MCALLISTER AND 
 HIS DOUBLE 
 
 BNTV. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS
 
 "Throw up your hands!"
 
 MCALLISTER 
 
 AND HIS DOUBLE 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR TRAIN 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK ::::::: 1909
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 
 Published, September, 1905
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MCALLISTER S CHRISTMAS i 
 
 THE BARON DE VILLE 53 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF WILKINS 77 
 
 THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL S TRUNK . . . .113 
 
 THE GOLDEN TOUCH 141 
 
 MCALLISTER S DATA OF ETHICS 177 
 
 MCALLISTER S MARRIAGE 205 
 
 THE JAILBIRD 233 
 
 IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE 255 
 
 THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND 283 
 
 EXTRADITION 311 
 
 2133193
 
 MCALLISTER S CHRISTMAS
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 MCALLISTER was out of sorts. All the 
 afternoon he had sat in the club window 
 and watched the Christmas shoppers hurrying by 
 with their bundles. He thanked God he had no 
 brats to buy moo-cows and bow-wows for. The 
 very nonchalance of these victims of a fate that 
 had given them families irritated him. McAllis 
 ter was a clubman, pure and simple ; that is to say 
 though neither simple nor pure, he was a clubman 
 and nothing more. He had occupied the same 
 seat by the same window during the greater part 
 of his earthly existence, and they were the same 
 seat and window that his father had filled before 
 him. His select and exclusive circle called him 
 " Chubby," and his five-and-forty years of terra 
 pin and cocktails had given him a graceful rotund 
 ity of person that did not belie the name. They 
 had also endowed him with a cheerful though 
 somewhat florid countenance, and a permanent 
 sense of well-being. 
 
 3
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 As the afternoon wore on and the pedestrians 
 became fewer, McAllister sank deeper and deeper 
 into gloom. The club was deserted. Every 
 body had gone out of town to spend Christmas 
 with someone else, and the Winthrops, on whom 
 he had counted for a certainty, had failed for some 
 reason to invite him. He had waited confidently 
 until the last minute, and now he was stranded, 
 alone. 
 
 It began to snow softly, gently. McAllister 
 threw himself disconsolately into a leathern arm 
 chair by the smouldering logs on the six-foot 
 hearth. A servant in livery entered, pulled down 
 the shades, and after touching a button that threw 
 a subdued radiance over the room, withdrew 
 noiselessly. 
 
 " Come back here, Peter! " growled McAllis 
 ter. " Anybody in the club? " 
 
 " Only Mr. Tomlinson, sir." 
 
 McAllister swore under his breath. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Peter. 
 
 McAllister shot a quick glance at him. 
 
 " I didn t say anything. You may go." 
 
 This time Peter got almost to the door. 
 
 " Er Peter; ask Mr. Tomlinson if he will dine 
 with me." 
 
 Peter presently returned with the intelligence 
 that Mr. Tomlinson would be delighted. 
 
 4
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " Of course," grumbled McAllister to himself. 
 " No one ever knew Tomlinson to refuse any 
 thing." 
 
 He ordered dinner, and then took up an evening 
 paper in which an effort had been made to conceal 
 the absence of news by summarizing the achieve 
 ments of the past year. Staring head-lines invited 
 his notice to 
 
 A YEAR OF PROGRESS. 
 
 What the Tenement-House Commission 
 Has Accomplished. 
 
 FURTHER NEED OF PRISON REFORM. 
 
 He threw down the paper in disgust. This re 
 form made him sick. Tenements and prisons! 
 Why were the papers always talking about tene 
 ments and prisons? They were a great deal bet 
 ter than the people who lived in them deserved. 
 He recalled Wilkins, his valet, who had stolen his 
 black pearl scarf-pin. It increased his ill-humor. 
 Hang Wilkins! The thief was probably out by 
 this time and wearing the pin. It had been a 
 matter of jest among his friends that the servant 
 had looked not unlike his master. McAllister 
 winced at the thought. 
 
 " Dinner is served," said Peter. 
 5
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 An hour and a half later, Tomlinson and Mc 
 Allister, having finished a sumptuous repast, stared 
 stupidly at each other across their liqueurs. They 
 were stuffed and bored. Tomlinson was a thin 
 man who knew everything positively. McAllister 
 hated him. He always felt when in his company 
 like the woman who invariably answered her hus 
 band s remarks by " Tain t so! It s just the op 
 posite! " Tomlinson was trying to make conver 
 sation by repeating assertively what he had read 
 in the evening press. 
 
 " Now, our prisons," he announced authorita 
 tively. " Why, it is outrageous ! The people are 
 crowded in like cattle ; the food is loathsome. It s 
 a disgrace to a civilized city ! " 
 
 This was the last straw to McAllister. 
 
 " Look here," he snapped back at Tomlinson, 
 who shrank behind his cigar at the vehemence of 
 the attack, "what do you know about it? I tell 
 you it s all rot ! It s all politics ! Our tenements 
 are all right, and so are our prisons. The law of 
 supply and demand regulates the tenements; and 
 who pays for the prisons, I d like to know? We 
 pay for em, and the scamps that rob us live in em 
 for nothing. The Tombs is a great deal better 
 than most second-class hotels on the Continent. I 
 know! I had a valet once that Oh, what s 
 the use I I d be glad to spend Christmas in no 
 
 6
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 worse place. Reform ! Stuff ! Don t tell me ! " 
 He sank back purple in the face. 
 
 " Oh, of course if you know!" Tomlinson 
 hesitated politely, remembering that McAllister 
 had signed for the dinner. 
 
 " Well, I do know," affirmed McAllister. 
 
 II 
 
 "No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" rang out the 
 bells, as McAllister left the club at twelve o clock 
 and started down the avenue. 
 
 " No-el! No-el! " hummed McAllister. " Pretty 
 old air! " he thought. He had almost forgotten 
 that it was Christmas morning. As he felt his way 
 gingerly over the stone sidewalks, the bells were 
 ringing all around him. First one chime, then 
 another. " No-el ! No-el ! No-el ! No-el !" They 
 ceased, leaving the melody floating on the moist 
 night air. 
 
 The snow began to fall irregularly in patchy 
 flakes, then gradually turned to rain. First a soft, 
 wet mist, that dimmed the electric lights and 
 shrouded the hotel windows; then a fine sprinkle; 
 at last the chill rain of a winter s night. McAllis 
 ter turned up his coat-collar and looked about for 
 a cab. It was too late. He hurried hastily down 
 the avenue. Soon a welcome sight met his eye a 
 
 7.
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 coupe, a night-hawk, crawling slowly down the 
 block, on the lookout, no doubt, for belated Christ 
 mas revellers. Without superfluous introduction 
 McAllister made a dive for the door, shouted his 
 address, and jumped inside. The driver, but half- 
 roused from his lethargy, muttered something un 
 intelligible and pulled in his horse. At the same 
 moment the dark figure of a man swiftly emerged 
 from a side street, ran up to the cab, opened the 
 door, threw in a heavy object upon McAllister s 
 feet, and followed it with himself. 
 
 " Let her go ! " he cried, slamming the door. 
 The driver, without hesitation, lashed his horse 
 and started at a furious gallop down the slippery 
 avenue. 
 
 Then for the first time the stranger perceived 
 McAllister. There was a muttered curse, a gleam 
 of steel as they flashed by a street-lamp, and the 
 clubman felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against 
 his cheek. 
 
 " Speak, and I ll blow yer head off ! " 
 
 The cab swayed and swerved in all directions, 
 and the driver retained his seat with difficulty. 
 McAllister, clinging to the sides of the rocking 
 vehicle, expected every moment to be either shot 
 or thrown out and killed. 
 
 " Don t move ! " hissed his companion. 
 
 McAllister tried with difficulty not to move. 
 8
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 Suddenly there came a shrill whistle, followed 
 by the clatter of hoofs. A figure on horseback 
 dashed by. The driver, endeavoring to rein in 
 his now maddened beast, lost his balance and 
 pitched overboard. There was a confusion of 
 shouts, a blue flash, a loud report. The horse 
 sprang into the air and fell, kicking, upon the pave 
 ment ; the cab crashed upon its side ; amid a shower 
 of glass the door parted company with its hinges, 
 and the stranger, placing his heel on McAllister s 
 stomach, leaped quickly into the darkness. A 
 moment later, having recovered a part of his scat 
 tered senses, our hero, thrusting himself through 
 the shattered framework of the cab, staggered to 
 his feet. He remembered dimly afterward having 
 expected to create a mild sensation among the spec 
 tators by announcing, in response to their polite 
 inquiries as to his safety, that he was " quite un 
 injured." Instead, however, the glare of a police 
 man s lantern was turned upon his dishevelled 
 countenance, and a hoarse voice shouted : 
 Throw up your hands ! " 
 
 He threw them up. Like the Phoenix rising 
 from its ashes, McAllister emerged from the 
 debris which surrounded him. On either side of 
 the cab he beheld a policeman with a levelled 
 revolver. A mounted officer stood sentinel beside 
 the smoking body of the horse. 
 
 9
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " No tricks, now ! " continued the voice. " Pull 
 your feet out of that mess, and keep your hands 
 up ! Slip on the nippers, Tom. Better go 
 through him here. They always manage to 
 lose somethin goin over." 
 
 McAllister wondered where " Over " was. 
 Before he could protest, he was unceremoniously 
 seated upon the body of the dead horse and the 
 officers were going rapidly through his clothes. 
 
 Thought so ! " muttered Tom, as he drew out 
 of McAllister s coat-pocket a revolver and a 
 jimmy. Just as well to unballast em at the 
 start." A black calico mask and a small bottle 
 filled with a colorless liquid followed. 
 
 Tom drew a quick breath. 
 
 "So you re one of those, are ye?" he added 
 with an oath. 
 
 The victim of this astounding adventure had 
 not yet spoken. Now he stammered: 
 
 " Look here ! Who do you think I am ? This 
 is all a mistake." 
 
 Tom did not deign to reply. 
 
 The officer on horseback had dismounted and 
 was poking among the pieces of cab. 
 
 " What s this here? " he inquired, as he dragged 
 a large bundle covered with black cloth into the 
 circle of light, and, untying a bit of cord, poured 
 its contents upon the pavement. A glittering sil- 
 
 10
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 ver service rolled out upon the asphalt and reflected 
 the glow of the lanterns. 
 
 " Gee! look at all the swag! " cried Tom. " I 
 wonder where he melts it up." 
 
 Faintly at first, then nearer and nearer, came 
 the harsh clanging of the " hurry up " wagon. 
 
 " Get up ! " directed Tom, punctuating his order 
 with mild kicks. Then, as the driver reined up 
 the panting horses alongside, the officer grabbed 
 his prisoner by the coat-collar and yanked him to 
 his feet. 
 
 " Jump in," he said roughly. 
 
 " My God ! " exclaimed our friend half-aloud, 
 " where are they going to take me? " 
 
 " To the Tombs for Christmas ! " answered 
 Tom. 
 
 Ill 
 
 McAllister, hatless, stumbled into the wagon 
 and was thrust forcibly into a corner. Above the 
 steady drum of the rain upon the waterproof cover 
 he could hear the officers outside packing up the 
 silverware and discussing their capture. 
 
 The hot japanned tin of the wagon-lamps 
 smelled abominably. The heavy breathing of the 
 horses, together with the sickening odor of rubber 
 and damp straw, told him that this was no dream, 
 but a frightful reality. 
 
 ii
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " He s a bad un! " came Tom s voice in tones 
 of caution. You can see his lay is the gen 
 tleman racket. Wait till he gets to the precinct 
 and hear the steer he ll give the sergeant. He s 
 a wise un, and don t you forget it! " 
 
 As the wagon started, the officers swung on to 
 the steps behind. McAllister, crouching in the 
 straw by the driver s seat, tried to understand what 
 had happened. Apart from a few bruises and a 
 cut on his forehead he had escaped injury, and, 
 while considerably shaken up, was physically little 
 the worse for his adventure. His head, however, 
 ached badly. What he suffered from most was a 
 new and strange sensation of helplessness. It was 
 as if he had stepped into another world, in which 
 he McAllister, of the Colophon Club did not 
 belong and the language of which he did not speak. 
 The ignominy of his position crushed him. Never 
 again, should this disgrace become known, could 
 he bring himself to enter the portals of the club. 
 To be the hero of an exciting adventure with a 
 burglar in a runaway cab was one matter, but to 
 be arrested, haled to prison and locked up, was 
 quite another. Once before the proper authori 
 ties, it would be simple enough to explain who and 
 what he was, but the question that troubled him 
 was how to avoid publicity. He remembered the 
 bills in his pocket. Fortunately they were still 
 
 12
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 there. In spite of the handcuffs, he wormed them 
 out and surreptitiously held up the roll. The 
 guard started visibly, and, turning away his head, 
 allowed McAllister to thrust the wad into his 
 hand. 
 
 "Can t I square this, somehow?" whispered 
 our hero, hesitatingly. 
 
 The guard broke into a loud guffaw. " Get on 
 to him ! " he laughed. " He s at it already, Tom. 
 Look at the dough he took out of his pants! 
 You re right about his lay." He turned fiercely 
 upon McAllister, who, dazed by this sudden turn 
 of affairs, once more retreated into his corner. 
 
 The three officers counted the money ostenta 
 tiously by the light of a lantern. 
 
 " Eighty plunks ! Thought we was cheap, 
 didn t he?" remarked the guard scornfully. 
 " No; eighty plunks won t square this job for you I 
 It ll take nearer eight years. No more monkey 
 business, now! You ve struck the wrong com 
 bine!" 
 
 McAllister saw that he had been guilty of a ter 
 rible faux pas. Any explanation to these officers 
 was clearly impossible. With an official it would 
 be different. He had once met a police commis 
 sioner at dinner, and remembered that he had 
 seemed really almost like a gentleman. 
 
 The wagon drew up at a police station, and pres- 
 13
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 ently McAllister found himself in a small room, 
 at one end of which iron bars ran from floor to 
 ceiling. A kerosene lamp cast a dim light over a 
 weather-beaten desk, behind which, half-asleep, re 
 clined an officer on night duty. A single other 
 chair and four large octagonal stone receptacles 
 were the only remaining furniture. 
 
 The man behind the desk opened his eyes, 
 yawned, and stared stupidly at the officers. A 
 clock directly overhead struck " one " with harsh, 
 vibrant clang. 
 
 " Wot yer got? " inquired the sergeant. 
 
 " A second-story man," answered the guard. 
 
 " He took to a cab," explained Tom, " and him 
 and his partner give us a fierce chase down the ave- 
 noo. O Halloran shot the horse, and the cab was 
 all knocked to hell. The other fellow clawed out 
 before we could nab him. But we got this one 
 all right" 
 
 " Hi, there, McCarthy! " shouted the sergeant 
 to someone in the dim vast beyond. " Come and 
 open up." He examined McAllister with a de 
 gree of interest. " Quite a swell guy! " he com 
 mented. " Them dress clothes must have been 
 real pretty onc t." 
 
 McAllister stood with soaked and rumpled hair, 
 hatless and collarless, his coat torn and splashed, 
 and his shirt-bosom bloody and covered with mud. 
 
 14
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 He wanted to cry, for the first time in thirty-five 
 years. 
 
 ;< Wot s yer name? " asked the sergeant. 
 
 The prisoner remained stiffly mute. He would 
 have suffered anything rather than disclose him 
 self. 
 
 "Where do yer live?" 
 
 Still no answer. The sergeant gave vent to a 
 grim laugh. 
 
 " Mum, eh? " He scribbled something in the 
 blotter upon the desk before him. Then he raised 
 his eyes and scrutinized McAllister s face. Sud 
 denly he jumped to his feet. 
 
 " Well, of all the luck! " he exclaimed. " Do 
 you know who you ve caught? It s Fatty 
 Welch!" 
 
 IV 
 
 How he had managed to live through the night 
 that followed McAllister could never afterward 
 understand. Locked in a cell, alone, to be sure, 
 but with no light, he took off his dripping coat and 
 threw himself on the wooden seat that served 
 for a bed. It was about six inches too short. 
 He lay there for a few moments, then got 
 wearily to his feet and began to pace up and 
 down the narrow cell. His legs and abdomen, 
 which had been the recipients of so much attention, 
 
 15
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 pained him severely. The occupant of the next 
 apartment, awakened by our friend s arrival, began 
 to show irritation. He ordered McAllister in no 
 gentle language to abstain from exercise and go to 
 sleep. A woman farther down the corridor com 
 menced to moan drearily to herself. Evidently 
 sleep had made her forget her sorrow, but now in 
 the middle of the night it came back to her with 
 redoubled force. Her groans racked McAllister s 
 heart. A stir ran all along the cells sounds of 
 people tossing restlessly, curses, all the nameless 
 noises of the jail. McAllister, fearful of bring 
 ing some new calamity upon his head, sat down. 
 He had been shivering when he came in; now he 
 reeked with perspiration. The air was fetid. 
 The only ventilation came through the gratings of 
 the door, and a huge stove just beyond his cell ren 
 dered the temperature almost unbearable. He 
 began to throw off his garments one by one. 
 Again he drew his knees to his chest and tried to 
 sleep, but sleep was impossible. Never had Mc 
 Allister in all his life known such wretchedness of 
 body, such abject physical suffering. But his 
 agony of mind was even more unbearable. Vague 
 apprehensions of infectious disease floating in the 
 nauseous air, or of possible pneumonia, unnerved 
 and tortured him. Stretched on the floor he 
 fell at length into a coma of exhaustion, in which 
 
 16
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 he fancied that he was lying in a warm bath in 
 the porcelain tub at home. In the room beyond he 
 could see Frazier, his valet, laying out his pajamas 
 and dressing-gown. There was a delicious odor of 
 that violet perfume he always used. In a minute 
 he would jump into bed. Then the valet suddenly 
 came into the bath-room and began to pound his 
 master on the back of the neck. For some reason 
 he did not resent this. It seemed quite natural 
 and proper. He merely put up his hand to ward 
 off the blows, and found the keeper standing over 
 him. 
 
 " Here s some breakfast," remarked that official. 
 " Tom sent out and got it for ye. The city don t 
 supply no alter carty" McAllister vaguely rubbed 
 his eyes. The keeper shut and locked the door, 
 leaving behind him on the seat a tin mug of scald 
 ing hot coffee and a half loaf of sour bread. 
 
 McAllister arose and felt his clothes. They 
 were entirely dry, but had shrunk perceptibly. He 
 was surprised to find that, save for the dizziness 
 in his head, he felt not unlike himself. Moreover, 
 he was most abominably hungry. He knelt down 
 and smelt of the contents of the tin cup. It did 
 not smell like coffee at all. It tasted like a com 
 bination of hot water, tea, and molasses. He 
 waited until it had cooled, and drank it. The 
 bread was not so bad. McAllister ate it all.
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 There was a good deal of noise in the cells now, 
 and outside he could hear many feet coming and 
 going. Occasionally a draught of cold air would 
 flow in, and an officer would tramp down the cor 
 ridor and remove one of the occupants of the row. 
 His watch showed that it was already eight o clock. 
 He fumbled in his waistcoat-pocket and found a 
 very warped and wrinkled cigar. His match-box 
 supplied the necessary light, and " Chubby " Mc 
 Allister began to smoke his after-breakfast Havana 
 with appreciation. 
 
 " No smoking in the cells ! " came the rough 
 voice of the keeper. " Give us that cigar, 
 Welch!" 
 
 McAllister started to his feet. 
 
 " Hand it over, now! Quick! " 
 
 The clubman passed his cherished comforter 
 through the bars, and the keeper, thrusting it, still 
 lighted, into his own mouth, grinned at him, 
 winked, and walked away. 
 
 " Merry Christmas, Fatty! " he remarked ge 
 nially over his shoulder. 
 
 Half an hour later Tom and his " side partner " 
 came to the cell-door. They were flushed with 
 victory. Already the morning papers contained 
 
 18
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 accounts of tKe pursuit and startling arrest of 
 " Fatty Welch," the well-known crook, who was 
 wanted in Pennsylvania and elsewhere on various 
 charges. Altogether the officers were in a very 
 genial frame of mind. 
 
 " Come along, Fatty," said Tom, helping the 
 clubman into his bedraggled overcoat. ;c We re 
 almost late for roll-call, as it is." 
 
 They left the cells and entered the station-house 
 proper, where several officers with their prisoners 
 were waiting. 
 
 " We ll take you down to Fleadquarters and 
 make sure we ve got you right," he continued. " I 
 guess Sheridan ll know you fast enough when he 
 sees you. Come on, boys!" He opened the 
 door and led the way across the sidewalk to the 
 patrol wagon, which stood backed against the curb. 
 
 It was a glorious winter s day. The sharp, 
 frosty air stimulated the clubman s jaded senses 
 and gave him new hope ; he felt sure that at head 
 quarters he would find some person to whom he 
 could safely confide the secret of his identity. In 
 about ten minutes the wagon stopped in a narrow 
 street, before an inhospitable-looking building. 
 
 " Here s the old place," remarked one of the 
 load cheerfully. " Looks just the same as ever. 
 Mott Street s not a mite different. And to think I 
 ain t been here in fifteen years! " 
 
 19
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 All clambered out, and each officer, selecting his 
 prisoners, convoyed them down a flight of steps, 
 through a door, several feet below the level of the 
 sidewalk, and into a small, stuffy chamber full of 
 men smoking and lounging. Most of these seemed 
 to take a friendly interest in the clubman, a few 
 accosting him by his now familiar alias. 
 
 Tom hurried McAllister along a dark corridor, 
 out into a cold court-yard, across the cobblestones 
 into another door, through a hall lighted only by 
 a dim gas-jet, and then up a flight of winding stairs. 
 McAllister s head whirled. Then quickly they 
 were at the top, and in a huge, high-ceiled room 
 crowded with men in civilian dress. On one side, 
 upon a platform, stood a nondescript row of pris 
 oners, at whom the throng upon the floor gazed 
 in silence. Above the heads of this file of motley 
 individuals could be read the gold lettering upon 
 the cabinet behind them Rogues Gallery. On 
 the other side of the room, likewise upon a plat 
 form and behind a long desk, stood two officers in 
 uniform, one of them an inspector, engaged in 
 studying with the keenest attention the human 
 exhibition opposite. 
 
 " Get up there, Fatty! " 
 
 Before he realized what had happened, McAl 
 lister was pushed upon the platform at the end of 
 the line. His appearance created a little wave of 
 
 20
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 excitement, which increased when his comrades of 
 the wagon joined him. It was a peculiar scene. 
 Twenty men standing up for inspection, some gaz 
 ing unconcernedly before them, some glaring defi 
 antly at their observers, and others grinning recog 
 nition at familiar faces. McAllister grew cold 
 with fright. Several of the detectives pointed at 
 him and nodded. Out of the silence the Inspec 
 tor s voice came with the shock of thunder: 
 
 " Hey, there, you, Sanders, hold up your 
 hand!" 
 
 A short man near the head of the line lifted 
 his arm. 
 
 " Take off your hat." 
 
 The prisoner removed his head-gear with his 
 other hand. The Inspector raised his voice and 
 addressed the crowd of detectives, who turned with 
 one accord to examine the subject of his discourse. 
 
 " That s Biff Sanders, con man and all-round 
 thief. Served two terms up the river for grand 
 larceny last time an eight-year bit; that was nine 
 years ago. Take a good look at him. I want 
 you to remember his face. Put your hat on." 
 
 Sanders resumed his original position, his face 
 expressing the most complete indifference. 
 
 A slight, good-looking young man now joined 
 the Inspector and directed his attention to the pris 
 oner next the clubman, the same being he who had 
 
 21
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 remarked upon the familiar appearance of Mott 
 Street. 
 
 " Hold up your hand! " ordered the Inspector. 
 You re Muggins, aren t you? Haven t been 
 here in fifteen years, have you? " 
 
 The man smiled. 
 
 You re right, Inspector," he said. " The last 
 time was in 89." 
 
 That s Muggins, burglar and sneak; served 
 four terms here, and then got settled for life in 
 Louisville for murder. Pardoned after he d 
 served four years. Look at him." 
 
 Thus the curious proceeding continued, each 
 man in the line being inspected, recognized, and 
 his record and character described by the Inspec 
 tor to the assembled bureau of detectives. No 
 other voice was heard save the harsh tones of some 
 prisoner in reply. 
 
 Then the Inspector looked at McAllister. 
 
 " Welch, hold up your hand." 
 
 McAllister shuddered. If he refused, he knew 
 not what might happen to him. He had heard 
 of the horrors of the " Third Degree," and asso 
 ciated it with starvation, the rack, and all kinds 
 of brutality. They might set upon him in a body. 
 He might be mobbed, beaten, strangled. And yet, 
 if he obeyed, would it not be a public admission 
 that he was the mysterious and elusive Welch? 
 
 22
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 Would it not bind the chains more firmly about him 
 and render explanation all the more difficult? 
 
 " Do you hear? Hold up your hand, and be 
 quick about it! " 
 
 His hand went up of its own accord. 
 
 The Inspector cleared his throat and rapped 
 upon the railing. 
 
 " Take a good look at this man. He s Fatty 
 Welch, one of the cleverest thieves in the coun 
 try. Does a little of everything. Began as a 
 valet to a clubman in this city. He got settled for 
 stealing a valuable pin about three years ago, and 
 served a short term up the river. Since then he s 
 been all over. His game is to secure employment 
 in fashionable houses as butler or servant and then 
 get away with the jewelry. He s wanted for a big 
 job down in Pennsylvania. Take a good look at 
 him. When he gets out we don t want him around 
 these parts. I d like you precinct-men to remem 
 ber him." 
 
 The detectives crowded near to get a close view 
 of the interesting criminal. One or two of them 
 made notes in memorandum books. The slender 
 man had a hasty conference with the Inspector. 
 
 " The officer who has Welch, take him up to the 
 gallery and then bring him down to the record 
 room," directed the Inspector. 
 
 " Get down, Fatty! " commanded Tom. Mc- 
 23
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 Allister, stupefied with horror, embarrassment, and 
 apprehension of the possibilities in store for him, 
 stepped down and followed like a somnambulist. 
 As they made their way to the elevator he could 
 hear the strident voice of the Inspector beginning 
 again : 
 
 This is Pat Hogan, otherwise known as 
 Paddy the Sneak, and his side partner, Jim 
 Hawkins, who goes under the name of James Haw- 
 kinson. His pals call him Supple Jim. Two 
 of the cleverest sneaks in the country. They 
 branch out into strong arm work occasionally." 
 
 The elevator began to ascend. 
 You seem kinder down," commented Tom. 
 u I suppose you expect to get settled for quite a bit 
 down to Philadelphia, eh? Well, don t talk unless 
 you feel like it. Here we are ! " 
 
 They got out upon an upper floor and crossed the 
 hall. On their left a matron was arranging rows 
 of tiny chairs in a small school-room or nursery. 
 At any other time the Lost Children s Room might 
 have aroused a flicker of interest in McAllister, but 
 he felt none whatever in it now. Tom opened a 
 door and pushed the clubman gently into a small, 
 low-ceiled chamber. Charts and diagrams of the 
 human cranium hung on one wall, while a score 
 of painted eyes, each of a different color, and 
 each bearing a technical appellation and a number, 
 
 24
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 stared from the other. Upon a small square plat 
 form, about eight inches in height, stood a half- 
 clad Italian congealed with terror and expecting 
 momentarily to receive a shock of electricity. The 
 slender young man was rapidly measuring his 
 hands and feet and calling out the various dimen 
 sions to an assistant, who recorded them upon a 
 card. This accomplished, he ordered his victim 
 down from the block, seated him unceremoniously 
 in a chair, and with a pair of shining instruments 
 gauged the depth of his skull from front to rear, 
 its width between the cheekbones, and the length 
 of the ears, describing all the while the other 
 features in brief terms to his associate. 
 
 " Now off with you! " he ejaculated. " Here, 
 lug this Greaser in and mug him." 
 
 The officer in the case haled the Italian, shriek 
 ing, into another room. 
 
 " Ah, Fatty! " remarked the slender man. " I 
 trust you won t object to these little formalities? 
 Take off that left shoe, if you please." 
 
 McAllister s soul had shrivelled within him. 
 His powers of thought had been annihilated. 
 Mechanically he removed the shoe in question and 
 placed his foot upon the block. The young man 
 quickly measured it. 
 
 " Now get up there and rest your hand on the 
 board." 
 
 25
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 McAllister observed that the table bore the 
 painted outline of a human hand. He did as he 
 was told unquestioningly. The other measured 
 his forefinger and the length of his forearm. 
 
 " All right. Now sit down and let me tickle 
 your head for a moment." 
 
 The operator took the silver calipers which had 
 just been used upon the Italian and ran them 
 thoughtfully forward and back above the club 
 man s organs of hearing. 
 
 " By George, you ve got a big head! " remarked 
 the measurer. " Prominent, Roman nose. No. 4 
 eyes. Thank you. Just step into the next room, 
 will you, and be mugged? " 
 
 McAllister drew on his shoe and followed Tom 
 into the adjoining chamber of horrors. 
 
 " No tricks, now ! " commented the officer in 
 charge of the instrument. 
 
 Snap ! went the camera. 
 
 " Turn sideways." 
 
 Snap! 
 
 " That s all." 
 
 The clubman staggered to his feet. He entirely 
 failed to appreciate the extent of the indignity 
 which had been practised upon him. It was hours 
 before he realized that he had actually been meas 
 ured and photographed as a criminal, and that, to 
 his dying hour and beyond, these insignia of his 
 
 26
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 shame would remain locked in the custody of the 
 police. 
 
 " Where now? " he asked. 
 
 " Time to go over to court," answered Tom. 
 " The wagon ll be waitin for us. But first we ll 
 drop in on Sheridan record-room man, you 
 know." 
 
 " Isn t there some way I can see the Commis 
 sioner? " inquired McAllister. 
 
 Tom burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 " You have got a gall ! " he commented, thump 
 ing his prisoner good-naturedly in the middle of 
 the back. " The Commissioner ! Ho-ho ! That s 
 a good one! I guess we ll have to make it the 
 Warden. Come on, now, and quit yer joshin ." 
 
 Once more they entered the main room, where 
 the detectives were congregated. The Inspector 
 was still at it. There had been a big haul the night 
 before. He intended running all the crooks out 
 of town by New Year s Day. Tom shoved Mc 
 Allister through the crush, across an adjoining 
 room and finally into a tiny office. A young man 
 with a genial countenance was sitting at a desk by 
 the single window. He looked up as they crossed 
 the threshold. 
 
 "Hello, Welch! How goes it? Let s see, 
 how long is it since you were here? " 
 
 Somehow this quiet, gentlemanly fellow with his 
 27
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 confident method of address, telling you just who 
 you were, irritated McAllister to the explosive 
 point. 
 
 " I m not Welch! " he cried indignantly. 
 
 41 Ha-ha ! " laughed Mr. Sheridan. " Pray who 
 are you? " 
 
 " You ll find out soon enough! " answered Mc 
 Allister sullenly. 
 
 " Look here," remarked the other, " don t im 
 agine you can bluff us. If you think you are not 
 Welch, perhaps I can persuade you to change your 
 mind." 
 
 He turned to an officer who stood in the door 
 way of a large vault. 
 
 " Bring 2,208, if you please." 
 
 The officer pulled out a drawer, removed a long 
 linen envelope, and spread out its contents upon the 
 desk. These were fifteen or twenty newspaper 
 clippings, at least one of which was embellished 
 with an evil-looking wood-cut. 
 
 " Let s see," continued Mr. Sheridan. " You 
 began with a year up the river. Took a pearl pin 
 from a man named McAllister. Then you turned 
 several tricks in Chicago, St. Louis, Buffalo and 
 Philadelphia, and got away with it every time. 
 Have we got you right? " 
 
 McAllister ground his teeth. 
 
 You have not ! " said he. 
 28
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " Look at yourself," continued the other. 
 " There s your face. You can t deny it. I won 
 der the Inspector didn t have you measured and 
 photographed the first time you were settled. Still, 
 the picture s enough." 
 
