nerve to ask more than ten
thousand down."
William Harris seated himself at the table and
drew up a memorandum of agreement between
them, stating that they had formed a partnership
for the purpose of dealing in stock, and had put
into it ten' thousand dollars as a partnership fund;
that they were to share the profits or losses equally
between them, and that the partnership was to con-
tinue for thirty days. This agreement both men
signed, and Harris placed it in his pocket. Then
the two men ordered the cattle cars for the follow-


124 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
ing day and went to Clarksburg on the evening
train.
Here Harris asked Woodford if he should pay
over to him the five thousand dollars or put it in
the bank. To this the cattle-shipper replied that he
did not like to take the risk of carrying money over
the country, and that it would be best to deposit it
and check it out as it should be needed.
Woodford and Harris went to the bank. The
shipper drew five thousand dollars from his own
private account, put it with the five thousand
which Harris handed him, and thrust the package
of bills through the window to the teller.
"How do you wish to deposit this money, gentle-
men?" asked the officer.
"I don't know, hardly," said the shipper, turn-
ing to his companion ; " what do you think about it,
Billy?"
"Well," said the commission-merchant, thought-
fully, "I suppose we had better deposit it in the
firm name of Woodford & Harris, then you can give
your checks that way and they wont get mixed
with your private matters."
"That is right," said the cattle-shipper, " put it


WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 12$
under the firm name." Whereupon the teller de-
posited the money subject to the check of Wood-
ford & Harris.
"Now, Billy," continued Woodford, as they
passed out into the street, "I will buy these cattle
and put them on the train to-morrow. You go down
with them. I will stay here and look over the
country for another drove, and, if you want more,
telegraph me."
"That suits me perfectly," replied Harris. "I
must get back to New York, and I can wire you
just how matters stand the moment I see the
market." Then the two men shook hands and
Harris returned to his hotel.
The following afternoon William Harris went to
Bridgeport on the freight train. There he found
twelve cars loaded with cattle, marked " Woodford
& Harris." At Grafton he hired a man to go
through with the stock, and took the midnight
express for New York.
The partnership formed to take advantage of the
situation which Harris had so fluently described,
had been brought about with ease and expedition.
Woodford was well known to William Harris. He


126
WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
had met him first in Baltimore where young Harris
was a mere underling of one of the great export-
ing firms. Afterwards he had seen him frequently
in Jersey City, and of late had sold some stock for
him. The whole transaction was in close keeping
with the customs of men in this business.
The confidence of one average cattle-man in
another is a matter of more than passing wonder.
Yet almost from time immemorial it has been
respected, and instances are rare indeed where this
confidence has been betrayed to any degree. Per-
haps after all the ancient theory that "trust reposed
breeds honesty in men," has in it a large measure
of truthfulness, and if practised universally might
result in huge elevation of the race. And it may
be, indeed, that those who attempt to apply this
principle to the business affairs of men are philan-
thropists of no little stature. But it is at best a
dangerous experiment, wherein the safeguards of
society are lowered, and whereby grievous wrongs
break in and despoil the citizen.
To the view of one standing out from the circle
of things, men often present queer contradictions.
They call upon the state to protect them from the



WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 127
petty rogue and make no effort to protect themselves
from the great one. They place themselves volun-
tarily in positions of peril, and then cry out bitterly
if by any mishap they suffer hurt from it, and fume
and rail at the law, when it is themselves they should
rail at. The wonder is that the average business
man is not ruined by the rogue. Surely the igno-
rance of the knave will not protect him always.
The situation would seem to arise from a false
belief that the protection of the law is a great
shield, covering at all points against the attacks of
wrong.
v.
On Saturday afternoon about three o'clock, the
cashier of the Fourth National Bank in the town
of Clarksburg called Thomas Woodford as he was
passing on the street, and requested him to come
at once into the directors' room. Woodford saw
by the man's face that there was something serious
the matter and he hurried after him to the door of
the private office. As he entered, Mr. Izzard
arose and crossed the room to him. The old man


128 Woodford's partner.
held a check in his hand and was evidently labor-
ing under great excitement.
"Woodford," he cried, thrusting the check up
into the cattle-shipper's face, "this thing is not
worth a damn! There is no money here to pay it."
"No money to pay it!" echoed Woodford.
"You must be crazy. We put the money in here
Monday. There's ten thousand dollars here to
pay it."
"Well," said the old man, trembling with anger,
"there is none here now. You gave me this check
Tuesday on my cattle which you and Harris
bought, and you told me there was money here
to meet it. I thought you were all right, of course,
and I did not come to town until to-day. Now
the cashier says there is not a cursed cent here to
the credit of you and Harris."
The blood faded out of the cattle-shipper's face,
leaving him as white as a sheet. He turned slowly
to the cashier: "What became of that money?"
he gasped.
"Why," the officer replied, "it was drawn out on
the check of yourself and Harris. Did n't you
know about it ? The check was properly endorsed."


Woodford's partner. 129
"Show me the check," said Thomas Woodford,
striving hard to control the trembling of his voice.
"There must be some mistake."
The cashier went to his desk and returned with
a check, which he spread out on the table before
the cattle-shipper. The man seized it and carried
it to the light, where he scrutinized it closely. It
was in proper form and drawn in the firm name
of "Woodford & Harris," directing the Fourth
National Bank to pay to William Harris ten
thousand dollars. It was properly endorsed by
William Harris and bore the stamp of the New
York Clearing House.
"When was this check cashed?" asked Wood-
ford.
"It was sent in yesterday," answered the cashier.
"Is there anything wrong with it?"
For a time Woodford did not speak. He stood
with his back to the two men and was evidently
attempting to arrive at some solution of the matter.
Presently he turned and faced the angry land-
owner.
"There has been a mistake here, Mr. Izzard,"
he said, speaking slowly and calmly. "Suppose I
9


130 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
give you my note for the money; the bank here
will discount it, and you will not be put to any
inconvenience."
To this the old gentleman readily assented.
"All I want," he assured the shipper, " is to be safe.
Your note, Woodford, is good for ten times the
sum."
Thomas Woodford turned to the desk and drew a
negotiable note for the amount of the check. This
he gave to Mr. Izzard, and then hurried to the
telegraph office, where he wired Harris asking for
an immediate explanation of the mysterious trans-
action.
He was a man accustomed to keep his own
counsels, and he was not yet ready to abandon
them. He gave directions where the answer was
to be sent, then he went to the hotel, locked him-
self in his room, and began to pace the floor, striv-
ing to solve the enigma of this queer proceeding
on the part of William Harris.
The transaction had an ugly appearance. The
money had been placed in the bank by the two
men for the express purpose of meeting this
check, which he had given to Izzard as a part pay-


132 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
when he opened it, a messenger boy handed him a
telegram. He took the message, closed the door,
and went over to the window. For a moment the
dread of what the little yellow envelope might
possibly contain, made the big rough cattle-shipper
tremble. Then he dismissed the premonition as
an unreasonable fear, and with calm finger opened
the message. The telegram was from New York,
and contained these few words: "Have been
robbed. Everything is lost," and was signed
"William Harris."
Thomas Woodford staggered as if some one had
dealt him a terrible blow in the face. The paper
fell from his fingers and fluttered down on the
floor. The room appeared to swim round him;
his heart thumped violently for a moment, and
then seemed to die down in his breast and cease
its beating. He sank down in his chair and fell
forward on the table, his big body limp under the
shock of this awful calamity. It was all perfectly
plain to him now. The entire transaction from the
beginning to the end had been a deep-laid, cun-
ning plan to rob him. The checking out of
the ten thousand dollars was but a small part of



woodford's partner. 133
it. Harris had- sold the cattle, and, seeking to
keep the money, had simply said that he had been
robbed. The story about the probable dissolution
of the exporters' combine had been all a lie. He
had been the dupe—the easy, willing dupe, of a
cunning villain.
William Harris had come to West Virginia with
the deliberate intention of inveigling him into this
very trap. He had left New York with the entire
scheme well planned. He had stopped at Bridge-
port and told him the plausible story about what
would happen to the combine, in order to arouse
his interest and draw him into the plot and to
account for his own presence in the cattle region.
It was a shrewdly constructed tale, which, under
the circumstances, the most cautious man in the
business would have believed.
The man winced as he recalled how cunningly
Harris had forced him to do the very things he
desired done, without appearing to even suggest
them. There was the deposit of the fund in the
partnership name,—that seemed all reasonable
enough. It had not occurred to him that this
money would then be subject to Harris's check as


134 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
well as his own. Then, too, it was reasonable that
he should go out and buy the cattle, and Harris
ship them,—Harris was a commission-merchant
by trade, and this division of the work was natural.
Such a robbery had not occurred before in all the
history of this business, and how fatally well all
the circumstances and the customs of the trade
fitted into the plan of this daring rascal!
Then, like a benumbing ache, came the gradual
appreciation of the magnitude of this loss. The
cattle were worth twenty thousand dollars. He
had agreed to pay Izzard that sum for the drove,
and then there was the five thousand of his own
money. Twenty-five thousand dollars in all. It
was no small sum for the wealthiest to lose, and
to this man in his despair it loomed large indeed.
Financial ruin is an evil-featured demon at best.
The grasp of his hand is blighting; the leer of his
sunken face, maddening. It requires strong will
to face the monster when one knows that he is
coming, even after his shadow has been flitting
across one's path for years. When he leaps down
suddenly from the dark upon the shoulders of
the unsuspecting passer-by, that one must be


WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 135
strong indeed if all that he possesses of virtue and
honesty and good motive be not driven out from
him.
The old clock on the court-house struck five,
its battered iron tongue crying out from above the
place where men were accustomed to resort for
justice.
The sound startled Woodford and reminded him
of something. He arose and went to the window
and stood looking at the gaunt old building.
Yes, there was the Law. He had almost for-
gotten that, and the Law would not tolerate wrong.
It hated the evil-doer, and hunted him down even
to the death, and punished him. Men were often
weak and half blind, but the Law was strong
always, and its eyes were far-sighted. The world
was not so large that the rogue could hide from it.
In its strength it would seek him out and hold him
responsible for the evil he had done. It stood ever
in its majesty between the knave and those upon
whom he sought to prey; its shadow, heavy with
warning, lay always before the faces of vicious
men.
In his bitterness, Woodford thanked Heaven that


136 Woodford's partner.
this was true. From the iron hand of the Law,
William Harris should have vengeance visited
upon him to the very rim of the measure.
VI.
Randolph Mason looked up from his desk as
William Harris burst into his office. The com-
mission-merchant's face was re*d, and he was
panting with excitement. "Mr. Mason," he cried,
"there is trouble on foot; you must help me out!"
"Trouble," echoed Mason, " is it any new thing
to meet? Why do you come back with your petty
matters?"
"It is no petty matter, sir," said Harris; "you
planned the whole thing for me, and you said it
was no crime. Now they are trying to put me in
the penitentiary. You must have been wrong
when you said it was no crime."
"Wrong?" said Mason, sharply. "What fool
says I am wrong?"
"Why, sir," continued Harris, rapidly," Thomas
Woodford has applied to the Governor for an
extradition, asking that I be turned over to the
authorities of West Virginia on the charge of


WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 137
having committed a felony. You said I could
draw out the partnership fund and keep it, and
that I could sell the cattle and buy foreign ex-
change with the money, and it would be no crime.
Now they are after me, and you must go to Albany
and see about it."
"I shall not go to Albany," said Mason. "You
have committed no crime and cannot be punished."
"But," said Harris, anxiously, "won't they take
me down there? Won't the Governor turn me over
to them?"
"The Governor," continued Mason, "is no
fool. The affidavit stating the facts, which must
accompany the application, will show on its face
that no crime has been committed. You were a
partner, with a partner's control of the funds.
The taking of partnership property by one partner
is no crime. Neither did you steal the cattle.
They were sold to you. Your partner trusted you.
If you do not pay, it is his misfortune. It was all
a business affair, and by no possible construction
can be twisted into a crime. Nor does it matter
how the partnership was formed, so that it existed.
It is no crime to lie in regard to an opinion.