 He handed the clubman a newspaper clipping 
 containing a visage which undeniably resembled 
 the features which the latter saw daily in his mir 
 ror. McAllister wearily shook his head. 
 
 " Well," said the expert, " of course you don t 
 have to tell us anything unless you want to. 
 We ve got you right that s enough." 
 
 He pushed the clippings back into the envelope, 
 handed it to the officer, and turned away. 
 
 " Come on! " ordered Tom. 
 
 Once more McAllister and his mentor availed 
 themselves of the only free transportation offered 
 by the city government, that of the patrol wagon, 
 and were soon deposited at the side entrance of the 
 Jefferson Market police court. A group of curious 
 idlers watched their descent and disappearance 
 into what must have at all times seemed to them a 
 concrete and ever-present temporal Avernus. The 
 why and wherefore of these erratic trips were, of 
 course, unknown to McAllister. Presumably he 
 must be some rara avis of crime whose feet had 
 been caught inadvertently in the limed twig set 
 by the official fowler for more homely poultry. 
 
 29
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 Fatty Welch, whoever he might be, apparently 
 enjoyed the respect incident to success in any line 
 of human endeavor. It seemed likewise that his 
 presence was much desired in the sister city of 
 Philadelphia, in which direction the clubman had 
 a vague fear of being unwillingly transported. He 
 did not, of course, realize that he was held pri 
 marily as a violator of the law of his own State, 
 and hence must answer to the charge in the mag 
 istrate s court nearest the locus of his supposed 
 offence. 
 
 Inside the station house Tom held a few 
 moments converse with one of its grizzled guar 
 dians, and then led our hero along a passage 
 and opened a door. But here McAllister shrank 
 back. It was his first sight of that great cosmo 
 politan institution, the police court. Before him 
 lay the scene of which he had so often read in the 
 newspapers. The big room with its Gothic win 
 dows was filled to overflowing with every variety 
 of the human species, who not only taxed the seat 
 ing capacity of the benches to the utmost, but near 
 the doors were packed into a solid, impenetrable 
 mass. Upon a platform behind a desk a square- 
 jawed man with chin-whiskers disposed rapidly of 
 the file of defendants brought before him. 
 
 A long line of officers, each with one or more 
 prisoners, stood upon the judge s left, and as fast 
 
 30
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 as the business of one was concluded the next 
 pushed forward. McAllister perceived that at 
 best only a few moments could elapse before he 
 was brought to face the charge against him, and 
 that he must make up his mind quickly what course 
 of action to pursue. As he stepped down from 
 the doorway there was a perceptible flutter among 
 the spectators. Several hungry-looking men with 
 note-books opened them and poised their pencils 
 expectantly. 
 
 Tom, having handed over McAllister to the 
 temporary care of a brother officer, lost no time in 
 locating his complainant, that is to say, the gentle 
 man whose house our hero was charged with hav 
 ing burglariously entered. The two then sought 
 out the clerk, who seemed to be holding a sort of 
 little preliminary court of his own, and who, under 
 the officer s instruction, drew up some formal docu 
 ment to which the complainant signed his name. 
 McAllister was now brought before this official 
 and briefly informed that anything he might say 
 would be used against him at his trial. He was 
 then interrogated, as before, in regard to his name, 
 age, residence, and occupation, but with the same 
 result. Indeed, no answers seemed to be expected 
 under the circumstances, and the clerk, having writ 
 ten something upon the paper, waved them aside. 
 Nothing, however, of these proceedings had been
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 lost to the reporters, who escorted Tom and Mc 
 Allister to the end of the line of officers, worrying 
 the former for information as to his prisoner s 
 origin and past performances. But Tom mo 
 tioned them off with the papers which he held in 
 his hand, bidding them await the final action of 
 the magistrate. Nobody seemed particularly un 
 friendly; in fact, an air of general good-fellowship 
 pervaded the entire routine going on around them. 
 What impressed the clubman most was the persist 
 ence and omnipresence of the reporters. 
 
 " I must get time ! " thought McAllister. " I 
 must get time! " 
 
 One after another the victims of the varied de 
 lights of too much Christmas jubilation were dis 
 posed of. Fatty Welch was the only real " gun " 
 that had been taken. He had the arena practically 
 to himself. Now only one case intervened. He 
 braced himself and tried to steady his nerves. 
 
 "Next! What s this?" 
 
 McAllister was thrust down below the bridge 
 facing the bench, and Tom began hastily to de 
 scribe the circumstances of the arrest. 
 
 "Fatty Welch?" interrupted the magistrate. 
 " Oh, yes ! I read about it in the morning papers. 
 Chased off in a cab, didn t he? You shot the 
 horse, and his partner got away ? Wanted in Penn 
 sylvania and Illinois, you say? That s enough." 
 
 32
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 Then looking down at McAllister, who stood be 
 fore him in bespattered dress suit and fragmentary 
 linen, he inquired: 
 
 " Have you counsel? " 
 
 McAllister made no answer. If he proclaimed 
 who he was and demanded an immediate hearing, 
 the harpies of the press would fill the papers with 
 full accounts of his episode. His incognito must 
 be preserved at any cost. Whatever action he 
 might decide to take, this was not the time and 
 place; a better opportunity would undoubtedly 
 present itself later in the day. 
 
 " You are charged with the crime of burglary," 
 continued the Judge, " and it is further alleged that 
 you are a fugitive from justice in two other States. 
 What have you to say for yourself? " 
 
 McAllister sought the Judge s eye in vain. 
 
 " I have nothing to say," he replied faintly. 
 There was a renewed scratching of pens. 
 
 The Judge conferred with the clerk for a mo 
 ment. 
 
 "Any question of the prisoner s identity?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Tom conclusively. " The 
 fact is, yer onner, we took him by accident, as 
 you may say. We laid a plant for a feller doin 
 second-story work on the avenoo, and when we 
 nabbed him, who should it be but Welch ! Ye see, 
 
 33
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 they wired on his description from Philadelphia 
 a couple of weeks ago, but we couldn t find hide 
 or hair of him in the city, and had about give up 
 lookin . Then, quite unexpected, we scoops him 
 in. Here s his indentity," handing the Judge a 
 soiled telegraph blank. " It s him, all right," he 
 added with a grin. 
 
 The magistrate glanced at the form and at Mc 
 Allister. 
 
 " Seems to fit," he commented. " Have you 
 looked for the scar? " 
 
 Tom laughed. 
 
 " Sure ! I seen it when he was gettin his meas 
 urements took, down to headquarters." 
 
 " Turn around, Welch, and let s see your back," 
 directed the magistrate. 
 
 The clubman turned around and displayed his 
 collarless neck. 
 
 " There it is ! " exclaimed Tom. 
 
 McAllister mechanically put his hand to his neck 
 and turned faint. He had had in his childhood an 
 almost forgotten fall, and the scar was still there. 
 He experienced a genuine thrill of horror. 
 
 " Well," continued the magistrate, " the pris 
 oner is entitled to counsel, and, besides, I am sure 
 that the complainant, Mr. Brown, has no desire 
 to be delayed here on Christmas Day. I will set 
 the hearing for ten o clock to-morrow morning, at 
 
 34
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 the Tombs police court. I shall be sitting there 
 for Judge Mason the rest of the week, beginning 
 to-morrow, and will take the case along with me. 
 You might suggest to the Warden that it would be 
 more convenient to send the prisoner down to the 
 Tombs, so that there need be no delay." 
 
 The complainant bowed, and the officer at the 
 bridge slapped McAllister not unkindly upon the 
 back. 
 
 " You ll need a pretty good lawyer," he re 
 marked with a wink. 
 
 " Next! " ordered the Judge. 
 
 In the patrol wagon McAllister had ample time 
 for reflection. A motley collection of tramps, 
 " disorderlies," and petty law-breakers filled the 
 seats and crowded the aisle. They all talked and 
 joked, swinging from side to side and clutching 
 at one another for support with harsh outbursts of 
 profanity, as they rattled down the deserted streets 
 toward New York s Bastile Staggering for a 
 foot-hold, between four women of the town, Mc 
 Allister was forced to breathe the fumes of alcohol, 
 the odor of musk, and the aroma of foul linen. 
 He no longer felt innocent. The sense of guilt 
 was upon him. He seemed part and parcel of this 
 load of miserable humanity. 
 
 The wagon clattered over the cobblestones of 
 Elm Street, and whirling round, backed up to the 
 
 35
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 door of the Tombs. The low, massive Egyptian 
 structure, surrounded by a high stone wall, seemed 
 like a gigantic mortuary vault waiting to receive 
 the " civilly dead." Warden and keepers were 
 ready for the prisoners, who were now uncere 
 moniously bundled out and hustled inside. Mc 
 Allister stood with the others in a small anteroom 
 leading directly into the lowest tier. He could 
 hear the ceaseless shuffling of feet and the subdued 
 murmur of voices, rising and falling, but continu 
 ous, like the twittering of a multitude of birds, 
 while through the bars came the fetid prison smell, 
 with a new and disagreeable element the odor of 
 prison food. 
 
 " Keepin your mouth shut? " remarked the dep 
 uty to McAllister, as he entered the words " Pris 
 oner refuses to answer," and blotted them. 
 
 " We re rather crowded just now," he added 
 apologetically. " I guess I ll send you to Mur 
 derer s Row. Holloa, there ! " he called to some 
 one above, " one for the first tier! " 
 
 A keeper seized the clubman by the arm, opened 
 a door in the steel grating, and pushed him 
 through. " Go long up! " he ordered. 
 
 McAllister started wearily up the stairs. At 
 the top of the flight he came to another door, 
 behind which stood another keeper. In the back 
 ground marched in ceaseless procession an irregular 
 
 36
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 file of men. In the gloom they looked like ghosts. 
 Aimlessly they walked on, one behind the other, 
 most of them with eyes downcast, wordless, taking 
 that exercise of the body which the law prescribed. 
 
 McAllister entered The Den of Beasts. 
 
 " All right, Jimmy ! " yelled the keeper to the 
 deputy warden below. Then, turning to McAllis 
 ter. " I m goin to put you in with Davidson. 
 He s quiet, and won t bother you if you let him 
 alone. Better give him whichever berth he feels 
 like. Them double-decker cots is just as good on 
 top as they is below." 
 
 McAllister followed the keeper down the nar 
 row gangway that ran around the prison. In the 
 stone corridor below a great iron stove glowed red- 
 hot, and its fumes rose and mingled with the 
 tainted air that floated out from every cell. 
 Above him rose tier on tier, illuminated only by 
 the gray light which filtered through a grimy win 
 dow at one end of the prison. The arrangement 
 of cells, the " bridges " that joined the tiers, 
 and the murky atmosphere, heightened the resem 
 blance to the " tween decks " of an enormous 
 slaver, bearing them all away to some distant port 
 of servitude. 
 
 " Get up there, Jake ! Here s a bunkie for 
 you." 
 
 McAllister bent his head and entered. He was 
 37
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 standing beside a two-story cot bed, in a compart 
 ment about six by eight feet square. A faint light 
 came from a narrow, horizontal slit in the rear 
 wall. A faucet with tin basin completed the con 
 tents of the room. On the top bunk lay a man s 
 soiled coat and waistcoat, the feet of the owner 
 being discernible below. 
 
 The keeper locked the door and departed, while 
 the occupant of the berth, rolling lazily over, 
 peered up at the new-comer; then he sprang from 
 the cot. 
 
 " Mr. McAllister! " he whispered hoarsely. 
 
 It was Wilkins the old Wilkins, in spite of a 
 new light-brown beard. 
 
 For a few moments neither spoke. 
 
 " Sorry to see you ere, sir," said Wilkins at 
 length, in his old respectful tones. " Won t you 
 sit down, sir? " 
 
 McAllister seated himself upon the bed auto 
 matically. 
 
 " You here, Wilkins? " he managed to say. 
 
 Wilkins laughed rather bitterly. 
 
 " I ve been in stir a good part of the time since 
 I left you, sir; an two weeks ago I pleaded guilty 
 to larceny and was sentenced to one year more. 
 But I m glad to see you lookin so well, if you ll 
 pardon me, sir." 
 
 " I m sorry for you, Wilkins," the master man- 
 38
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 aged to reply. " I hope my severity in that matter 
 of the pin did not bring you to this ! " 
 
 Wilkins hesitated for a moment. 
 
 " It ain t your fault, sir. I was born crooked, 
 I fancy, sir. It s all right. You ve got troubles 
 of your own. Only you ll excuse me, sir I 
 never suspected anything when I was in your ser 
 vice." 
 
 McAllister did not grasp the meaning of this 
 remark; he only felt relief that Wilkins apparently 
 bore him no ill-will. Very few of his friends 
 would have followed up a theft of that sort. 
 They expected their men to steal their pins. 
 
 " Mebbe I might elp you. Wot s the charge, 
 sir? " 
 
 With his former valet as a sympathetic listener, 
 McAllister poured out his whole story, omitting 
 nothing, and, as he finished, leaned forward, 
 searching eagerly the other s face. 
 
 " Now, what shall I do? What shall I do, 
 Wilkins?" 
 
 The latter coughed deprecatingly. 
 
 " You ll pardon me, but that ll never go, sir ! 
 You ll have to get somethin better than that, sir. 
 The jury will never believe it." 
 
 McAllister sprang to his feet, in so doing knock 
 ing his head against the iron support of the upper 
 cot. 
 
 39
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " How dare you, Wilkins ! What do you 
 mean? " 
 
 "There, there, sir!" exclaimed the other. 
 " Don t take on so. Of course I didn t mean you 
 wouldn t tell the truth, sir. But don t you see, sir, 
 hit isn t I as am goin to listen to it? Shall I fetch 
 you some water to wash your face, sir? " He 
 turned on the faucet. 
 
 The clubman, yielding to the force of ancient 
 habit, allowed Wilkins to let it run for him, and 
 having washed his face and combed his hair, felt 
 somewhat refreshed. 
 
 ;t That feels good," he remarked, rubbing his 
 hands together. 
 
 It was obvious that so long as he remained in 
 prison he would be either " Fatty Welch " or some 
 one else equally depraved; and since he could not 
 make anyone understand, it seemed his best plan to 
 accept for the time, with equanimity, the personal 
 ity that fate had thrust upon him. 
 
 " Well, Wilkins, we re in a tight place. But 
 we ll do what we can to assist each other. If I 
 get out first I ll help you, and vice versa. Now, 
 what s the first thing to be done? You see, I ve 
 never been here before." 
 
 " That s the talk, sir," answered Wilkins. 
 " Now, first, who s your lawyer? " 
 
 " Haven t any, yet." 
 
 40
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " All depends on the lawyer," returned the 
 valet judicially. " Now, there s Carter, and 
 Herlihy, and Kemp, all sharp fellows, but they re 
 always after you for money, and then they re so 
 clever that the jury is apt to distrust em. The 
 best thing, I find, is to get the most respectable 
 old solicitor you can kind of genteel, family 
 variety, with the goodness just stickin hout all 
 hover im. E creates a hatmosphere of hinno- 
 cence, and that s wot you need. " One as as white 
 air and can talk about this boy ere and can lay 
 is and on yer shoulder and weep. That s the go, 
 sir." 
 
 " I understand," said McAllister. 
 
 Under the guidance of his valet our hero secured 
 writing materials and indicted a pitiful appeal to 
 his family lawyer. 
 
 A gong rang; the squad of prisoners who had 
 been exercising went back to their cells, and the 
 keeper came and unlocked the door. 
 
 McAllister stepped out and fell into line. His 
 tight clothes proved very uncomfortable as he 
 strode round the tiers, and the absence of a collar 
 yes, that was really the most unpleasant feature. 
 His neck was not much to boast of, therefore he 
 always wore his shirts low and his collars high. 
 Now, as he stumbled along, he was the object of 
 considerable attention from his fellows.
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 At the end of an hour another gong sounded. 
 In a moment the tiers were empty; fifty doors 
 clanged to. 
 
 "Well, Wilkins?" 
 
 " Being as this is Sunday, sir, we ave a few 
 hours service. Church of England first, then City 
 Mission. We re not hallowed to talk, but if you 
 don t mind the owlin you can snatch a wink o 
 sleep. Christmas dinner at twelve. Old Bur- 
 ridge, the trusty, was a-tellin me as ow it s hex- 
 cellent, sir ! " 
 
 McAllister looked at his watch in despair. It 
 was only a quarter past ten. He had not been to 
 church for fifteen years, but evidently he was in for 
 it now. Following his former valet s example, he 
 took off his shoes and stretched himself upon the 
 cot. 
 
 On and on in never-varying tones dragged the 
 service. The preacher held the key to the situa 
 tion. His congregation could not escape; he had 
 a full house, and he was bent on making the most 
 of it. 
 
 The hands of McAllister s watch crept slowly 
 round to five minutes before eleven. 
 
 When at last the preacher stopped, carefully 
 folded his manuscript, and pronounced the bene 
 diction, a prolonged sigh of relief eddied through 
 the Tombs. Men were waking on all sides; 
 
 42
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 cots creaked; there was a general and contagious 
 yawn. 
 
 Again the gong rang, and with it the smell of 
 food floated up along the tiers. McAllister real 
 ized that he was hungry not mildly, as he was at 
 the club, but ravenous, as he had never been before. 
 Presently the longed-for food came, borne by a 
 " trusty " in new white uniform. Wilkins, who 
 had been making a meagre toilet at the faucet, 
 took in the dinner through the door two tin plates 
 piled high with turkey and chicken, flanked by 
 heaps of potato and carrots, and one whole apple 
 pie! 
 
 " Ha ! " thought McAllister, " I was not so far 
 wrong about this part of it! " The chicken was 
 perhaps not of the variety known as " spring " ; 
 but neither master nor man noticed it as they 
 feasted, sitting side by side upon the cot. 
 
 " Carrots! " philosophized McAllister, looking 
 regretfully at his empty tin plate. " Now, I 
 thought only horses ate carrots ; and really, they re 
 not bad at all. I should like some more. Er 
 Wilkins! Can we get some more carrots? " 
 
 Wilkins shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " Message for 34! Message for 34! " 
 
 A letter was thrust through the bars. 
 
 McAllister tore it open with feverish haste, and 
 recognized the crabbed hand of old Mr. Potter. 
 
 43
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 2 East Seventy-First Street. 
 F. Welch, Esq. 
 
 Sir : The remarkable letter just delivered to me, signed by a 
 name which you request me not to use in my reply, has re 
 ceived careful consideration. I telephoned to Mr. Me s 
 
 rooms, and was informed by his valet that that gentleman had 
 gone to the country to visit friends over Christmas. I have 
 therefore directed the messenger to collect from yourself his fee 
 for delivering this answer. Yours, etc., 
 
 EBENEZER POTTER. 
 
 "That fool Frazier! " groaned McAllister. 
 " How the devil could he have thought I had gone 
 away? " Then he remembered that he had di 
 rected the valet to pack his bags and send them to 
 the station, in anticipation of the Winthrops invi 
 tation. 
 
 He was at his wits end. 
 
 " How do you get bail, Wilkins? " 
 
 " You ave to find someone as owns real estate 
 in the city, sir, to go on your bond. Ow much 
 is it?" 
 
 " Five thousand dollars," replied McAllister. 
 
 " Oly Moses! " ejaculated the valet. He re 
 garded his former master with renewed in 
 terest. 
 
 But the dinner had wrought a change in that 
 hitherto subdued individual. With a valet and 
 running water he was beginning to feel his oats 
 a little. He checked off mentally the names of 
 
 44
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 his acquaintances. There was not one left in 
 town. 
 
 He repressed a yawn, and looked at his watch. 
 One o clock. Just then the gong rang again. 
 
 " What in thunder is this, now? " 
 
 " Afternoon service, sir. City Mission from 
 one to two-thirty." 
 
 " Ye gods! " ejaculated McAllister. 
 
 A band of young girls came and stood with their 
 hymn-books along the opposite tier, while a Pres 
 byterian clergyman took the place on the bridge 
 recently vacated by his Episcopal brother. Pray 
 ers alternated with hymns until the sermon, which 
 lasted sixty-five minutes. 
 
 McAllister, almost desperate, fretted and fumed 
 until half past two, when the choir and missionary 
 finally departed. 
 
 " Only a arf our, sir, an we can get some more 
 hexercise," said Wilkins encouragingly. 
 
 But McAllister did not want exercise. He 
 swung to his feet, and peering disconsolately 
 through the bars was suddenly confronted by an 
 anaemic young woman holding an armful of 
 flowers. Before he could efface himself she smiled 
 sweetly at him. 
 
 " My poor man," she began confidently, " how 
 sorry I am for you this beautiful Christmas Day! 
 Please take some of these; they will brighten up 
 
 45
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 your cell wonderfully; and they are so fragrant." 
 She pushed a dozen carnations and asters through 
 the bars. 
 
 McAllister, utterly dumfounded, took them. 
 
 " What is your name? " continued the maiden. 
 
 "Welch! " blurted out our bewildered friend. 
 
 There was a stifled snort from the bunk be 
 hind. 
 
 " Good-by, Welch. I know you are not really 
 bad. Won t you shake hands with me? " 
 
 She thrust her hand through the bars, and Mc 
 Allister gave it a perfunctory shake. 
 
 " Good-by," she murmured, and passed on. 
 
 " Lawd! " exploded Wilkins, rolling from side 
 to side upon his cot. " O Lawd ! O Lawd ! O 
 and he held his sides while McAllister stuck the 
 carnations into the wash-basin. 
 
 The gong again, and once more that endless 
 tramp along the hot tiers. The prison grew 
 darker. Gas-jets were lighted here and there, and 
 the air became more and more oppressive. With 
 five o clock came supper; then the long, weary 
 night. 
 
 Next morning the valet seemed nervous and ex 
 cited, eating little breakfast, and smiling from time 
 to time vaguely to himself. Having fumbled in 
 his pocket, he at last pulled out a dirty pawn-ticket, 
 which he held toward his master. 
 
 46
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " Ere, sir," he said with averted head. " It s 
 for the pin. I m sorry I took it." 
 
 McAllister s eyes were a little blurred as he me 
 chanically received the card-board. 
 
 " Shake hands, Wilkins," was all he said. 
 
 A keeper came walking along the tier rattling 
 the doors and telling those who were wanted in 
 court to get ready. 
 
 " Good-by," said McAllister. " I m sorry you 
 felt obliged to plead guilty. I might have helped 
 you if I d only known. Why didn t you stand 
 your trial? " 
 
 " I ad my reasons," replied the valet. " I 
 wanted to get my case disposed of as quick as pos 
 sible. You see, I d been livin in Philadelphia, 
 and ad just come to New York when I was har- 
 rested. I didn t want em to find out who I was 
 or where I come from, so I just gives the name of 
 Davidson, and takes my dose." 
 
 " Well," said McAllister, " you re taking your 
 own dose; I m taking somebody else s. That 
 hardly seems a fair deal now does it, Wilkins? 
 But, of course, you don t know but that I am 
 Welch." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do, sir! " returned the valet. " You 
 won t never be punished for what he done." 
 
 " How do you know ? " exclaimed McAllister, 
 visions of a speedy release crowding into his mind. 
 
 47
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 " And if you knew, why didn t you say so before? 
 Why, you might have got me out. How do you 
 know? " he repeated. 
 
 Wilkins looked around cautiously. The keeper 
 was at the other end of the tier. Then he came 
 close to McAllister and whispered: 
 
 " Because I m Fatty Welch myself! " 
 
 V 
 
 Downstairs, across the sunlit prison yard, past 
 the spot where the hangings had taken place in the 
 old days, up an enclosed staircase, a half turn, and 
 the clubman was marched across the Bridge of 
 Sighs. Most of the prisoners with him seemed 
 in good spirits, but McAllister, who was oppressed 
 with the foreboding of imminent peril, felt that he 
 could no longer take any chances. His fatal re 
 semblance to Fatty Welch, alias Wilkins, his 
 former valet, the circumstances of his arrest, the 
 scar on his neck, would seem to make conviction 
 certain unless he followed one of two alternatives 
 either that of disclosing Welch s identity or his 
 own. He dismissed the former instantly. Now 
 that he knew something of the real sufferings of 
 men, his own life seemed contemptible. What 
 mattered the laughter of his friends, or sarcastic 
 paragraphs in the society columns of the papers? 
 
 48
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 What did the fellows at the club know of the game 
 of life and death going on around them? of the 
 misery and vice to which they contributed? of the 
 hopelessness of those wretched souls who had been 
 crushed down by fate into the gutters of life? De 
 termined to declare himself, he entered the court 
 room and tramped with the others to the rail. 
 
 There, to his amazement, sat old Mr. Potter 
 beside the Judge. Tom and his partner stood at 
 one side. 
 
 " Welch, step up here." 
 
 Mr. Potter nodded very slightly, and McAllis 
 ter, taking the hint, stepped forward. 
 
 " Is this your prisoner, officer? " 
 
 " Shure, that s him, right enough," answered 
 Tom. 
 
 " Discharged," said the magistrate. 
 
 Mr. Potter shook hands with his honor, who 
 smiled good-humoredly and winked at McAllister. 
 
 " Now, Welch, try and behave yourself. I ll 
 let you off this time, but if it happens again I won t 
 answer for the consequences. Go home." 
 
 Mr. Potter whispered something to the baffled 
 officers, who grinned sheepishly, and then, seizing 
 McAllister s arm, led our astonished friend out of 
 the court-room. 
 
 As they whirled uptown in the closed automo 
 bile which had been waiting for them around the 
 
 49
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 corner, Mr. Potter explained that after sending the 
 letter he had felt far from satisfied, and had be 
 thought him of calling up Mrs. Winthrop on the 
 telephone. Her polite surprise at the lawyer s in 
 quiries had fully convinced him of his error, and 
 after evading her questions with his usual caution, 
 he had taken immediate steps for his client s release 
 steps which, by reason of the lateness of the 
 hour, he could not communicate to the unhappy 
 McAllister. 
 
 " What has become of the fugitive Welch," he 
 ended, " remains a mystery. The police cannot 
 imagine where he has hidden himself." 
 
 " I wonder," said McAllister dreamily. 
 
 It was just seven o clock when McAllister, ar 
 rayed, as usual, in immaculate evening dress, saun 
 tered into the club. Most of the men were back 
 from their Christmas outing; half a dozen of them 
 were engaged in ordering dinner. 
 
 " Hello, Chubby! " shouted someone. " Come 
 and have a drink. Had a pleasant Christmas? 
 You were at the Winthrops , weren t you? " 
 
 " No," answered McAllister; " had to stay right 
 in New York. Couldn t get away. Yes, I ll take 
 a dry Martini er, waiter, make that two Mar 
 tinis. I want you all to have dinner with me. 
 How would terrapin and canvas-back do ? Fill it 
 
 So
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 out to suit yourselves, while I just take a look at 
 the Post." 
 
 He picked up a paper, glanced at the head-lines, 
 threw it down with a sigh of relief, and lighted a 
 cigarette. At the same moment two policemen in 
 civilian dress were leaving McAllister s apart 
 ments, each having received at the hands of the 
 impassive Frazier a bundle containing a silver- 
 mounted revolver and a large bottle full of an 
 unknown brown fluid. 
 
 McAllister s dinner was a great success. The 
 boys all said afterward that they had never seen 
 Chubby in such good form. Only one incident 
 marred the serenity of the occasion, and that was a 
 mere trifle. Charlie Bush had been staying over 
 Christmas with an ex-Chairman of the Prison Re 
 form Association, and being in a communicative 
 mood insisted on talking about it. 
 
 " Only fancy," he remarked, as he took a gulp 
 of champagne, " he says the prisons of the city are 
 in an abominable condition that they re a dis 
 grace to a civilized community." 
 
 Tomlinson paused in lifting his glass. He re 
 membered his host s opinion, expressed two nights 
 before and desired to show his appreciation of an 
 excellent meal. 
 
 " That s all rot! " he interrupted a little thickly. 
 " S all politics. The Tombs is a lot better than
 
 McAllister s Christmas 
 
 most second-class hotels on the Continent. Our 
 prisons are all right, I tell you ! " His eyes 
 swept the circle militantly. 
 
 u Look here, Tomlinson," remarked McAllis 
 ter sternly, " don t be so sure. What do you 
 know about it? "
 
 THE BARON DE VILLE
 
 The Extraordinary Adventure 
 of the Baron de Ville 
 
 " T WANT you," said Barney Conville, tapping 
 X Mr. McAllister lightly upon the shoulder. 
 
 The gentleman addressed turned sharply, letting 
 fall his monocle. He certainly had never seen the 
 man before in his life was sure of it, even dur 
 ing that unfortunate experience the year before, 
 which he had so far successfully concealed from his 
 friends. No, it was simply a case of mistaken 
 identity; and yet the fellow confound him! 
 didn t look like a chap that often was mistaken. 
 
 " Come, come, Fatty; no use balkin . Come 
 along quiet," continued Barney, with his most per 
 suasive smile. He was a smartly built fellow with 
 a black mustache and an unswerving eye, about 
 two-thirds the size of McAllister, whom he had 
 addressed so familiarly. 
 
 "Fatty!" McAllister, bon vivant, clubman, 
 prince of good fellows, started at the word and 
 stared tensely. What infernal luck! That same 
 
 55
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 regrettable resemblance that had landed him in the 
 Tombs over Christmas was again bobbing up to 
 render him miserable. He wished, as he had 
 wished a thousand times, that Wilkins had been 
 sentenced to twenty years instead of one. He had 
 evidently been discharged from prison and was at 
 his old tricks again, with the result that once more 
 his employer was playing the part of Dromio. 
 McAllister had succeeded by judicious bribery and 
 the greatest care in preserving inviolate the history 
 of his incarceration. Had this not been the case 
 one word now to the determined individual with 
 the icy eye would have set the matter straight, but 
 he could not bear to divulge the secret of those 
 horrible thirty-six hours which he, under the name 
 of his burglarious valet, had spent locked in a cell. 
 Maybe he could show the detective he was mis 
 taken without going into that lamentable history. 
 But of course McAllister proceeded by exactly the 
 wrong method. 
 
 " Oh," he laughed nonchalantly, " there it is 
 again ! You ve got me confused with Fatty 
 Welch. We do look alike, to be sure." He put 
 up his monocle and smiled reassuringly, as if his 
 simple statement would entirely settle the matter. 
 
 But Barney only winked sarcastically. 
 
 " You show yourself quite familiar with the 
 name of the gentleman I m lookin for." 
 
 56
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 McAllister saw that he had made a mistake. 
 
 " No more foolin , now," continued Barney. 
 " Will you come as you are, or with the nippers? " 
 
 The clubman bit his lip with annoyance. 
 
 " Look here, hang you! " he exclaimed angrily, 
 dropping his valise, " I m Mr. McAllister of the 
 Colophon Club. I m on my way to dine with 
 friends in the country. I ve got to take this train. 
 Listen ! they re shouting All aboard now. I 
 know who you re after. You ve got us mixed. 
 Your man s a professional crook. I can prove my 
 identity to you inside of five minutes, only I haven t 
 time here. Just jump on the train with me, and if 
 you re not convinced by the time we reach I25th 
 Street I ll get off and come back with you." 
 
 " My, but you re gamer than ever, Fatty," 
 retorted Barney with admiration. Thoughts of 
 picking up hitherto unsuspected clews flitted 
 through his mind. He had his man " pinched," 
 why not play him awhile? It seemed not a half 
 bad idea to the Central Office man. 
 
 " Well, I ll humor you this once. Step aboard. 
 No funny business, now. I ve got my smoke wagon 
 right here. Remember, you re under arrest." 
 
 They swung aboard just as the train started. 
 As McAllister sank into his seat in the parlor car 
 with Barney beside him he recognized Joe Wain- 
 wright directly opposite. Here was an easy 
 
 57
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 chance to prove his identity, and he was just about 
 to lean over and pour forth his sorrows to his 
 friend when he realized with fresh humiliation 
 that should he seize this opportunity to explain the 
 present situation, the whole wretched story of his 
 Christmas in the Tombs would probably be di 
 vulged. He would be the laughing-stock of the 
 club, and the fellows would never let him hear the 
 last of it. He hesitated, but Wainwright took 
 the initiative. 
 