138 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
You have violated no law,—you have simply taken
advantage of its weak places to your own gain and
to the hurt of certain stupid fools. The Attorney
General will never permit an extradition in this
case while the world stands. Go home, man, and
sleep,—you are as safe from the law as though you
were in the grave."
With that, Randolph Mason arose and opened
the office door. "I bid you good-morning, sir,"
he said curtly.
VII.
The Governor of New York pushed the papers
across the table to the Attorney General. "I
would like you to look at this application for the
extradition of one Harris, charged with commit-
ting a felony in the State of West Virginia," he
said. "The paper seems to be regular, but I am
somewhat in doubt as to the proper construction
to be placed upon the affidavit stating the facts
alleged to constitute this crime."
The Attorney General took the papers and went
over them rapidly. "Well," he said, " there is
nothing wrong with the application. Everything


140 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
or for the purpose of harassing the citizens; and
where on the face of the affidavit it is plainly
evident that no crime has been committed, and
that by no possible construction of the facts stated
could the matter be punishable as a crime, then it
is the duty of the Governor to refuse the extra-
dition.
"In this case the authorities in the demanding
State have filed an affidavit setting forth at length
the facts alleged to constitute a felony. This
paper shows substantially that a general partnership
was formed by William Harris and Thomas Wood-
ford, and that pursuant to such business relations
certain partnership property came into the
possession of Harris; this property he converted
to his own use. It is clear that this act constituted
no crime under the statutes of West Virginia or
the common law there obtaining. The property
was general partnership property; the money
taken was a general partnership fund, subject to
the check of either partner. The partner Harris
was properly in possession of the cattle as a part
owner. He was also lawfully entitled to the
possession of the partnership fund if he saw fit to



WOODFORD'S PARTNER. 141
draw it out and use it. If it be presumed that his
story of the robbery is false, and that he deliberately
planned to secure possession of the property and
money, and did so secure possession of it, and
converted it to his own use, yet he has committed
no crime. He has simply taken advantage of the
trust reposed in him by his partner Woodford, and
has done none of those acts essential to a felony.
The application must be refused."
"That was my opinion," said the Governor,
"but such a great wrong had been done that I
hesitated to refuse the extradition."
"Yes," answered the Attorney General, " all the
wrong of a serious felony has been done, but no
crime has been committed. The machinery of
criminal jurisprudence cannot be used for the pur-
pose of redressing civil wrong, the distinction
being that, by a fiction of law, crimes are wrongs
against the State, and in order to be a crime the
offence must be one of those wrongs described by
the law as being against the peace and dignity of
the State. If, on the other hand, the act be simply
a wrong to the citizen and not of the class de-
scribed as being offences against the State, it is no


142 WOODFORD'S PARTNER.
crime, no matter how injurious it may be or how
wrongful to the individual. The entire transaction
was a civil matter resulting in injury to the citizen,
Woodford, but it is no crime, and is not the proper
subject of an extradition."
The Governor turned around in his chair.
"James," he said to his private secretary, " return
the application for the extradition of William
Harris, and say that upon the face of the papers
it is plainly evident that no crime has been com-
mitted."
The blow which Fate had sought to deliver with
such malicious cunning against the confidential
clerk of Beaumont, Milton, & Company had been
turned aside, and had fallen with all its crushing
weight upon the shoulders of another man, five
hundred miles to westward, within the jurisdiction
of a distant commonwealth.


146 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
II.
A few minutes before the hour mentioned in
the above personal, a cab came rattling down
Street. The driver wore a fur-cap and a great-coat
buttoned up around his ears. As he turned the
corner to the Building, he glanced down at his
front wheel and brought his horses up with a jerk.
There was evidently something wrong with the
wheel, for he jumped down from the box to ex-
amine it. He shook the wheel, took off the tap,
and began to move the hub carefully out toward
the end of the axle. As he worked he kept his
eyes on the corner. Presently a big, plainly dressed
man walked slowly down by the building. He
carried a half-open newspaper in his right hand
and seemed to be keeping a sharp lookout around
him. He stopped for a moment by the carriage,
satisfied himself that it was empty, and went on.
At the next corner he climbed up on the seat of the
waiting patrol wagon and disappeared.
The cabman seemed to be engrossed with the
repair of his wheel and gave no indication that he
had seen the stranger. Almost immediately there-
after a second man passed the corner with a news-


THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 149
"Another weakling," he muttered, "making puny
efforts to escape from Fate's trap, or seeking to
slip from under some gin set by his fellows.
Surely, the want of resources on the part of the
race is utter, is abysmal. What miserable puppets
men are \ moved backward and forward in Fate's
games as though they were strung on a wire and
had their bellies filled with sawdust ! Yet each one
has his problem, and that is the important matter.
In these problems one pits himself against the
mysterious intelligence of Chance,—against the
dread cunning and the fatal patience of Destiny.
Ah ! these are worthy foemen. The steel grates
when one crosses swords with such mighty
fencers."
There was a sound as of men conversing in low
tones in the outer office. Mason stopped short
and turned to the door. As he did so, the door
was opened from the outside and a man entered,
closed the door behind him, and remained stand-
ing with his back against it.
Randolph Mason looked down at the stranger
sharply. The man wore a gray suit and gray over-
coat; he was about twenty-five, of medium height,


150 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
with a clean-cut, intelligent face that was peculiar;
originally it had expressed an indulgent character
of unusual energy. Now it could not be read at
all. It was simply that silent, immobile mask so
sought after by the high-grade criminal. His face
was white, and the perspiration was standing out
on his forehead, indicating that he was laboring
under some deep and violent emotion. Yet, with
all, his manner was composed and deliberate, and
his face gave no sign other than its whiteness; it
was calm and expressionless, as the face of the
dead.
Randolph Mason dragged a big chair up to his
desk, sat down in his office chair and pointed to
the other. The stranger came and sat down in the
big chair, gripping its arms with his hands, and
without introduction or comment began to talk in
a jerky, metallic voice.
"This is all waste of time," he said. "You won't
help me. There is no reason for my being here.
I should have had it over by this time, and yet
that would not help her, and she is the only one.
It would be the meanest kind of cowardice to leave
her to suffer; and yet I dare not live to see her


THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 15 I
suffer, I could not bear that. I love her too much
for that, I—"
"Sir," said Mason, brutally, " this is all irrele-
vant rant. Come to the point of your difficulty."
The stranger straightened up and passed his
hand across his forehead. "Yes," he said, " you
are right, sir; it is all rant. I forget where I
am. I will be as brief and concise as possible.
"My name is Camden Gerard. I am a gambler
by profession. My mother died when I was about
ten years old and my father, then a Philadelphia
lawyer, found himself with two children, myself and
my little sister, a mere baby in arms. He sent me
to one of the eastern colleges and put the baby in
a convent. Thus things ran on for perhaps ten or
twelve years. The evil effect of forcing me into a
big college at an early age soon became apparent.
I came under the influence of a rapid and unscru-
pulous class and soon became as rapid and un-
scrupulous as the worst. I went all the paces and
gradually became an expert college gambler of
such high order that I was able to maintain myself.
At about twelve my sister Marie began to show re-
markable talent as an artist, and my father, follow-


152 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
ing her wishes, took her to Paris and placed her in
one of the best art schools of that city. In a short
time thereafter my father died suddenly, and it
developed after investigation that he had left
no estate whatever. I sold the books and other
personal effects, and found myself adrift in the
world with a few hundred dollars, no business, no
profession, and no visible means of support, and,
further, I had this helpless child to look after.
"I went to supposed friends of my father and
asked them to help me into some business by which
I could maintain myself and my little sister. They
promised, but put me off with one excuse after an-
other, until I finally saw through their hypocrisy
and knew that they never intended to assist me.
I felt, indeed, that I was adrift, utterly helpless
and friendless, and the result was, that I resorted
to my skill as a gambler for the purpose of mak-
ing a livelihood. For a time fortune favored me,
and I lived well, and paid all the college expenses
of Marie. I was proud of the child. She was sweet
and lovable, and developing into a remarkably
handsome girl. About two months ago, my luck
turned sharply against me ; everything went wrong


THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 153
with long jumps. Night after night I was beaten.
Anybody broke me, even the 'tender-feet.' I
gathered together every dollar possible and strug-
gled against my bad fortune, but to no purpose.
I only lost night after night. In the midst of all,
Marie wrote to me for money to pay her quarterly
bills. I replied that I would send it in a short
time. I pawned everything, begged and borrowed
and struggled, and resorted to every trick and re-
source of my craft; but all was utterly vain and
useless. I was penniless and stranded. On the
heels of it all, I to-day received another letter from
Marie, saying that her bills must be paid by the
end of the month, or they would turn her out into
the city."
His voice trembled and the perspiration poured
out on his forehead. "You know what it means
for a helpless young girl to be turned out in Paris,"
he went on ; " I know, and the thought of it makes
me insanely desperate. Now," said the man, looking
Mason squarely in the eyes, "I have told you all
the truth. What am I to do?"
For a time Mason's face took on an air of deep
abstraction. "This is Saturday night," he said, as


154 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
though talking to himself. "You should complete
it by Friday. There is time enough."
"Young man,"- he continued, speaking clearly
and precisely, "you are to leave New York for
West Virginia to-morrow morning. A messenger
boy will meet you at the train, with a package of
papers which I shall send. In it you will find
full instructions and such things as you will need.
These instructions you are to follow to the very
letter. Everything will depend on doing exactly
as I say, but," he continued, with positive and
deliberate emphasis, " this must not fail."
The man arose and drew a deep breath. "It
will not fail," he said; "I will do anything to save
her from disgrace,—anything." Then he went out.
At the entrance of the building Parks stepped
up and touched the stranger on the shoulder.
"My friend," he said, " I will bring those papers
myself, and I will see that you have sufficient
money to carry this thing through. But remember
that I am not to be trifled with. You are to come
here just as soon as you return."



THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 155
IV.
Shortly before noon on Monday morning, Cam-
den Gerard stepped into the jewelry establishment
of William Van Broom, in the city of Wheeling,
and asked for the proprietor. That gentleman
came forward in no very kindly humor. Upon
seeing the well dressed young man, he at once con-
cluded that he was a high-grade jewel drummer,
and being a practical business man, he was kindly
at sales and surly at purchases.
"This is Mr. Van Broom, I believe," said the
young man. "My name is Gerard. I am from
New York, sir." Then noticing the jeweller's
expression, he added, quickly: "I am not a sales-
man, sir, and am not going to consume your time.
I am in West Virginia on business, and stepped in
here to present a letter of introduction which my
friend, Bartholdi, insisted upon writing."
The affability of the jeweller returned with a
surge. He bowed and beamed sweetly as he
broke the seal of the letter of introduction. The
paper bore the artistic stamp of Bartholdi and
Banks, the great diamond importers, and ran as
follows:


156 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
"William Van Broom, Esq.,
"Wheeling, West Va.
"Dear Sir:
"This will introduce Mr. Camden Gerard.
Kindly show him every possible courtesy, for which
we shall be under the greatest obligations.
"Most sincerely your obedient servants,
"Bartholdi & Banks."
The jeweller's eyes opened wide with wonder.
He knew this firm to be the largest and most aris-
tocratic dealers in the world. It was much honor,
and perhaps vast benefit, to be of service to them,
and he was flattered into the seventh heaven.
"I am indeed glad to meet you, sir," he said,
seizing the man's hand and shaking it vigorously.
"I certainly hope that I can be of service. It is
now near twelve; you will come with me to lunch
at the club?"
"I thank you very much," answered Camden
Gerard, "but I am compelled to go to the Sisters-
ville oil field on the noon train. However, I will
return at eight, and shall expect you to dine with
me at the hotel."
The jeweller accepted the invitation with ill-
concealed delight. The young man thanked him



THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 159
ginia, shrewdly leaving Van Broom to draw his
own inferences.
It was late when William Van Broom retired to
his residence. He was happy and flattered, and
with reason. Had he not been selected by the
great firm of Bartholdi & Banks to counsel with
one who, he strongly suspected, was the private
agent of princes?
About two o'clock on the following Thursday
afternoon, Mr. Camden Gerard called upon
William Van Broom and said that he wished to
speak with him in his private office. The New
Yorker was soiled and grimy, and had evidently
just come from a train, but he was smiling and in
high spirits.
When the two men were alone in the private
office, Camden Gerard took a roll of paper from
his pocket, and turned to Van Broom. "Here are
some papers," he said, speaking low that he might
not be overheard. "I have no secure place to put
them, and I would be under great obligations to
you if you would kindly lock them up in your
safe."
"Certainly," said the jeweller, taking the papers



THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 161
mistaken. Your mark is certainly wrong. I have
seen smaller stones in the Russian shops for double
the price."
"We can't sell the necklace at that figure," said
Van Broom, smiling. "We are not such sharks as
your foreign dealers."
"If you mean that," said Camden Gerard, "I
will buy these jewels here and now. I had in-
tended purchasing something in the east for my
wife, but I can never do better than this."
The New Yorker took out his pocket-book and
handed Van Broom a bill. "Before you retract,"
he said, " here is fifty to seal the bargain. Get
your hat and come with me to the bank."
"All right," said Mr. Van Broom, taking the
money. "The necklace is yours, my friend."
Camden Gerard closed the leather case and put
it into his pocket. The jeweller locked the safe,
put on his hat, and the two went out of the store
and down the street to the banking house of the
Mechanics' Trust Company. Mr. Gerard enquired
for the cashier. The teller informed him that the
cashier was in the back room of the bank and if
he would step back he could see him. The New
XX


162 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
Yorker asked his companion to wait for a moment
until he spoke with the cashier. Then he went
back into the room indicated by the teller, closing
the door after him.
The cashier sat at a table engaged with a pile of
correspondence. He was busy and looked up
sharply as the man entered.
"Sir," said the New Yorker, " have you received
a sealed package from the Adams Express Com-
pany consigned to one Camden Gerard?"
"No," answered the cashier, turning to his work.
"You have not?" repeated Gerard, excitedly,
"then I will run down to the telegraph office and
see what is the matter." Thereupon he crossed
hurriedly to the side door of the office, opened it
and stepped out into the street. The cashier
went on with his work.
For perhaps a quarter of an hour William Van
Broom waited for his companion to conclude his
business with the cashier. Finally he grew impa-
tient and asked the teller to remind Mr. Gerard
that he was waiting. The teller returned in a
moment and said that the gentleman had gone
to the telegraph office some time ago. The jew-


164 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
knew no such man as Camden Gerard and that his
letter of introduction was false. Mr. William Van
Broom was white with despair. He put the letter
and answer into his pocket and went at once to
the office of the prosecuting attorney for the State
and laid the whole matter before him.
"My dear sir," said that official, when Mr.
Van Broom had finished his story, "your very
good friend Camden Gerard owes you thirty-four
hundred and fifty dollars, which he will perhaps
continue to owe. You may as well go back to
your business."
"What do you mean ?" said the jeweller.
"I mean," replied the attorney, " that you have
been the dupe of a shrewd knave who is familiar
with the weak places in the law and has resorted
to an ingenious scheme to secure possession of
your property without rendering himself liable to
criminal procedure. It is true that if the dia-
monds were located you could attach and recover
them by a civil suit, but it is scarcely possible that
such a shrewd knave would permit himself to be
caught with the jewels, and it is certain that he
has some reasonably safe method by which he can



THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM. 165
dispose of them without fear of detection. He
has trapped you and has committed no crime. If
you had the fellow in custody now, the judge
would release him the moment an application was
made. The entire matter was only a sale. He
bought the jewels and you trusted him. He is no
more a law-breaker than you are. He is only a
sharper dealer."
"But, sir," cried the angry Van Broom, spread-
ing the false letter out on the table, "that is
forged, every word of it. I will send this fellow
to the penitentiary for forgery. I will spend a
thousand dollars to catch him."
"If you should spend a thousand dollars to
catch him," said the attorney, smiling, " you would
never be able to send him to the penitentiary on
that paper. It is not forgery."
"Not forgery!" shouted the jeweller, " not for-
gery, man! The rascal wrote every word of that
letter. He signed the name of Bartholdi & Banks
at the bottom of it. Every word of that paper is
false. The company never heard of it. Here is
their telegram."
"Mr. Van Broom," said the public prosecutor,


166 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
"listen to me, sir. All that you say is perhaps
true. Camden Gerard doubtless wrote the entire
paper and signed the name of Bartholdi & Banks,
and presented it to you for a definite purpose. To
such an act men commonly apply the term forgery,
and in the common acceptation of the word it is
forgery and a reprehensible wrong; but legally, the
false making of such a paper as this is not forgery
and is no crime. In order to constitute the crime
of forgery, the instrument falsely made must be
apparently capable of effecting a fraud, of being
used to the prejudice of another's right. It must
be such as might be of legal efficacy, or might be
the foundation of some legal liability.
"This paper in question, although falsely made,
has none of the vital elements of forgery under
the law. If genuine, it would have no legal valid-
ity, as it affects no legal rights. It would merely
be an attempt to receive courtesies on a promise,
of no legal obligation, to reciprocate them; and
courtesies have never been held to be the subject
of legal fraud. This is a mere letter of introduc-
tion, which, by no possibility, could subject the
supposed writer to any pecuniary loss' or legal


168 THE ERROR OF WILLIAM VAN BROOM.
ment to the common people when brought to their
attention. They fail to see the wise but technical
distinctions. They are willing to trust to what
they are pleased to call common-sense, and, fall-
ing into traps laid by the cunning villain, de-
nounce the law for impotency."
"Well," said the jeweller, as he arose and put
on his overcoat, "what is the good of the law
anyhow?"
The prosecuting attorney smiled wearily. To
him the wisdom of the law was clear, beautiful,
and superlatively just. To the muddy-headed
tradesman it was as color to the blind.
v.
Over in the art school of old Monsieur Pon-
tique, Marie Gerard saw the result of the entire
matter in the light of kindness and sweet self-
sacrifice; and perhaps she saw it as it was. This
is a queer world indeed.


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY
[See Ranney vs. The People, 22 N.Y.R., 413; Scott vs.
The People, 66 Barb. [N.Y], 62; The People vs. Blanchard,
90 N. Y. Repts., 314.
Also, Rex vs. Douglas, 2 Russell on Crimes, 624, and other
cases there cited.]
169





THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
i.
"r^ARKS," said Randolph Mason, " has Leslie
1 Wilder a country place on the Hudson?"
"Yes, sir," replied the bald little clerk. "It is
at Cliphmore, I think, sir."
"Well," said Mason, "here is his message,
Parks, asking that I come to him immediately. It
seems urgent and probably means a will. Find
out what time a train leaves the city and have a
carriage."
The clerk took the telegram, put on his coat, and
went down on the street. It was cold and snow-
ing heavily. The wind blew up from the river,
driving the snow in great, blinding sheets. The
melancholy Parks pulled his hat down over his
face, walked slowly round the square, and came
back to the entrance of the office building. In-
stead of taking the elevator he went slowly up the
171


172 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
steps into the outer office. Here he took off his
coat and went over to the window, and stood for
some minutes looking out at the white city.
"At any rate he will not suspect me," he mut-
tered, "and we must get every dollar possible
while we can. He won't last always."
At this moment a carriage drove up and stopped
by the curb. Parks turned round quickly and
went into Mason's private office. "Sir," he said,
"your train leaves at six ten, and the carriage is
waiting."
When Randolph Mason stepped from the train
at the little Cliphmore station, it was pitch dark,
and the snow was sweeping past in great waves.
He groped his way to the little station-house and
pounded on the door. There was no response.
As he turned round a man stepped up on the plat-
form, pulled off his cap, and said, " Excuse me,
sir, the carriage is over here, sir." Mason fol-
lowed the man across the platform, and up what
seemed to be a gravel road for perhaps twenty
yards. Here they found a closed carriage. The
man threw open the door, helped Mason in, and
closed it, forcing the handle carefully. Then he


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. I73
climbed up in front, struck the horses, and drove
away.
For perhaps half an hour the carriage rattled
along the gravel road, and Mason sat motionless.
Suddenly he leaned over, turned the handle of the
carriage door, and jerked it sharply. The door did
not open. He tucked the robes around him and
leaned back in the seat, like a man who had con-
vinced himself of the truth of something that he
suspected. Presently the carriage began to wobble
and jolt as though upon an unkept country road.
The driver pulled up his horses and allowed them
to walk. The snow drifted up around him and
he seemed to have great difficulty in keeping to
the road Presently he stopped, climbed down
from the box and attempted to open the door. He
apparently had some difficulty, but finally threw it
back and said: "Dis is de place, sir."
Randolph Mason got out and looked around
him. "This may be the place," he said to the
man, " but this is not Wilder's."
"I said dis here is de place," answered the man,
doggedly.
"Beyond a doubt," said Mason, "and since you
are such a cunning liar I will go in."


174 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
The driver left the horses standing and led the
way across what seemed to be an unkept lawn,
Mason following. A house loomed up in the dark
before them. The driver stopped and rapped on
the door. There was no light visible and no indi-
cation of any inhabitant. The driver rapped
again without getting any response. Then he
began to curse, and to kick the door violently.
"Will you be quiet?" said a voice from the in-
side, and the door opened. The hall-way was
dark, and the men on the outside could not see
the speaker.
"Here is de man, sir," said the driver.
"That is good," replied the voice; "come in."
The two men stepped into the house. The man
who had bid them enter closed the door and
bolted it. Then he took a lantern from under his
coat and led them back through the hall to the
rear of the building. The house was dilapidated
and old, and had the appearance of having been
deserted for many years.
The man with the lantern turned down a side
hall, opened a door, and ushered Mason into a big
room, where there was a monster log fire blazing.