 " How d y , Chubby? " said he, getting up and 
 coming over. " On your way to Blair s? " 
 
 Yes. Almost missed the confounded train," 
 replied McAllister, struggling for small talk. 
 
 Who s your friend?" continued the irrepres 
 sible Wainwright. " Kind o think I know him. 
 Foreigner, ain t he? Think he was at Newport 
 last summer." 
 
 " Er ye es. Baron de Ville. Picked him 
 up at the club friend of Pierrepont s. Takin 
 him out to Blair s so hospitable, don cher know." 
 He stammered horribly, for he found himself 
 sinking deeper and deeper. 
 
 " Like to meet him," remarked Wainwright. 
 " Like all these foreign fellers." 
 
 McAllister groaned. He certainly was in for 
 it now. The I25th Street idea would have to be 
 abandoned. 
 
 58
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 " Er Baron " he strangled over the name 
 " Baron, I want to present Mr. Joseph Wain- 
 wright. He thinks he s met you in Paris." Our 
 friend accompanied this with a pronounced wink. 
 
 " Glad to meet you, Baron," said Wainwright, 
 grasping the detective s hand with effusion. 
 " Newport, I think it was." 
 
 The " Baron " bowed. This was a new com 
 plication, but it was all in the day s work. Of 
 course, the whole thing was plain enough. Fatty 
 Welch was " working " some swell guys who 
 thought he was a real high-roller. Maybe he was 
 going to pull off some kind of a job that very even 
 ing. Perhaps this big chap in the swagger flan 
 nels was one of the gang. Barney was thinking 
 hard. Well, he d take the tip and play the hand 
 out. 
 
 " It ees a peutifool efening," said the Baron. 
 
 The train plunged into the tunnel. 
 
 " Look here," hissed McAllister in Barney s ear. 
 " You ve got to stick this thing out, now, or I ll 
 be the butt of the townX Remember, we re going 
 to the Blairs at Scarsdale. You re the particular 
 friend of a man named Pierrepont fellow with a 
 glass eye who owns a castle somewhere in France. 
 . . . Are you satisfied yet? " he added indig 
 nantly. 
 
 " I m satisfied you re Fatty Welch," Barney re- 
 59
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 plied. " I ain t on to your game, I admit. Still, 
 I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses you any." 
 The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAl 
 lister observed that there were other friends of his 
 on the car, bound evidently for the same destina 
 tion. Well, anything was better than having that 
 confounded story about the Tombs get around. 
 He had often thought that if it ever did he would 
 go abroad to live. He couldn t stand ridicule. 
 His dignity was his chief asset. Nothing so effect 
 ually, as McAllister well knew, conceals the ab 
 sence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, 
 wide world work off the detective as a baron? 
 Well, if he failed, he could explain the situation on 
 the basis of a practical joke and save his face in 
 that way. Just at present the Baron was getting 
 along famously with Wainwright. McAllister 
 hoped he wouldn t overdo it. One thing, thank 
 Heaven, he remembered Wainwright had flunked 
 his French disgracefully at college and probably 
 wouldn t dare venture it under the circumstances. 
 There was still a chance that he might convince his 
 captor of his mistake before they reached Scars- 
 dale, and on the strength of this he proposed a 
 cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his 
 Baron and accepted for himself with alacrity, even 
 suggesting a drink on his own account. McAllis 
 ter s heart failed him as he thought of having :o 
 
 60
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 present the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashion 
 able guests and by George, the fellow hadn t got 
 a dress-suit ! They never could get over that. It 
 was bad enough to lug in a stranger a " copper " 
 and palm him off as the distinguished friend of 
 a friend, but a feller without any evening clothes 
 impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. 
 Was ever a chap so tied up? And now if the fel 
 ler wasn t talking about Paris! Paris! He d 
 make some awful break, and then Oh, curse 
 the luck, anyway ! 
 
 Then it was that McAllister resolved to do 
 something desperate. 
 
 II 
 
 " I m perfectly delighted to have the Baron. 
 Why didn t you bring Pierrepont, too? How 
 d y do, Baron? Let me present you to my hus 
 band. Gordon Baron de Ville. I ll put you 
 and Mr. McAllister together. We re just a little 
 crowded. You ve hardly time to dress dinner in 
 just nineteen minutes." 
 
 " Zank you ! It ees so vera hospitable ! " said 
 the Baron, bowing low, and twirling his mustache 
 in the most approved fashion. 
 
 " Come on, de Ville." McAllister slapped his 
 Old-Man-of-the-Sea upon the back good-naturedly. 
 
 61
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 " You can give Mrs. Blair all the risque Paris gos 
 sip at dinner." They followed the second man 
 upstairs. Although an old friend of both Mrs. 
 Blair and her husband, McAllister had never been 
 at the Scarsdale house before. It was new, and 
 massively built. They were debating whether or 
 not to call it Castle Blair. The second man 
 showed them to a room at the extreme end of a 
 wing, and as the servant laid out the clothes Mc 
 Allister thought the man eyed him rather curiously. 
 Well, confound it, he was getting used to it. Bar 
 ney lit a cigarette and measured the distance from 
 the window to the ground with a discriminating 
 eye. 
 
 1{ Well," said the clubman, after the second man 
 had finally retired, " are you satisfied? And what 
 the deuce is going to happen now? " 
 
 Barney sank into a Morris chair and thrust his 
 feet comfortably on to the fender. 
 
 " Fatty," said he, as he blew a multitude of tiny 
 rings toward the blaze, " you re a wizard ! Never 
 seen such nerve in my life and you only out two 
 months ! You ve got the clothes, and, what s 
 more, you ve got the real chappie lingo. It s 
 great ! I m sorry to have to pull in such an artist. 
 I am, honest. An now you ve got to go behind 
 prison bars! It s sad positively sad! " 
 
 " Look here I " demanded McAllister. " Do 
 62
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 you mean to tell me you re such a bloomirr ass as 
 to think that I m a crook, a professional burglar, 
 who s got an introduction into society a what-do- 
 you-call-him? Oh, yes Raffles ?" 
 
 Barney grinned at his victim, who was just get 
 ting into his dress-coat. 
 
 " Don t throw such a chest, Fatty ! " he said 
 genially. " I think you ve got Raffles whipped 
 to a standstill. But you can t fool me, and you 
 can t lose me. By the way, what am I goin to do 
 for evenin clothes? " 
 
 " Dunno. Have to stay up here, I guess. You 
 can t come to dinner in those togs. It would queer 
 everything." 
 
 " I m goin , just the same. Not once do I lose 
 sight of you, old chappie, until you re safely in 
 the cooler at headquarters. Then your swell 
 friends can bail you out ! " 
 
 It was time for dinner. The little Dresden 
 china clock on the mantel struck the hour softly, 
 politely. McAllister glanced toward the door. 
 The room was the largest of a suite. A small hall 
 intervened between them and the main corridor. 
 His hand trembled as he lit a Philip Morris. 
 
 " Come on, then," he muttered over his shoul 
 der to Barney, and led the way to the door leading 
 into the bath-room, which was next the door into 
 the hall and identical with it in appearance. He 
 
 63
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 held it politely ajar for the detective, with a smile 
 of resignation. 
 
 " Apres vous, mon cher Baron ! " he murmured. 
 
 The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an 
 appreciative grin and passed in front of McAllis 
 ter, but had no sooner done so than he received 
 a violent push into the darkness. McAllister 
 quickly pulled and locked the heavy walnut door, 
 then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. 
 He hoped the feller hadn t fallen and cut his head 
 against the tub. There was a muffled report, and 
 a bullet sang past and buried itself in the enam 
 elled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into 
 the china on the washstand. 
 
 McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both 
 the outer and inner means of egress. At the head 
 of the stairs he met Wainwright. 
 
 " What the devil are you fellers try in to do, 
 anyway? " asked the latter. " Sounds as if you 
 were throwin dumb-bells at each other." 
 
 McAllister lighted another cigarette. 
 
 " Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do 
 savate, that kind of boxing with their feet, 
 don cher know ! " 
 
 Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual 
 color suffused his ordinarily pink countenance as 
 he joined the guests waiting for dinner. He ex 
 plained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly 
 
 64
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 taken with a sharp pain in his head. It was an 
 old trouble, he informed them, and would soon 
 pass off. The nobleman would join the others 
 presently as soon as he felt able to do so. 
 
 There were murmurs of regret from all sides, 
 since Mrs. Blair had lost no time in spreading the 
 knowledge of the distinguished foreigner s pres 
 ence at the house. 
 
 " Who s missing besides the Baron? " inquired 
 Blair, counting heads. "Oh, yes, Miss Benson! " 
 
 "Oh, we won t wait for Mildred! It would 
 make her feel so awkward," responded his wife. 
 " She and the Baron can come in together. Mr. 
 McAllister, I believe I m to have the pleasure of 
 being taken in by you ! " 
 
 " Er ye es ! " muttered Chubby vaguely, for 
 at the moment he was calculating how long it would 
 have taken that other Baron, the famous Trenk, 
 to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. Too 
 beastly bad about de Ville, but these French fel 
 lows, they don t have the advantage of our athletic 
 sports to keep em in condition. Do you know, I 
 hardly ever get off my peck? All due to taking 
 regular exercise." 
 
 The party made their way to the dining-room 
 and were distributed in their various places. As 
 McAllister was pushing in the chair of his hostess 
 his eye fell upon a servant who was performing 
 
 65
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 the same office for a lady opposite. Could it be? 
 He adjusted his monocle. There was no doubt 
 about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective 
 was locked in the bath-room, and the burglar, his 
 own double, would probably pass him the soup. 
 
 "What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewil 
 dered guest under his breath, sinking into his chair 
 and mechanically bolting a caviare hors-d oeuvre. 
 He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole 
 significance of the situation. 
 
 " I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this 
 time," he heard Mrs. Blair remark. He was 
 about to make an appropriately sympathetic reply 
 when Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, 
 paused at the foot of the table and grasped the back 
 of a chair for support. She had lost all her color, 
 and her hands and voice trembled with excitement. 
 
 " It s gone ! " she gasped. " Stolen ! My 
 mother s pearl necklace ! I had it on the bureau 
 just before tea ! Oh, what shall I do ! " She 
 burst into hysterical sobs. 
 
 Two or three women gave little shrieks and 
 pushed back their chairs. 
 
 " My tiara ! " exclaimed one. 
 
 " And my diamond sun-burst ! I left it right 
 on a book on the dressing-table ! " cried another. 
 
 There was a general move from the table. 
 
 " O Gordon ! Do you think there are burg- 
 66
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 lars in the house? " called Mrs. Blair to her hus 
 band. 
 
 " Heaven knows ! " he replied. " There may 
 be. But don t let s get excited. Miss Benson 
 may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid 
 the necklace. What do you suggest, McAllis 
 ter?" 
 
 " Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye 
 upon Wilkins, " the first thing is to learn how much 
 is missing. Why don t these ladies go right up 
 stairs and see if they ve lost anything? Mean 
 while, we d all better sit down and finish our soup." 
 
 " Good idea I " returned Blair. " I ll go with 
 them." 
 
 The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest 
 of the guests, with the exception of Miss Benson, 
 seated themselves once more. 
 
 Everybody began to talk at once. By George ! 
 The Benson pearls stolen ! Why, they were worth 
 twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome. 
 You couldn t buy them now for love or money. 
 Well, she had better sit down and eat something, 
 anyway a glass of wine, just to revive her spirits. 
 Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious 
 hostess to sit down and " eat something." Mrs. 
 Blair was very much upset. How awkward to 
 have such a thing happen at one s first house party. 
 
 The searchers presently returned with the word 
 67
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 that apparently nothing else had been taken. This 
 had a beneficial effect on the general appetite. 
 
 Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wil- 
 kins. Wilkins had been watching McAllister. 
 Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had 
 not seen each other. The valet was unchanged, 
 save, of course, that his beard was gone. He 
 moved silently from place to place, nothing betray 
 ing the agitation he must have felt at the realiza 
 tion that he was discovered. People were all 
 shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There 
 was a great chatter and confusion. The tearful 
 and hysterical Mildred was making pitiful little 
 dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile 
 the dinner went on. McAllister s seat com 
 manded the door, and he could see, through the 
 swinging screen, that there was no exit to the 
 kitchen from the pantry. 
 
 Wilkins approached with the fish. As the 
 valet bent forward and passed the dish to his 
 former master McAllister whispered sharply in 
 his ear: 
 
 You re caught unless you give up that neck 
 lace. There s a Central Office man outside. / 
 brought him. Pass me the jewels. It s your 
 only chance ! " 
 
 " Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without mov 
 ing a muscle. 
 
 68
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss 
 Benson s loss. McAllister s thoughts flew back to 
 the time when, locked in the same cell, he and 
 Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He 
 could never bring himself now to give him up to 
 that detective fellow that ubiquitous and omni 
 scient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with 
 the entree. As he passed the vol au vent he unos 
 tentatiously slipped something in a handkerchief 
 into McAllister s lap. 
 
 "May I go now, sir?" he asked almost in- 
 audibly. 
 
 " Have you taken anything else? " inquired his 
 master. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " On your honor as a gentleman s gentle 
 man? " 
 
 Wilkins smiled tremulously. 
 
 " Hon my onor, Mr. McAllister." 
 Then, go ! You seem to have a penchant for 
 pearls," McAllister added half to himself, as he 
 clasped in his hand the famous necklace. Com 
 mon humanity to Miss Benson demanded his in 
 stant declaration of its possession, but the thought 
 of Wilkins, who had slipped unobtrusively through 
 the door, gave him pause. Let the poor chap 
 have all the time he could get. He d probably 
 be caught, anyway. Just a question of a few days 
 
 69
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 at most. And what a chance to get even on the 
 Baron ! 
 
 But meanwhile the service had halted. The 
 butler, a sedate person with white mutton-chops, 
 after waiting nervously a few minutes, started to 
 pass the roast himself. 
 
 Miss Benson had been prevailed upon to finish 
 her meal, and after dinner they were all going to 
 have a grand hunt, everywhere. Afterward, if 
 the necklace was not discovered, they would send 
 for a detective from New York. 
 
 Suddenly two pistol shots rang out just beside 
 the window. Men s voices were raised in angry 
 shouts. A horse attached to some sort of vehicle 
 galloped down the road. The guests started to 
 their feet. A violent struggle was taking place 
 outside the dining-room door. McAllister sprang 
 up just in time to see the Baron break away 
 from Blair s coachman and cover him with his 
 pistol. The jehu threw up his hands. He 
 was a sorry spectacle, collarless, and without 
 his coat. Damp earth clung to his lower limbs 
 and his defiant eyes glowed under tousled hair, 
 while a bloody, swollen nose protruded between 
 them. 
 
 "Here! What s all this?" shouted Blair. 
 " Put up that pistol! Who are you, sir? " Then 
 the host rubbed his eyes and looked again. 
 
 70
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 " By George! It s the Baron! " yelled Wain- 
 wright. 
 
 "The Baron! The Baron!" exclaimed the 
 others. 
 
 " Baron nothin ! " gasped Barney, still cover 
 ing the coachman, while with the other hand he 
 tried to rearrange his neckwear. " I m Conville 
 of the Central Office, and this man has aided in 
 an escape. I m arrestin him for felony! " 
 
 The detective s own features had evidently made 
 a close acquaintance with mother earth, and one 
 sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. His eye 
 presently fell upon McAllister, and he gave vent to 
 an exclamation of bewilderment. 
 
 "You! You! How did you get out of that 
 wagon so quick? I ve got you now, anyway!" 
 And he shifted his gun in McAllister s direction. 
 The women shrieked and crowded back into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 The coachman, who had not dared to remove 
 his eyes from the detective, now began to jabber 
 hysterically. 
 
 " Hi think e s mad, I do, Mr. Blair ! Hi think 
 we all are! First hout comes Mr. McAllister, 
 whom I brought from the station only an our ago 
 an says as ow e must go back at once to New 
 York. So I arnesses up Lady Bird in the 
 spyder an sends Jeames to put hon is livery.
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 Just as Jeames comes back an Mr. McAllister 
 jumps in, hout comes this party ere an yells some- 
 thin about Welch an tries to climb in arter Mr. 
 McAllister. Jeames gives the mare a cut an 
 haway they go. Then this ere party begins to run 
 arter em and commences shootin . HI tackles 
 im ! knocks me down ! Hi grabs im by the 
 leg, an ere we are, sir, axin yer pardon Hello, 
 why ere s Mr. McAllister now! May I ask as 
 ow you got ere, sir? " 
 
 But Barney had suddenly dropped the pistol. 
 
 " Quick ! " he shouted wildly. " Harness an 
 other horse! We ve still got time. I can t lose 
 my man this way ! " 
 
 "Well, who is he? Who was it you shot 
 at?" 
 
 "Welch! Fatty Welch!" shrieked the Baron. 
 " There s two of em ! But the one I want has 
 started for the station. I must catch him ! " 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," interrupted the old butler, 
 who alone had preserved his equanimity, address 
 ing Mr. Blair. " My impression is, sir, that it 
 must have been Manice, sir the new third man, 
 sir. I saw him step out. He must have taken 
 Mr. McAllister s coat and hat! " 
 
 There was an immediate chorus of assent. Of 
 course that was it. The man had disguised him 
 self in McAllister s clothes. 
 
 72
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 " He s got the necklace!" wailed Mildred. 
 "Oh, I fcwowhehas!" 
 
 "Yes! Yes!" 
 
 " Of course he s got it! " 
 
 "After him! After him!" 
 
 "Necklace! What necklace?" inquired Bar 
 ney, more bewildered than ever. 
 
 " My mother s pearl necklace! She bought it 
 in Rome. And now it s gone. He s got it." 
 
 Barney made a move for the door. 
 
 "Run and harness up, William!" directed 
 Blair. " Put in the Morgan ponies. Hustle 
 now. The train isn t due for fifteen minutes and 
 you can reach the station in ten. Don t spare the 
 horses ! " 
 
 William, with a defiant look at the detective, 
 hastened to obey the order. 
 
 Barney was running his hands through his hair. 
 He certainly had stumbled on to somethin , by 
 Hookey! If he could only catch that feller it 
 would mean certain promotion ! He had to ad 
 mit that he had been mistaken about McAllister, 
 but this was better. 
 
 You see, I was right ! " remarked our hero to 
 the detective in his usual suave tones. " You 
 should have done just what I said. You stayed 
 too long upstairs. However, there s still a run 
 ning chance of your catching our man at the sta- 
 
 73
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 tion. Here, take a drink, and then get along as 
 fast as you can! " 
 
 He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and 
 the detective hastily gulped it down. He needed 
 it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-room 
 window had shaken him up badly. 
 
 " Trap s ready, sir ! " called William, coming 
 into the hall, and Barney turned without a word 
 and dashed for the door. The whip cracked and 
 McAllister was free. 
 
 " Well, well, well! " remarked Blair. " Don t 
 let s lose our dinner, anyway ! Come, ladies, let s 
 finish our meal. We at least know who the thief 
 is, and there s a fair chance of his being caught. 
 I will notify the White Plains police at once! 
 Don t despair, Miss Benson. We ll have the 
 necklace for you yet ! " 
 
 But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung 
 to Mrs. Blair, with the tears welling in her eyes, 
 while her hostess patted her cheek and tried to 
 encourage a belief that the necklace in some mys 
 terious way would return. 
 
 " No, it s gone ! I know it is. They ll never 
 catch him ! Oh, it s dreadful ! I would give any 
 thing in the world to have that necklace back ! " 
 
 "Anything, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllis 
 ter gayly, as he rose from his place and held up 
 the softly shining cord of pearls. " But perhaps 
 
 74
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 if I held you to the letter of your contract you 
 might claim duress. Allow me to return the neck 
 lace. It s a great pleasure, I assure you ! " 
 
 " Hooray for Chubby ! " shouted Wainwright. 
 The company gasped with astonishment as Miss 
 Benson eagerly seized the jewels. 
 
 " By George, McAllister ! How did you do 
 it ? " inquired his excited host. 
 
 " Yes, tell us ! How did you get em ? Where 
 did you get em? " 
 
 "Who was the Baron?" 
 
 " How on earth did you know? " 
 
 They all suddenly began to shout, asking ques 
 tions, arguing, and exclaiming with astonishment. 
 
 McAllister saw that some explanation was in 
 order. 
 
 " Just a bit of detective work of my own," he 
 announced carelessly. " I don t care to say any 
 thing more about it. One can t give away one s 
 trade secrets, don cher know. Of course that as 
 sistant of mine made rather a mess of it, but after 
 all, the necklace was the main thing! " And he 
 bowed to Miss Benson. 
 
 Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery 
 no one could extract a syllable from the hero of 
 the occasion. The Baron did not return, and his 
 absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright 
 voiced the sentiments of the entire company when 
 
 75
 
 Baron de Ville 
 
 he announced somewhat huskily that McAllister 
 made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents. 
 
 " But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later 
 to his host as they sauntered into the billiard-room 
 for one last whiskey and soda, " did you notice how 
 much that butler feller that ran away looked like 
 McAllister? S livin image! Ton my onor! " 
 
 " You ve been drinking, Joe ! " laughed his com 
 panion.
 
 THE ESCAPE OF WILKINS
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 " T)ARTY to see you, sir, in the visitors room. 
 JL Didn t have a card. Said you would 
 know him, sir." 
 
 Although Peter spoke in his customary defer 
 ential tones, there was a queer look upon his face 
 that did not escape McAllister as the latter glanced 
 up from the afternoon paper which he had been 
 perusing in the window. 
 
 " Hm ! " remarked the clubman, gazing out at 
 the rain falling in torrents. Who in thunder could 
 be calling upon him a day like this, when there 
 wasn t even a cab in sight and the policemen had 
 sought sanctuary in convenient vestibules. It was 
 evident that this " party " must want to see him 
 very badly indeed. 
 
 "What shall I say, sir?" continued Peter 
 gently. 
 
 McAllister glanced sharply at him. Of course 
 it was absurd to suppose that Peter, or anyone else, 
 had heard of the extraordinary events at the Blairs 
 
 79
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 the night before, yet vaguely McAllister felt that 
 this stranger must in some mysterious way be con 
 nected with them. In any case there was no use 
 trying to duck the consequences of the adventure, 
 whatever they might prove to be. 
 
 " I ll see him," said the clubman. Maybe it 
 was another detective after additional information, 
 or perhaps a reporter. Without hesitation he 
 crossed the marble hall and parted the portieres 
 of the visitors room. Before him stood the rain- 
 soaked, bedraggled figure of the valet. 
 
 " Wilkins! " he gasped. 
 
 The burglar raised his head and disclosed a 
 countenance haggard from lack of sleep and the 
 strain of the pursuit. Little rivers of rain streamed 
 from his cuffs, his (McAllister s) coat-tails, and 
 from the brim of his master s hat, which he held 
 deprecatingly before him. There was a look of 
 fear in his eyes, and he trembled like a hare which 
 pauses uncertain in which direction to escape. 
 
 "Forgive me, sir! Oh, sir, forgive me! 
 They re right hafter me! Just houtside, sir! It 
 was my honly chance ! " 
 
 McAllister gazed at him horrified and speech 
 less. 
 
 You see, sir," continued Wilkins in accents of 
 breathless terror, " I caught the train last night and 
 reached the city a ead of the detective. I knew 
 
 80
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 Vd ave telegraphed a general halarm, so I id in 
 a harea all night. This mornin I thought I d 
 given im the slip, but I walked square into im on 
 Fiftieth Street. I took it on a run hup Sixth Have- 
 nue, doubled round a truck, an thought I d lost 
 im, but e saw me on Fifty-third Street an started 
 dead after me. I think e saw me stop in ere, sir. 
 Wot shall I do, sir? You won t give me hup, will 
 you, sir? " 
 
 Before McAllister could reply there was a com 
 motion at the door of the club, and he recognized 
 the clear tones of Barney Conville. 
 
 "Who am I? I m a sergeant of police De 
 tective Bureau. You ve just passed in a burglar. 
 He must be right inside. Let me in, I say ! " 
 
 Wilkins shrank back toward the curtains. 
 
 There was a slight scuffle, but the servant out 
 side placed his foot behind the door in such a posi 
 tion that the detective could not enter. Then 
 Peter came to the rescue. 
 
 What do you mean by trying to force your 
 way into a private club, like this? I ll telephone 
 the Inspector. Get out of here, now ! Get away 
 from that door ! " 
 
 " Inspector nothin ! Let me in ! " 
 
 " Have you got a warrant? " 
 
 The question seemed to stagger the detective for 
 a moment, and his adversary seized the opportu- 
 
 81
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 nity to close the door. Then Peter knocked 
 politely upon the other side of the curtains. 
 
 " I m afraid, Mr. McAllister, I can t keep the 
 officer out much longer. It s only a question of 
 time. You ll pardon me, sir? " 
 
 " Of course, Peter," answered McAllister. 
 
 He stepped to the window. Outside he could 
 see Conville stationing two plain-clothes men so as 
 to guard both exits from the club. McAllister s 
 breath came fast. Wilkins crouched in terror by 
 the centre-table. Then a momentary inspiration 
 came to the clubman. 
 
 " Er Peter, this is my friend, Mr. Lloyd- Jones. 
 Take his coat and hat, give me a check for them, 
 and then show him upstairs to a room. He ll be 
 here for an hour or so." 
 
 " Very good, sir," replied Peter without emo 
 tion, as he removed Wilkins s dripping coat and 
 hat. " This way, sir." 
 
 Casting a look of dazed gratitude at his former 
 master, the valet followed Peter toward the ele 
 vator. 
 
 " Here s a nice mess! " thought McAllister, as 
 he returned to the big room. " How am I ever 
 going to get rid of him? And ain t I liable some 
 how as an accomplice? " 
 
 He wrinkled his brows, lit a Perfecto, and sank 
 again into his accustomed place by the window. 
 
 82
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 " That policeman wants to see you, sir," said the 
 doorman, suddenly appearing at his elbow. " Says 
 he knows you, and it s somethin very important." 
 
 The clubman smothered a curse. His first im 
 pulse was to tell the impudent fellow to go to the 
 devil, but then he thought better of it. He had 
 beaten Conville once, and he would do so again. 
 When it came to a show-down, he reckoned his 
 brains were about as good as a policeman s. 
 
 " All right," he replied. " Tell him to sit down 
 that I ve just come in, and will be with him in 
 a few moments." 
 
 Very good, sir," answered the servant. 
 
 McAllister perceived that he must think rap 
 idly. There was no escape from the conclusion 
 that he was certainly assisting in the escape of a 
 felon; that he was an accessory after the fact, as 
 it were. The idea did not increase his happiness 
 at all. His one experience in the Tombs, how 
 ever adventitious, had been quite sufficient. Never 
 theless, he could not go back on Wilkins, particu 
 larly now that he had promised to assist him. Mc 
 Allister rubbed his broad forehead in perplexity. 
 
 The officer says he s in a great hurry, sir, and 
 wants to know can you see him at once, sir," said 
 the doorman, coming back. 
 
 "Hang it!" exclaimed our hero. " Yes, I ll 
 see him." 
 
 83
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 He got up and walked slowly to the visitors 
 room again, while Peter, with a studiously uncon 
 scious expression, held the portieres open. He en 
 tered, prepared for the worst. As he did so, Con- 
 ville sprang to his feet, leaving a pool of water in 
 front of the sofa and tossing little drops of rain 
 from the ends of his mustache. 
 
 " Look here, Mr. McAllister, there s been 
 enough of this. Where s Welch, the crook, who 
 ran in here a few moments ago? Oh, he s here 
 fast enough! I ve got your club covered, front 
 and behind. Don t try to con me! " 
 
 McAllister slowly adjusted his monocle, smiled 
 affably, and sank comfortably into an armchair. 
 
 " Why, it s you, Baron, isn t it! How are you? 
 Won t you have a little nip of something warm? 
 No? A cigar, then. Here, Peter, bring the gen 
 tleman an Obsequio. Well, to what do I owe this 
 honor?" 
 
 Conville glared at him enraged. However, he 
 restrained his wrath. A wise detective never puts 
 himself at a disadvantage by giving way to useless 
 emotion. When Peter returned with the cigar, 
 Barney took it mechanically and struck a match, 
 meanwhile keeping one eye upon the door of the 
 club. 
 
 " I suppose," he presently remarked, " you think 
 you re smart. Well, you re mistaken. I had you 
 
 84
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 wrong last night, I admit that is, so far as your 
 identity was concerned. You re a real high-roller, 
 all right, but that ain t the whole thing, by a long 
 shot. How would you like to wander down to 
 Headquarters as an accomplice? " 
 
 A few chills played hide-and-seek around the 
 base of the clubman s spine. 
 
 "Don t be an ass!" he finally managed to 
 ejaculate. 
 
 " Oh, I can t connect you with the necklace! 
 You re safe enough there," Barney continued. 
 " But how about this little game right here in this 
 club? You re aiding in the escape of a felon. 
 That s felony. You know that yourself. Be 
 sides, when you locked me in the bath-room 
 last night you assaulted an officer in the per 
 formance of his duty. I ve got you dead to rights, 
 seef" 
 
 McAllister laughed lightly. 
 
 " By jiminy! " he exclaimed, " I thought you 
 were crazy all the time, and now I know it. What 
 in thunder are you driving at? " 
 
 Conville knocked the ashes off his cigar im 
 patiently. 
 
 " Drivin at? Drivin at? Where s Welch- 
 Fatty Welch, that ran in here five minutes ago? " 
 
 McAllister assumed a puzzled expression. 
 
 "Welch? No one ran in here except myself.
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 / came in about that time. Got off the L at Fif 
 tieth Street, footed it pretty fast up Sixth Avenue, 
 and then through Fifty-third Street to the club. I 
 got mighty well wet, too, I tell you ! " 
 
 " Don t think you can throw that game into 
 me! " shouted Conville. " You can t catch me 
 twice that way. It was Welch I saw, not you." 
 
 You don t believe me? " 
 
 McAllister pressed the bell and Peter entered. 
 
 " Peter, tell this gentleman how many persons 
 have come into the club within the hour." 
 
 " Why, only you, sir," replied Peter, without 
 hesitation. " Your clothes was wringin wet, sir. 
 No one else has entered the club since twelve 
 o clock." 
 
 " Bah! " exclaimed Conville. u If it was you 
 that came in," he added cunningly, " suppose you 
 show me your check, and let me have a look at your 
 coat!" 
 
 " Certainly," responded McAllister, beginning 
 to regain his equanimity, as he drew Wilkins s 
 check from his pocket. " Here it is. You can 
 step over and get the coat for yourself." 
 
 Barney seized the small square of brass, crossed 
 to the coat-room, and returned with the dripping 
 garment, which he held up to the light at the 
 window. 
 
 " You ought to find Poole s name under the 
 86
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 collar, and my own inside the breast-pocket," 
 remarked Chubby encouragingly. " It s there, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 Conville threw the soaked object over a chair- 
 back and made a rapid inspection, then turned to 
 McAllister with an expression of bewilderment. 
 
 " I you how " he stammered. 
 
 " Don t you remember," laughed his tormentor, 
 " that there was a big truck on the corner of Sixth 
 Avenue? " 
 
 Barney set hJs teeth. 
 
 " I see you do" continued McAllister. " Well, 
 what more can I do for you? Are you sure you 
 won t have that drink? " 
 
 But Conville was in no mood for drinking. 
 Stepping up to the clubman, he looked searchingly 
 down into his face. 
 
 " Mr. McAllister," he hissed, " you think you ve 
 got me criss-crossed. You think you re a sure 
 winner. But I know you. I know your face. 
 And this time I don t lose you, see? You re in 
 cahoots with Welch. You re his side-partner. 
 You ll see me again. Remember, you re a com- 
 mon felon." 
 
 The detective made for the door. 
 
 " Don t say common, " murmured McAllis 
 ter, as Conville disappeared. Then his nonchalant 
 look gave place to one of extreme dejection. 
 