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 175
This room was dirty and bare. The windows
were carefully covered from the inside, so as to
prevent the light from being seen. There was no
furniture except a broken table and a few old-
chairs. At the table sat an old man smoking a
pipe. He had on a cap and overcoat, and was
studying a newspaper spread out before him. He
seemed to be spelling out the words with great
difficulty, and did not look up. Randolph Mason
took off his great-coat, threw it over a chair, and
seated himself before the fire. The man with the
lantern placed it on the mantel-shelf, took up a
short pipe, and seating himself on a box by the
hearth corner, began to smoke. He was a power-
ful man, perhaps forty years old, clean and de-
cently dressed. His forehead was broad. His
eyes were unusually big and blue. He seemed to
be of considerable intelligence, and his expression,
taken all in all, was innocent and kindly.
For a time there was nothing said. The driver
went out to look after his horses. The old man
at the table labored on at his newspaper, and Ran-
dolph Mason sat looking into the fire. Suddenly
he turned to the man at his left. "Sir," said he


176 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
"to what difficulty am I indebted for this
honor?"
"Well," said the man, putting his pipe into his
pocket, "the combination is too high for us this
time; we can't crack it. We knew about you and
sent for you."
"Your plan for getting me here does little credit
to your wits," said Mason; "the trick is infantile
and trite."
"But it got you here anyhow," replied the man.
"Yes," said Mason, " when the dupe is willing
to be one. But suppose I had rather concluded
to break with your driver at the station? It is
likewise dangerous to drive a man locked in a car-
riage when he may easily kill you through the
window."
"Trow on de light, Barker," said the old man
at the table; "what is de use of gropin*?"
"Well," said the younger man, "the fact is sim-
ply this: The Boss and Leary and a ' supe' were
cracking a safe out in the States. They were tun-
nelling up early in the morning, when the 'supe'
forced a jimmy through the floor. The bank jani-
tor saw it, and they were all caught and sent up


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 177
for ten years. We have tried every way to get the
boys out, but have been unable to do anything at
all, until a few days ago we discovered that one of
the guards could be bribed to pass in a kit, and to
hit the ' supe' if there should be any shooting, if
we could put up enough stuff. He was to be dis-
charged at the end of his month anyway, and he
did not care. But he would not move a finger
under four thousand dollars. We have been two
weeks trying to raise the money, and have now
only twelve hundred. The guard has only a week
longer, and another opportunity will not occur
perhaps in a lifetime. We have tried everything,
and cannot raise another hundred, and it is our
only chance to save the Boss and Leary."
"Dat is right," put in the old man ; " it don't go
at all wid us, we is gittin' trowed on it, and dat is
sure unless dis gent knows a good ting to push,
and dat is what he is here fur, to name de good
ting to push. Dat is right, dat's what we's got to
have, and we's got to have it now. We don't keer
no hell-room fur de ' supe,' it's de Boss and Leary
we wants."
Randolph Mason got up and stood with his back


178 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
to the fire. The lines of his face grew deep and
hard. Presently he thrust out his jaw, and began
to walk backward and forward across the room.
"Barker," muttered the old man, looking up for
the first time, " de guy has jimmy iron in him."
The blue-eyed man nodded and continued to
watch Mason curiously. Suddenly, as he passed
the old man at the table, Mason stopped short
and put his finger down on the newspaper. The
younger man leaped up noiselessly, and looking
over Mason's shoulder read the head-lines Under
his finger. "Kidnapped," it ran. "The youngest
son of Cornelius Rockham stolen from the mil-
lionaire's carriage. Large rewards offered. No
clew."
"Do you know anything about this?" said
Mason, shortly.
"Dat's de hell," replied the old man, "we
does n't."
Mason straightened up and swung round on his
heel. "Sir," he said to the man Barker, "are you
wanted in New York?" • ■
"No," he replied, " I am just over; they don't
know me."; . , .



THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 179
"Good," said Mason, "it is as plain as a blue
print. Come over here."
The two crossed to the far corner of the room.
There Mason grasped the man by the shoulder
and began to talk to him rapidly, but in a voice
too low to be heard by the old man at the table.
"Smoove guy, dis," muttered the old man. "He
may be fly in de nut, but he takes no chances on
de large audejence."
For perhaps twenty minutes Randolph Mason
talked to the man at the wall. At first the fellow
did not seem to understand, but after a time his
face lighted up with wonder and eagerness, and
his assurance seemed to convince the speaker, for
presently they came back together to the fire.
"You," said Mason to the old man, " what is
your name?"
"It cuts no ice about de label," replied the old
man, pulling at his pipe. "Fur de purposes of dis
seeyance I am de Jook of Marlbone."
"Well," said Mason, putting on his coat, " Mr.
Barker will tell your lordship what you are to do."
The big blue-eyed man went out and presently
returned with the carriage driver. "Mr. Mason,"


18o THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
he said, " Bill will drive you to the train and you
will be in New York by twelve."
"Remember," said Mason, savagely, turning
around at the door, "it must be exactly as I
have told you, word for word."
II.
"I tell you," said Cornelius Rockham, "it is
the most remarkable proposition that I have ever
heard."
"It is strange," replied the Police Chief, thought-
fully. "You say the fellow declared that he had
a proposition to make in regard to the child, and
that he refused to make it save in the presence of
witnesses."
"Yes, he actually said that he would not speak
with me alone or where he might be misunderstood,
but that he would come here to-night at ten and
state the matter to me and such reliable witnesses
as I should see fit to have, not less than three in
number; that a considerable sum of money might
be required, and that I would do well to have it
in readiness; that if I feared robbery or treachery,
I should fill the house with policemen, and take


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 181
any and every precaution that I thought neces-
sary. In fact, he urged that I should have the
most reliable men possible for witnesses, and as
many as I desired, and that I must avail myself of
every police protection in order that I might feel
amply and thoroughly secure."
"Well," said the Police Chief, " if the fellow is
not straight he is a fool. No living crook would
ever make such a proposition."
"So I am convinced," replied Mr. Rockham.
"The precautions he suggests certainly prove it.
He places himself absolutely in our hands, and
knows that if any crooked work should be attempted
we have everything ready to thwart it; that there
is nothing that he could accomplish, and he
would only be placing himself helplessly in the
grasp of the police. However, we will not fail to
avail ourselves of his suggestion. You will see to
it, Chief?"
"Yes," said the officer, rising and putting on his
coat. "We will give him no possible chance. It
is now five. I will send the men in an hour."
At ten o'clock that night, the palatial residence
of Cornelius Rockham was in a state of complete




THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 183
pure accident am enabled to make the proposition
which I am going to make. Your child has been
missing now for several days, I believe, without
any clew whatever. I do not know who kid-
napped it, nor any of the circumstances. It is now
half-past ten o'clock. I do not know where it is
at this time, and I could not now take you to it.
At eleven o'clock to-night, I shall know where it
is, and I shall be able to take you to it. But I
need money, and I must have five thousand dollars
to compensate me for the information."
The man paused for a moment, and passed his
hand across his forehead. "Now," he went on, "to
be perfectly plain. I will not trust you, and you,
of course, will not trust me. In order to insure
good faith on both sides, I must ask that you pay
me the money here, in the presence of these wit-
nesses, then handcuff me to a police officer, and I
will take you to the child at eleven o'clock. You
may surround me with all the guards you think
proper, and take every precaution to insure your
safety and prevent my escape. You will pardon
my extreme frankness, but business is business,
and we all know that matters of this kind must


184 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
be arranged beforehand. Men are too indifferent
after they get what they want." Barker stopped
short, and looked up frankly at the men around
him.
Cornelius Rockham did not reply, but his white,
haggard face lighted up hopefully. He beckoned
to the Police Chief, and the two went into an ad-
joining room.
"What do you think ?" said Rockham, turning
to the officer."
"That man," replied the Chief," means what he
says, or else he is an insane fool, and he certainly
bears no indication of the latter. It is evident
that he will not open his mouth until he gets the
money, for the reason that he is afraid that he will
be ignored after the child is recovered. I do not
believe there is any risk in paying him now, and
doing as he says; because he cannot possibly es-
cape when fastened to a sergeant, and if he proves
to be a fake, or tries any crooked work, we will
return the money to you and lock him up."
"I am inclined to agree with you," replied
Rockham; "the man is eccentric and suspicious,
but he certainly will not move until paid, and we


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 185
have no charge as yet upon which to arrest him.
Nor would it avail us anything if we did. There
is little if any risk, and much probability of learn-
ing something of the boy. I will do it."
He went down to the far end of the hall and
took a package of bills from a desk. Then the
two men returned to the drawing-room.
"Sir," said Rockham to Barker, "I accept your
proposition, here is the money, but you must con-
sider yourself utterly in our hands. I am willing
to trust you, but I am going to follow your sug-
gestion."
"A contract is a contract," replied Barker,
taking the money and counting it carefully. When
he had satisfied himself that the amount was correct
he thrust the roll of bills into his outside coat-
pocket.
"It is now fifteen minutes until eleven," said the
Police Chief, stepping up to Barker's chair, "and
if you are ready we will go."
"I am ready," said the man, getting up.
The Police Chief took a pair of steel handcuffs
from his pocket, locked one part of them carefully
on Barker's left wrist and fastened the other to the


186 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
right wrist of the sergeant. Then they went out
of the house and down the steps to the carriages.
The Police Chief, Barker, and the sergeant
climbed into the first carriage, and Mr. Rockham
and the other officer into the second.
"Have your man drive to the Central Park en-
trance," said Barker to the Chief. The officer
called to the driver and the carriages rolled away.
At the west entrance to Central Park the men
alighted.
"Now, gentlemen," said Barker," we must walk
west to the second corner and wait there until a
cab passes from the east. The cab will be close
curtained and will be drawn by a sorrel cob. As
it passes you will dart out, seize the horse, and take
possession of the cab. You will find the child in
the cab, but I must insist for my own welfare, that
you make every appearance of having me under
arrest and in close custody."
The five men turned down the street in the di-
rection indicated. Mr. Rockham and one of the
officers in the front and the other two following
with Barker between them. For a time they walked
along in silence. Then the Police Chief took some



THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 189
Barker was silent. In the dark the men could
not see that he was smiling.
in.
The court -room of Judge Walter P. Wright was
filled with an interested audience of the greater
and unpunished criminals of New York. The
application of Barker for a habeas corpus, on the
ground that he had committed no crime, had at-
tracted wide attention. It was known that the
facts were not disputed, and the proceeding was a
matter of wonder.
Some days before, the case had been submitted
to the learned judge. The attorneys for the People
had not been anxious enough to be interested, and
looked upon the application as a farce. The
young man who appeared for Barker announced
that he represented one Randolph Mason, a coun-
sellor, and was present only for the purpose of ask-
ing that Barker be discharged, and for the further
purpose of filing the brief of Mason in support of
the application. He made no argument whatever,
and had simply handed up the brief, which the



THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 191 .
o'clock that night. Pursuant to his appointment,
Barker again presented himself at the residence of
said Rockham, and, in the presence of witnesses,
declared, in substance, that at that time (then ten
o'clock) he knew nothing of the said child, could
not produce it, and could give no information in
regard to it, but that at eleven o'clock he would
know where the child was and would produce it;
and that, if the said Rockham would then and there
pay him five thousand dollars, he would at eleven
o'clock take them to the lost child. The money
was paid and the transaction completed.
"At eleven o'clock, Barker took the men to a
certain corner in the upper part of this city, and
it there developed that the entire matter was a
scheme on his part for the purpose of obtaining
the said sum of money, which he had in some
manner disposed of; and that he in fact knew
nothing of the child and never intended to pro-
duce it. - r
"The attorneys for the People considered it idle
to discuss what they believed to be such a plain
case of obtaining money under false pretences;
and I confess that upon first hearing I was inclined