 87
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 " Peter," he gasped, " tell Mr. Lloyd- Jones I must 
 see him at once." 
 
 Peter soon returned with the unexpected infor 
 mation that " Mr. Lloyd- Jones " had gone to bed 
 and wouldn t get up. 
 
 " Says he s sick, sir," said Peter, trying hard to 
 retain his gravity. 
 
 McAllister made one jump for the elevator. 
 Peter followed. Of course, he had known Wil 
 kins when the latter was in McAllister s employ. 
 
 " I put him in No. 13, sir," remarked the 
 majordomo. 
 
 Sure enough, Wilkins was in bed. His clothes 
 were nowhere visible, and the quilt was pulled 
 well up around his fat neck. He seemed utterly 
 to have lost his nerve. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " he cried apologetically, " I was 
 hafraid to come down, sir. Without my clothes 
 they never could hidentify me, sir! " 
 
 "What on earth have you done with em?" 
 cried his master. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. McAllister!" wailed Wilkins, " I 
 couldn t think o nothin else, so I just threw em 
 hout the window, into the hairshaft." 
 
 At this intelligence Peter, who had lingered by 
 the door, choked violently and retired down the 
 hall. 
 
 " Wilkins," exclaimed McAllister, " I never 
 88
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 took you for a fool before! Pray, what do you 
 propose to do now? " 
 
 " I don t knew, sir." 
 
 " Can t you see what an awkward position 
 you ve placed me in ? " went on McAllister. " I m 
 liable to arrest for aidin in your escape. In fact, 
 that detective has just threatened to take me to 
 Headquarters." 
 
 " Oly Moses! " moaned Wilkins. " Oh, wot 
 shall I do? If you honly get me haway, sir, I 
 promise you I ll never return." 
 
 McAllister closed the door, sat down by the bed, 
 and puffed hard at his cigar. 
 
 " I ll try it! " he muttered at length. "Wil 
 kins, you remember you always wore my clothes." 
 
 " Yes, sir," sighed Wilkins. 
 
 " Well, to-night you shall leave the club in my 
 dress-suit, tall hat, and Inverness understand? 
 You ll take a cab from here at eleven-forty. Go 
 to the Grand Central and board the twelve o clock 
 train for Boston. Here s a ticket, and the check 
 for the drawing-room. You ll be Mr. McAllister 
 of the Colophon Club, if anyone speaks to you. 
 You re going on to Mr. Cabot s wedding to 
 morrow, to act as best man. Turn in as soon as 
 you go on board, and don t let anyone disturb you. 
 I ll be on the train myself, and after it starts I ll 
 knock three times on the door." 
 
 89
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 Very good, sir," murmured Wilkins. 
 
 " I ll send to my rooms for the clothes at once. 
 Do you think you can do it? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly, sir ! Thank you, sir 1 I ll be 
 there, sir, never fail." 
 
 " Well, good luck to you." 
 
 McAllister returned to the big room downstairs. 
 The longer he thought of his plan the better he 
 liked it. He was going to the Winthrops Twelfth 
 Night party that evening as Henry VIII. He 
 would dress at the club and leave it in costume 
 about nine o clock. Conville would never recog 
 nize him in doublet and hose, and, when Wilkins 
 departed at eleven-forty, would in all likelihood 
 take the latter for McAllister. If he could thus 
 get rid of his ex-valet for good and all it would 
 be cheap at twice the trouble. So far as spiriting 
 away Wilkins was concerned the whole thing 
 seemed easy enough, and McAllister, once more in 
 his usual state of genial placidity, ordered as good 
 a dinner as the chef could provide. 
 
 II 
 
 The revelry was at its height when Henry VIII 
 realized with a start that it was already half after 
 eleven. First there had been a professional pres 
 entation of the scene between Sir Andrew Ague- 
 
 90
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 cheek and Sir Toby Belch that had made McAl 
 lister shake with merriment. He thought Sir An 
 drew the drollest fellow that he had seen for many 
 a day. Maria and the clown were both good, 
 too. McAllister had a fleeting wish that he had 
 essayed Sir Toby. The champagne had been ex 
 cellent and the characters most amusing, and, 
 altogether, McAllister did not blame himself for 
 having overstayed his time in fact, he didn t care 
 much whether he had or not. He had intended 
 going back to his rooms for the purpose of chang 
 ing his costume, but he had plenty of clothes on the 
 train, and there really seemed no need of it at all. 
 He bade his hostess good-night in a most optimistic 
 frame of mind and hailed a cab. The long ulster 
 which he wore entirely concealed his costume save 
 for his shoes, strange creations of undressed 
 leather, red on the uppers and white between the 
 toes. As for his cap and feather, he was quite 
 too happy to mind them for an instant. The as 
 sembled crowd of lackeys and footmen cheered him 
 mildly as he drove away, but Henry VIII, smok 
 ing a large cigar, noticed them not. Neither did 
 he observe a slim young man who darted out from 
 behind a flight of steps and followed the cab, keep 
 ing about half a block in the rear. The rain had 
 stopped. The clouds had drawn aside their cur 
 tains, and a big friendly moon beamed down on
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 McAllister from an azure sky, bright almost as 
 day. 
 
 The cabman hit up his pace as they reached the 
 slope from the Cathedral down Fifth Avenue, and 
 the runner was distanced by several blocks. Mc 
 Allister, happy and sleepy, was blissfully uncon 
 scious of being an actor in a drama of vast import 
 to the New York police, but as they reached Forty- 
 third Street he saw by the illuminated clock upon 
 the Grand Central Station that it was two minutes 
 to twelve. At the same moment a trace broke. 
 The driver sprang from his seat, but before he 
 could reach the ground McAllister had leaped out. 
 Tossing a bill to the perturbed cabby, our hero 
 threw off his ulster and sped with an agility mar 
 vellous to behold down Forty-third Street toward 
 the station. As he dashed across Madison Ave 
 nue, directly in front of an electric car, the hand 
 on the clock slipped a minute nearer. At that 
 instant the slim man turned the corner from Fifth 
 Avenue and redoubled his speed. Thirty seconds 
 later, McAllister, in sword, doublet, hose, and 
 feathered cap, burst into the waiting-room, carry 
 ing an ulster, clearing half its length in six strides, 
 threw himself through the revolving door to the 
 platform, and sprang past the astonished gate-man 
 just as he was sliding-to the gate. 
 
 " Hi, there, give us yer ticket ! " yelled the man 
 92
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 after the retreating form of Henry VIII, but roy 
 alty made no response. 
 
 The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere 
 up ahead an engine gave half a dozen spasmodic 
 coughs, and the forward section of the train began 
 to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a 
 terrible pain in his side, his ulster seeming to weigh 
 a thousand pounds, stumbled upon the platform 
 of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim 
 young man rushed to the gate and commenced to 
 beat frantically upon it. The gate-man, indig 
 nant, approached to make use of severe language. 
 
 " Open this gate! " yelled the man. " There s 
 a burglar in disguise on that train. Didn t you 
 see him run through? Open up! " 
 
 Whata yer givin us?" answered Gate. 
 " Who are yer, anyhow? " 
 
 " I m a detective sergeant! " shrieked the one 
 outside, excitedly exhibiting a shield. " I order 
 you to open this gate and let me through." 
 
 Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness 
 after the receding train; its red lights were just 
 passing out of the station. 
 
 " Oh, go to ! " said he through the bars. 
 
 "Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless 
 McAllister at the same moment, as he staggered 
 inside. 
 
 93
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 " Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from 
 ear to ear as he received the ticket and its accom 
 panying half-dollar. " Drawin -room, sah? Yes- 
 sah. Right here, sah! Yo frien , he arrived 
 some time ago. May Ah enquire what personage 
 yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword, 
 sah!" 
 
 "Where s the smoking compartment?" asked 
 McAllister. 
 
 "Udder end, sah!" 
 
 Now McAllister had no inclination to feel his 
 way the length of that swaying car. He perceived 
 that the smoking compartment of the car behind 
 would naturally be much more convenient. 
 
 " I m going into the next car to smoke for 
 a while," he informed the darky. 
 
 No one was in the smoking compartment of the 
 Benvolio, which was bright and warm, and Mc 
 Allister, throwing down his ulster, stretched lux 
 uriously across the cushions, lit a cigar, and watched 
 with interest the myriad lights of the Greater City 
 marching past, those near at hand flashing by with 
 the velocity of meteors, and those beyond swing 
 ing slowly forward along the outer rim of the 
 circle. And the idea of this huge circle, its cir 
 cumference ever changing with the forward move 
 ment of its pivot, beside which the train was rush 
 ing, never passing that mysterious edge which fled 
 
 94
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 before them into infinity, took hold on McAllis 
 ter s imagination, and he fancied, as he sped on 
 ward, that in some mysterious way, if he could 
 only square that circle or calculate its radius, he 
 could solve the problem of existence. What was 
 it he had learned when a boy at St. Andrew s about 
 the circle? Pi R one two two Pi R! That 
 was it! " 2irr." The smoke from his cigar 
 swirled thickly around the Pintsch light in the ceil 
 ing, and Henry VIII, oblivious of the anachron 
 ism, with his sword and feathered cap upon the sofa 
 beside him, gazed solemnly into space. 
 
 " Br-r-clink! br-r-clink! " went the track. 
 
 " Two Pi R ! " murmured McAllister. " Two 
 PiR!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 Under the big moon s yellow disk, beside and 
 past the roaring train, along the silent reaches of 
 the Sound, leaping on its copper thread from pole 
 to pole, jumping from insulator to insulator, from 
 town to town, sped a message concerning Henry 
 VIII. The night operator at New Haven, dozing 
 over a paper in the corner, heard his call four 
 times before he came to his senses. Then he sent 
 the answer rattling back with a simulation of indig* 
 nation : 
 
 "Yes, yes! What s your rush?" 
 95
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 Special Police Headquarters New Haven. Escaped ex- 
 convict Welch on No. 1 3 from New York. Notify McGinnis. 
 In complete disguise. Arrest and notify. Particulars long 
 distance phone in morning. EBSTEIN. 
 
 The operator crossed the room and unhooked 
 the telephone. 
 
 " Headquarters, please." 
 
 " Yes. Headquarters ! Is McGinnis of the 
 New York Detective Bureau there? Tell him 
 he s wanted, to make an important arrest on board 
 No. 13 when she comes through at two-twenty. 
 Sorry. Say, tell him to bring along some cigars. 
 I ll give him the complete message down here." 
 
 Then the operator went back to his paper. In 
 a few moments he suddenly sat up. 
 
 " By gum! " he ejaculated. 
 
 BOLD ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY IN COUNTRY 
 HOUSE 
 
 It was learned to-day that a well-known crook had been 
 successful recently in securing a position as a servant at Mr. 
 Gordon Blair s at Scarsdale. Last evening one of the guests 
 missed her valuable pearl necklace. In the excitement which 
 followed the burglar made his escape, leaving the necklace 
 behind him. The perpetrator of this bold attempt is the noto 
 rious Fatty Welch, now wanted in several States as a fugitive 
 from justice. 
 
 " By gum ! " repeated the operator, throwing 
 down the paper. Then he went to the drawer and 
 
 96
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 took out a small bull-dog revolver, which he care 
 fully loaded. 
 
 "Br-r-clink! br-r-clink! " went the track, as 
 the train swung round the curve outside New 
 Haven. The brakes groaned, the porters waked 
 from troubled slumbers in wicker chairs, one or two 
 old women put out their arms and peered through 
 the window-shades, and the train thundered past 
 the depot and slowly came to a full stop. Ahead, 
 the engine panted and steamed. Two gnomes ran, 
 Mimi-like, out of a cavernous darkness behind the 
 station and by the light of flaring torches began 
 to hammer and tap the flanges. The conductor, 
 swinging off the rear car, ran into the embrace of 
 a huge Irishman. At the same moment a squad of 
 policemen separated and scattered to the different 
 platforms. 
 
 " Here ! Let me go ! " gasped the conductor. 
 "What s all this?" 
 
 " Say, Cap., I m McGinnis Central Office, 
 New York. You ve got a burglar on board. 
 They re after wirin me to make the arrest." 
 
 " Burglar be damned ! " yelled the conductor. 
 Do you think you can hold me up and search my 
 train? Why, I d be two hours late! " 
 
 " I won t take more n fifteen minutes," continued 
 McGinnis, making for the rear car. 
 
 " Come back there, you ! " shouted the conduc- 
 97
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 tor, grasping him firmly by the coat-tails. " You 
 can t wake up all the passengers." 
 
 " Look here, Cap.," expostulated the detective, 
 " don t ye see I ve got to make this arrest? It 
 won t take a minute. The porters ll know who 
 they ve got, and you re runnin awful light. Have 
 a good cigar? " 
 
 The conductor took the weed so designated and 
 swore loudly. It was the biggest piece of gall on 
 record. Well, hang it ! he didn t want to take Mc- 
 Ginnis all the way to Boston, and even if he did, 
 there would be the same confounded mix-up at 
 the other end. He admitted finally that it was 
 a fine night. Did McGinnis want a nip? He 
 had a bottle in the porter s closet. Yes, call 
 out those niggers and make em tell what they 
 knew. 
 
 The conductor was now just as insistent that the 
 burglar should be arrested then and there as he had 
 been before that the train should not be held up. 
 He rushed through the cars telling the various 
 porters to go outside. Eight or ten presently as 
 sembled upon the platform. They filled McGin 
 nis with unspeakable repulsion. 
 
 The conductor began with car No. 2204. 
 
 " Now, Deacon, who have you got? " 
 
 The Deacon, an enormously fat darky, rolled 
 his eyes and replied that he had " two ole women 
 
 98
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 an er gen elman gwine ortermobublin with his 
 cheffonier." 
 
 The conductor opined that these would prove 
 unfertile candidates for McGinnis. He therefore 
 turned to Moses, of car No. 2201. Moses, how 
 ever, had only half a load. There was a fat man, 
 a Mr. Huber, who travelled regularly; two ladies 
 on passes; and a very thin man, with his wife, her 
 sister, a maid, two nurses, and three children. 
 
 " Nothin doin ! " remarked the captain. 
 11 Now, Colonel, what have you got? " 
 
 But the Colonel, a middle-aged colored man of 
 aristocratic appearance, had an easy answer. His 
 entire car was full, as he expressed it, " er frogs." 
 
 " Frenchmen ! " grunted McGinnis. 
 
 The conductor remembered. Yes, they were 
 Sanko s Orchestra going on to give a matinee con 
 cert in Providence. 
 
 The next car had only five drummers, every one 
 of whom was known to the conductor, as taking 
 the trip twice a week. They were therefore 
 counted out. That left only one car, No. 2205. 
 
 " Well, William, what have you got? " 
 
 William grinned. Though sleepy, he realized 
 the importance of the disclosure he was about to 
 make and was correspondingly dignified and pon 
 derous. There was two trabblin gen elmen, Mr. 
 Smith and Mr. Higgins. He d handled dose 
 
 99
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 gen elmen fo several years. There was a very 
 old lady, her daughter and maid. Then there was 
 Mr. Uberheimer, who got off at Middletown. 
 And then William smiled significantly there 
 was an awful strange pair in the drawin -room. 
 They could look for themselves. He didn t know 
 nuff n bout burglars in disguise, but dere was " one 
 of em in er mighty curious set er fixtures." 
 
 " Huh ! Two of em ! " commented Mc- 
 Ginnis. 
 
 That s easy ! " remarked the mollified conduc 
 tor. 
 
 The telegraph operator, who read Laura Jean 
 Libbey, now approached with his revolver. 
 
 McGinnis, another detective, and the conductor 
 moved toward the car. William preferred the 
 safety of the platform and the temporary distinc 
 tion of being the discoverer of the fugitive. No 
 light was visible in the drawing-room, and the 
 sounds of heavy slumber were plainly audible. 
 The conductor rapped loudly; there was no re 
 sponse. He rattled the door and turned the 
 handle vigorously, but elicited no sign of recogni 
 tion. Then McGinnis rapped with his knife on 
 the glass of the door. He happened to hit three 
 times. Immediately there were sounds within. 
 Something very much like " All right, sir," and the 
 door was opened. The conductor and McGinnis 
 
 100
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 saw a fat man, in blue silk pajamas, his face flushed 
 and his eyes heavy with sleep, who looked at them 
 in dazed bewilderment. 
 
 Wot do you want? " drawled the fat man, 
 blinking at the lantern. 
 
 " Sorry to disturb you," broke in McGinnis 
 briskly, " but is there any wan else, beside ye, to 
 kape ye company? " 
 
 Wilkins shook his head with annoyance and 
 made as if to close the door, but the detective thrust 
 his foot across the threshold. 
 
 " Aisy there ! " he remarked. " Conductor, 
 just turn on that light, will ye? " 
 
 Wilkins scrambled heavily into his berth, and 
 the conductor struck a match and turned on the 
 Pintsch light. Only one bed was occupied, and 
 that by the fat man in the pajamas. On the sofa 
 was an elegant alligator-skin bag disclosing a row 
 of massive silver-topped bottles. A tall silk hat 
 and Inverness coat hung from a hook, and a suit 
 of evening clothes, as well as a business suit of 
 fustian, were neatly folded and lying on the upper 
 berth. 
 
 At this vision of respectability both McGinnis 
 and the conductor recoiled, glancing doubtfully at 
 one another. Wilkins saw his advantage. 
 
 " May I hinquire," remarked he, with dignity, 
 "wot you mean by these hactions? W y am I 
 
 101
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 thus disturbed in the middle of the night? It is 
 houtrageous ! " 
 
 Very sorry, sir," replied the conductor. 
 The fact is, we thought two people, suspicious 
 characters, had taken this room together, and this 
 officer here " pointing to McGinnis " had or 
 ders to arrest one of them." 
 
 Wilkins swelled with indignation. 
 
 "Suspicious characters! Two people! Look 
 ere, conductor, I ll ave you to hunderstand that I 
 will not tolerate such a performance. I am Mr. 
 McAllister, of the Colophon Club, New York, and 
 I am hon my way to hattend the wedding of Mr. 
 Frederick Cabot in Boston, to-morrow. I am to 
 be is best man. Can I give you any further hin- 
 formation? " 
 
 The conductor, who had noticed the initials 
 " McA " on the silver bottle heads, and the same 
 stamped upon the bag, stammered something in the 
 nature of an apology. 
 
 " Say, Cap.," whispered McGinnis, " we ve got 
 him wrong, I guess. This feller ain t no burglar. 
 Anywan can see he s a swell, all right. Leave him 
 alone." 
 
 " Very sorry to have disturbed you," apologized 
 the conductor humbly, putting out the light and 
 closing the door. 
 
 " That nigger must be nutty " he added to the 
 102
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 detective. " By Joshua! Perhaps he s got away 
 with some of my stuff 1 
 
 " Look here, William, what s the matter with 
 you ? Have you been swipin my whisky. There 
 ain t two men in that drawin -room at all just 
 one a swell," hollered the conductor as they 
 reached the platform. 
 
 " Fo de Lawd, Cap n, I ain t teched yo 
 whisky," cried William in terror. " I swear dey 
 was two of em, n de udder was in disguise. It 
 was de fines disguise I eber saw ! " he added rem- 
 iriiscently. 
 
 " Aw, what yer givin us! " exclaimed McGin- 
 nis, entirely out of patience. " What kind av a 
 disguise was he in? " 
 
 " Dat s what I axed him," explained William, 
 edging toward the rim of the circle. " I done ax 
 him right away what character he done represent. 
 He had on silk stockin s, an a colored deglishay 
 shirt, an a belt an moccasons, an a sword 
 
 an " 
 
 " A sword! " yelled McGinnis, making a jump 
 in William s- direction. "I ll break yer black 
 head for ye! " 
 
 " Hold on ! " cried the conductor, who had 
 disappeared into the car and had emerged again 
 with a bottle in his hand. " The stuff s here." 
 
 " I tell ye the coon is drunk! " shouted the de- 
 103
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 tective in angry tones. " He can t make small 
 av me! " 
 
 " I done tole you the trufe," continued William 
 from a safe distance, his teeth and eyeballs shining 
 in the moonlight. 
 
 "Well, where did he go?" asked the conduc 
 tor. " Did you put him in the drawin -room ? " 
 
 " I seen his ticket," replied William, " an he 
 said he wanted to smoke, so he went into the Ben- 
 volio, the car behin ." 
 
 "Car behind!" cried McGinnis. "There 
 ain t no car behind. This here is the last car." 
 
 " Sure," said the conductor, with a laugh; " we 
 dropped the Benvolio at Selma Junction for re 
 pairs. Say, McGinnis, you better have that 
 drink!" 
 
 IV 
 
 McAllister was awakened by a sense of chill. 
 The compartment was dark, save for the pale light 
 of the moon hanging low over what seemed to be 
 water and the masts of ships, which stole in and 
 picked out sharply the silver buckles on his shoes 
 and the buttons of his doublet. There was no 
 motion, no sound. The train was apparently 
 waiting somewhere, but McAllister could not hear 
 the engine. He put on his ulster and stepped to 
 
 104
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 the door of the car. All the lights had been ex 
 tinguished and he could hear neither the sound of 
 heavy breathing nor the other customary evidences 
 of the innocent rest of the human animal. He 
 looked across the platform for his own car and 
 found that the train had totally disappeared. The 
 Benvolio was stationary side-tracked, evidently, 
 on the outskirts of a town, not far from some 
 wharves. 
 
 " Jiminy ! " thought McAllister, looking at his 
 uncheerful surroundings and his picturesque, if 
 somewhat cool, costume. 
 
 For a moment his mental processes refused to 
 answer the heavy draught upon them. Then he 
 turned up his coat-collar, stepped out upon the plat 
 form, and lit a cigar. By the light of the match 
 he looked at his watch and saw that it was 
 four o clock. Overhead the sky glowed with thou 
 sands of twinkling stars, and the moon, just touch 
 ing the sea, made a limpid path of light across the 
 water. At the docks silent ships lay fast asleep. 
 A mile away a clock struck four, intensifying the 
 stillness. It was very beautiful, but very cold, and 
 McAllister shivered as he thought of Wilkins, and 
 Freddy Cabot, and the wedding at twelve o clock. 
 So far as he knew he might be just outside of Bos 
 ton Quincy, or somewhere yet, somehow, the 
 moon didn t look as if it were at Quincy. 
 
 105
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 He jumped down and started along the track. 
 His feet stung as they struck the cinder. His 
 whole body was asleep. It was easy enough to 
 walk in the direction in which the clock had 
 sounded, and this he did. The rails followed the 
 shore for about a hundred yards and then joined 
 the main line. Presently he came in sight of a 
 depot. Every now and then his sword would get 
 between his legs, and this caused him so much an 
 noyance that he took it off and carried it. It was 
 queer how uncomfortable the old style of shoe was 
 when used for walking on a railroad track. His 
 ruffle, too, proved a confounded nuisance, almost 
 preventing a satisfactory adjustment of coat-collar. 
 Finally he untied it and put it in the pocket of his 
 ulster. The cap was not so bad. 
 
 The depot had inspired the clubman with dis 
 tinct hope, but as he approached, it appeared as 
 dark and tenantless as the car behind him. It was 
 impossible to read the name of the station owing 
 to the fact that the sign was too high up for the 
 light of a match to reach it. It was clear that 
 there was nothing to do but to wait for the dawn, 
 and he settled himself in a corner near the express 
 office and tried to forget his discomfort. 
 
 He had less time to wait than he had expected. 
 Soon a great clattering of hoofs caused him to 
 climb stiffly to his feet again. Three farmers 
 
 106
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 wagons, each drawn by a pair of heavy horses, 
 backed in against the platform, and their drivers, 
 throwing down the reins, leaped to the ground. 
 All were smoking pipes and chaffing one another 
 loudly. Then they began to unload huge cans of 
 milk. This looked encouraging. If they were 
 bringing milk at this hour there must be a train 
 going somewhere. It didn t matter where to Mc 
 Allister, if only he could get warm. Presently a 
 faint humming came along the rails, which stead 
 ily increased in volume until the approaching train 
 could be distinctly heard. 
 
 " Pretty nigh on time," commented the nearest 
 farmer. 
 
 McAllister stepped forward, sword in hand. 
 The farmer involuntarily drew back. 
 
 "Wall, I swan!" he remarked, removing his 
 pipe. 
 
 " Do you mind telling me," inquired our friend, 
 " what place this is and where this train goes to? " 
 
 " I reckon not," replied the other. " This is 
 Selma Junction, and this here train is due in New 
 York at five. Who be you ? " 
 
 " Well," answered McAllister, " I m just an 
 humble citizen of New York, forced by circum 
 stances to return to the city as soon as possible." 
 
 " Reckon you re one o them play-actors, bean t 
 ye?" 
 
 107
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 " You ve got it," returned McAllister. " Fact 
 is, I ve just been playing Henry VIII on the 
 road." 
 
 " I ve heard tell on t," commented the rustic. 
 " But I ain t never seen it. Shakespeare, ain t it? " 
 
 " Yes, Shakespeare," admitted the clubman. 
 
 At this moment the milk-train roared in and the 
 teamsters began passing up their cans. There 
 were no passenger coaches nothing but freight- 
 cars and a caboose. Toward this our friend made 
 his way. There did not seem to be any conductor, 
 and, without making inquiries, McAllister climbed 
 upon the platform and pushed open the door. If 
 warmth was what he desired he soon found it. 
 The end of the car was roughly fitted with half a 
 dozen bunks, two boxes which served for chairs, 
 and some spittoons. A small cast-iron stove 
 glowed red-hot, but while the place was odorifer 
 ous, its temperature was grateful to the shivering 
 McAllister. The car was empty save for a gigan 
 tic Irishman sitting fast asleep in the farther 
 corner. 
 
 Our hero laid down his sword, threw off his 
 ulster, and hung his cap upon an adjacent hook. 
 In a moment or two the train started again. Still 
 no one came into the caboose. Now daylight 
 began to filter in through the grimy windows. 
 The sun jumped suddenly from behind a ridge and 
 
 108
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 shot a beam into the face of the sleeper at the other 
 end of the car. Slowly he awoke, yawned, rubbed 
 his eyes, and, catching the glint of silver buttons, 
 gazed stupidly in McAllister s direction. The 
 random glance gradually gave place to a stare of 
 intense amazement. He wrinkled his brows, and 
 leaned forward, scrutinizing with care every detail 
 of McAllister s make-up. The train stopped for 
 an instant and a burly brakeman banged open the 
 door and stepped inside. He, too, hung fire, as it 
 were, at the sight of Henry VIII. Then he broke 
 into a loud laugh. 
 
 " Who in thunder are you? " 
 
 Before McAllister could reply McGinnis, with a 
 comprehensive smile, made answer: 
 
 " Shure, tis only a prisoner I m after takin back 
 to the city ! " 
 
 " Mr. McAllister," remarked Conville, two 
 hours later, as the three of them sat in the visitors 
 room at the club, " I hope you won t say anything 
 about this. You see, I had no business to put a 
 kid like Ebstein on the job, but I was clean knocked 
 out and had to snatch some sleep. I suppose he 
 thought he was doin a big thing when he nailed 
 you for a burglar. But, after all, the only thing 
 that saved Welch was your fallin asleep in the 
 Benvolio." 
 
 1109
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 " My dear Baron," sympathetically replied Mc 
 Allister, who had once more resumed his ordinary 
 attire, " why attribute to chance what is in fact due 
 to intellect? No, I won t mention our adventure, 
 and if our friend McGinnis " 
 
 " Oh, McGinnis ll keep his head shut, all right, 
 you bet ! " interrupted Barney. " But say, Mr. 
 McAllister, on the level, you re too good for us. 
 Why don t you chuck this game and come in out of 
 the rain? You ll be up against it in the end. 
 Help us to land this feller! " 
 
 McAllister took a long pull at his cigar and half- 
 closed his eyes. There was a quizzical look 
 around his mouth that Conville had never seen 
 there before. 
 
 " Perhaps I will," said he softly. " Perhaps 
 I will." 
 
 "Good!" shouted the Baron; "put it there! 
 Now, if you get anything, tip us off. You can 
 always catch me at 3100 Spring." 
 
 " Well," replied the clubman, " don t forget to 
 drop in here, if you happen to be going by. Some 
 time, on a rainy day perhaps, you might want a 
 nip of something warm." 
 
 But to this the Baron did not respond. 
 
 A plunge in the tank and a comfortable smoke 
 almost restored McAllister s customary equanim 
 ity. Weddings were a bore, anyway. Then he 
 
 no
 
 The Escape of Wilkins 
 
 called for a telegraph blank and sent the follow 
 ing: 
 
 Was unavoidably detained. Terribly disappointed. If 
 necessary, use Wilkins. McA. 
 
 To which, about noon-time, he received the fol 
 lowing reply : 
 
 Don t understand. Wilkins arrived, left clothes and 
 departed. You must have mixed your dates. Wedding 
 to-morrow. F. C. 
 
 Ill
 
 THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL S 
 TRUNK
 
 The Governor-General s 
 Trunk 
 
 MCALLISTER was in the tank. His puffing 
 and blowing as he dove and tumbled like a 
 contented, rubicund porpoise, reverberated loudly 
 among the marble pillars of the bath at the club. 
 It was all part of a carefully adjusted and as rig 
 orously followed regimen, for McAllister was a 
 thorough believer in exercise (provided it was mod 
 erate) , and took it regularly, averring that a fellow 
 couldn t expect to eat and drink as much as he 
 naturally wanted to unless he kept in some sort of 
 condition, and if he didn t he would simply get off 
 his peck, that was all. Hence " Chubby " arose 
 regularly at nine-thirty, and wrapping himself in 
 a padded Japanese silk dressing-gown, descended 
 to the tank, where he dove six times and swam 
 around twice, after which he weighed himself and 
 had Tim rub him down. Tim felt a high degree 
 of solicitude for all this procedure, since he was a 
 personal discovery of McAllister s, and owed his 
 present exalted position entirely to the clubman s
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 interest, for the latter had found him at Coney 
 Island earning his daily bread by diving, in the 
 presence of countless multitudes, into a six-foot 
 glass tank, where he seated himself upon the bot 
 tom and nonchalantly consumed a banana. Mc 
 Allister s delight and enthusiasm at this elevating 
 spectacle had been boundless. 
 
 :< Wish I could do any one thing as well as that 
 feller dives down and eats that banana ! " he had 
 confided to his friend Wainwright. " Sometimes I 
 feel as if my life had been wasted! " The upshot 
 of the whole matter was that Tim had been forth 
 with engaged as rubber and swimming teacher at 
 the club. 
 
 McAllister had just taken his fifth plunge, and 
 was floating lazily toward the steps, when Tim ap 
 peared at the door leading into the dressing-rooms 
 and announced that a party wanted to speak to him 
 on the phone, the Lady somebody, evidently a 
 very cantankerous old person, who was in the devil 
 of a hurry, and wouldn t stand no waitin . 
 
 The clubman turned over, sputtered, touched 
 bottom, and arose dripping to his feet. The " old 
 person " on the wire was clearly his aunt, Lady 
 Lyndhurst, and he knew very much better than to 
 irritate her when she was in one of her tantrums. 
 Still, he couldn t imagine what she wanted with 
 him at that hour of the morning. She d been 
 
 116
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 placid enough the evening before when he d left 
 her after the opera. But ever since she had mar 
 ried Lord Lyndhurst for her second husband ten 
 years before she d been getting more and more 
 dictatorial. 
 
 Tell her I m in this beastly tank; awful sorry 
 I can t speak with her myself, don cher know, and 
 find out what she wants. And Tim handle her 
 gently it s my aunt." 
 
 Tim grinned and winked a comprehending eye. 
 As McAllister hurried into his bath-robe and slip 
 pers he wondered more and more why she had 
 rung him up so early. He had intended calling 
 on her after breakfast, any way, but " after break 
 fast " to McAllister meant in the neighborhood of 
 twelve o clock, for the meal was always carefully 
 ordered the evening before for half-past ten the 
 next morning, after which came the paper and a 
 long, light Casadora, crop of 97, which McAllis 
 ter had bought up entire. Something must be up 
 that was certain. He could imagine her in her 
 wrapper and curl-papers holding converse with 
 Tim over the wire. The language of his protege 
 might well assist in the process for which the curl 
 papers were required. There was nobody in the 
 world, in McAllister s opinion, so queer as his 
 aunt, except his aunt s husband. The latter was a 
 stout, beefy nobleman of sixty-five, with a walrus- 
 
 117
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 like countenance, an implicit faith in the perfection 
 of British institutions, and about enough intelli 
 gence to drive a watering-cart. He had been re 
 warded for his unswerving fidelity to party with 
 the post of Governor-General at a small group of 
 islands somewhere near the equator, and had as 
 sumed his duties solemnly and ponderously, estab 
 lishing the Bertillon system of measurements for 
 the seven criminals which his islands supported, 
 and producing quarterly monographs on the flora, 
 fauna, and conchology of his dominion. Just now 
 they were en route for England (via Quebec, of 
 course), and were stopping at the Waldorf. 
 
 Tim presently reappeared. 
 
 " She says you ve got to hike right down to the 
 hotel as fast as you can. She s terrible upset. 
 My, ain t she a tiger? " 
 
 " But what s the bloomin row? " exclaimed Mc 
 Allister. 
 
 Tim looked round cautiously and lowered his 
 voice. 
 
 " The Lyndhurst Jewels has been stole ! " said 
 he. 
 
 II 
 
 The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen ! No wonder 
 Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish, for they were 
 the treasured heirlooms of her husband s family, 
 
 118
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. 
 McAllister had always said the old man was an 
 ass to go lugging em off down among the mangoes 
 and land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked 
 to have his lady appear in style at Government 
 House, and took much innocent pleasure in aston 
 ishing the natives by the splendor of her adorn 
 ment. The jewelry, however, was the source of 
 unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, and every 
 body else, for it was always getting lost, and burg 
 lar scares occurred with regularity at the islands. 
 It had been still intact, however, on their arrival 
 in New York. 
 
 The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting 
 dejectedly at the breakfast-table in the Diplomatic 
 Suite. 
 
 The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to 
 our friend s centre of vivacity. There were also 
 evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. His 
 aunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded Mc 
 Allister s eye as they responded half-heartedly to 
 his cheerful salutation. That the matter was se 
 rious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels 
 must be really gone. In addition, both the Gov 
 ernor-General and his lady kept looking over their 
 shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary 
 assault of some assassin. McAllister inquired 
 what the jolly mess was, incidentally suggesting 
 
 119
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 that their hurry-call had deprived him of any at 
 tempt at breakfast. His hint, however, fell on 
 barren ground. 
 
 " That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry 
 in the big Vuitton ! " exclaimed his uncle, nervously 
 jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. " To say the 
 least, it was excessively careless of him, for he 
 knows perfectly well that we always carry it in the 
 morocco hand-bag, and never allow it out of our 
 sight." The Governor-General paused, and took 
 a sip of coffee. 
 
 "Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, 
 " why don t you have him unpack it, then? " He 
 couldn t for the life of him see why they made 
 such a row about a thing of that sort. It was 
 clear enough that they were both more than half 
 mad. 
 
 " Ah, that s the point ! It was sent to the sta 
 tion with the rest of the luggage last evening. 
 Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by this 
 time ! Think of it, McAllister ! The Lyndhurst 
 Jewels, secured merely by a miserable brass check 
 with a number on it and the railroad liable by 
 express contract only to the extent of one hundred 
 dollars!" Before Uncle Basil had attained his 
 present eminence he had been called to the bar, 
 and his book on " Flotsam and Jetsam " is still an 
 authority in those regions to which later works 
 
 120
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 have not penetrated. " You see we re leaving at 
 three this afternoon, but why send it all so early 
 unless for a purpose? " Lord Lyndhurst nodded 
 conclusively. He had the air of one who had 
 divined something. 
 
 Still Chubby failed to see the connection. 
 Someone, a valet evidently, had packed the jewelry 
 in the wrong place, and then sent the load off a 
 little ahead of time. What of it? He recalled 
 vividly an occasion when the jewels had been 
 stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket, 
 but had turned up safe enough at the end of the 
 trip. 
 
 " If that is all," replied McAllister, " all you 
 have to do is to send your man over to the station 
 and have the trunk brought back. Send the fellow 
 who packed the trunk this Morton whoever 
 he is." 
 
 " No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the 
 end of a boiled egg. " There are reasons. I wish 
 you would go, instead. The fact is I don t wish 
 Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I I 
 need him." Lord Lyndhurst again evaded the 
 clubman s inquiring glance, and eyed the egg in an 
 embarrassed fashion. 
 
 McAllister laughed. " I guess your jewelry s 
 all right," said he cheerfully. " Certainly I ll go. 
 Don t worry. I ll have the trunk and the jewels 
 
 121
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 back here inside of fifty minutes. Who s Morton, 
 anyhow? " 
 
 " My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering 
 his voice, and looking over his shoulder. " You 
 wouldn t recall him. I engaged the man at Kings 
 ton on the way out. As a servant I have had ab 
 solutely no fault to find at all. You know it s very 
 hard to get a good man to go to the Tropics, but 
 Morton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to 
 the present time I haven t had the slightest reason 
 to suspect his honesty! " 
 
 ; Well, I don t see that you have any now," said 
 McAllister. " I guess I ll start along. I haven t 
 had anythin to eat yet. Have you the check? " 
 
 Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass. 
 
 " I secured it from Morton," he remarked, at 
 tacking the egg viciously. 
 
 " Secured it? " exclaimed McAllister. 
 
 The Governor-General nodded ambiguously. 
 
 Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had 
 become almost hysterical, and now sat wringing 
 her hands in the greatest agitation. Suddenly she 
 broke forth : 
 
 " I told Basil he had been too hasty ! But he 
 would have it that there was nothing else to do! 
 Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don t you tell him 
 what you ve done? " 
 
 What in thunder have you done? " asked Mc- 
 122
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 Allister, now convinced beyond peradventure that 
 his uncle was a candidate for the nearest insane 
 asylum. 
 
 Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, 
 and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 
 
 "Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know 
 it, is locked in the clothes-closet. I locked him ! " 
 
 " He s in there! " suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. 
 " Basil put him in ! And now the jewelry s no 
 one knows where, and there s a man in the room, 
 and I m afraid to stay and Basil s afraid to go for 
 fear he may get out, and " 
 
 She was interrupted by a smothered voice that 
 came from within the closet. McAllister was 
 startled, for there was something faintly, vaguely 
 familiar about it. 
 
 " It s a bloomin houtrage, it is ! Look ere, 
 sir, I ll ave you to hunderstand that I gives notice 
 at once, sir, ere and now, sir! It s a great hin- 
 dignity you are a-puttin me to, sir! Won t you 
 let me hout, sir? " The voice ceased momen 
 tarily. 
 
 "Isn t it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. 
 " He s been like that for over an hour! " 
 
 " Yes ! " added Uncle Basil. " At times he s 
 been actually abusive." But McAllister was lost 
 in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had 
 he heard that voice before? 
 
 123
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 " Ang it, sir ! Won t you let me hout, sir," 
 continued Morton. " I m stiflin in ere, an I 
 thinks there s a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me 
 hout!" 
 
 McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he 
 recognized the voice! Could he ever forget it? 
 Had anyone ever said " O Lawd! " in quite the 
 same way as the majestic Wilkins? It could be 
 no other! By George, the old man wasn t such 
 a fool after all ! And the jewels ! He smote his 
 fist upon the table, while his uncle and aunt gazed 
 at him apprehensively. There was no use exciting 
 their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now. 
 The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see 
 what had become of the jewels. 
 
 " Damn ! " came in vigorous tones from the 
 closet, as Wilkins endeavored to assert himself. 
 "It s a bloomin houtrage, it is! I ll ave you 
 arrested for hassault an bat ry, I will, if you are 
 a guv nor! Let me hout, I say! " 
 
 III 
 
 McAllister lost no time in getting to the 
 Grand Central Station. He was looking for a 
 big Vuitton trunk, and he wanted to find it quick. 
 For this purpose he enlisted the services of a burly 
 young porter, who, for the consideration of a half- 
 
 124
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 dollar, piloted the clubman through the crowded 
 alleys of the outgoing baggage-room, until they 
 came upon the familiar collection of Lord Lynd- 
 hurst s paraphernalia of travel. Eagerly he rec 
 ognized the luggage of his uncle s official house 
 hold. There were his boot-boxes, his hat-boxes, 
 his portable desk, his dumb-bells, his bath-tub, his 
 medicine chest, the secretary s trunk, the typewriter 
 in its case ; there were his aunt s basket trunks, and 
 yes there was the big Vuitton. McAllister 
 heaved a sigh of relief. The next thing was to 
 get it back to the hotel as fast as possible. 
 
 " That s it," said he to the porter. " Heave 
 it out! " They were standing in a little open 
 space some distance from the entrance. The big 
 Vuitton lay at one side, and about it a row of 
 other trunks roughly in a semicircle. The porter 
 made but one step in the desired direction, then 
 jumped as if he had seen a ghost, for a big basket 
 trunk, standing alone upon its end apart, suddenly 
 shook violently, its lock clicked, the cover swung 
 open, and out jumped a slender, sharp-featured 
 young man with a black mustache. It was Barney 
 Conville, although at first McAllister failed to 
 recognize him. 
 
 " Look here you ! Don t touch that trunk ! " he 
 exclaimed. Then he perceived McAllister, and a 
 look of intense disgust overspread his face. 
 
 125
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 tjf 
 
 "It s the Baron!" ejaculated McAllister. 
 " Now what the devil do you suppose he s been 
 doin in that trunk? Howd y , Baron," he added 
 pleasantly, holding out his hand. u Hardly ex 
 pected to see you here. Do you take your rest that 
 way? " pointing to the trunk from which Conville 
 had emerged. 
 
 The detective eyed him with disapproval. 
 
 " Say," he remarked, disdainfully, " you give 
 me a pain always buttin in an spoilln every- 
 thin ! This here is a plant. I m waitin fer a 
 thief Jerry, the Oyster. They re goin to try an 
 lift that big striped trunk over there. It belongs 
 to an old party up to the Waldorf. He s a diplo- 
 matico." 
 
 " He s my uncle ! " cried McAllister. 
 . " Your aunt! " snorted Barney. 
 
 " But I want to take that trunk back with me." 
 
 "On the level?" 
 
 "Sure!" 
 
 " Can t help it! This is an important job. 
 The Oyster s the cleverest thief in the business. 
 Works in with all the butlers and valets. Why 
 he s got away with more n three thousand pieces 
 of baggage. He s the " 
 
 Barney did not finish the sentence. Suddenly 
 he ducked, and grabbing McAllister by the shoul 
 der, pulled him down with him. 
 
 126
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 " There he is now! Into the trunk! There s 
 no other way! Plenty of room!" He shoved 
 his fat companion inside and stepped after him. 
 McAllister, utterly bewildered, tried to convince 
 himself that he was not dreaming. He was quite 
 sure he had taken only one Scotch that morn 
 ing, but he pinched himself, and was relieved to 
 get the proper reaction. When he became used 
 to the dim light he discovered that he was en 
 sconced in a dress-box of immense proportions, 
 made of basket work, and covered with water 
 proofing. Placed on end, with a seat across 
 the middle, it afforded a very comfortable place 
 of concealment. Conville turned the key and 
 locked the cover. Then he poked McAllister in 
 the ribs. 
 
 " Great joint, ain t it? Idee of the cap s. 
 Makes a fine plant," he whispered, affixing his eye 
 to a narrow slit near the top. 
 
 " Sh-h! " he added; " he s here. There s an 
 other peeper over on your side." 
 
 McAllister followed his example, gluing his eye 
 to the improvised window, and discovered that 
 they commanded the approach to the big Vuitton. 
 And inside that innocent piece of luggage reposed 
 the glory of his uncle s family, the heirlooms of 
 four centuries! He made an involuntary move 
 ment. 
 
 127
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 " Keep still! " hissed Conville, and McAllister 
 sank back obediently. 
 
 A young Anglican clergyman in shovel-hat and 
 gaiters, carrying a dainty silver-headed umbrella 
 in one hand and a copy of The Churchman in the 
 other, had approached the counter. He seemed 
 somewhat at a loss, gazed vaguely about him for a 
 moment, and then stepping up to the head baggage 
 man, an oldish man with white whiskers, addressed 
 him anxiously. 
 
 " I say, my man, I m really in an awful mess, 
 don t you know! I don t see my box anywhere. 
 I sent it over from the hotel early this morning, 
 and I m leavin for Montreal at three. The lug 
 gage-man says it was left here by ten o clock. Do 
 you keep all the boxes in this room ? " 
 
 The head bagage-man nodded. 
 
 " Sorry you ve lost your trunk," said he. " If 
 it ain t here we haven t got it, but like as not it s 
 mixed up in one of them piles. If you ll wait for 
 about ten minutes I ll see if I can find it for your 
 Reverence." 
 
 The Anglican looked shocked. 
 
 " Thanks, I m sure," he murmured stiffly. He 
 was a slight young man with a monocle and mutton- 
 chops. 
 
 " It s very good of you," he added after a pause, 
 with more condescension. " Awfully awkward to 
 
 128
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 be without one s luggage, for I have a service in 
 Montreal to-morrow, and all my vestments are in 
 my box. I fear I shall miss my train." 
 
 " Oh, I guess not I " replied the baggage-man en 
 couragingly. " I ll be with you presently. You 
 come in and look around yourself, and if you don t 
 see it I ll help you. This way, sir," and he lifted 
 a section of the counter and allowed the clergyman 
 to pass in. 
 
 "My! Ain t he clever!" whispered Barney 
 delightedly. 
 
 The clergyman now began a rather dilatory in 
 vestigation of the contents of the baggage-room, 
 bending over and examining every trunk in sight, 
 and even tapping the one in which they were 
 ensconced with the silver head of his umbrella, 
 but after a few moments, in apparent despair, 
 he took his stand beside the big trunk marked 
 " B. C. L.," and gazed despondently about him. 
 There was nothing in his appearance to suggest 
 that he was other than he seemed, but Barney di 
 rected McAllister s attention to the copy of The 
 Churchman, from the leaves of which protruded 
 two diminutive pieces of string, put there, as it 
 might appear, for a book-mark. And now as the 
 Anglican shifted from one foot to the other, os 
 tensibly waiting for the porter, he placed his 
 hands behind him and took a step or two backward 
 
 129
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 toward the big trunk. Chubby was by this time 
 all agog. What would the fellow do? He cer 
 tainly couldn t be goin to shoulder the trunk and 
 try to walk off with it! 
 
 Suddenly McAllister saw the daintily gloved 
 hands slip a penknife from among the leaves of 
 the magazine and quickly sever the check from the 
 handle of the trunk. The Anglican altered his 
 position and waited until the baggage-man was 
 once more engaged at the other end of the counter. 
 Again this amiable representative of the cloth 
 shuffled backward until the handle was within easy 
 reach, and with a dexterity which must have been 
 born of long practice deftly tied the two ends 
 of string around it. With a quick motion he 
 stepped away in the direction of the counter, and 
 out from the leaves of The Churchman fell and 
 dangled a new check stamped " Waistcoat s Ex 
 press, No. 1467." 
 
 " My good fellow," impatiently drawled the 
 clergyman, approaching the baggage-man, I 
 really can t wait, don cher know. I ve looked 
 everywhere, and my box isn t here. I don t know 
 whether to blame that beastly luggage-man, or 
 whether it s the fault of this disgustin American 
 railroad. It s evident someone s at fault, and as 
 I assume that you are in charge I shall report you 
 immediately." 
 
 130
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 The elderly baggage-man regarded the robust 
 champion of religion before him with scorn. 
 
 " Well, son, you can report all you like. I ve 
 worked in this baggage-room eighteen years, and 
 you re not the first English crank who thought he 
 owned the hull Central Railroad," and he turned 
 on his heel, while the clergyman, with an expression 
 of horror, ambled quickly out of the side door. 
 
 McAllister had watched this remarkable pro 
 ceeding with enthusiastic interest, his round face 
 shining with the excitement of a child. 
 
 " Jiminy, but this is great ! " he exclaimed, slap 
 ping Barney upon the back. " And to think of 
 your doin it for a livin ! Why I d sit here all 
 day for nothin ! What happens next? And 
 what becomes of the feller that s just gone 
 out?" 
 
 "Oh, you ain t seen half the show yet! " re 
 sponded Conville, pleased. " It is pretty good fun 
 at times. But, o course, this is a star perform 
 ance, and we re sure of our man. Oh, it beats the 
 theayter, all right, all right ! Truth s stranger 
 than fiction every time, you bet. Now take this 
 Oyster why he s a regular cracker-jack! Got 
 sense enough to be an alderman, or president, or 
 anythin , but he keeps right at his own little job of 
 liftin trunks, an he ain t never been caught yet. 
 His pal ll be along now any minute."
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 "How s that?" inquired Chubby with eager 
 ness. 
 
 " Why, don cher see ? Jerry s cut off the reg lar 
 tag, and now the other feller ll present a dupli 
 cate of the one Jerry s just hitched on. Great 
 game, Foxy Quiller, eh? " 
 
 McAllister admitted delightedly that it was a 
 great game. By George, it beat playin the 
 horses ! At the same time he shivered as he real 
 ized how nearly the famous jewels had actually 
 been lost. Wilkins must be an awful bad egg to 
 go and tie up to a gang of that sort ! 
 
 The baggage-man, serenely unconscious of all 
 that had been taking place behind his back, and 
 apparently not soured by his little set-to with 
 the Englishman, was genially assisting the great 
 American public to find its effects, and beaming on 
 all about him. People streamed in and out, en 
 gines coughed and wheezed; from outside came 
 the roar and rattle of the city. 
 
 Presently there bounced in a stout person in a 
 yellow and black suit, with white waistcoat and 
 green tie, who mopped his red face with a large 
 silk handkerchief. Rushing up to a porter who 
 seemed to be unoccupied, he threw down a paste 
 board check, together with a shining half-dollar, 
 and shouted, " Here, my good feller, that trunk, 
 will you ? Quick ! The big one with the red let- 
 
 132
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 ters on it B. C. L. They sent it here from the 
 Astoria instead of to the steamboat dock, and my 
 ship sails at twelve. Now, get a move on ! " 
 
 The porter grabbed the check and the half- 
 dollar, and falling upon the big Vuitton, rolled it 
 end over end out into the street, followed by its 
 perspiring claimant. 
 
 " That s right, that s right," shouted the 
 bounder. " Chuck it on behind. Mus n t miss 
 the boat ! " and throwing the porter another half- 
 dollar, the sportive traveller jumped into the hack, 
 yelling, " Now drive like the devil! " The door 
 closed with a bang, and the vehicle quickly disap 
 peared among the tracks and wagons of Forty- 
 second Street. 
 
 McAllister for the first time felt distinctly un 
 easy. 
 
 " Look here," he whispered feverishly, " is it 
 right to let him walk off like that? Hurry I 
 Open the trunk, or he ll get away ! " 
 
 " Sit still, and don t get excited! " commanded 
 Barney. " It s all right," he added condescend 
 ingly, remembering that McAllister was unfamil 
 iar with such mysteries. :< We ve got him cov 
 ered. He couldn t get away to save his neck. 
 An as for follerin him, why he ll carry that trunk 
 half over New York before he lands it where it s 
 goin l" 
 
 133
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 " All right! " sighed the clubman; " you re the 
 doctor. But it seems to me you re takin a lot of 
 risk. Your brother officer might lose track of him, 
 or he might drop the trunk somehow, and then 
 where would the jewels be? " 
 
 " Right exactly where they are now replied 
 Barney with a grin. " In the office safe at the 
 Waldorf. They ain t never left the hotel. There 
 wasn t any need of it, and if I hadn t taken em 
 out I d Ve had to watch em here all night. Now 
 everythin s all right. 
 
 " And say," he added, chuckling at the joke of 
 it, " I forgot to tell you. Who do you suppose is 
 workin with Jerry? Fatty Welch! Wilkins, 
 you d call him. He s turned up again an hooked 
 on, somehow, to the Gov nor. Me and my side- 
 partner s been trailin em both ever since your 
 uncle hit New York. I had the room opposite 
 him at the Waldorf. Yesterday mornin I saw 
 Welch pack the jewelry. I was togged out as 
 a bell-boy, and was cleanin the winders. The 
 Gov nor s kind of figgity you know, and I thought 
 we d better not mention anythin to him. Of 
 course I didn t have any idea you d come waltzin 
 along this way." 
 
 McAllister solemnly held out his hand to the 
 detective. He was as demonstrative as his narrow 
 quarters rendered possible. 
 
 134
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 " Baron," said he, "you re a corker! I ve 
 learned a heap this morning." 
 
 " There s lots of things you never dream of, 
 Horace," replied Barney politely. 
 
 " Do you remember, Baron, the last time we met 
 asking me to help you nab Wilkins? " continued 
 McAllister. " Well, I m goin to make good. 
 I ve got him safely locked in a closet at the hotel. 
 He promised not to come back, and now I m done 
 with him. What do you say to that ?" 
 
 " Good work! " ejaculated Barney. " Keep it 
 up ! In time you might make a pretty good detec 
 tive." 
 
 From Barney such a concession was high 
 praise, and showed intense appreciation. On their 
 way back to the Waldorf he explained that the 
 " Oyster " was one of a very few " guns " able 
 effectively to make use of a disguise, this being in 
 part due to the fact that he was the son of a clergy 
 man, and educated for the stage. 
 
 They were met at the door of the apartment by 
 Lady Lyndhurst. 
 
 " Basil has disappeared! " she gasped. " And 
 that awful man in the closet has become so blas 
 phemous that I can t remain with decency in the 
 room." 
 
 McAllister partially pacified her by stating that 
 the jewelry was entirely safe. He wondered what 
 
 135
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 on earth had become of the Governor. Once in 
 side the suite conversation became practically im 
 possible, owing to the sounds of inarticulate rage 
 which proceeded from the closet. 
 
 Barney decided to place the valet immediately 
 under arrest and take him to Police Headquarters. 
 The sooner they did so the more likely he would 
 be to " squeal." He requested McAllister to arm 
 himself with a walking-stick, and to stand ready to 
 come to his assistance if, on opening the door, he 
 should find himself unable to cope with the pris 
 oner alone. Aunt Sophia was relegated to her 
 bedroom, the door leading to the corridor was 
 closed and locked, and the two prepared for the 
 conflict. The detective, of course, had his pistol, 
 which he cocked and held ready. 
 
 " Don t fire till you see the whites of his eyes! " 
 murmured McAllister. 
 
 " Fire nothin ! " muttered Barney, throwing 
 open the closet door. 
 
 u Hands up, or I ll shoot ! " yelled the detective, 
 as a fat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within 
 and burst upon their astonished gaze. The Gov 
 ernor-General stood before them. 
 
 Speechless with rage, he glowered from one to 
 the other then in response to their surprised in 
 quiries broke into incoherent explanation. He had 
 waited on guard some ten minutes after McAllis- 
 
 136
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 tcr s departure, and Sophia had gone to her bed 
 room to finish dressing, when suddenly the expos 
 tulations of Morton had seemed to grow fainter. 
 Finally they had died entirely away, and in their 
 place had come terrible gasps and gurgles. He 
 had remembered that there was no means of renew 
 ing the air supply in the closet, and had become 
 alarmed. Presently all sounds had ceased. He 
 was convinced that Morton was being suffocated. 
 Opening the door, he had found the valet appar 
 ently lying there unconscious, and had dragged him 
 forth, whereupon Morton had suddenly returned 
 to life, and before he knew it had jammed him into 
 the closet and locked the door. 
 
 " He was most impertinent, too, when he got 
 on the outside, I can assure you," concluded Lord 
 Lyndhurst indignantly. " Gave me a lot of gra 
 tuitous advice ! " 
 
 McAllister and the detective endeavored to calm 
 his troubled spirit, and soothe his ruffled dignity, 
 informing him that the jewels had been in the hotel 
 safe all the time. The Governor, however, refused 
 to take any stock whatever in their explanation. 
 Nothing of the sort could possibly have happened 
 in England. It took them an hour to persuade 
 him that they were not lying. The only things 
 that appeared to convince him at all were the dis 
 appearance of Morton, a large bump on his own 
 
 137
 
 Govern or- General s Trunk 
 
 forehead, and the actual presence of the jewelry 
 in the safe downstairs. Even then he sent to 
 Tiffany s for a man to examine it. 
 
 Barney he regarded with unconcealed suspicion, 
 subjecting him to an exhaustive cross-examination 
 upon his antecedents and occupation. The Gov 
 ernor declared he was astounded at his impudence. 
 The idea of opening his private luggage! He 
 would address a communication to the authorities ! 
 It was little better than grand larceny. It was 
 grand larceny, by Jupiter ! Hadn t Conville ab 
 stracted the jewels vi et armls? Of course he had ! 
 Damme, he would see if the sacred rights of an 
 English official should be trampled on ! It was 
 trespass anyway Trespass ab initio! Did Con 
 ville know that? It was grand larceny and tres 
 pass. He would lock him up. 
 
 Barney grinned, and the Governor again became 
 almost apoplectic. 
 
 He snorted scornfully at the detective s expla 
 nation about this Jerry " What-do-you-call-him 
 the Clam." Pooh! Did they expect him to 
 believe that? Conville was a confounded, hair- 
 brained busybody He dwindled off, exhausted. 
 
 At that moment there came a sharp rap upon 
 the door, and an officer in roundsman s uniform 
 entered. 
 
 " Gentleman called at the precinct house and re- 
 138
 
 Governor-General s Trunk 
 
 ported a jewelry theft in this suite. Said the thief 
 had been caught and locked up in a closet, so 
 I thought I d drop over and see how things 
 stood." 
 
 He looked inquiringly at McAllister, signifi 
 cantly at the Governor-General, and then caught 
 sight of Barney. 
 
 " Hello, Conville ! " he exclaimed. " You on 
 the case? Well, then I ll drop out. Got your 
 man, I see ! " He glanced again at the dishevelled 
 scion of nobility before him. 
 
 " Everythin s all right," answered the detective 
 with a chuckle. " I guess they was fakin you 
 round at the house. By the way, I want you to 
 meet a friend of mine Roundsman McCarthy, 
 let me present you to his Nibs the Governor- 
 General." 
 
 The Governor glared immobile, his stony eyes 
 shifting from the now red and stammering rounds 
 man to Conville s beaming countenance, and back 
 again. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he remarked sternly, " do you 
 prefer Scotch or rye? You will find cigars on the 
 sideboard. The drinks, as you Yankees say, are 
 upon me! " 
 
 " By the way," he added to McCarthy, as Mc 
 Allister filled the glasses, " would you be so oblig 
 ing as to describe the individual who so thought- 
 
 139
 
 Governor- General s Trunk 
 
 fully notified you in regard to the loss of the jew 
 elry? " 
 
 " Rather stout, well-dressed man, fat face, gray 
 eyes," answered McCarthy, lighting a cigar. 
 " Looked somethin like this gentleman here," in 
 dicating the clubman. " Spoke with a kind of 
 English accent. Nice appearin feller, all right." 
 
 "By George! Wilkins!" ejaculated McAl 
 lister. 
 
 " Damn ! " exploded Uncle Basil. 
 
 " The nerve of him ! " muttered Barney. 
 
 140
 
 THE GOLDEN TOUCH
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 MCALLISTER, with his friend Wainwright, 
 was lounging before the fire in the big 
 room, having a little private Story Teller s 
 Night of their own. It was in the early autumn, 
 and neither of the clubmen were really settled in 
 town as yet, the former having run down from 
 the Berkshires only for a few days, and the latter 
 having just landed from the Cedric. The sight 
 of Tomlinson, who appeared tentatively in the 
 distance and then, receiving no encouragement, 
 stalked slowly away, reminded Wainwright of 
 something he had heard in Paris. 
 
 " I base my claim to your sympathetic credence, 
 McAllister, upon the impregnable rock of univer 
 sally accepted fact that Tomlinson is a highfalutin 
 ass. I see that you agree. Very good, then ; I pro 
 ceed. In the first place, you must know that our 
 anemic friend decided last spring that the state 
 of his health required a trip to Paris. He there- 
 
 143
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 fore went alone. The reason is obvious. Who 
 should he fall in with at the Hotel Continental 
 but a gentleman named Buncomb Colonel C. T. 
 P. Buncomb, a person with a bullet-hole in the mid 
 dle of his forehead, who claimed to belong to a 
 most exclusive Southern family in Savannah. In 
 cidentally he d been in command of a Georgia 
 regiment in the Civil War and had been knocked 
 in the head at Gettysburg one of those big, flabby 
 fellows with white hair. If all Tomlinson says 
 about his capacity to chew Black Strap and absorb 
 rum is accurate, I reckon the Colonel was right 
 up to weight and could qualify as an F. F. V. He 
 knew everybody and everything in Paris; passed 
 up our friend right along the Faubourg Saint Ger 
 main ; and introduced him to a lot of duchesses and 
 countesses that is, Tomlinson says they were. 
 Can t you see em, swaggerin down the Champs- 
 Elysees arm in arm? In addition, he took our 
 mournful acquaintance to all the cafes chantants 
 and students balls, and gave him sure things on 
 the races. Oh, that Colonel must have been a 
 regular doodle-bug ! 
 
 " In due course Tomlinson gathered that his new 
 friend was a mining expert taking a short vaca 
 tion and just blowing in an extra half million or 
 so. He believed it. You see, he had never met 
 any of them at the Waldorf at home. He was 
 
 144
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 also introduced to a young man in the same line of 
 business, named Larry Summerdale, who seemed 
 to have plenty of money, and was likewise au fait 
 with the aristocracy. 
 
 " Well, one night, after they had been to the 
 Bal Boullier and had had a little supper at the 
 Jockey Club, the Colonel became a trifle more con 
 fidential than usual, and let drop that their friend 
 Summerdale had a brother employed as private 
 secretary by a copper king who owned a wonder 
 ful mine out in Arizona called The Silver Bow. 
 The stock in this concern had originally been sold 
 at five dollars a share, but recently a rich vein had 
 been struck and the stock had quadrupled in value. 
 No one knew of this except the officers of the com 
 pany, who, of course, were anxious to buy up all 
 they could find. They had located most of it 
 easily enough, but there were two or three lots that 
 had thus far eluded them. Among these was the 
 largest single block of stock in existence, owned by 
 the son of the original discoverer of the prospect. 
 He had two thousand shares, and was blissfully 
 ignorant of the fact that they were worth forty 
 thousand dollars. Just where this chap was no 
 one seemed to know, but his name was Edwin H. 
 Blake, and he was supposed to be in Paris. It 
 appeared that the Colonel and Larry were watch 
 ing out for Blake with the charitable idea of re- 
 
 145
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 lieving him of his stock at five, and selling it for 
 twenty in the States. 
 
 " Next day, if you ll believe it, the Colonel 
 didn t remember a thing; became quite angry at 
 Tomlinson s supposing he d take advantage of any 
 person in the way suggested; explained that he 
 must have been drinking, and begged him to for 
 get everything that might have been said. Of 
 course, Tomlinson dropped the subject, but after 
 that the Colonel and he rather drifted apart. 
 Then quite by accident, two or three weeks later, 
 our friend stumbled on Blake himself met him 
 right on the race-track, through a Frenchman 
 named Depau. 
 
 u Now our innocent friend had been sort of 
 lonely ever since he d lost sight of Buncomb, and 
 this Blake turned out to be an awfully good sort. 
 Tomlinson naturally inquired if he d ever met the 
 Colonel or Larry Summerdale, but he never had, 
 and finally they took an apartment together." 
 
 " He must have been pleased when Tomlinson 
 told him about the value of his stock," remarked 
 McAllister, lighting another cigar. 
 