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 193
a false representation or statement as to a fact, and
that fact must be a past or an existing fact. These
are plain statements of ancient and well settled
law, and laid here in this brief, almost in the exact
language of our courts.
"In this case the vital element of crime is want-
ing. The evidence fails utterly to show false rep-
resentation as to any existing fact. The prisoner,
Barker, at the time of the transaction, positively
disclaimed any knowledge of the child, or any
ability to produce it. What he did represent was
that he would know, and that he would perform
certain things, in the future. The question of
remoteness is irrelevant. It is immaterial whether
the future time be removed minutes or years.
"The false representation complained of was
wholly in regard to a future transaction, and essen-
tially promissory in its nature, and such a wrong
is not, and never has been, held to be the founda-
tion of a criminal charge."
"But, if your Honor please," said the senior
counsel for the People, rising, "is it not clearly
evident that the prisoner, Barker, began with a
design to defraud; that that design was present
13


194 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
and obtained at the time of this transaction; that
a representation was made to Rockham for the pur-
pose of convincing him that there then existed
a bona fide intention to produce his child; that
money was obtained by false statements in regard
to this intention then existing, when in fact such
intention did not exist and never existed, and
statements made to induce Rockham to believe
that it did exist were all utterly false, fraudulent,
and delusive? Surely this is a crime."
The attorney sat down with the air of one who
had propounded an unanswerable proposition.
The Judge adjusted his eyeglasses and began to
turn the pages of a report. "I read," he said,
"from the syllabus of the case of The People of
New York vs. John H. Blanchard. 'An indict-
ment for false pretences may not be founded upon
an assertion of an existing intention, although it
did not in fact exist. There must be a false repre-
sentation as to an existing fact.'
"Your statement, sir, in regard to intention, in
this case is true, but it is no element of crime."
"But, sir," interposed the counsel for the People,
now fully awake to the fact that Barker was slip-


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 195
ping from his grasp, "I ask to hold this man for
conspiracy and as a violator of the Statute of
Cheats."
"Sir," said the Judge, with some show of impa-
tience, " I call your attention to Scott's case and
the leading case of Ranney. In the former, the
learned Court announces that if the false and
fraudulent representations are not criminal there
can be no conspiracy ; and, in the latter, the Court
says plainly that false pretences in former statutes,
and gross fraud or cheat in the more recent acts,
mean essentially the same thing.
"You must further well know that this man
could not be indicted at common law for cheat,
because no false token was used, and because in
respect to the instrumentality by which it was
accomplished it had no special reference to the
public interest.
"This case is most remarkable in that it bears
all the marks of a gross and detestable fraud, and
in morals is a vicious and grievous wrong, but
under our law it is no crime and the offender can-
not be punished."
"I understand your Honor to hold," said the


196 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
baffled attorney, jumping to his feet, "that this
man is guilty of no crime; that the dastardly act
which he confesses to have done constitutes no
crime, and that he is to go out of this court-room
freed from every description of liability or respon-
sibility to any criminal tribunal; that the law is
so defective and its arm so short that it cannot
pluck forth the offender and punish him when by
every instinct of morality he is a criminal. If this
be true, what a limitless field is open to the knave,
and what a snug harbor for him is the great com-
monwealth of New York!"
"I can pardon your abruptness," said the Judge,
looking down upon the angry and excited coun-
sellor, " for the reason that your words are almost
exactly the lament of presiding Justice Mullin in
the case of Scott. But, sir, this is not a matter of
sentiment; it is not a matter of morality; it is not
even a matter of right. It is purely and simply a
matter of law, and there is no law."
The Judge unconsciously arose and stood up-
right beside the bench. The audience of criminals
bent forward in their seats.
"I feel," he continued, " for the first time the


THE MEN OF THE JIMMY. 197
utter inability of the law to cope with the gigantic
cunning of Evil. I appreciate the utter villainy
that pervaded this entire transaction. I am con-
vinced that it was planned with painstaking care
by some master mind moved by Satanic impulse.
I now know that there is abroad in this city a
malicious intelligence of almost infinite genius,
against which the machinery of the law is inopera-
tive. Against every sentiment of common right,
of common justice, I am compelled to decide that
Lemuel Barker is guilty of no crime and stands
acquit."
It was high noon. The audience of criminals
passed out from the temple of so-called Justice,
and with them went Lemuel Barker, unwhipped
and brazen; now with ample means by which to
wrest his fellows in villainy from the righteous wrath
of the commonwealth. They were all enemies of
this same commonwealth, bitter, never wearying
enemies, and to-day they had learned much. How
short-armed the Law was! Wondrous marvel that
they had not known it sooner! To be sure they
must plan so cunningly that only the Judge should
pass upon them. He was a mere legal machine.


198 THE MEN OF THE JIMMY.
He was only the hand applying the rigid rule of
the law. The danger was with the jury; there lay
the peril to be avoided. The jury! how they
hated it and feared it! and of right, for none
knew better than they that whenever, and where-
ever, and however men stop to probe for it, they
always find, far down in the human heart, a great
love of common right and fair dealing that is as
deep-seated and abiding as the very springs of life.


VI.
THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE
[The crime of embezzlement here dealt with is statutory.
The venue of this story could have been laid in many other
States; the statutes are similar to a degree. See the Code of
West Virginia; also the late case of The State vs. Bolin, 19
Southwestern Reporter, 650; also the long list of ancient
cases in Russell on Crimes, 2d volume.]


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
I.
IT is hard luck, Colonel," said the broker,
"but you are are not the only one skinned
in the deal ; the best of them caught it to-day.
By Jupiter! the pit was like Dante's Inferno!"
"Yes, it's gone, I reckon," muttered the Colo-
nel, shutting his teeth down tight on his cigar ; " I
guess the devil wins every two out of three."
"Well," said the broker, turning to his desk, "it
is the fortune of war."
"No, young man," growled the Colonel, "it is
the blasted misfortune of peace. I have never had
any trouble with the fortune of war. I could stand
on an ace high and win with war. It is peace that
queers me. Here in the fag-end of the nineteenth
century, I, Colonel Moseby Allen, sheriff of Gull-
more County, West Virginia, go up against another
201


202 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
man's game,—yes, and go up in the daytime. Say,
young man, it feels queer at the mellow age of
forty-nine, after you have been in the legislature
of a great commonwealth, and at the very expira-
tion of your term as sheriff of the whitest and the
freest county in West Virginia,—I say it feels queer,
after all those high honors, to be suddenly re-
minded that you need to be accompanied by a
business chaperon."
The Colonel stood perfectly erect and delivered
his oration with the fluency and the abandon of a
southern orator. When he had finished, he bowed
low to the broker, pulled his big slouch hat down
on his forehead, and stalked out of the office and
down the steps to the street.
Colonel Moseby Allen was built on the decided
lines of a southern mountaineer. He was big and
broad-shouldered, but he was not well propor-
tioned. His body was short and heavy, while his
legs were long. His eyes were deep-set and shone
like little brown beads. On the whole, his face in-
dicated cunning, bluster, and rashness. The ward
politician would have recognized him among a
thousand as a kindred spirit, and the professional


208 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
over to affiliate with the ungodly. We were beaten,
sir,—beaten in this last engagement,—horse, foot,
and dragoons,—beaten by a set of carpet-baggers,
—a set of unregenerate political tricksters of such
diabolical cunning that nothing but the gates of
hell could have prevailed against them. Now, sir,
now,—and I say it mournfully, there is nothing
left to us in the county of Gullmore, save only
honor."
"Honor," sneered Parks, "an imaginary rope to
hold fools with! It wont fill a hungry stomach,
or satisfy a delinquent account." The little clerk
spoke the latter part of his sentence slowly and
deliberately.
Again the suspicious expression passed over the
face of Colonel Allen, leaving traces of fear and
anxiety in its wake. His eyes, naturally a little
crossed, drew in toward his nose, and the muscles
around his mouth grew hard. For a moment he
was silent, looking down into his glass; then, with
an effort, he went on: "Yes, the whole shooting-
match is in the hands of the Philistines. From
the members of the County Court up to the impor-
tant and responsible position which I have filled


2IO THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
"Well," said Parks, " you must promise to stick
to your role to the end, if you commence with the
play."
The southerner leaned back in his chair and
stroked his chin thoughtfully. Finally he dropped
his hand and looked up. "All right," he muttered;
"I 'll stand by the deal ; throw out the cards."
Parks moved his chair nearer to the table and
leaned over on his elbow. "Colonel," he said,
"there is only one living man who can set up a suc-
cessful counter-plot against fate, that is dead certain
to win, and that man is here in New York to-day.
He is a great lawyer, and besides being that, he is
the greatest plotter since the days of Napoleon.
Not one of his clients ever saw the inside of a
prison. He can show men how to commit crimes
in such a way that the law cannot touch them.
No matter how desperate the position may be, he
can always show the man who is in it a way by
which he can get out. There is no case so hope-
less that he cannot manage it. If money is needed,
he can show you how to get it—a plain, practical
way, by which you can get what you need and as
much as you need. He has a great mind, but he


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 211
is strangely queer and erratic, and must be ap-
proached with extreme care, and only in a certain
way. This man, " continued the little clerk, lower-
ing his voice, " is named Randolph Mason. You
must go to him and explain the whole matter, and
you must do it just in the way I tell you."
Again the Virginian whistled softly. "My
friend," he said, " there is a little too much mys-
tery about this matter. I am not afraid of you, be-
cause you are a rascal; no one ever had a face
like you that was not a rascal. You will stick to
me because you are out for the stuff, and there is
no possible way to make a dollar by throwing the
game. I am not afraid of any living man, if I
have an opportunity to see his face before the
bluff is made. You are all right; your game is
to use me in making some haul that is a little
too high for yourself. That is what you have
been working up to, and you are a smooth opera-
tor, my friend. A greenhorn would have con-
cluded long ago that you were a detective, but I
knew a blamed sight better than that the moment
you made your first lead. In the first place, you
are too sharp to waste your time with any such


212 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
bosh, and in the second place, it takes cash to buy
detectives, and there is nobody following me with
cash. Gullmore county has no kick coming to it
until my final settlements are made, and there is
no man treading shoe leather that knows anything
about the condition of my official business except
myself, and perhaps also that shrewd and mysteri-
ous guesser—yourself. So, you see, I am not
standing on ceremonies with you. But here, young
man, comes in a dark horse, and you want me to
bet on him blindfolded. Those are not the meth-
ods of Moseby Allen. I must be let in a little
deeper on this thing."
"All I want you to do," said Parks, putting his
hand confidentially on the Virginian's arm, "is
simply to go and see Randolph Mason, and ap-
proach him in the way I tell you, and when you
have done that, I will wager that you stay and ex-
plain everything to him."
Colonel Allen leaned back in his chair and
thrust his hands into his pockets. "Why should I
do that ?" he said curtly.
"Well," murmured the little man mournfully,
"one's bondsmen are entitled to some considera-


214 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
"Colonel Moseby Allen, of the county of Gullmore,
will take five cards, if you please."
"This must be the place," muttered the Virgin-
ian, stopping under the electric light and looking
up at the big house on the avenue. "That fellow
said I would know the place by the copper-studded
door, and there it is, as certain as there are back
taxes in Gullmore." With that, Colonel Moseby
Allen walked up the granite steps and began to
grope about in the dark door-way for the electric
bell. He could find no trace of this indispensable
convenience, and was beginning to lapse into a flow
of half-suppressed curses, when he noticed for the
first time an ancient silver knocker fastened to the
middle of the door. He seized it and banged it
vigorously.
The Virginian stood in the dark and waited.
Finally he concluded that the noise had not been
heard, and was about to repeat the signal when
the door was flung suddenly open, and a tall man
holding a candle in his hand loomed up in the
door-way.
in.


2l6 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
garded man." His unlimited assurance had never
failed him before any of high or low degree, and
to be impressed with the power of any man was to
him strange and uncomfortable.
Mason turned into his library and placed the
candlestick on a table in the centre of the floor.
Then he drew up two chairs and sat down in one
of them motioning Allen to the other on the oppo-
site side of the table. The room was long and
empty, except for the rows of heavy book-cases
standing back in the darkness. The floor was
bare, and there was no furniture of any kind what-
ever, except the great table and the ancient high-
back chairs. There was no light but the candle
standing high in its silver candlestick.
"Sir," said Mason, when the Virginian had
seated himself, "which do you seek to evade,
punishment or dishonor?"
The Virginian turned round, put his elbows on
the table, and looked squarely across at his ques-
tioner. "I am not fool enough to care for the
bark," he answered, " provided the dog's teeth are
muzzled."
"It is well," said Mason, slowly, "there is often



218 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
is a very old man, to mortgage their property and
thereby secured the requisite bond. I entered
upon the duties of my office, and assumed entire
control of the revenues of the county. For a
time I managed them carefully and kept my pri-
vate business apart from that of the county. But
I had never been accustomed to strict business
methods, and I soon found it most difficult to con-
fine myself to them. Little by little I began to
lapse into my old habit of carelessness. I neglected
to keep up the settlements, and permitted the offi-
cial business to become intermixed with my private
accounts. The result was that I awoke one morn-
ing to find that I owed the county of Gullmore ten
thousand dollars. I began at once to calculate the
possibility of my being able to meet this deficit
before the expiration of my term of office, and
soon found that by no possible means would I be
able to raise this amount out of the remaining
fees. My gambling instincts at once asserted
themselves. I took five thousand dollars, went to
Lexington, and began to play the races in a vain,
reckless hope that I might win enough to square
my accounts. I lost from the very start. I came


220 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
roof and driven into the poor-house, and yet it
must come as certainly as the sun will rise to-
morrow."
The man's voice trembled now, and the flabby
muscles of his face quivered.
"In despair, I gathered up all the funds of the
county remaining in my hands and hurried to this
city. Here I went to the most reliable broker I
could find and through him plunged into specula-
tion. But all the devils in hell seemed to be fight-
ing for my ruin. I was caught in that dread and
unexpected crash of yesterday and lost everything.
Strange to say, when I realized that my ruin was
now complete, I felt a kind of exhilaration,—such,
I presume, as is said to come to men when they are
about to be executed. Standing in the very gap-
ing jaws of ruin, I have to-day been facetious,
even merry. Now, in the full glare of this hor-
rible matter, I scarcely remember what I have been
doing, or how I came to be here, except that this
morning in Wall Street I heard some one speak of
your ability, and I hunted up your address and came
without any well defined plan, and, if you will par-
don me, I will add that it was also without any hope."


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 221
The man stopped and seemed to settle back in
his chair in a great heap.
Randolph Mason arose and stood looking down
at the Virginian.
"Sir," said Mason, " none are ever utterly lost
but the weak. Answer my question."
The Virginian pulled himself together and
looked up.
"Is there any large fund," continued Mason,
"in the hands of the officers of your county?"
"My successor," said Allen, " has just collected
the amount of a levy ordered by the county court
for the purpose of paying the remainder due on
the court-house. He now has that fund in his
hands."
"When was the building erected ?" said Mason.
"It was built during the last year of my term of
office, and paid for in part out of levies ordered
while I was active sheriff. When my successor
came in there still remained due the contractors
on the work some thirty thousand dollars. A levy
was ordered by the court shortly before my term
expired, but the collection of this levy fell to the
coming officer, so this money is not in my hands,


222 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
although all the business up to this time has been
managed by me, and the other payments on the
building made from time to time out of moneys in
my hands, and I have been the chief manager
of the entire work and know more about it than
any one else. The new sheriff came into my
office a few days ago to inquire how he was to dis-
pose of this money."
Mason sat down abruptly. "Sir," he said al-
most bitterly, "there is not enough difficulty in
your matter to bother the cheapest intriguer in
Kings county. I had hoped that yours was a
problem of some gravity."
"I see," said the Virginian, sarcastically, "I am
to rob the sheriff of this money in such a manner
that it won't be known who received it, and square
my accounts. That would be very easy indeed.
I would have only to kill three men and break a
bank. Yes, that would be very easy. You might
as well tell me to have blue eyes."
"Sir," said Randolph Mason, slowly, "you are
the worst prophet unhung."
"Well," continued the man, " there can be no
other way, If it were turned over to me in my




224 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
IV.
"I suppose you are right about that," said
Jacob Wade, the newly elected sheriff of Gullmore
county, as he and Colonel Moseby Allen sat in
the office of that shrewd and courteous official.
"I suppose it makes no difference which one of us
takes this money and pays the contractors,—we
are both under good bonds, you know.''
"Certainly, Wade, certainly," put in the Colonel,
"your bond is as good as they can be made in
Gullmore county, and I mean no disrespect to the
Omnipotent Ruler of the Universe when I assert
that the whole kingdom of heaven could not give
a better bond than I have. You are right, Wade;
you are always right; you are away ahead of the
ringleaders of your party. I don't mind if I do
say so. Of course, I am on the other side, but it
was miraculous, I tell you, the way you swung your
forces into line in the last election. By all the limp-
ing gods of the calendar, we could not touch you!"
Colonel Moseby Allen leaned over and patted
his companion on the shoulder. "You are a sly
dog, Wade," he continued. "If it had not been for
you we would have beaten the bluebells of Scot-


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 227
the stump, and in the halls of legislation, and I
know a smooth man when I see him, and I honor
him, and stick to him out of pure love for his intel-
ligence and genius."
The Colonel arose. He now felt that his man
was in the proper humor to give ready assent to
the proposition which he had made, and he turned
back to it with careless indifference.
"Now, Jacob," he said lowering his voice, " this
is not all talk. You are a new officer, and I am an
old one. I am familiar with all the routine busi-
ness of the sheriffalty, and I am ready and willing
and anxious to give all the information that can
be of any benefit to you, and to do any and every-
thing in my power to make your term of office as
pleasant and profitable as it can be made. I am
wholly and utterly at your service, and want you
to feel that you are more than welcome to com-
mand me in any manner you see fit. By the way,
here is this matter that we were just discussing.
I am perfectly familiar with all that business. I
looked after the building for the county, collected
all the previous levies, and know all about the con-
tracts with the builders—just what is due each


228 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
one and just how the settlements are to be made,—
and I am willing to take charge of this fund and
settle the thing up. I suppose legally it is my
duty to attend to this work, as it is in the nature
of unfinished business of my term, but I could
have shifted the whole thing over on you and got-
ten out of the trouble of making the final settle-
ments with the contractors. The levy was ordered
during my term, but has been collected by you,
and on that ground I could have washed my hands
of the troublesome matter if I had been disposed
to be ugly. But I am not that kind of a man, Wade;
I am willing to shoulder my lawful duties, and wind
this thing up and leave your office clear and free
from any old matters."
Jacob Wade, sheriff of Gullmore county, was
now thoroughly convinced of two things. First,
that he himself was a shrewd politician, with an
intellect of almost colossal proportions, and second,
that Colonel Moseby Allen was a great and good
man, who was offering to do him a service out of
sheer kindness of heart.
He arose and seized Allen's hand. "I am
obliged to you, Colonel, greatly obliged to you,"


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 229
he said; "I don't know much about these matters
yet, and it will save me a deal of trouble if you
will allow me to turn this thing over to you, and
let you settle it up. I reckon from the standpoint
of law it is a part of your old business as sheriff."
"Yes," answered Allen, smiling broadly, "I
reckon it is, and I reckon I ought n't to shirk it."
"All right," said Wade, turning to leave the
office, " I 'll just hand the whole thing over to you
in the morning." Then he went out.
The ex-sheriff closed the door, sat down in his
chair, and put his feet on the table. "Well,
Moseby, my boy," he said, "that was dead easy.
The Honorable Jacob Wade is certainly the most
irresponsible idiot west of the Alleghany mountains.
He ought to have a committee,—yes, he ought to
have two committees, one to run him, and one to
run his business." Then he rubbed his hands
gleefully. "It is working like a greased clock,"
he chuckled, " and by the grace of God and the
Continental Congress, when this funeral procession
does finally start, it wont be Colonel Moseby Allen
of the county of Gullmore who will occupy the
hearse."




230 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
v.
The inhabitants of the city could never imagine
the vast interest aroused in the county of Gullmore
by the trial of Colonel Moseby Allen for embezzle-
ment. In all their quiet lives the good citizens had
not been treated to such a sweeping tidal wave of
excitement. The annual visits of the "greatest
show on earth" were scarcely able to fan the
interests of the countrymen into such a flame.
The news of Allen's arrest had spread through the
country like wildfire. Men had talked of nothing
else from the moment this startling information
had come to their ears. The crowds on Saturday
afternoons at the country store had constituted
themselves courts of first and last resort, and had
passed on the matter of the ex-sheriff's guilt at
great length and with great show of learning. The
village blacksmith had delivered ponderous opin-
ions while he shod the traveller's horse; and the
ubiquitous justice of the peace had demonstrated
time and again with huge solemnity that Moseby
Allen was a great criminal, and by no possible
means could be saved from conviction. It was
the general belief that the ex-sheriff would not


232 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
tinued the Oracle, "with that there young lawyer
man Edwards, I poked Lum Bozier in the side,
and told him to keep his eye skinned, and he
would see the fur fly, because I knowed that Sam
Lynch, the prosecutin' attorney, allowed to go fer
old Moseby, and Sam is a fire-eater, so he is, and
he aint afraid of nuthin that walks on legs. But,
Jerusalem! it war the tamest show that ever come
to this yer town. Edwards jest sot down and
lopped over like a weed, and Sam he begun, and
he showed up how old Moseby had planned this
here thing, and how he had lied to Jake Wade all
the way through, and jest how he got that there
money, and what an everlasting old rascal he was,
and there sot Edwards, and he never asked no
questions, and he never paid no attention to nuthin."
"Did n't the lawyer feller do nuthin at all,
Dunk?" enquired one of the audience, who had
evidently suffered the great misfortune of being
absent from the trial.
"No," answered the Oracle, with a bovine sneer,
"he never did nothin till late this evenin. Then
he untangled his legs and got up and said some-
thin to the jedge about havin to let old Moseby


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 235
was customary for the retiring sheriff to retain an
office in the court building after the installation
of his successor, and continue to attend to the un-
finished business of the county until all his settle-
ments had been made, and until all the matters
relating to his term of office had been finally wound
up and administered.
In accordance with this custom, Moseby Allen,
after the expiration of his term, had continued in
his office in a quasi-official capacity, in order to
collect back taxes and settle up all matters car-
ried over from his regular term.
It appeared that during Allen's term of office the
county had built a court-house, and had ordered
certain levies for the purpose of raising the ne-
cessary funds. The first of the levies had been
collected by Allen, and paid over by him to the
contractors, as directed by the county court. The
remaining levies had not been collected during his
term, but had been collected by the new sheriff
immediately after his installation. This money,
amounting to some thirty thousand dollars, had been
turned over to Allen upon his claim that it grew
out of the unfinished affairs of his term, and that,