 " I m comin to that," replied Wainwright. 
 " It seems that Tomlinson so far forgot his early 
 New England traditions as to covet that stock 
 himself. Shockin , wasn t it? 
 
 " One day, when they were lunching at the Trois 
 146
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 Freres, our friend hinted that he was interested 
 in mining stock. Blake laughed, and replied that 
 if Tomlinson owned as much as he did of the stuff 
 he wouldn t want to see another share as long as he 
 lived, and added that he was loaded up with a lot 
 of worthless stock two thousand shares in an 
 old prospect in Arizona that he had inherited from 
 his father, and wasn t worth the paper the certifi 
 cate was printed on. The leery Tomlinson admit 
 ted having heard of the mine, but gave it as his 
 impression that it had possibilities. 
 
 " Then he had a sudden headache, and went out 
 and cabled to The Silver Bow offices at the World 
 building here in New York to find out what the 
 company would pay for the stock. In an hour or 
 two he got an answer stating that they were pre 
 pared to give twenty dollars a share for not less 
 than two thousand shares. Good, eh? 
 
 " Well, next day he led the conversation round 
 again to mining stocks, and finally offered to buy 
 Blake s holdings for five dollars a share. When the 
 latter hesitated, Tomlinson was so afraid he d lose 
 the stock that he almost raised his bid to fifteen ; but 
 Blake only laughed, and said that he had no inten 
 tion of robbing one of his friends, and that the 
 old stuff really wasn t worth a cent. Tomlinson 
 became quite indignant, suggested that perhaps he 
 knew more about that particular mine than even 
 
 H7
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 Blake did, and finally overcame the latter s scruples 
 and persuaded him to sell. Then Tomlinson dis 
 posed of some bonds by cable, and that evening 
 gave Blake a draft for fifty thousand francs in ex 
 change for his two thousand share certificate in 
 The Silver Bow of Arizona. He told me it had a 
 picture of a miner with a pick-ax and a mule stand 
 ing against the rising sun on it. Sort of allegori 
 cal, don t you think? 
 
 " Blake continued to protest that our friend was 
 being cheated, and offered to buy it back at any 
 time ; but Tomlinson s one idea was to get to New 
 York as fast as possible. He had cabled that the 
 stock was on the way, and that very night he 
 slid out of Paris and caught the Norddeutscher 
 Lloyd at Cherbourg. I inferred that he occu 
 pied the bridal chamber on the way back all by 
 himself. 
 
 " The instant they landed he jumped in a cab 
 and started for the World building; but when he 
 got there he couldn t find any Silver Bow Mining 
 Company. It had evaporated. It had been there 
 right enough for ten days the ten days Tomlin 
 son calculated that it had taken Blake to sell him 
 the stock. But no one knew where it had gone or 
 what had become of it. 
 
 " Well, of course," kept on Wainwright, " he 
 nearly went crazy; cabled the police in Paris and 
 
 148
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 had em all arrested, including Colonel Buncomb; 
 and took the next steamer back. He says they had 
 the trial in a little police court in the Palais de Jus 
 tice. Buncomb had hired Maitre Labor! to defend 
 him. Everybody kept their hats on, and appar 
 ently they all shouted at once. The Judge was the 
 only one that kept his mouth shut at all. Tom- 
 linson told his story through an interpreter, and 
 charged Buncomb, Summerdale, and Blake with 
 conspiracy to defraud. 
 
 When the Colonel realized what it was all about 
 he jumped into the middle of the room, pushed his 
 silk hat back of his ears, flapped his coat-tails, and 
 sailed into em in good old Southern style. I tell 
 you he must have made the eagle scream. He was 
 a Colonel in the Confederate Army, he was the 
 Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a mis 
 erable French scheme to blackmail him. He d ap 
 peal to the American Ambassador. He d see if a 
 parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge 
 could interfere with the Constitution of the United 
 States. Every once in a while he d yell Cons- 
 puez or A has and sort of froth at the mouth. 
 He made a great big impression. Then Maitre 
 Labor! got in his licks. He said Tomlinson was a 
 wolf in sheep s clothing a rascal a * vilain 
 m sieur, whatever that is. 
 
 " Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant 
 149
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 smile, if Buncomb had ever asked him to buy any 
 stock? 
 
 Tomlinson had to say No. 
 
 " Did Larry Summerdale? 
 
 " No. 
 
 " Didn t Blake tell him the stock was worthless? 
 
 " Yes. 
 
 " How did he know the stock wasn t worth what 
 he paid for it? 
 
 11 Well, he didn t absolutely. 
 
 The Labori said something with a long rat 
 tling r in it like a snake, and turned with a gest 
 ure of extreme contempt to the Judge. He re 
 marked that one glance of comparison between 
 Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinson would show 
 which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. 
 Then the first thing our friend knew the court had 
 adjourned they had all been turned out dis 
 charged acquitted. But the thing that most dis 
 gusted Tomlinson was that as he was coming away 
 he saw the whole push, the Colonel and Larry and 
 Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. 
 They passed him going about eighty miles an hour. 
 You see, Tomlinson had paid for that car, and 
 he d always wanted one to run himself. The last 
 he heard of em they were tearing up the Riviera." 
 
 "And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked 
 McAllister. 
 
 150
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 " There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he 
 came home on a ten-day boat and went to visit 
 his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place, 
 Methuen ! Saturday night you can ride down to 
 Lawrence on the electric car for a nickel and hear 
 the band play in front of the gas works. But the 
 simple life has done him good." 
 
 II 
 
 One evening, several months later, McAllister 
 and a party of friends dropped into Rector s after 
 the theatre for a caviare sandwich before turning 
 in. The hostelry, as usual, was in a blaze of light 
 and crowded, but after waiting for a few moments 
 they were given a table just vacated by a party of 
 four. McAllister, having given their order, no 
 ticed a couple seated directly in his line of vision 
 who instantly challenged his attention. The girl 
 was ordinary slender, dark-haired, sharp-feat 
 ured, and clad in a scarlet costume trimmed with 
 ermine obviously an actress or vaudeville " art 
 ist." It was her companion, however, that caused 
 McAllister to readjust his monocle. Curious! 
 Where had he seen that fact? It was that of a 
 heavy man of approximately sixty, benign, smooth- 
 shaven, full-featured, and with an expanse of
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 broad white forehead, the centre of which was 
 marked in a curious fashion by a deep dent like a 
 hole made by dropping a marble into soft putty. 
 It gave him the appearance of having had a third 
 eye, now extinct. It fascinated McAllister. He 
 was sure he had met the old fellow somewhere 
 he couldn t just place where. But that hole in the 
 forehead yes, he was certain! Listening ab 
 stractedly to his friends conversation, the clubman 
 studied his neighbor, becoming each moment more 
 convinced that at some time in the past they had 
 been thrown together. Presently the pair arose, 
 and the man helped the woman into her ermine 
 coat. The hole in his forehead kept falling in 
 and out of shadow, as McAllister, his eyes fastened 
 upon it like some bird charmed by a reptile, 
 watched the head waiter bow them ostentatiously 
 out. 
 
 " Fellows ! " exclaimed McAllister, " look at 
 those people just going out; do you know who they 
 are?" 
 
 " Why, that s Yvette Vibbert, the comedienne," 
 said Rogers. " She s at Hammerstein s. I don t 
 know her escort. By George ! that s a queer thing 
 on his forehead." 
 
 McAllister beckoned the head waiter to him. 
 
 " Alphonse, who s the gentleman with Made 
 moiselle Vibbert? " 
 
 152
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 Alphonse smiled. 
 
 " Zat is Monsieur Herbert." He pronounced 
 it Erbaire. 
 
 " Well, who s Monsieur Erbaire? " 
 
 Alphonse elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his 
 shoulders, protruded his lips, and extended the 
 palms of his hands. 
 
 " Alphonse says," remarked McAllister, turn 
 ing to the group around the table, " Alphonse says 
 that you can search him." 
 
 Ill 
 
 McAllister had speculated for a day or two 
 upon the probable identity of the man with the 
 hole in his forehead, and then had finally given it 
 up as a bad job. One didn t like to dig up the 
 past too carefully, anyhow. You never could tell 
 exactly what you might exhume. 
 
 The next Sunday afternoon, while running his 
 eyes carelessly over the " personals," his notice was 
 attracted to the following: 
 
 BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES. Advertiser wants party with four 
 thousand dollars ready cash; can make twelve thousand dollars 
 in five weeks; no scheme, strictly legitimate business transaction; 
 will bear thorough investigation; must act immediately; no 
 brokers; principals only. 
 
 HERBERT, 319 Herald. 
 
 153
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 The name sounded familiar. But he didn t 
 know any Herbert. Then there hovered in the 
 penumbra of his consciousness for a moment the 
 ghost of a scarlet dress, an ermine hat. Ah, yes ! 
 Herbert was the man with the hole in his forehead 
 that night at Rector s, that Alphonse didn t know. 
 But where had he known that man? He raised 
 his eyes and caught a glimpse of Tomlinson, the 
 saturnine Tomlinson, sitting by a window. Of 
 course ! Buncomb Colonel C. T. P. Buncomb 
 Tomlinson s high-rolling friend of the Champs- 
 Elysees turned up in New York as Mr. Herbert 
 a man who d triple your money in five weeks! 
 The chain was complete. If he kept his wits about 
 him he might increase the reputation achieved at 
 Blair s. It would require finesse, to be sure, but 
 his experience with Conville had given him con 
 fidence. Here was a chance to do a little more de 
 tective work on his own account. He replied to 
 the advertisement, inviting an interview. The 
 " Colonel " would probably call, try some old 
 swindling game, McAllister would lure him on, 
 and at the proper moment call in the police. It 
 looked easy sailing. 
 
 Accordingly the appointed hour next day found 
 the clubman waiting impatiently at his rooms, 
 and at two o clock promptly Mr. Herbert was an 
 nounced. But McAllister was doomed to disap- 
 
 154
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 pointment. The visitor was not the Colonel at 
 all, and didn t even have a bullet-hole in his fore 
 head. A short, thick-set man, arrayed carefully 
 in a dark blue overcoat, bowed himself in. In his 
 hand he carried a glistening silk hat, and his own 
 countenance was no less shining and urbane. Thick 
 bristly black hair parted mathematically in the mid 
 dle drooped on either side of his forehead above 
 a pair of snappy black eyes and rather bulbous nose. 
 
 McAllister somewhat uneasily invited his guest 
 to be seated. 
 
 Mr. Herbert smilingly took the chair offered 
 him. 
 
 " Mr. McAllister? " he inquired affably. 
 
 " Ye-es," replied the clubman. " I noticed 
 your advertisement in the Herald, and it occurred 
 to me that I might like to look into it." 
 
 Mr. Herbert smiled slightly in a deprecating 
 manner. 
 
 " I admit my method savors a trifle of charlatan 
 ism," he remarked, " but the situation was unusual 
 and time was of the essence. Are we quite 
 alone?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly! Will you smoke?" 
 
 Mr. Herbert had no objection to joining Mc 
 Allister in a cigar. 
 
 " The gist of the matter is this," he explained, 
 holding the weed in the corner of his mouth as he 
 
 155
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 spoke a trick McAllister had never acquired. 
 " I have a brother who is employed in a confiden 
 tial capacity by the president of a large mining 
 company The Golden Touch. The stock has 
 always sold at around four or five. Recently they 
 struck a very rich lode. It was kept very quiet, 
 and only the officers of the company actually on 
 the field know of it. Needless to say, they are 
 buying in the stock as fast as they can." 
 
 " Of course," answered McAllister sympathetic 
 ally. He felt as if he had run across an old friend 
 again. Things were looking up a bit. 
 
 Well, I have located a block of which they 
 know absolutely nothing. It was issued to an en 
 gineer in lieu of cash for services at the mine. He 
 suddenly developed sciatica, and is obliged to go 
 to Baden-Baden. At present he is laid up at one 
 of the hotels in this city. Of course he is ignorant 
 of the find made since he left Arizona, and of the 
 fact that his stock, once worth only five dollars a 
 share, is now selling at twenty." 
 
 " Well, he s a richer man than he supposes," 
 commented McAllister naively. 
 
 Mr. Herbert smiled with condescension. 
 
 " Exactly. That is the point. If I had five 
 thousand dollars I could buy his thousand shares 
 to-morrow and sell it to the company at fifteen 
 thousand dollars profit. You furnish the funds, I 
 
 156
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 the opportunity, and we divide even. I ve a sure 
 thing! What do you think of it? " 
 
 "By George!" exclaimed the clubman, slap 
 ping his knee delightedly, " I ve a mind to go you ! 
 But," he added shrewdly, " I should 
 want to see the prospective buyer of my stock 
 before I purchased it." 
 
 " Right you are; right you are, Mr. McAllis 
 ter," instantly returned Mr. Herbert. " Now, 
 I m dead on the level, see? To-morrow morning 
 you can go down and see the president of The 
 Golden Touch yourself. The offices are in the 
 New York Life Building." 
 
 " All right," answered McAllister. " To-mor 
 row? Wait a minute; I ve an engagement. 
 Why can t we go now? " 
 
 Mr. Herbert nodded approvingly. Ah, that 
 was business ! They would go at once. 
 
 McAllister rang for Frazier, who assisted him 
 into his coat and summoned a cab. On their way 
 down-town Herbert waxed even more confidential. 
 He believed, if they could land this block of stock, 
 they might perhaps dig up a few more hundred 
 shares. Conscientious effort counted just as much 
 in an affair of this sort as in any other. McAllis 
 ter displayed the deepest interest. 
 
 Arrived at the New York Life Building, the 
 two took the elevator to the fifth floor, where Her- 
 
 157
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 bert led the way to a large suite on the Leonard 
 Street side. McAllister rarely had to go down 
 town his lawyer usually called on him at his 
 rooms and was much impressed by the marble 
 corridors and gilt lettering upon the massive 
 doors. Upon a door at the end of the hall the 
 clubman could see in large capitals the words, 
 
 THE GOLDEN TOUCH MINING CO. 
 
 Office of the President. 
 
 They turned to the left and paused outside 
 another door marked " Entrance." Herbert 
 thought he d better remain in the corridor the 
 President might smell a rat; so McAllister de 
 cided to enter alone. In an adjoining suite he 
 could see some men testing a fire-escape consisting 
 of a long bulging canvas tube, which reached from 
 the window in the direction of the street below. 
 Someone was preparing to make a descent. Mc 
 Allister wished he could stop and see the fellow 
 slide through; but business was business, and he 
 opened the door. 
 
 Inside he found himself in a large, handsome 
 office. Three gum-chewing boys idled, at desks in 
 front of a brass railing, behind which several type 
 writers rattled continuously. On learning that 
 McAllister desired to see the President, one of the 
 
 J58
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 boys penetrated an inner office, and presently beck 
 oned our friend into another room hung with large 
 maps and photographs and furnished with a ma 
 hogany table, around which were ranged a dozer 
 vacant but impressive chairs. In the room beyond, 
 evidently the holy of holies, he could see an elderly 
 man at a roll-top desk smoking a large cigar. 
 
 McAllister was beginning to lose his nerve; 
 everything seemed so methodical and everybody 
 so busy. Telephones rang incessantly; buzzers 
 whirred; the machines clacked; and the man inside 
 smoked on serenely, unperturbed, a wonderful 
 example of the superiority of mind over matter. 
 Who was he? McAllister began to fear that he 
 was going to make an ass of himself. Then the 
 magnate slowly raised his eyes; retreat became no 
 longer possible. With a start, McAllister found 
 himself face to face with the man with the bullet- 
 hole in his forehead. The latter bowed slightly. 
 
 " I am President Van Vorst," he announced in 
 a dignified manner. 
 
 McAllister hastily tried to assume the expres 
 sion and manner of a yokel. 
 
 " Er er " he stammered; " you see, the fact 
 is, I want to sell some stock." 
 
 The Colonel eyed him sternly. 
 
 "Stock? What stock?" 
 
 " In the Golden Touch." 
 159
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 The President slightly elevated his eyebrows. 
 
 " Stock in The Golden Touch? How much 
 have you got? " 
 
 " About a thousand .shares." 
 
 " Nonsense! " remarked the Colonel. 
 
 " No, it isn t," replied McAllister. " I have, 
 really. What ll you pay for it? " 
 
 " Five dollars a share." 
 
 " No, no," said McAllister, edging nervously 
 toward the door. " I think it s worth more than 
 that." 
 
 " Come back here," muttered the other, getting 
 up from his chair and scowling. " What do you 
 know about the value of The Golden Touch, I 
 should like to know? " 
 
 " Perhaps I know more than you think," an 
 swered McAllister, with an inane imitation of airy 
 nonchalance. 
 
 " See here," said the Colonel excitedly, " is this 
 on the level? Can you deliver a thousand? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The President sank back in his chair. 
 
 " Then you have located Murphy s stock! " he 
 exclaimed. " You ve beaten us ! That cursed 
 certificate was issued just before " He paused, 
 and looked sharply toward McAllister. 
 
 " Just before you made that strike," finished the 
 clubman significantly. 
 
 1 60
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 " Hang you ! " cried the Colonel angrily. 
 "What do you ask?" 
 
 " Eighteen." 
 
 " Too much. Give you ten." 
 
 McAllister started for the door. 
 
 At that instant a telegraph-boy entered and 
 handed the President a flimsy yellow paper. 
 
 " Give you twelve," added the Colonel, casting 
 his eye rapidly over the telegram. 
 
 " Can t do business on that basis." 
 
 " Well, you ve got us cornered. I ll break the 
 record. I ll give you fifteen." 
 
 McAllister hesitated. 
 
 " All right," said he rather reluctantly. " Cash 
 down?" 
 
 " Of course," replied the Colonel. " I ll wait 
 here for you. You might as well look at this 
 now." And he showed the clubman the paper. 
 
 STAFFORD, ARIZONA. 
 
 Struck very rich ore on the foot-wall. Recent assays 
 show eight per cent, copper, carrying Jive dollars in gold to 
 the ton. Try and locate Murphy s stock. 
 
 " You see," added the Colonel, " I ve got to 
 get it, if it busts me ! " 
 
 " Well, you shall have it in half an hour," re 
 plied McAllister. 
 
 Out in the corridor Herbert wanted to know 
 161
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 exactly what had happened, and laughed heartily 
 when McAllister described the interview. Oh, 
 that old VanVorst was a sly dog ! He d steal the 
 gold out of your teeth if you gave him the chance. 
 Carrying five dollars in gold to the ton ! That was 
 even better than his brother had advised him. 
 Well, the next thing was to capture Murphy s 
 stock. 
 
 On their way to the Astor House to see the sick 
 engineer, McAllister stopped at the Chemical Na 
 tional Bank, on the pretext of procuring the money 
 to pay for the stock, and there called up Police 
 Headquarters. Conville presently came to the 
 wire, and it was arranged between them that the 
 detective should communicate with Tomlinson and 
 bring him at once to the New York Life Building. 
 There they would await the return of McAllister 
 and follow him to the offices of the mining com 
 pany. 
 
 McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the 
 cab and drove at once to the hotel. The polite 
 clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was 
 bad, very bad, and that they would have to secure 
 permission from the trained nurse before they 
 could visit him. They might, however, go up 
 stairs and inquire for themselves. 
 
 Mr. Murphy s room proved to be at the extreme 
 end of a musty corridor, in which the pungent odor 
 
 162
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable even at the 
 elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condi 
 tion. A soft knock brought an immediate response 
 from a muscular male nurse, who was at last per 
 suaded to allow them to Interview his patient on 
 the express condition that their call should be lim 
 ited to a few moments duration only. Inside, the 
 smell of medicine became overpowering. McAl 
 lister could discern by the dim light a figure lying 
 upon a bed in the far corner shrouded in bandages, 
 and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood a 
 table covered with liniment and bottles. 
 
 "Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. 
 11 Carn t yer leave me in peace? Wot is it, I 
 s y?" 
 
 For the third time in his life McAllister s heart 
 nearly stopped beating at the sound of that voice. 
 It was, however, unmistakable. Should it come 
 from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, 
 or the waters beneath the earth, it could originate 
 in but one unique, extraordinary individual 
 Wilkins ! It was a startling complication, and for 
 an instant McAllister s brain refused to cope with 
 the situation. 
 
 u You really must pardon us 1 " Herbert began, 
 " but we ve come to see if you wouldn t sell some 
 of your Golden Touch mining stock." 
 
 " Oly Moses 1 " wailed the sick engineer, turn- 
 163
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 ing his head to the wall. Oh, my leg! Wot do 
 you come ere for, about stock, when I m almost 
 dead? Go aw y, I s y! " 
 
 McAllister pulled himself together. He had 
 intended buying the stock, and on returning to the 
 company s offices to have Conville arrest Herbert 
 and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick 
 engineer. He was pretty sure he had evidence 
 enough. But now, with Wilkins to assist him, he 
 undoubtedly could force a confession from them 
 both. 
 
 " Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; " I m 
 no good at that sort of thing." 
 
 So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his in 
 valid confederate to part with his valueless stock 
 for McAllister s money. He waxed eloquent over 
 the glories of the Continent and the miraculous 
 cures effected at Baden-Baden, as well as upon the 
 uncertainties of this life, and mining stock in par 
 ticular. 
 
 Meanwhile the sick man tossed in agony upon 
 his pallet and cursed the inconsiderate strangers 
 who forced their selfish interests upon him at such 
 a moment. Outside the door the nurse coughed 
 impatiently. At last, after an unusually persistent 
 harangue on the part of Herbert, the invalid, in 
 veighing against the sciatica that had placed him 
 thus at their mercy, and more to get rid of them 
 
 164
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 than anything else, reluctantly yielded. Fumbling 
 among the bed-clothes, he produced a soiled cer 
 tificate, which he smoothed out and regarded sadly. 
 
 " Ere, tyke it," he muttered. "Tyke it! 
 Gimme yer money, an go aw y! " 
 
 As yet he had not recognized McAllister, who 
 had remained partially concealed behind his com 
 panion. 
 
 " Now s your chance ! " whispered the latter. 
 " Take it while you can get it. Where s the 
 money? " 
 
 McAllister drew out the bills, which crackled 
 deliciously in his hands, and stepped square in front 
 of the sick engineer, between him and Herbert. 
 
 " Mr. Murphy " he spoke the words slowly 
 and distinctly " I m the person who s buying 
 your stock. This gentleman has merely interested 
 me in the proposition." Then, fixing his eyes di 
 rectly on those of Wilkins, he held out the bills. 
 A look of terror came over the face of the valet, 
 and he half-raised himself from the pillow as he 
 stared horrified at his former master. Then he 
 sank back, and turned away his head. 
 
 " Now answer me a few questions," continued 
 McAllister. " Are you che bona fide owner of 
 this stock? " 
 
 Wilkins choked. 
 
 " S elp me! Got it fer services," he gasped. 
 165
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 " And it s worth what you ask five thousand 
 dollars? 
 
 Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was 
 examining a bottle of iodine on the mantelpiece. 
 Then he rolled convulsively upon his side. 
 
 " Oh, my leg! " he groaned, thrashing around 
 until his head came within a few inches of McAl 
 lister s face. " It s rotten/ he whispered under 
 his breath. " Don t touch it! . . . Oh, my 
 pore leg! . . . Just pretend to pass me the 
 money. . . . Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer ave 
 to! . . . / wouldn t rob yer, sir, indeed I 
 wouldn t! . . . W ere s yer money? " 
 
 A gentle smile came over McAllister s placid 
 countenance. Who said there was no honor 
 among thieves? Who said there was no such 
 thing as gratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not 
 realize at the moment that it was the only thing 
 Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. 
 His simple faith accepted it as an act of devotion 
 upon the other s part. With a swift wink at his 
 old servant, McAllister stepped back to where Her 
 bert was standing. 
 
 " I don t know," he said doubtfully. " How 
 can I be sure this sick man s name is really Mur 
 phy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the 
 mine? I guess I d better have him identified 
 before I give up my money." 
 
 166
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 " Don t be foolish! " growled Herbert. " Of 
 course he s the man! My brother gave his de 
 scription in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And 
 then he has the certificate. What more do you 
 want?" 
 
 " I don t know," repeated McAllister hesitat 
 ingly. He shook his head and shifted from one 
 foot to the other. " I don t know. I guess I 
 won t do it." 
 
 Herbert seemed annoyed. 
 
 " Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, 
 " are you so awful sick you can t come over to the 
 company s offices and be identified? " adding 
 sotto voce to McAllister, " if he does, old Van 
 Vorst will probably buy the stock himself, and we ll 
 lose our chance." 
 
 The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 
 ookey ! Ere was impudence for yen Come an 
 rob im of is stock, an then demand e be identified. 
 
 " We ll take you in our cab. It ain t far," 
 urged Herbert, nodding vigorously at Wilkins 
 from behind McAllister. 
 
 " Oh, I ll go ! " responded the engineer with 
 sudden alacrity. " Anything to hoblige." 
 
 He hobbled painfully out of bed. The nurse 
 had by this time returned, and was demanding in 
 forcible language that his patient should instantly 
 get back. Seeing that his expostulations had no 
 
 167
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 effect, he assisted Wilkins very ungraciously to get 
 into his clothes. With the aid of a stout cane the 
 latter tottered to the elevator and was finally en 
 sconced safely in the cab. All this had occupied 
 nearly an hour ; twenty minutes more brought them 
 to the New York Life Building. 
 
 As McAllister and Herbert assisted their sup 
 posed victim into the building, the clubman caught 
 a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson and athletically 
 built Conville standing together behind the pillars 
 of the portico. The elevator whisked them up to 
 the fifth floor so rapidly that the sick man swore 
 loudly that he should never live to come down 
 again. As they turned into the corridor toward 
 the entrance of the office, McAllister saw his con 
 federates emerge from the rear elevator. Things 
 were going well enough, so far. Now for the 
 coup d etat! 
 
 The boy admitted them at once into the inner 
 sanctum. As before, President VanVorst sat there 
 calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in a corner 
 by the window, stood a heavy iron safe. 
 
 " Well," said McAllister briskly, " I ve brought 
 the stock, and I ve brought its former owner with 
 it. Do you recognize him? " 
 
 " Well, well ! " returned the President, step 
 ping forward with great cordiality and clasping 
 Wilkins s hand in his. " If it isn t my old en- 
 
 168
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 gineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old 
 socks? It s nearly a year, isn t it, since you were 
 at Stafford?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, " an I m 
 a very sick man. I ve got the skyathicer some- 
 thin hawful." 
 
 McAllister produced the stock from his coat- 
 pocket. 
 
 " Do you identify this certificate? " inquired the 
 clubman. 
 
 " Of course! Now think of that! I ve been 
 lookin for that thousand shares ever since Mur 
 phy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show 
 of irritation. 
 
 " Well, are you ready to pay for it? " demanded 
 McAllister sharply. 
 
 The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the 
 other. Clearly he could not determine just how 
 matters stood. 
 
 " Well," he remarked finally, " I can t pay for 
 it just this minute, but I ll go right out and get the 
 money. You see, I didn t expect you back quite 
 so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow 
 you, or Murphy?" 
 
 " At present it belongs to me," said the club 
 man. 
 
 As McAllister spoke he stepped in front of the 
 door leading into the directors room. From 
 
 169
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 below came faintly the rattle of the street and the 
 clang of electric cars, while in the outer office could 
 be heard the merry tattoo of the typewriters. 
 Could it be possible that in this opulently furnished 
 office, with its rosewood desk and chairs, its Per 
 sian rugs and paintings, its plate glass and heavy 
 curtains, he was confronting a crew of swindlers of 
 whom his own valet was an accomplice? It was 
 almost past belief. Yet, as he recalled Wain- 
 wright s vivid description of the fall of Tomlin- 
 son, the scene at Rector s, the advertisement in the 
 Herald, and the strange occurrences of the morn 
 ing, he perceived that there could be no question 
 in the matter. He was facing three common or 
 rather most uncommon thieves, all of whom 
 probably had served more than one term in State 
 prison desperate characters, who would not hesi 
 tate to use force, or worse, should it appear neces 
 sary. For a moment the clubman lost heart. He 
 might be murdered, and no one be the wiser. 
 Then a vague shadow flickered against the opaque 
 glass of the main door, and McAllister gained new 
 courage. Conville was just outside, with Tomlin- 
 son although the latter could not be regarded as 
 a valuable auxiliary in the event of a hand-to-hand 
 struggle. Was he safe in counting on Wilkins? 
 What if the ex-convict should go back on him? 
 How did the valet know but that, by assisting his 
 
 170
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 master, he was sending himself to State prison? 
 McAllister had a fleeting desire to turn and dart 
 from the room. What business had a middle- 
 aged clubman turning detective, anyway? Then 
 he braced himself, took a good grip of his stout 
 walking-stick, and turned to the Colonel with an 
 assumption of calmness which he was very far from 
 feeling. The noonday sun streamed into the win 
 dows and threw into strong relief the muscular 
 figures of the group about him. 
 
 " I m afraid you ve been deceived in Murphy," 
 he remarked coolly. " He isn t an engineer at all; 
 he s just an ex-convict." 
 
 The Colonel uttered a swift oath and snatched 
 a Colt from an open drawer of the desk. Her 
 bert turned fiercely upon the clubman. Wilkins 
 dropped his crutch. 
 
 " What are you giving us ! " cried the Colonel. 
 
 " I ll leave it to him" added McAllister. " By 
 the way, his name isn t Murphy at all it s Wil 
 kins or Welch, if you prefer." 
 
 "What s this a plant?" yelled Herbert. 
 11 By God, if- - " 
 
 " Don t be upset, Mr. Summerdale," said the 
 clubman. You might lay down that pistol, Col 
 onel Buncomb. Wilkins is an old friend of mine 
 in fact he used to work for me." 
 
 The two thieves glared at him, speechless. 
 171
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 Wilkins picked up his crutch by the small end, 
 remarking : 
 
 " Better go easy there, Buncomb." 
 
 " I think you gentlemen had the pleasure of 
 meeting another friend of mine last summer, a Mr. 
 Tomlinson," continued McAllister. " He s told 
 me a good deal about you. I am under the impres 
 sion that he paid for an automobile and a little trip 
 you took on the Riviera. How would you like to 
 turn back the money? " 
 
 Buncomb stood in the middle of the room pale 
 and motionless, while the clubman opened the door 
 into the hall and called Tomlinson s name. 
 
 " Yaas, I m here, McAllister. What do you 
 want? " replied the club bore as his lank figure 
 entered the room. At the sight of Buncomb, Sum- 
 merdale, and Wilkins he stopped short. 
 
 " By Jove ! " he drawled, " I m dashed if it ain t 
 the Colonel and Larry! " 
 
 "Look here, you you chappie!" snarled 
 Buncomb, " clear out of here ! And you, too, 
 Tomlinson. Understand? " He waved the re 
 volver threateningly. 
 
 " Colonel," remarked McAllister, " I m here 
 for just one purpose, and that s to collect the debt 
 you gentlemen owe my friend Mr. Tomlinson. 
 Wilkins, or Welch, or Murphy, or whatever you 
 call him, is ready to turn state s evidence against 
 
 172
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 you. I promise him immunity. There s an officer 
 just outside. Shall I call him? " 
 
 "Is that straight, Fatty?" cried Summerdale, 
 his face livid with fright and anger. " Are you 
 going to squeal on us? " 
 
 "Sure!" replied Wilkins. "I m through 
 with you, you miserable shell-gamers! The best 
 thing for you is to hopen the old coal-box hover 
 there and count hout what s left of that ten 
 thousand." 
 
 " Curse you ! " hissed Summerdale. " How do 
 we know you won t have us pinched whether we 
 pay up or not? " 
 
 " I reckon we d better take a chance," muttered 
 the Colonel, laying down his revolver and dropping 
 on his knees before the safe. The little knob spun 
 around, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung 
 open, but at the same moment there was a terrific 
 crash of glass behind them. 
 
 " Excuse noise," exclaimed Conville, thrusting 
 his face through the broken pane and covering Bun- 
 comb with a long black weapon. " Kindly keep 
 your arms up, Colonel and you too, Larry. How 
 stout you ve grown ! Thank you ! I was peekin 
 through the keyhole, and kinder thought this would 
 be a good time to freeze on to what was in the 
 safe without callin in an expert." 
 