236 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
therefore, he was entitled to its custody. He had
said to the new sheriff that the levy upon which it
had been raised was ordered during his term, and
the work for which it was to be paid all performed,
and the bonds of the county issued, while he was
active sheriff, and that he believed it was a part of
the matters which were involved in his final settle-
ments. Jacob Wade, then sheriff, believing that
Allen was in fact the proper person to rightly
administer this fund, and knowing that his
bond to the county was good and would cover
all his official affairs, had turned the entire fund
over to him, and paid no further attention to the
matter.
It appeared that, at the end of the year, Moseby
Allen had made all of his proper and legitimate
settlements fully and satisfactorily, and had ac-
counted to the proper authorities for every dollar
that had been collected by him during his term of
office, but had refused and neglected to account
for the money which he had received from Wade.
When approached upon the subject, he had said
plainly that he had used this money in unfortunate
speculations and could not return it. The man


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 237
had made no effort to check the storm of indigna-
tion that burst upon him ; he firmly refused to
discuss the matter, or to give any information in
regard to it. When arrested, he had expressed no
surprise, and had gone to the jail with the officer.
At the trial, his attorney had simply waited until
the evidence had been introduced, and had then
arisen and moved the court to direct a verdict of
not guilty, on the ground that Allen, upon the facts
shown, had committed no crime punishable under
the statutes of West Virginia.
The court had been strongly disposed to over-
rule this motion without stopping to consider it,
but the attorney had insisted that a memorandum
which he handed up would sustain his position,
and that without mature consideration the judge
ought not to force him into the superior court,
whereupon his Honor, Ephraim Haines, had taken
the matter under advisement until morning.
In the circuit court the question had been raised
that Allen's bond covered only those matters which
arose by virtue of his office, and that this fund was
not properly included. Whereupon the careful
judge of that court had adjourned to consider.


238 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
It was almost nine o'clock when the Honorable
Ephraim Haines walked into the library to consult
with his colleague of the civil court. He found
that methodical jurist seated before a pile of re-
ports, with his spectacles far out on the end of
his nose,—an indication, as the said Haines well
knew, that the said jurist had arrived at a decision,
and was now carefully turning it over in his mind
in order to be certain that it was in spirit and
truth the very law of the land.
"Well, Judge," said Haines, "have you flipped
the penny on it, and if so, who wins?"
The man addressed looked up from his book
and removed his spectacles. He was an angular
man, with a grave analytical face.
"It is not a question of who wins, Haines," he
answered; "it is a question of law. I was fairly
satisfied when the objection was first made, but I
wanted to be certain before I rendered my de-
cision. I have gone over the authorities, and there
is no question about the matter. The bondsmen
of Allen are not liable in this action."
"They are not!" said Haines, dropping his long
body down into a chair. "It is public money, and


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 239
the object of the bond is certainly to cover any
defalcations."
"This bond," continued the circuit judge, " pro-
vides for the faithful discharge, according to law,
of the duties of the office of sheriff during his
continuance in said office. Moseby Allen ceased
to be sheriff of this county the day his successor
was installed, and on that day this bond ceased to
cover his acts. This money was handed over by
the lawful sheriff to a man who was not then an
officer of this county. Moseby Allen had no legal
right to the custody of this money. His duties
as sheriff had ceased, his official acts had all
determined, and there was no possible way where-
by he could then perform an official act that would
render his bondsmen liable. The action pending
must be dismissed. The present sheriff, Wade, is
the one responsible to the county for this money.
His only recourse is an action of debt, or assump-
sit, against Allen individually, and as Allen is
notoriously insolvent, Wade and his bondsmen
will have to make up this deficit."
"Well," said Haines, "that is hard luck."
"No," answered the judge, "it is not luck at


240 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
all, it is law. Wade permitted himself to be the
dupe of a shrewd knave, and he must bear the
consequences."
"You can depend upon it," said the Honorable
Ephraim Haines, criminal judge by a political
error, " that old Allen won't get off so easy with
me. The jury will convict him, and I will land
him for the full term."
"I was under the impression," said the circuit
judge, gravely, " that a motion had been made in
your court to direct an acquittal on the ground
that no crime had been committed."
"It was," said Haines, "but of course it was
made as a matter of form, and there is nothing
in it."
"Have you considered it?"
"What is the use? It is a fool motion."
"Well," continued the judge, " this matter comes
up from your court to mine on appeal, and you
should be correct in your ruling. What authori-
ties were cited?"
"Here is the memorandum," said the criminal
judge, " you can run down the cases if you want
to, but I know it is no use. The money belonged


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 24I
to the county and old Allen embezzled it,—that
is admitted."
To this the circuit judge did not reply. He
took the memorandum which Randolph Mason
had prepared for Allen, and which the local
attorney had submitted, and turned to the cases
of reports behind him. He was a hard-working,
conscientious man, and not least among his vexa-
tious cares were the reckless decisions of the
Honorable Ephraim Haines.
The learned judge of the criminal court put his
feet on the table and began to whistle. When at
length wearied of this intellectual diversion, he
concentrated all the energy of his mammoth facul-
ties on the highly cultured pastime of sharpening
his penknife on the back of the Code.
At length the judge of the circuit court came
back to the table, sat down, and adjusted his spec-
tacles. "Haines," he said slowly, " you will have
to sustain that motion."
"What!" cried the Honorable Ephraim, bring-
ing the legs of his chair down on the floor with
a bang.
"That motion," continued the judge, " must be
16


242 THE SHERIFF OF GULI.MORE.
sustained. Moseby Allen has committed no crime
under the statutes of West Virginia."
"Committed no crime!" almost shouted the
criminal jurist, doubling his long legs up under
his chair, " why, old Allen admits that he got this
money and spent it. He says that he converted
it to his own use ; that it was not his money ; that
it belonged to the county. The evidence of the
State shows that he cunningly induced Wade to
turn this money over to him, saying that his bond
was good, and that he was entitled to the custody
of the fund. The old rascal secured the posses-
sion of this money by trickery, and kept it, and
now you say he has committed no crime. How
in Satan's name do you figure it out?"
"Haines," said the judge, gravely, " I don't figure
it out. The law cannot be figured out. It is cer-
tain and exact. It describes perfectly what wrongs
are punishable as crimes, and exactly what ele-
ments must enter into each wrong in order to make
it a crime. All right of discretion is taken from
the trial court; the judge must abide by the law,
and the law decides matters of this nature in no
uncertain terms."



244 THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE.
county, district, school district or municipal cor-
poration thereof, or of any incorporated bank or
other corporation, or any officer of public trust in
this State, or any agent, clerk or servant of such
officer of public trust, or any agent, clerk or ser-
vant of any firm or person, or company or asso-
ciation of persons not incorporated, embezzle or
fraudulently convert to his own use, bullion,
money, bank notes or other security for money,
or any effects or property of another person which
shall have come to his possession, or been placed
under his care or management, by virtue of his
office, place or employment, he shall be guilty of
larceny thereof.'
"This is the statute describing the offence sought
to be charged. All such statutes must be strictly
construed. Applying these requisites of the crime
to the case before us, we find that Allen cannot
be convicted, for the reason that at the time this
money was placed in his hands he was not sheriff
of Gullmore county, nor was he in any sense its
agent, clerk, or servant. And, second, if he could
be said to continue an agent, clerk, or servant
of this county, after the expiration of his term,


THE SHERIFF OF GULLMORE. 245
he would continue such agent, clerk, or servant
for the purpose only of administering those mat-
ters which might be said to lawfully pertain to
the unfinished business of his office. This fund
was in no wise connected with such unfinished
affairs, and by no possible construction could
he be said to be an agent, clerk, or servant of
this county for the purpose of its distribution or
custody. Again, in order to constitute such em-
bezzlement, the money must have come into his
possession by virtue of his office. This could not
be, for the reason that he held no office. His time
had expired; Jacob Wade was sheriff, and the
moment Jacob Wade was installed, Allen's official
capacity determined, and he became a private
citizen, with only the rights and liabilities of such
a citizen.
"Nor is he guilty of larceny, for the very evident
reason that the proper custodian, Wade, voluntarily
placed this money in his hands, and he received it
under a bona fide color of right."
The Honorable Ephraim Haines arose, and
brought his ponderous fist down violently on the
table. "By the Eternal!" he said, "this is the


VII.
THE ANIMUS FURANDI
[See the case of State vs. Brown et al., 104 Mo., 365 ; the
strange case of Reuben Deal, 64 N. C, 270; also on all
fours with the facts here involved, see Thompson vs. Com-
monwealth, 18 S. W. Rept., 1022 ; and the very recent case
of The People vs. Hughes, 39 Pacific Rept., 492; also Rex
vs. Hall, Bodens case, and others there cited, 2 Russell on
Crimes.]
249


THE ANIMUS FURANDI
I.
"T AM tired of your devilish hints, why can't
1 you come out with it, man?" The speaker
was half angry.
Parks leaned forward on the table, his face was
narrow and full of cunning. "Mystery is your
long suit, Hogarth, I compliment you."
"You tire me," said the man ; " if you have any
reason for bringing me here at this hour of the
night I want to know it."
"Would I be here in the office at two o'clock in
the morning, with a detective and without a rea-
son? Listen, I will be plain with you. I must
get Mr. Mason out of New York; he is going
rapidly, and unless he gets a sea-voyage and a
change of country he will be in the mad-house.
He is terribly thin and scarcely sleeps any more at
all. No human being can imagine what a monster
251



252 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
he is to manage, or in what an infinitely difficult
position I have been placed. When we came here
from Paris, after the unfortunate collapse of the
canal syndicate, the situation that confronted me
was of the most desperate character. Mr. Mason
was practically a bankrupt. He had spent his en-
tire fortune in a mighty effort to right the syndi-
cate, and would have succeeded if it had not been
for the treachery of some of the French officials.
He had been absent so long from New York that
his law practice was now entirely lost, and, worst of
all, this mysterious tilt of his mind would render
it utterly impossible for him ever to regain his
clientage. For a time I was in despair. Mr.
Mason was, of course, utterly oblivious to the situ-
ation, and there was no one with whom I could
advise, even if I dared attempt it. When every-
thing failed in Paris, Mr. Mason collapsed, physi-
cally. He was in the hospital for months; when
he came out, his whole nature was wrenched into
this strange groove, although his mind was appar-
ently as keen and powerful as ever and his won-
derful faculties unimpaired. He seemed now
possessed by this one idea, that all the difficulties


THE ANIMUS FURANDI. 253
of men were problems and that he could solve
them.
"A few days after we landed in New York, I
wandered into the court-house; a great criminal
had been apprehended and was being tried for a
desperate crime. I sat down and listened. As the
case developed, it occurred to ine that the man had
botched his work fearfully, and that if he could
have had Mr. Mason plan his crime for him he
need never have been punished. Then the inspira-
tion came. Why not turn this idea of Mr. Mason
to account?
"I knew that the city was filled with shrewd,
desperate men, who feared nothing under high
heaven but the law, and were willing to take des-
perate chances with it. I went to some of them
and pointed out the mighty aid that I could give;
they hooted at the idea, and said that crime was
crime and the old ways were the best ways."
Parks paused and looked up at the detective.
"They have since changed their minds," he added.
"What did Mr. Mason think of your method of
securing clients ?" said Hogarth.
"That was my greatest difficulty," continued



254 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
Parks. "I resorted to every known trick in order
to prevent him from learning how the men hap-
pened to come to him, and so far I have been
successful. He has never suspected me, and has
steadily believed that those who came to him with
difficulties were attracted by his great reputation.
By this means, Mr. Mason has made vast sums of
money, but what he has done with it is a mystery.
I have attempted to save what I could, but I have
not enough for this extended trip to the south of
France. Now, do you understand me?"
"Yes," answered the detective, " you want to
find where his money is hidden."
"No," said Parks, with a queer smile, " I am
not seeking impossible ventures. What Randolph
Mason chooses to make a mystery will remain so
to the end of time, all the detectives on the earth
to the contrary."
"What do you want, then?" asked Hogarth,
doggedly.
Parks drew his chair nearer to the man and low-
ered his voice. "My friend," he said, " this recent
change in the administration of the city has thrown
you out on your uppers. Your chief is gone for


256 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
our heads at fortune and snap our fingers at the
law."
"How?" asked the detective. The door had
broken and swung in.
"I will tell you," said Parks, placing his hand
confidentially on the man's shoulder. "Mr. Mason
has a plan. I know it, because yesterday he was
walking up Broadway, apparently oblivious to
everything. Suddenly his face cleared up, and he
stopped and snapped his fingers. 'Good !' he said,
'a detective could do it, and it would be child
play, child play,'"
Hogarth's countenance fell. "Is that all ?" he
said.
"All !" echoed Parks, bringing his hand down
on the table. "Isn't that enough,man? You don't
know Randolph Mason. If he has apian by which
a detective can make a haul, it is good, do you
hear, and it goes."
"What does this mean, Parks?" said a voice.
The little clerk sprang up and whirled round.
In his vehemence he had not noticed the door-way.
Randolph Mason stood in the shadow. He was
thin and haggard, his face was shrunken and un-
shaven, and he looked worn and exhausted.



258 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
Parks paused, and glanced at Hogarth, the kind
of glance that obtains among criminals when they
mean, " back up the lie."
The detective buried his face in his hands.
"The discretion of Fate is superb," said Mason.
"She strikes always the vulnerable spot. She gives
wealth if one does not need it; fame, if one
does not care for it; and drives in the harpoon
where the heart is."
"The strange thing about it all, sir," continued
Parks, "is that Mr. Hogarth has been a detective
all his life and now is a member of the Atlantic
Agency. It looks like the trailed thing turning
on him."
"A detective!" said Mason, sharply. "Ah,
there is the open place, and there we will force
through."
The whole appearance of the man changed in
an instant. He straightened up, and his face
lighted with interest. He drew up a chair and sat
down at the table, and there, in the chill dark of
that November morning, he unfolded the daring
details of his cross-plot, and the men beside him
stared in wonder.


THE ANIMUS FURANDI. 259
II.
About one o'clock on Thursday afternoon, Wil-
liam Walson, manager of the great Oceanic Coal
Company, stepped out of the Fairmont Banking
House in the Monongahela mining regions of West
Virginia. It was pay-day at his mine, and he car-
ried a black leather satchel in his hand containing
twenty thousand dollars in bills. At this time the
gigantic plant of this company was doing an enor-
mous business. The labor unions of the vast Penn-
sylvania coal regions were out on the bitterest and
most protracted strike of all history. The West
Virginia operators were moving the heavens in
order to supply the market; every man who could
hold a pick was at work under the earth day and
night.
The excitement was something undreamed of.
The region was overrun with straggling workmen,
tramps, "hobos," and the scum criminals of the
cities, and was transformed as if by magic into
a hunting-ground where the keen human ferret
stalked the crook and the killer with that high
degree of care and patience which obtains only
with the man-hunter.


THE ANIMUS FURANDI. 261
bridle. Walson started and looked up. As he did
so the stranger covered him with a revolver and
bade him put up his hands and get out of the
buck-board. The coal dealer saw in a moment
that the highwayman meant what he said, and
that resistance would be folly. He concluded also
that he was confronted by one of the many toughs
at large in the neighborhood, and that the fellow's
intention was simply to rob him of his personal
effects and such money as he might have in his
pockets; it was more than probable that the man
before him had no knowledge of the money hidden
under the seat and would never discover it.
"Tie your horse, sir," said the highwayman.
Walson loosed the hitch strap and fastened the
horse to a small tree by the roadside.
"Turn your back to me," said the robber, " and
put out your hands behind you." The coal dealer
obeyed, thinking that the fellow was now going
through his pockets. To his surprise and aston-
ishment the man came up close behind him and
snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.
"What do you mean by this?" cried Walson,
whirling round on his heels.


262 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
The big man with the revolver grinned. "You
will find out soon enough," he said. "Move along,
the walking is good."
William Walson was utterly at sea. He could not
understand why this man should kidnap him, and
start back with him to the town. What could the
highwayman possibly mean by this queer move?
At any rate it was evident that he had no knowl-
edge of the money, and Walson reasoned shrewdly
that, if he remained quiet and submissive, the vast
sum in the buck-board would escape the notice of
this erratic thief.
The two men walked along in silence for some
time; the highwayman was big, with keen gray
eyes and a shrewd face; he seemed curiously
elated. When the two came finally to the brow of
the hill overlooking the town, Walson stopped and
turned to his strange captor ; he was now convinced
that the fellow was a lunatic.
"Sir," he said, " what in Heaven's name are you
trying to do?"
"Introduce you to your fellows in Sing Sing, my
friend," answered the highwayman. "The gang
will be glad to welcome Red Lead Jim."


THE ANIMUS FURANDI. 267
asked his theory of the robbery, he said that the
first impression of the people was undoubtedly
correct, that the country was full of wandering
gangs of desperate blacklegs, that the money being
in paper was perhaps destroyed by the fire and not
discovered at all by the thugs in their malicious
and drunken deviltry.
The board of directors were not inclined to cen-
sure Hogarth, suggesting that after all he had per-
haps saved the life of William Walson, as it was
evident that the drunken " hobos " would have mur-
dered him if he had been present when they
chanced upon the horse and buck-board. Never-
theless, the detective seemed utterly prostrated
over the great loss that had resulted from his un-
fortunate mistake, and left for New York on the
first train.
III.
The following night two men stepped from the
train at Jersey City and turned down towards the
ferry. For a time they walked along in silence;
suddenly the big one turned to his companion.
"Parks," he said, " you are a lightning operator,



268 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
my boy, you should play the mob in a Roman
drama."
"I fixed the ' hobo ' evidence all right, Hogarth,"
answered the other, "and I have not forgotten the
trust fund," whereupon he winked at his big com-
panion and tapped on the breast of his coat sig-
nificantly.
The detective's face lighted up and then grew
anxious. "Well," he said, lowering his voice,
"are we going to try the other end of it?"
"Why not ?" answered the little clerk. "Don't
we need the trust fund doubled?"
IV.
The great gambling house of Morehead, Opstein,
& Company was beginning to be deserted by the
crowd that had tempted the fickle goddess all night
long to their great hurt. It was now four o'clock
in the morning, and only one or two of the more
desperate losers hung on to play. Snakey the
Parson, a thin delicate knave, with along innocent,
melancholy face, was dealing faro for the house.
"Snakey" was a "special" in the parlance of
the guild; his luck was known to come in "bliz-


270 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
The dealer looked up in astonishment. "Ten
thousand !" he said.
"Yep," answered the old man, " an I want ter
bet hit on the jack er spades."
The dealer pushed a stack of yellow chips
across the table.
"No, siree," said the player, " you don't give me
no buttons. I' 11 put my pile on this side and you
put your pile on t'other side, and the winner takes
'em."
Snakey the Parson wavered a moment. It was
against the rules, but here was too good a thing to
lose. He turned, counted out the money, and
placed it on his right, and began to deal from the
box. The cards fell rapidly. For a time the
blacks ran on the side of the house. Suddenly
they changed and the queen and the ten of spades
fell on the left. The dealer saw the card under
his thumb and paused. The keen eyes of the old
man were fixed on him. He determined to take
the long chance, knowing that the loss was only
temporary; and the jack of spades came up and
fell on the side of the stranger.
With a whoop of joy the old man clutched the


272 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
took the money and piled it up on the ace of
spades.
The dealer's face grew pensive and sweet; it
was all right this time; he was going to round
off the night with a golden coup d1 e'tal. He opened
the safe behind him, counted out twenty thousand
in big bills, and piled it up on one side of the bank.
Then he opened the box and began. The old man
wandered around the room; the big, half-drunken
cattle-shipper hung over the table. Snakey, the
Parson scarcely saw either; he was intent on ma-
nipulating the box, and his hand darted in and out
like a white snake. Suddenly the ace of spades
flew out, and fell on the side of the house. The
quick dealer clapped his left hand over the box
and put out his right for the player's money. As
he did so, the big drover bent forward and thrust
a revolver into his face.
"No, you don't," he growled, "this is my money
and I will not leave it, thank you."
Snakey the Parson glanced at the man and knew
that he had been fooled, but he was composed and
clear-headed. Under the box on the right were
weapons and the electric button; he began to take
his right hand slowly from the table.


274 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
1
Snakey the Parson touched the electric button, i
and as the drover rushed into the street, two police-
men caught him by the shoulder.
v
"Well," said the Police Chief, " I am tired of
making an ass of myself; Mr. Mason says this cat-
tle drover has committed no crime except a petty
assault, and if he is right, I want to know it. That
man beats the very devil. Every time I have sent
up a case against his protest the judges have pitched
me out on my neck, and the thing has got to be
cursedly monotonous."
The District Attorney smiled grimly, and turned
around in his chair. "Have you given me all the
details?" he said.
"Yes," answered the official, "just exactly as
they occurred."
The District Attorney arose, thrust his hands into
his pockets, and looked down at the great man-
hunter; there was a queer set to his mouth, and the
merest shadow of a twinkle in his eyes.
"Well, my friend," he said, "you are pitched
out on your neck again."


278 THE ANIMUS FURANDI.
possession by the full voluntary consent of the
dealer some time before the resort to violence.
There was clearly no crime in this."
"Damn it all!" said the Police Chief, wearily,
"is there no way to get at him, can't we railroad
him before a jury?"
The District Attorney looked at the baffled offi-
cer and grinned ominously. "My friend," he said,
"there is no power in Venice can alter a decree
established. The courts have time and again
passed upon cases exactly similar to this, and have
held that there was no crime, except, perhaps, a
petty misdemeanor. We could not weather a pro-
ceeding on habeas corpus ten minutes; we could
never get to a jury. When the judge came to exam-
ine the decisions on this question we would go out,
as you expressed it, on our necks."
"Well," muttered the Police Chief, as he pulled
on his coat, " it is just as Randolph Mason said, out
he goes."
The attorney laughed and turned to his desk.
The officer crossed to the door, jerked it open,
then stopped and faced round. "Mr. District
Attorney," he said, " won't there be hell to pay



28o THE ANIMUS FURANDJ.
"Pirks," he muttered,—" Parks, this ship is worth
a million dollars. Come with me to the cabin and
I will show you how it may be wrested from the
owners and no crime committed; do you under-
stand me, Parks? no crime!"
Note.—For the purpose of a complete demonstration, two
situations are here combined. In the first, the crime of
robbery was committed, but in such a manner as to com-
pletely evade an inference of the animus furandi, although
it was in fact present and obtained. In the second, there
was no robbery, the animus furandi being entirely absent,
although it apparently existed in a conspicuous degree.
THE END.
,