 The next instant he had unlocked the door with 
 173
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 his other hand and snapped the handcuffs on Sum- 
 merdale s uplifted wrist. While the detective was 
 doing the same to the Colonel, McAllister caught 
 sight of Wilkins s frightened glance, and gave a 
 slight nod toward the door leading into the next 
 room. Like a flash the valet had jumped through 
 and closed and locked the door behind him. 
 Another door banged. Conville sprang into the 
 hall across the fragments of the shattered glass, 
 with McAllister at his heels. They were just in 
 time to see Wilkins leap into the room where the 
 men were testing the fire-escape. 
 
 " Let me try it," said he, and swung himself 
 calmly into the tube. For an instant he delayed 
 his flight, with only his head remaining visible. 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. McAllister," he called over his 
 shoulder, " and thank you kindly. I won t forget, 
 sir." 
 
 At the same instant Conville bounded through 
 the door and rushed to the window. As he 
 reached the sash Wilkins let go, and plunged 
 downwards. His descent was rapid, his posi 
 tion being discernible from the sagging of the 
 canvas. 
 
 Barney started for the elevator in the hope of 
 cutting off the valet s escape below, but he had mis 
 calculated the force of gravitation. As McAllis 
 ter reached the window he saw the little bulge that 
 
 174
 
 The Golden Touch 
 
 represented Wilkins slide gently to the bottom. 
 There was a cheer from the bystanders as the con 
 vict stepped lightly to his feet. Then he turned 
 for an instant, and, looking up at McAllister, 
 waved his hand and disappeared among the crowd. 
 
 175
 
 MCALLISTER S DATA OF 
 ETHICS
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 I 
 
 ERTAINLY, sir. Your clothes shall be 
 delivered at the Metropole at nine-forty- 
 five to morrow evenin , sir." 
 
 Pondel s dapper little clerk tossed a half-dozen 
 bolts of " trouserings " upon the polished table, 
 and smiled graciously at the firm s best paying 
 customer. 
 
 " Here, Bulstead ! take Mr. McAllister s waist 
 measure just a matter of precaution," he added 
 deferentially. " These are somethin fine, sir 
 very fine ! When they came in, I says to Mr. 
 Pondel: If only Mr. McAllister could see that 
 woollen! It s a shame, I says, not to save it for 
 im ! An Mr. Pondel agreed with me at once. 
 Very good, Wessons, says he. * Lay aside 
 enough of that Lancaster to make Mr. McAllister 
 a single-breasted sack suit, and if he don t fancy 
 it I ll have it made up into somethin for myself, 
 he says. Ain t that so, Mr. Pondel? " 
 
 The gentleman addressed had graciously saun- 
 179
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 tered over to congratulate Mr. McAllister upon 
 his selections. 
 
 " Ah, very good! Very good indeed! How s 
 that, Wessons ? Yes, I told him to keep that piece 
 for you, sir. Lord Bentwood begged for it almost 
 with the tears in his eyes, as I may say, but I as 
 sured him that it was already spoken for." He 
 patted the cloth with a fat, ring-covered hand. 
 An atmosphere of exclusive opulence emanated 
 from every inch of his sleek, pudgy person from 
 the broad white forehead over the glinting steel- 
 gray eyes, from the pointed Van Dyke trimmed to 
 resemble that of a certain exalted personage, from 
 his drab waistcoated abdomen begirdled with its 
 heavy chain and dangling seals, down to the gray- 
 gaitered patent leathers. McAllister distrusted, 
 feared, relied upon him. 
 
 The clubman wiped his monocle and glanced out 
 through the plate-glass window. Marlborough 
 Square was flooded with the soft sunshine of the 
 autumn afternoon. Hardly a pedestrian violated 
 the eminently aristocratic silence of St. Timothy s. 
 
 " Very thoughtful of you, I m sure," he replied, 
 not grudging Pondel the extra two guineas which 
 he very well knew the other invariably charged 
 for these little favors. It were cheap at twice 
 the money to feel so much a gentleman. 
 
 " But this is Saturday, and it s five o clock now. 
 1 80
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 I don t see how you can possibly finish all those 
 suits by to-morrow evening. You know I really 
 didn t intend to order anything but the frock-coat. 
 Perhaps you d just better let the rest go. I can 
 get them some other time." 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. McAllister; not at all. We 
 are always delighted to serve you by any means 
 in our power. Did Wessons say they would be 
 finished to-morrow? Then to-morrow they shall 
 be, sir. I ll set my men at work immediately. 
 Pedler! Where s Pedler? Send him here at 
 once!" 
 
 A hollow-eyed, lank, round-shouldered journey 
 man parted the curtains that concealed the rear of 
 the room, and nervously approached his employer. 
 He blinked at the unaccustomed sunlight, suppress 
 ing a cough. 
 
 " Did you call me, sir? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Pondel with the severity of one 
 granting an undeserved favor. This is Mr. Mc 
 Allister, of whom you have heard us speak so often. 
 I believe you have cut several of the gentleman s 
 suits. He is to take the Majestic, which sails early 
 Monday morning, and I have promised that his 
 clothes shall be ready to-morrow evening. Can 
 you arrange to stay here to-night and whatever 
 portion of to-morrow is necessary to finish them? " 
 
 A worried look passed over the man s face, and 
 181
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 his hand flew to his mouth to strangle another 
 cough. 
 
 " Certainly, sir; that is of course Yes, sir. 
 May I ask how many, sir? " 
 
 " Only three, I believe. I was sure it could be 
 arranged. Please ask Aggam to assist you. That 
 is all." 
 
 Yes, sir. Very good, sir." Pedler hesitated 
 a moment as if about to speak, then turned listlessly 
 and plodded back behind the curtains. 
 
 Very obliging man Pedler. You see, there 
 will be no difficulty, Mr. McAllister." 
 
 Well, I don t see how on earth you re going 
 to do it ! " protested McAllister feebly. He 
 wanted the clothes badly, now that he had seen the 
 material. " It s mighty good of you to take all 
 this trouble." 
 
 Mr. Pondel made a deprecating gesture. 
 
 We are always glad to serve you, sir! " he re 
 peated, as Wessons escorted the distinguished cus 
 tomer to the door. 
 
 " It s a great privilege to be employed by such 
 a man as Mr. Pondel," whispered the salesman. 
 " He thinks an enormous lot of you, sir. Very 
 fine man Mr. Pondel." 
 
 As the hansom jogged rapidly toward the hotel, 
 McAllister reflected painfully upon the enormous 
 sums of money that he annually transferred from 
 
 182
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 his own pockets to those of the lordly tailor. Not 
 that the money made any particular difference. 
 The clubman was well enough fixed, only some 
 times the bills were unexpectedly large. The 
 three suits just ordered would average fourteen 
 guineas each. Roughly they would come to two 
 hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus the duty, 
 which he always paid conscientiously. And he 
 was getting off easy at that. He remembered 
 heaps of bills for over two hundred pounds, and 
 that was only the beginning, for he bought most 
 of his clothes right in New York. 
 
 Climbing the steps of his hotel, he wondered 
 vaguely how long Pedler and the other fellow 
 would have to work to finish the suits. Of course, 
 they would be paid extra were probably glad to 
 do it. The chap had a nasty cough, though. Oh, 
 well, that was their business not his ! So long 
 as he put up the money, Pondel could look out for 
 the rest. 
 
 However, he felt a distinct sense of relief that 
 his own obligations consisted merely in dressing, 
 dining at the Savoy with Aversly, and then lei 
 surely taking in the Alhambra afterward. Once 
 in his room, he found that the once criminally 
 inclined, but now reformed Wilkins, who had 
 returned to his master s service under a solemn 
 promise of good behavior, had already laid out 
 
 183
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 his clothes. McAllister rather dreaded dressing, 
 for the place was one of those heavily oppressive 
 apartments characteristic of English hotels. Green 
 marble, yellow plush, and black walnut filled 
 the foreground, background, and middle distance, 
 while a marble-topped table, placed squarely in the 
 centre of the room, offered the only oasis in the 
 desert of upholstery, in the form of a single mas 
 sive book, bound in brown morocco, and bearing 
 the inscription stamped upon its cover in heavy 
 gilt: 
 
 HOTEL METROPOLE 
 
 HOLY BIBLE 
 NOT TO BE REMOVED 
 
 It fascinated him, recalling the chained hair 
 brush and comb of the Pacific Coast. There you 
 were offered cleanliness, here godliness, by the pro 
 prietors; only the means thereto were not to be 
 taken away. The next comer must have his 
 chance. 
 
 As the clubman idly lifted the volume, he sud 
 denly realized that this was the first Bible he had 
 actually touched in over thirty years. The last 
 time he had owned one himself had been at school 
 when he was fifteen years old. Something moved 
 him to carry it to the window. The sun was just 
 
 184
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 dropping over the scarlet chimney-pots of London. 
 Its burnished glare played upon the red gilt edges 
 of the leaves, as McAllister mechanically allowed 
 the book to fall open in his hands. He read these 
 words : 
 
 So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that are 
 done under the sun : and behold the tears of such as were op 
 pressed, and they had no comforter ; and on the side of their 
 oppressors there was power ; but they had no comforter. 
 
 The sun sank; the chimneys deadened against 
 the sky-line. When Wilkins, ten minutes later, 
 stole in to see if his master needed his assistance, 
 he found McAllister staring into the darkening 
 west. 
 
 II 
 
 The bell on St. Timothy s tolled twelve o clock 
 as McAllister s hansom, straight from the Alham- 
 bra, clacked into the moonlit silence of Marl- 
 borough Square. A soft breath of distant gar 
 dens hung on the cool air. The chimneys rose 
 from the house-tops sharp against a pale blue sky 
 glittering with stars. Here and there a yellow 
 window gleamed for a moment under the eaves, 
 then vanished mysteriously. It was a night for 
 lovers, calm, still, ecstatic, for hayfields under 
 the harvest moon, for white, ghostly reaches of 
 
 185
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 the Thames, for poetry, for the exquisite en 
 joyment of earth s nearest approach to heaven. 
 
 The trap above McAllister s head opened. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir. Were did you s y, sir? " 
 
 " I said Pondel s," replied McAllister, rather 
 sharply. He knew the cabby must think him a 
 lunatic, but he didn t care. He intended to do the 
 decent thing. Hang it ! The fellow could mind 
 his own business. 
 
 The hansom crossed the street and reined up in 
 the shadow. All was dark, silent, deserted. Only 
 the brass plate beside the door reflected strangely 
 the moonlight across the way. 
 
 " Ere s Pondel s, sir." The cabby got down 
 and crossed the sidewalk to the door. 
 
 "All shut hup!" he commented. "Close at 
 six." 
 
 A dark figure emerged quickly from a neighbor 
 ing shadow. 
 
 " Ere! Wot is it you want? " demanded the 
 bobby, accosting the cabman with tentative and 
 potential roughness. 
 
 " Gent wants Pondel s. 7 dunno w y. . Ax im 
 yerself ! " responded cabby in an injured tone. 
 
 The bobby turned to the hansom. 
 
 " This shop s closed at six o clock," he an 
 nounced. " Wot do you want? " 
 
 McAllister felt ten thousand times a fool. The 
 186
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 beauty of the night, the odoriferous quiet, the 
 peace of the deserted square, all made his errand 
 seem monstrously idiotic. The universe was wheel 
 ing silently across the housetops; respectable men 
 and women were in their beds; only night-hawks, 
 lovers, policemen were abroad. It was as if a 
 worm were raising objection to some cardinal law. 
 Why should he try to upset the order and regu 
 larity of the London night, clattering into this 
 slumbering section, startling a respectable somno 
 lent policeman, making an ass of himself before 
 his cabby because somewhere a fellow was work 
 ing overtime on his trousers. He imagined that 
 as soon as he had made his explanation the bobby 
 and the driver would collapse with merriment, and 
 hale him to a mad-house. But McAllister set his 
 teeth. He was fighting for a principle. He 
 wouldn t " welch " now. He clambered out of 
 the hansom. 
 
 " I want to find Pondel, because he s got some 
 fellows working on my clothes, and I don t pro 
 pose to have anybody working for me on Sunday. 
 Understand? It s Sunday. I don t intend to 
 have folks working on my clothes when they ought 
 to be in bed." 
 
 He spoke brokenly, defiantly, catching his breath 
 between words, almost ready to cry; then waited 
 for his auditors to fall upon each other s necks in 
 
 187
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 derisive mirth. He forgot, however, that he was 
 in London. The situation was one apposite to 
 American humor, but evoked no sense of amuse 
 ment in the policeman. He treated McAllister s 
 explanation with vast respect. Our hero gained 
 confidence. The bobby regretted that the place 
 seemed closed; ventured to express his approval of 
 the clubman s altruistic effort; dilated upon it to 
 the cabby, who was correspondingly impressed. 
 McAllister, immensely cheered, held forth on the 
 wrongs of labor at some length, and, finding a 
 sympathetic audience, produced cigars. The three 
 proved, as it were, a little group of humanitarians 
 united in a common purpose. Then, suddenly, in- 
 consequently, inexcusably, a man coughed. The 
 sound was muffled, but unmistakable. It came 
 from a point directly beneath their feet. The 
 bobby rapped sharply on the pavement several 
 times. 
 
 " Hi there, you! " he called. " Hi there, you 
 in Pondel s. Come an open hup ! " 
 
 They could hear a dull murmur of conversation, 
 the cough was repeated, a bench dragged across a 
 floor, some fastening was slowly loosed, and a yel 
 low gleam of light shot up through the shadow 
 as a scuttle opened in the sidewalk. A lean, 
 scrawny figure thrust itself upward, sleepily rub 
 bing its eyes, collarless, its shirt open at the breast, 
 
 1 88
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 its hair tousled, coughing. McAllister, now con 
 fident that he had the support of his companions, 
 addressed the ghost, in whom he recognized Ped- 
 ler, the journeyman from behind the curtains. The 
 clubman s face, however, was concealed in shadow 
 from the other. 
 
 "You re working for Pondel, aren t you?" 
 
 The ghost coughed again, and shivered, 
 although the air was warm. 
 
 " Yes," it answered huskily. 
 
 " Are you working on some clothes for a gen 
 tleman who s sailing on Monday? " 
 
 " Yes," it repeated. 
 
 " Then don t, any more," chirped McAllister 
 encouragingly. " Those clothes are for me, and 
 I don t want you to work any longer. You ought 
 to be in bed." 
 
 " Wotcher givin us?" grumbled Pedler. 
 "G wan! Leave us alone!" He started to 
 descend. But the bobby stepped forward. 
 
 " Look ere," he said roughly. " Don t you 
 understand? It s just as the gentleman s ys. 
 You don t ave to work any more to-night. You 
 can go ome." 
 
 " I s y, wotcher givin us? " repeated the other. 
 " I cawn t go ome. Mr. Pondel s borders is to 
 st y ere until the clothes is finished. M ybe it s 
 as you s y, but I cawn t go ome." 
 
 189
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 At this juncture a child began to cry drowsily 
 below, and a woman s voice could be heard striv 
 ing to comfort it. 
 
 " You don t mean you ve got a baby down 
 there! " exclaimed McAllister. 
 
 " Only little Annie," replied Pedler. " An the 
 old woman." 
 
 "Anyone else?" 
 
 " Aggam." 
 
 " Let s go down," suggested the bobby. " 7 can 
 make em understand." The ghost descended, 
 dazed, and McAllister, the bobby, and last of all, 
 the cabman, followed down a creaking ladder into 
 a sort of vault under the cellar. A small oil wick 
 gave out a feeble fluctuating light. On one side, 
 cross-legged, sat a shrivelled-up, little old man, his 
 brown beard streaked with gray, stitching. He 
 did not look up, but only worked the faster. A 
 thin woman crouched on a broken chair, holding a 
 little girl in her lap. 
 
 There, there, Annie, don t cry. The bobby s 
 not arter you. It s all right, darlin ! " 
 
 Strewn about the cement floor lay the bolts of 
 Lancaster which McAllister had selected, together 
 with patterns, scissors, and unfinished garments. 
 
 " Excuse the child, sir," apologized the woman. 
 " She s just a bit sleepy." 
 
 ;t Well," said McAllister, his indignation rising 
 190
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 at the scene, and shame burning in his cheeks, " go 
 right home. I won t have you working on these 
 clothes any more." How he wished Pondel was 
 there to get a piece of his mind ! 
 
 Jim looked wearily at Aggam. 
 
 "Wot d ye s y, Aggam?" 
 
 The other kept on stitching. 
 
 " I gets my horders from Pondel," he replied, 
 shortly, "an I don t tyke no horders from no 
 one helse ! " 
 
 " But look here," cried McAllister, " the 
 clothes are mine, ain t they? Pondel hasn t any 
 thing to do with it ! And / tell you to go home" 
 
 1 Yes," grunted Aggam. " An then you loses 
 your job, does yer? I don t want no toff mixin 
 into my affairs. I minds my business, they can 
 mind theirs ! " 
 
 " I s y, that s no w y to speak to the gentle 
 man ! " exclaimed the bobby in disgust. " E s 
 only tryin to do yer a fyvor ! Aven t yer got no 
 manners? " 
 
 "/ minds my business, let im mind is n!" re 
 peated Aggam stolidly. 
 
 ; Well, / must s y" ejaculated the cabby, 
 " they re a bloomin grateful lot I " 
 
 The tall man seemed to resent this last from 
 one of his own station. 
 
 " I appreciates wot the gent wants," he said 
 191
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 weakly, " but it s just like Aggam s ys. Wot can 
 we do? The gent cawn t tell us to go ome ! " 
 
 The child began to cry again. McAllister was 
 exasperated almost to the point of profanity. 
 
 " Don t you want to go home? " he exclaimed. 
 
 The woman laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. 
 
 " Annie an me ave st y d ere all the evenin just 
 to be with Jim. E s awful sick. An e ll ave to 
 st y ere all d y to-morrer. Do we want to go 
 ome!" 
 
 Her husband dashed his shirt-sleeve across his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Don t Nell," he muttered. " I ain t sick. I 
 can work. You go ome with the kid." 
 
 McAllister thrust a handful of bank-notes 
 toward her. 
 
 "Where does old Pondel live?" he inquired 
 of the bobby. 
 
 " Out in Kew somewheres," replied the officer. 
 
 The woman was staring blankly at the money. 
 Suddenly she dropped the little girl and began to 
 sob. Jim broke into a fit of harsh coughing. The 
 cabman climbed up the ladder. The temperature 
 of the vault seemed insufferable to McAllister. 
 
 " I suppose you ll go home if Pondel says so? " 
 he suggested. 
 
 " Just watch us ! " growled Aggam. 
 
 " Take that child home, anyhow, and put it to 
 192
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 bed," ordered the clubman. " I ll be back in an 
 hour or so." 
 
 As he climbed up through the scuttle into the 
 sweet, soft moonlight, and started to enter the 
 hansom, the bobby held out his hand. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir. I ope you ll pardon the lib 
 erty, but, would you mind, I ve got a brother in 
 America Smith s the naime e lives in a plaice 
 called Manitoba. Do you appen to know im? " 
 
 " I m sorry," replied our friend, grasping the 
 other s hand. " I never ran across him." 
 Where to now? " asked the cabby. 
 
 " To Kew," replied McAllister. 
 
 They swung out of the square, leaving the bobby 
 standing in the shadow of Pondel s. 
 
 " I ll look out for em while you re gone," called 
 the latter encouragingly. 
 
 They crossed Bond Street, followed Grosvenor 
 Street into Park Lane, and plunging round Hyde 
 Park corner, past the statue to England s greatest 
 soldier, they entered Kingsbridge. McAllister, all 
 awake from his recent experience, saw things that 
 he had never observed before bedraggled flower- 
 girls in gaudy hats, with heart-rending faces ; 
 drunken laborers staggering along upon the arms 
 of sad-featured women; young girls, slender, 
 painted, strolling with an affectation of light- 
 heartedness along the glittering sidewalks. On 
 
 193
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 they jogged, past narrow streets where, amid the 
 flare of torches, the entire population of the neigh 
 borhood swarmed, bargained, swore, and quar 
 relled; where little children rolled under the cos 
 ters carts, fighting for scraps and decaying veg 
 etables; and where their passage was obstructed 
 by the throngs of miserable humanity for whom 
 this was their only park, their only club. It being 
 Saturday night, the butchers were selling off their 
 remnants of meat, and their shrill cries could be 
 heard for blocks. Several times the horse shied 
 to avoid trampling upon some old hag who, clutch 
 ing her wretched purchase to her breast, hurried 
 homeward before a drunken lout should snatch it 
 from her. McAllister had never imagined the 
 like. It was with a sigh of relief that they left 
 the Hammersmith Road behind and at last reached 
 the residential districts. In about an hour they 
 found themselves in Kew. A cool breeze from 
 the country fanned his cheek. On either hand 
 trim little villas, with smooth lawns, lined the road, 
 and the moonlit air was fragrant with the smell 
 of damp grass, violets, and heliotrope. Here and 
 there could be heard the tinkle of a cottage piano, 
 and the laughter of belated merry-makers on the 
 verandas. 
 
 They located Mr. Pondel s villa without diffi 
 culty. Standing back some thirty yards from the 
 
 194
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 street, its well-kept garden full of flowering shrubs 
 and carefully tended beds of geraniums, it was a 
 residence typical of the London suburb, with fret 
 work along the piazza roof, a stone dog guarding 
 each side of the steps, and salmon-pink curtains 
 at the parlor windows. The door stood open, a 
 Japanese lamp burned in the hallway, and the mur 
 mur of voices floated out from the door leading 
 into the parlor. McAllister once again felt the 
 overwhelming absurdity of his position. Over his 
 shoulder, as he stood by the hyacinths at the door, 
 floated the same big moon in the same soft heaven. 
 Damp and fragrant, the wind blew in from the 
 lawn and swayed the portieres in the narrow hall, 
 behind which, doubtless, sat the lordly Pondel, 
 friend of noblemen, adviser of royalty, entrenched 
 in his castle, a unit in an impregnable system. 
 The whinny of the cab-horse beyond the hedge 
 recalled to McAllister the necessity for action. 
 He realized that he was losing moral ground every 
 instant. 
 
 The bell jangled harshly somewhere in the back 
 of the house. A man s voice Pondel s mut 
 tered indistinctly ; there was a feminine whisper in 
 response; someone placed a glass on a table and 
 pushed back a chair. A clock in the neighbor 
 hood struck two, and Pondel emerged through 
 the portieres Pondel in a wadded claret-colored 
 
 195
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 dressing-gown embroidered with birds of Paradise, 
 in carpet slippers, with a meerschaum pipe, wa 
 tery eyes, and slightly disarranged hair. It was 
 rather dim in the hallway, and he did not recog 
 nize his visitor. 
 
 "What is it? What do you want?" The 
 inquiry was abrupt and a little thick. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Pondel," stammered Mc 
 Allister. I hope you ll excuse me for disturb 
 ing you at this hour. It s about the clothes." 
 
 W o is it?" Pondel peered into his guest s 
 flushed face. " W y Mr. McAllister, what are 
 you doin way out ere ? Excuse my appearance 
 a little pardonable neglishay of a Saturday evenin . 
 Come right in, won t you ? Great honor, I m sure. 
 Though, if you ll believe it, I once ad the honor 
 of a call from his Grace the Duke of Bashton 
 right in this very all. Excuse me w ile I an 
 nounce your presence to Mrs. Pondel." 
 
 McAllister said something about having to go 
 at once, but Pondel shuffled through the curtains, 
 almost immediately sweeping them back with a 
 lordly gesture of welcome. 
 
 " This way, Mr. McAllister." Our miserable 
 friend entered the parlor. " Elizabeth, hallow 
 me to present Mr. McAllister one of my oldest 
 customers." 
 
 Elizabeth a fat vision of fifty-five, with per- 
 196
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 oxide hair, and a soft pink of unchanging hue 
 mantling her elsewhere mottled cheeks arose 
 graciously from the table where she and her hus 
 band had been playing double-dummy bridge, and 
 courtesied. 
 
 " Chawmed, I m sure. What a beautiful 
 evenin ! Won t you si down?" murmured the 
 enchantress. 
 
 McAllister took a chair, and Pondel pressed 
 whiskey and water upon him. Oh, Mr. McAllis 
 ter, needn t be afraid of it; it was the real old 
 thing; Lord Langollen had sent him a dozen. 
 Lizzie would take a nip with em eh, Lizzie? A 
 gen elman didn t take that long trip every evenin , 
 and a little refreshment would not only do him 
 good, but, as the Yankees said, would show there 
 was no ard feelin , eh? He must really take just 
 a drop. Say when ! 
 
 Lizzie poured out a glass for the much- 
 embarrassed guest. She was in a flowered kimona, 
 even more " neglishay " than her husband, but the 
 bower in which the goddess reclined was a perfect 
 pearl of the decorator s art. Cupids, also " neg 
 lishay," toyed with one another around a cluster 
 of electric burners in the ceiling, gay streamers of 
 painted blossoms dangling from their hands and 
 floating down the walls. Gilt chairs, a white and 
 gilt sofa, and a brown etching in a Florentine
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 frame on each wall, were the most conspicuous 
 articles of furniture. At the windows the brill 
 iant salmon-pink curtains bellied softly in the 
 breeze that stole into the chamber and diluted the 
 gentle odor of Parma violets which exuded from 
 the dame in the kimona. To Pondel, McAllis 
 ter s presence was an evidence of his power; and 
 his pride, tickled mightily, put him in an exquisite 
 good humor. Certainly the occasion required 
 from him, the host, a proper felicitation. 
 
 Ere s to our better acquaintance," said the 
 tailor, raising his glass sententiously. " Lizzie, 
 drink to Mr. McAllister ! " 
 
 The three drank solemnly. Then the voluble 
 tailor addressed himself to the task of entertain 
 ing his distinguished guest. McAllister could 
 catch at no opening to explain his visit. Pondel 
 chatted gayly of Paris, the Continent, and famil 
 iarly of the races and the beau monde. Appar 
 ently he knew (by their first names) half the no 
 bility of England, and he endeavored to place his 
 customer equally at his ease with them. He vent 
 ured that he knew how most young Americans 
 spent their time in London and Paris; dropped 
 with a wink, that in spite of his present uxorious- 
 ness he had been a bit of a dog himself, and ended 
 by suggesting another toast to " A short life and 
 a merry one." The lady of the kimona, gram- 
 
 198
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 matically not so strong as her husband, contented 
 herself with expansive smiles and frequent recur 
 rence to the tumbler. 
 
 " I must explain my visit," finally broke in Mc 
 Allister. " It s about the clothes." 
 
 Pondel smiled condescendingly. 
 
 " My dear Mr. McAllister, you don t need to 
 worry in the slightest. They ll be done promptly 
 to-morrow evenin , take my word for it." 
 
 McAllister flushed. How in Heaven s name 
 could he ever make the tailor understand? 
 
 " I ve decided I don t want em ! " he stam 
 mered. 
 
 Pondel s glass went to the table with a bang, and 
 he gazed blankly at his customer. The clubman, 
 not realizing the implication, did not proceed. 
 
 " That s all right," finally responded Pondel a 
 trifle coldly. " There s no hurry about settlement. 
 You can take a year, if necessary." 
 
 Mrs. Pondel slipped unobtrusively out of the 
 room, leaving a trail of perfume behind her. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed our friend, catching his 
 breath : " It isn t that. But you see I can t have 
 those men working over night and to-morrow on 
 my account. It s it s against my principles." 
 
 Pondel brightened. A load had been taken 
 from his heart. So long as McAllister s bank 
 account was good, any idiosyncrasy the American 
 
 199
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 might exhibit did not matter. He had always re 
 garded McAllister, however, as a man of the 
 world, and had esteemed him accordingly. He 
 perceived that he had been mistaken. His cus 
 tomer was merely a religious crank. He had had 
 experience with them before. 
 
 "Pooh! That s all right," said he resuming 
 his former cordiality. " Why, they like to earn 
 the extra money. They re all devoted to my in 
 terests, you know." 
 
 " Well, I don t want them to work any longer 
 on my clothes," repeated McAllister helplessly. 
 
 " I understand," replied Mr. Pondel, rather 
 loftily. " I m afraid, however, it s too late to stop 
 them now. The cloth as been cut, and they would 
 not stop contrary to my direction." 
 
 " That s the point," returned McAllister, " I 
 want you to change your orders." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," expostulated the tailor, 
 " you can t expect me to go to London this time of 
 night! Besides, they re nearly done by this time. 
 It s impossible ! " 
 
 " I ll manage that," exclaimed McAllister. 
 " I ve been down to the shop already, and they re 
 waiting for me now to come back with your per 
 mission to go home ; they wouldn t go without it." 
 
 " Dear, dear! " replied the tailor, changing his 
 tactics. " How much interest you have taken in 
 
 200
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 their welfare ! How kind and thoughtful of you ! 
 No, they re faithful men; they wouldn t think of 
 disobeying orders. But what a shame I didn t 
 know of it before! Why, they might ave been 
 at ome and in their beds. However, I sha n t 
 forget em at the end of the month. Mr. Mc 
 Allister, I respect you. I have never known of 
 a more unselfish act. Permit me to say it, sir, you 
 are a Christian a true Christian. I wish there 
 were more like you, sir! " 
 
 McAllister arose to his feet. His one thought 
 now was to escape as quickly as possible. The 
 sight of Pondel s smiling countenance filled him 
 with unutterable disgust. Suppose the fellows at 
 the club could see him sitting in this pursy 
 tailor s parlor, with his scented wife, and gilded 
 chairs " 
 
 The tailor, however, was anxious to restore the 
 cordiality of their relations, and slopped over in 
 his eagerness to show how kind he was to his men, 
 and how considerate of their well-being. He took 
 McAllister s arm familiarly as he showed him to 
 the door. 
 
 Yes," he added confidentially, " this is a very 
 good locality. Only the best people live in this 
 neighborhood. Rather a neat little property." 
 He proffered McAllister a cigar. The clubman 
 wanted to kick him for a miserable, dirty cad. 
 
 20 1
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 " Right back ! " he said to the cabby, hardly 
 replying to the tailor s good-night. 
 
 London was asleep. Even the streets through 
 which he had driven to Kew were hushed in prep 
 aration for the sodden Sunday to come. The 
 moon had lowered over the housetops, and St. 
 Timothy s was in the shadow as once again he 
 drew up in front of Pondel s. 
 
 " Back already, sir? " The bobby stepped out 
 to meet him. 
 
 " Yes," replied McAllister wearily. " And 
 those fellows down there are going home." 
 
 The bobby rapped on the scuttle. Once more 
 Pedler s head protruded above the sidewalk. 
 
 " Mr. Pondel says you re to go home," said 
 McAllister. 
 
 " The gent s been all the way to Kew for you," 
 interjected the bobby. 
 
 " Hi, Aggam ! " exclaimed Jim, huskily. " Th 
 gentleman says we are to go ome, Mr. Pondel 
 says." He disappeared. Aggam could be heard 
 muttering below. Presently the light was extin 
 guished, and both emerged from the scuttle and 
 put on their coats. McAllister felt sleepily ex 
 ultant. Pedler pushed the scuttle into place. 
 
 " Well," said McAllister after an awkward 
 pause, " can I give you a lift? Which way do you 
 go ? I tell you what : you come back with me to 
 
 202
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 the hotel, and then the hansom can take you both 
 home." 
 
 Pedler and Aggam looked doubtfully at one 
 another. 
 
 " Oh, come on, you fellows ! " exclaimed McAl 
 lister, all his natural good spirits returning with a 
 rush. " Get in there, now ! " 
 
 Pedler and Aggam climbed in, and McAllister 
 directed the driver to go to the Metropole, after 
 stuffing a sovereign into the hand of his friend, 
 the policeman. The stars were still marching 
 across the sky, and the breeze had freshened. 
 Every window was dark ; no one was astir. They 
 heard only the echoes of their horse s hoof-beats. 
 Yet the restless silence that precedes the dawn was 
 in the air. 
 
 " I lives miles aw y from ere," said Pedler after 
 a meditated period. 
 
 " So do I," supplemented Aggam. 
 
 " I don t care," replied McAllister. " I ve had 
 this cab all night, anyhow, and I want to celebrate. 
 You see, this is the first time I ever got ahead of 
 my tailor." 
 
 Another long pause ensued. They were not a 
 talkative lot, surely. McAllister s flow of lan 
 guage absolutely deserted him. He could think 
 of no subject of conversation whatever. Pedler 
 finally came to his assistance. 
 
 203
 
 McAllister s Data of Ethics 
 
 " I m thirty-seven year old, an this is the fust 
 time I ve ever ridden in a ansom." 
 
 " Jiminy ! " exclaimed McAllister. " You don t 
 say so! What luck! " 
 
 " Fust time for me, too," added Aggam. 
 
 After this burst of confidence the three rode in 
 utter silence. At the Metropole the clubman 
 jumped out and bade his companions good-night. 
 
 As the cabby gathered up the reins preparatory 
 to a fresh start, Aggam leaned forward rather 
 apologetically. 
 
 You must hexcuse me," he remarked, " but I 
 don t want to sail hunder false colors, and I feel 
 as if I hort to s y that while I m a Socialist, I ave 
 no particular sympathy with Sabbatarianism." 
 
 " Well, neither have I," replied McAllister en 
 couragingly, an answer which probably puzzled 
 Mr. Aggam for a fortnight. 
 
 204
 
 MCALLISTER S MARRIAGE
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 THE Bar Harbor train slowly came to a stop 
 beside a little wooden station. From over 
 the marshes crept a breath of salty freshness that 
 tried vainly to steal in through the open windows 
 of the Pullman, only intensifying the stifling heat 
 inside. 
 
 McAllister arose and made his way to the plat 
 form in search of air. A spare, wrinkled octoge 
 narian was in the difficult act of lifting a small girl 
 in a calico dress to the platform of the day coach, 
 the child clinging obstinately to the old gentleman s 
 neck and refusing to disentangle herself. 
 
 " Mercy, Abby! Do leggo! " he remonstrated. 
 " Thar, ef ye don t, I ll ask that man thar to hoist 
 ye!" 
 
 The little girl reluctantly let go her hold and 
 allowed herself to be placed on the lowest step. 
 
 "That s a good girl," continued her guardian; 
 then addressing McAllister, he inquired conver 
 sationally: 
 
 " Be ye goin to Bangor? " 
 207
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " How s that? Ye-es, I believe I am. At least 
 the train passes through," responded McAllister 
 doubtfully, apprehensive of undesirable complica 
 tions. 
 
 The old fellow produced from his waistcoat- 
 pocket a ticket which he placed in the child s hand. 
 Then he turned her around and gave her a little 
 push up the steps. 
 
 ; Wall, jest keep an eye on Abby, will ye? " 
 
 " Good-by, Uncle ! " cried the little girl, climb 
 ing laboriously up to where the clubman stood and 
 making a little bow, which he gravely returned. 
 
 " I don t know . . ." he began. 
 
 " That s all right," explained the farmer. 
 " Her aunt ll meet her. Jest see she don t bother 
 no one. Lemme pass ye her duds." 
 
 The octogenarian forthwith handed up to Mc 
 Allister a cloth valise, a pasteboard box, and a 
 large paper bag. 
 
 " Her lunch is in the bag," said he. " Don t 
 let her drink none o that ice-water. My wife 
 says it hez germs into it." 
 
 " But I don t . . ." gasped our friend. 
 
 " Be keerful o that box," interrupted her uncle. 
 There s two dozen hen s eggs in it. If she s 
 good, you might buy her a cent s worth o pepper 
 mints to Portland." He fumbled uncertainly in 
 his breeches pocket. 
 
 208
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " Do you expect me . . ..." ejaculated Mc 
 Allister. 
 
 " Give my love to yer aunt," added the other as 
 the train started. " Good-by! " And pulling a 
 large red pocket-handkerchief from his coat-tails 
 he fanned the air vaguely as they moved slowly 
 away from him. 
 
 " Oh, isn t it nice ! " cried the little girl, who 
 appeared quite at ease with her new acquaint 
 ance. 
 
 " Ye-es certainly of course," he replied, 
 wondering what he should do with his charge. " I 
 suppose we had better go in and sit down, don t 
 you think? " 
 
 He stood aside waiting for her to precede him 
 into the parlor car. 
 
 " What a lovely place! " she exclaimed as her 
 eyes rested upon the rosewood and the velvet chairs. 
 " Am I really to ride in this? " 
 
 " Why, where should you ride, to be sure? " he 
 inquired, beginning to regain his self-possession. 
 
 The car had iron seats before," she informed 
 him. 
 
 " How extraordinary ! " 
 
 " This is an ever so much prettier train," she 
 added. " I m afraid I ll hurt the plush." She 
 took out a diminutive handkerchief and spread it 
 out to sit upon. The clubman with an amused 
 
 209
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 expression swung round another chair and sat 
 down opposite. 
 
 " My name s Abigail Martha Higgins," she 
 said, taking off her little straw hat. " I live in 
 Bangor with my aunt. That old man was Uncle 
 Moses Higgins. Aunt doesn t love his wife." 
 
 " Dear me ! " sympathized McAllister. 
 
 " My father and mother are in heaven," she 
 continued in matter-of-fact tones. " Up there. 
 Wouldn t you hate to live up in the sky and do 
 nothin ?" 
 
 " I certainly should," he answered with gravity. 
 
 We all came down from there, you know. 
 Do you think we were born all in one piece, or put 
 together afterward?" 
 
 McAllister pondered. 
 
 "What s your name?" 
 
 " McAllister," he replied. 
 
 That s a funny name ! " she commented. " It 
 sounds like McCafferty that s Deacon Brewer s 
 hired man s name." 
 
 " Do you think so? " asked the clubman apolo 
 getically, feeling that his parents had done him an 
 irreparable injury. 
 
 " I ll call you Mister Mac," added the child, 
 " and you may call me Abby, cause I m only eight. 
 Do you live to Boston ? " 
 
 " No; New York. An awful way off." 
 
 2IO
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " Have they got a Free-Will Meetin -house 
 there? " she inquired knowingly. 
 
 " I m sure I don t know," he answered, feeling 
 wofully ignorant of all matters of real importance. 
 
 " Then it must be a very small place," she de 
 cided. " All big places have a Free-Will Meetin - 
 house, Uncle Moses says." 
 
 At this moment Wilkins approached to inquire 
 if his master wanted anything. 
 
 " Is there a Free-Will Meetin -house in New 
 York? " inquired the clubman. 
 
 Yes, sir; I believe so, sir. That is to say, a 
 Baptist place of worship, sir," he answered sol 
 emnly. 
 
 " Is that your brother? " inquired Abby. 
 
 " No " hesitated McAllister, doubtful as to 
 what the valet s equivalent would be in his little 
 friend s world. 
 
 " What s your name? " inquired Abby. 
 
 ;t Wilkins, miss," answered the valet. 
 
 " What a lovely name ! " cried Abby. " It s 
 much nicer than his n." 
 
 Wilkins stepped back a few paces aghast. 
 
 " That box is chuck full of eggs," announced 
 Abby. " I wonder where the hens get them." 
 
 " I give it up," said the clubman. 
 
 " We have a black horse on our farm," she con 
 tinued. " It used to be a girl, but now it s a boy." 
 
 211
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed McAllister. 
 
 " Yes, aunt had her tail cut off. Boys have 
 short hair, you know that s how you tell." 
 
 At this Wilkins disappeared rapidly into the 
 background. 
 
 " Uncle Moses wife don t love children," the 
 child continued. " She has the rheumatiz in her 
 thigh." 
 
 " But she must like you, Abby," urged her new 
 friend. 
 
 " No, she don t. She don t love me cause I 
 love Aunt Abby, an Aunt Abby don t love her." 
 
 " I see," said McAllister. 
 
 The clubman soon became acquainted with 
 Abby s entire family history, and rapidly realized 
 that the mind of a child was a thing undreamed of 
 in his philosophy. As she pattered on he conversed 
 gravely with her, trying to answer her multitu 
 dinous questions. All her world was good save 
 Uncle Moses wife, and her confidence in the club 
 man was entire. She admired his clothes, his 
 watch-chain, and his scarf-pin, and ended by direct 
 ing him to read to her, which McAllister obe 
 diently did. None of the magazines seemed to 
 contain suitable articles, so with some misgivings 
 he purchased various colored weeklies, remember 
 ing vaguely his own delight in the misadventures 
 of certain chubby ladies and stout gentlemen upon 
 
 212
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 rear pages, perused furtively when waiting at the 
 barber s to get his hair cut as a child. For half 
 an hour her interest remained tense, but then she 
 wearied of using her eyes, and, patting McAllis 
 ter s fat chin, ordered him to tell her a story. Here 
 was a new difficulty. He had never told a story 
 in his life, but there was no help for it, no escape, 
 as she climbed into his lap. 
 
 " Begin with once onup-a-time," she ordered. 
 
 " Well," he obeyed " Once onup a time there 
 was a man who lived in a club " 
 
 "A what?" sharply interrupted Abby. 
 
 " A big white house with heaps of rooms," he 
 corrected. " And as he had nobody dependent on 
 him, all he had to do was to eat and sleep and 
 look at the sky." 
 
 " Didn t he have any children? " 
 
 " Nobody in the world," answered McAllister. 
 
 " Poor man ! " sighed Abby. " Didn t he keep 
 any hens? " 
 
 " Not even a hen ! " 
 
 " I know a big house just like that," said Abby. 
 " Old Captain Barnard used to live in it. Wasn t 
 he lonely? " 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " Did anyone live with him? " 
 
 " His hired man," answered the clubman with 
 a smile, looking down the car to where Wilkins 
 
 213
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 sat in solitary grandeur. " And by and by he got 
 so old and so fat that nobody would marry him, 
 while the wives of other men he knew forgot to 
 ask him to dinner." 
 
 "Poor dear man!" murmured Abby, "I 
 should think he d have wished he hadn t been 
 born." 
 
 " Sometimes he did," answered the story-teller. 
 " And he longed for some people to really care for 
 him, and for some little children to keep him com 
 pany." 
 
 " Did he have a cow? " 
 
 " No, not even a cow." 
 
 Abby laughed sleepily. 
 
 " But didn t he ever have any fun? " 
 
 " He thought he did, but he didn t, really." 
 
 " I m awful sorry for him! " said Abby. " If 
 I met him I would give him my white hen." 
 
 " He used to pay for dinners for people, and 
 send them flowers and candy and go to see 
 them " 
 
 " Sunday afternoons? " 
 Yes ; Sunday afternoons." 
 
 " He was really very nice," said Abby. 
 
 " Do you think so? " asked McAllister eagerly. 
 
 " Why, of course. Don t you think so? " 
 
 " So-so," said the clubman. 
 
 " But he never hurt anyone? " 
 214
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " And gave the hired man plenty of victuals? " 
 
 " Much more than was good for him," said Mc 
 Allister with conviction. 
 
 " I like that man," said Abby. " He was a 
 good man." 
 
 " But some people said he was an idle fellow," 
 insisted McAllister. 
 
 " But that didn t do anybody any harm," said 
 Abby. 
 
 " No, certainly not." 
 
 " And he wasn t cross? " 
 
 " No, almost never." 
 
 " Then," said Abby, " he was a good man, and 
 I will marry him if he asks me." 
 
 And with that she dropped her head on his arm 
 and fell fast asleep. 
 
 " Can t I hold the young person, for you, 
 sir? " inquired the valet in a whisper. 
 
 " Certainly not" responded McAllister. 
 
 Over the flitting pines circled the crows, black 
 dots against the deep blue; lazy cows stood knee- 
 deep in fields frosted with daisies and watched 
 seemingly without interest the passing train; little 
 puffs of white in serried ranks moved slowly out 
 of the north, never approaching nearer, dissolving 
 at the meridian; on the near horizon a line of in 
 digo mountains tumbled southward; white farm- 
 
 215
 
 McAllister s Maraiage 
 
 houses swept slowly by; at dusty crossings gray- 
 whiskered farmers sat loosely holding the reins in 
 amiable conformity with the injunction painted 
 upon weather-worn signs to " Look out for the 
 engine "; at times the train passed over rocky bed 
 ded streams dammed for milling, and once or twice 
 across rivers half choked with logs upon which 
 men ran like water-bugs; then through red brick 
 towns, and towns with square granite stores and 
 offices, and towns of white and green, marking 
 the three disconnected periods of the architec 
 tural development of Maine; and everywhere the 
 pines. 
 
 In the midst of a stretch of thick woods the 
 engine began to whistle frantically. A brakeman, 
 followed closely by a conductor, hurried through 
 the car. The wheels ground harshly and the train 
 gradually ceased to move. Ahead could be heard 
 the loud pounding of the engine and the roar of 
 escaping steam. Volumes of smoke, white and 
 black, rolled over the pines and cast rapidly chang 
 ing shadows upon the ground. Wilkins, who had 
 gone forth to seek information, now returned. 
 
 " There s a freight wreck just a ead, sir. The 
 conductor says as how we shall be delayed ere at 
 least nine hours." 
 
 McAllister glanced down at the little form in 
 his arms. It had not moved. Gently he carried 
 
 216
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 her along the aisle, out upon the platform, and 
 down the steps to the ground. Still she did not 
 awake. Up the track he could see groups of ex 
 cited passengers gesticulating around grotesque 
 piles of wreckage upon which a locomotive lay 
 with its wheels in the air. Beside the track 
 stretched a pine grove, its soft carpet of needles 
 flecked with sunlight. At the foot of one giant 
 tree, on a bed of gray moss, the clubman laid his 
 little charge and threw himself at her feet. An 
 irritable family of nervous crows flapped noisily 
 away to the other side of the track, assembled in 
 angry consultation in a hemlock, deputed a spy, 
 who cautiously reconnoitred, and, on the latter s 
 report, returned. At a safe distance Wilkins sat 
 upon a windfall, and with one eye upon his sleep 
 ing master smoked rapidly one of McAllister s 
 cigars. 
 
 II 
 
 " Yes, Miss Higgins got yer telegram," an 
 swered Deacon Brewer, as they drove slowly along 
 the river in the dusty heat of the early July morn 
 ing. " Ef she hadn t I reckon she d a gone nigh 
 crazy." 
 
 They were in an open two-seated buck-board. 
 McAllister, holding Abby in his lap, occupied the 
 
 217
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 front seat with the Deacon, while Wilkins sat 
 behind with the valise and the pasteboard box. 
 
 " It was a tiresome delay and really a very fort 
 unate escape," responded McAllister. " Abby 
 behaved beautifully." 
 
 " She s a good child," said the Deacon. " Her 
 mother was a fine woman, and she s goin to be 
 just like her." 
 
 "Are we nearly home?" asked the little girl, 
 rubbing her eyes. 
 
 " Most," answered the Deacon. " Are ye 
 hungry? " 
 
 " I got her some bread and milk at a farm 
 house," explained McAllister, " but none of us 
 have had any breakfast yet." 
 
 " Wall, I reckon Miss Higgins 11 be prepared 
 for ye," said the Deacon. " She s a liberal woman 
 an a smart woman, but all the same, the farm s 
 going to be sold for taxes next week." 
 
 Abby had fallen asleep, but the clubman started 
 and looked anxiously at her at this piece of intel 
 ligence. 
 
 " She don t know nuthin about it," said the 
 farmer. " Miss Higgins can t run a hard-scrab 
 ble farm, nor no one can and make a livin out n 
 it. It ain t worth five dollars an acre." 
 
 What will she do? " asked the clubman. 
 
 " Darn ef I know," responded the other. " She 
 218
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 kin help around some, I guess. Deacon Giddings 
 has a powerful lot of company. N any woman 
 kin sew. She kin make out, I reckon." 
 
 " But the child? " whispered McAllister. 
 
 " Her Uncle Moses ll hev to take her," an 
 swered the Deacon. 
 
 "Jiminy!" ejaculated the clubman, recalling 
 the little girl s description of her uncle s wife. 
 " She won t like that." 
 
 " Beggars can t be choosers," said the Deacon 
 dryly. 
 
 A turn in the road brought them within view of 
 a small, low farm-house, with good-sized barn, 
 lying in a field between the woods and the river, 
 here about a quarter of a mile in width. The 
 pines grew close to the road upon the left, but 
 upon the other side the land had been well cleared 
 to the Penobscot s bank. Huge piles of stones, 
 ten or twelve feet long, five or so broad, and four 
 or five feet high, were monuments to the energy 
 and industry of some former owner. 
 
 " Gosh, how Henery worked to clear this 
 farm ! " remarked the Deacon. " He hove stone 
 for twenty years, an then died. Look at them 
 trees ! " 
 
 He pointed dramatically to a large orchard con 
 taining row upon row of young apple-trees. 
 
 At the sound of the wheels a woman came slowly 
 219
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 out of the side door and watched their approach. 
 She had the pale, sickly countenance of the wife 
 of the inland Maine farmer, and her limp dress 511 
 concealed the angularity of her form. Her eyes 
 showed that she had passed a sleepless night. Mc 
 Allister leaped out and lifted Abby down. The 
 woman neither spoke to nor kissed the child, but 
 clutched her tightly in her arms. Then she nodded 
 to the new-comers. 
 
 " I m obliged to ye, Deacon Brewer," she said. 
 " Is this the man who sent the telegram? Won t 
 ye come in and set down? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried Abby ecstatically. " Get out, 
 Mr. Wilkins! I want to show you the black 
 horse, and all the hens." 
 
 " I must be gettin back," muttered the Deacon. 
 
 " Could you let us have a bite of breakfast? " 
 inquired McAllister. " My train doesn t go until 
 twelve o clock." To return to Bangor at this par 
 ticular time did not suit him. 
 
 " Such as it is," replied Miss Higgins. 
 
 " Could you arrange to call out for me in an 
 hour or so? " asked McAllister. 
 
 " I reckon I kin," said the Deacon with some 
 reluctance. " I ll hev ter charge ye fifty cents." 
 
 " Of course," said McAllister. 
 
 Wilkins took down the parcels, and the Deacon 
 drove slowly away. 
 
 220
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " I ll scrape somethin together in a few min 
 utes," said Miss Higgins. " How much was that 
 telegram? " 
 
 " Oh, that s all right! " said the abashed club 
 man. 
 
 " No, it ain t. Money s money. Was it ez 
 much ez a quarter? " 
 
 McAllister acknowledged the amount. 
 
 " I thought so," commented Miss Higgins. 
 " It was wuth it." She had the money all ready, 
 and handed it to McAllister. 
 
 Etiquette seemed to demand its acceptance. 
 
 " Did you say your name was McAllister? 
 Who s this man? " 
 
 " His name is Wilkins." 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Abby, " one of ye might 
 split up that log, if ye don t mind, while I get the 
 breakfast." 
 
 She turned into the house. 
 
 McAllister looked doubtfully at the wood-pile. 
 
 " Let Mr. Wilklns chop the wood ! " shouted 
 Abby; " I want to show you the ba-an." 
 
 " Wilkins," said McAllister, " wood-chopping 
 is an art sanctified in this country by tradition." 
 
 " Very good, sir," answered Wilkins. 
 
 Abby grasped McAllister s hand and tugged 
 him joyfully over the poverty-stricken farm. They 
 visited the orchard, the pig-sty, the hen-house, ad- 
 
 221
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 mired the horse that had been a girl, and ended at 
 the water s edge. 
 
 ;< We ketch salmon here in the spring," ex 
 plained Abby; " and smelts." 
 
 Across the eddying river quiet farms slept in 
 the hot sunshine. Two men in a dory swung 
 slowly up-stream. At their feet the clear water 
 rippled against the stones. In his mind the club 
 man pictured the stifling city and the squalor of 
 relative existence there. 
 
 " It s beautiful, Abby," he said. 
 
 " It s the loveliest place in the whole world," she 
 answered, holding his hand tightly. " And I shall 
 never, never go away." 
 
 Behind them came the shrill tones of Aunt 
 Abby s voice bidding them to breakfast. Wil- 
 kins, coatless, was bearing some mangled frag 
 ments of log toward the kitchen. His beaded face 
 spoke unutterable dejection. 
 
 "Well, set daown; it s all there is," said Miss 
 Higgins. 
 
 McAllister sat, and Abby climbed into a high 
 chair. Wilkins remained standing. 
 
 " Ain t ye goin to set? " inquired Miss Higgins. 
 
 Wilkins reddened. 
 
 Well, ye be the most bashful man I ever met," 
 remarked the lady. " Set daown and eat ver 
 victuals." 
 
 222
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " Sit down," said McAllister, and for the sec 
 ond time master and man shared a meal. 
 
 The little room was bare of decoration except 
 for some colored lithographs and wood-cuts, which 
 for the most part represented the funeral corteges 
 of distinguished Americans, with a few hospital 
 scenes and the sinking of a steamship. A rug 
 soiled to a dull drab made a sort of mud spot 
 before the fireplace; a knitted tidy, suggestive of 
 the antimacassar, ornamented the only rocker; at 
 one end stood the stove, and hard by two fixed 
 tubs. Everything except the carpet was scrupu 
 lously clean. 
 
 Miss Higgins brought to the table a dish of 
 steaming boiled eggs, half a loaf of white bread, 
 and a vegetable dish with a large piece of butter. 
 
 " 11 have some coffee for ye in a minute," she 
 remarked as she placed the dishes before them. 
 
 McAllister broke some of the eggs into a tum 
 bler and cut the bread. 
 
 ; What might be your business? " inquired Miss 
 Higgins. 
 
 Er well " hesitated McAllister. " I ve 
 travelled quite a bit." 
 
 " I had a cousin in the hardware line," remarked 
 the hostess reminiscently. " He travelled every- 
 wheres. Has it ever taken you ez fur as St. 
 Louis?" 
 
 223
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " No," said McAllister. " My line never took 
 me so far." 
 
 " Andrew died there of the water. What s 
 your business? " continued Miss Higgins to Wil- 
 kins. 
 
 " I m with Mr. McAllister, ma am." 
 
 "Oh! same firm?" 
 
 Wilkins coughed violently and evaded the inter 
 rogation. 
 
 " Mr. Wilkins handles gents clothing, under 
 wear, haberdashery, and notions," interposed Mc 
 Allister gravely. 
 
 Wilkins swayed in his seat and grew purple 
 around the gills. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Wilkins! " cried Abby, " what s the 
 matter? You will burst ! Take a drink of water." 
 
 The valet obediently tried to do as she bade him. 
 
 " How much is land worth around here? " asked 
 the clubman. " And what do you raise? " 
 
 Miss Higgins looked at him suspiciously. 
 
 " We raise pertaters, some corn and oats, and 
 get a purty fair apple crop in the autumn." 
 
 " Must have been hard work clearing the farm," 
 added McAllister, " if one can judge by the piles 
 of stones." 
 
 "Work? I guess twas work!" sniffed Miss 
 Higgins. " You travellin men hain t got no idee 
 of what real work is. There ain t a stone in the 
 
 224
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 nineteen acres of farm land. Henery picked em 
 all up by hand." 
 
 " Are you Abby s guardian? " asked McAllister. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Higgins. " I m all the folks 
 she s got, except Moses, down to Portsmouth, and 
 a lot of good he is with that wife he s got! " 
 
 Wilkins now asked awkwardly to be excused. 
 
 " That friend of yourn seems to be a dummy! " 
 remarked Miss Higgins after the valet had disap 
 peared. 
 
 " He isn t much in the social line," admitted his 
 master. " But he knows his business." 
 
 " I m goin out to show Mr. Wilkins the bee 
 hive," cried Abby, slipping down from her chair. 
 " Come right along, won t you? " 
 
 " I ll be there in just a minute," said McAllister. 
 
 Abby grabbed up her sunbonnet and ran skip 
 ping out of the kitchen. 
 
 " She s a dear little girl," said McAllister. " I 
 hope she ll have a chance to get a good education." 
 
 " Education behind a counter in Bangor is all 
 she ll get," answered her aunt. 
 
 They sat in silence for a moment, and then Mc 
 Allister, feeling the craving induced by habit, drew 
 an Obsequio from his pocket, and asked: 
 
 " Do you object to smoking? " 
 
 Miss Abby bristled. 
 
 " I don t want none o them se-gars in this 
 225
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 house, so long s I m in it ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Ain t out-doors good enough for you, without 
 stinkin up the kitchen? " 
 
 " I didn t mean any offence," apologized Mc 
 Allister. " I ll wait till I go out, of course." 
 
 " One of the devil s tricks ! " sniffed Miss Abby. 
 
 McAllister, terribly embarrassed, got up and 
 stepped to the window. The coffee had been ex 
 ecrable, but a benign influence animated him. 
 Down the slope toward the gently flowing Penob- 
 scot little Abby was leading Wilkins by the hand. 
 The boy-horse kicked his heels in a daisy-flecked 
 pasture beyond the barn. 
 
 "What did you say the farm was worth?" 
 asked the clubman. 
 
 " There s a hundred and eighty-one acres o 
 woodland, and the cleared land just makes two 
 hundred. It ought to be worth eighteen hundred 
 dollars." 
 
 " I know a man who wants a farm. He says 
 some day all this river front will be valuable for 
 a summer resort. I m authorized to buy for him. 
 I ll give you sixteen hundred and fifty. Is it a 
 bargain? " 
 
 Miss Abby turned pale. 
 
 " Oh, I don t know ! It seems dreadfux to sell 
 it, after all the years Henery put into cleanin of it 
 up. I was hopm somehow that maybe I could get 
 
 226
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 work on the farm from them as bought it and 
 keep Abby here for a while longer." 
 
 "That s all right," said McAllister. " My 
 principal is buying it on a speculation. You can 
 stay indefinitely." 
 
 " How about rent? " asked Miss Abby. 
 
 " You can take care of the farm, and he won t 
 charge you any rent." 
 
 The terms having been finally arranged to Miss 
 Abby s satisfaction, McAllister drew a small 
 check-book from his pocket and filled out a voucher 
 for the amount. 
 
 " We can sign the papers later," said he with a 
 smile. 
 
 Miss Abby took the slip of paper doubtfully. 
 
 " How do I know I ain t gettin cheated? " she 
 asked. " Suppose this should turn out to be no 
 good?" 
 
 " Then you d have the farm," said McAllister. 
 
 He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean 
 letter-back and with his stylographic pen rapidly 
 wrote the following: 
 
 " I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins 
 farm, heretofore purchased by me, tojny friend 
 Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for 
 much of value of which no one knows but myself. 
 In witness whereof I sign my name and affix a 
 seal." 
 
 227
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 He found a used postage-stamp that still had a 
 trifle of gum on its back and made use of it as a 
 fragmentary seal. 
 
 While in some doubt as to the legal sufficiency 
 of this instrument, McAllister felt that its intend- 
 ment was unmistakable. Having replaced his 
 pen, he carefully folded the document and thrust 
 it into his pocket. Just at this moment Miss Hig- 
 gins announced the return of Deacon Brewer, who 
 was wheeling slowly into the gate. Toward the 
 orchard McAllister could see, as he stepped to the 
 door, little Abby still tugging along Wilkins, whose 
 massive and emotionless face was glistening with 
 the heat. 
 
 " Hit s very ot, sir ! " he remarked tentatively 
 to his master. " I ve been to see the ives." 
 
 " How funny Mr. Wilkins talks ! " said Abby. 
 " He told me he knew a boy once who got stung, 
 and said the bee bit im in is eadf Do all drum 
 mers talk like that? " 
 
 " Drummers ! " exclaimed Wilkins. 
 
 " Aunt said you were both drummers; I s pose 
 you left your drums somewhere. I don t like em ; 
 they make too much music. They have them in 
 the circus parade in Bangor every year." 
 
 " Be you folks ready to start? " inquired Deacon 
 Brewer. " Purty nice view of the water from 
 here, ain t they? There s a good well on the 
 
 228
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 place, too, and a few boat-loads of manure would 
 give you crops to beat all. Don t know enybody 
 thet wants to speckalate a little in farmin land, do 
 ye? This here is a good, likely place. Reckon 
 you kin buy it cheap." 
 
 " Sh-h ! " said McAllister, laying his finger on 
 his lips. 
 
 " No one sha n t ever buy this farm," said Abby; 
 " I m goin to live here always." 
 
 " Wall," said the Deacon, " better be movin . 
 I don t like to keep the mare standin in the 
 sun." 
 
 " Are you goin away? " cried Abby in agonized 
 tones. " You ll come back soon, won t you? " 
 
 " I hope so, very soon," said McAllister. 
 " Don you want to show me the boy-horse before 
 I start?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ! " she cried, seizing his hand. 
 
 The stout clubman and the little girl walked 
 slowly across the grass-grown drive to the daisy 
 field beside the barn, talking busily. 
 
 Your friend s bought this farm," announced 
 Miss Abby to Wilkins. 
 
 " Oly Moses! " ejaculated the valet. 
 
 " By gum ! " exclaimed the Deacon. " What 
 did he give? " 
 
 " Sixteen hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 "Gee!" said the Deacon. 
 229
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 " An we re to stay on rent-free s long s we 
 want! " 
 
 " I swan ! " commented the pillar of the local 
 Baptist Church. " Some folks doos hev luck ! " 
 
 He went over to adjust a bit of harness. 
 
 " It ll keep em out o the poor farm," he 
 muttered. " But, by gosh, thet feller must be a 
 fool!" 
 
 Over in the daisy field, McAllister, to the won 
 der of the boy-horse, pulled the despised cigar 
 from his pocket, cut off the end, and began to 
 smoke with infinite satisfaction. 
 
 ; What a beautiful, beautiful, lovely ring!" 
 exclaimed Abby joyfully, examining with delight 
 the embossed paper of red and gold. 
 
 " Do you remember about the lonely man who 
 lived in the big white house I told you of? " asked 
 McAllister. 
 
 " Of course I do," sighed Abby. " Poor man ! 
 he was so good, and nobody loved him." 
 
 " Do you love him? " asked McAllister. 
 
 " Dear man ! I love him, all my heart ! " cried 
 the child. 
 
 ; Then the man is very, very happy," said Mc 
 Allister softly. 
 
 Overhead a single black crow, wheeling out of 
 a stumpy pine, circled to investigate this strange 
 love-scene. Satisfied of its propriety, he cawed 
 
 230
 
 McAllister s Marriage 
 
 loudly and resettled himself upon the shaking top 
 most bough. 
 
 McAllister drew the golden band from his cigar 
 and took the folded paper from his pocket. 
 
 " Here s a love-letter," said he. " Your aunt 
 will read it for you when I ve gone." 
 
 Abby took it sadly. 
 
 " Now hold up your left hand," said McAllister, 
 smiling. As he slipped the paper circle over her 
 fourth finger he said gravely: 
 
 " With this ring I thee wed, and with all my 
 worldly goods I thee endow. Give me a kiss." 
 
 She did so, in wonder. 
 
 " Now we are married," said he. 
 
 231
 
 THE JAILBIRD
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 i 
 
 NOW it had come, he was not quite sure that 
 he wanted it. For a moment he longed 
 to go back and join the men marching away to the 
 shoe-shop. Inside those walls he had never had to 
 think of what he should eat or drink, or where 
 withal he should be clothed. 
 
 Over against the gray parapet echoed the buzz 
 ing of the electric cars, a strange sound to ears ac 
 customed only to the tramp of marching feet, the 
 harsh voices of wardens, and the clang of iron 
 doors. Below him the harbor waves danced and 
 sparkled, ferry-boats rushed from shore to shore, 
 big ships moved slowly toward the distant islands 
 and the still more distant sea, while near at hand 
 the busy street flowed like a river, which he was 
 compelled to swim but in which he already felt the 
 millstone of his past dragging him down. 
 
 His heart sank as he asked himself what life 
 could hold for him. How often, sitting on his 
 prison bed with his head in his hands, he had pict- 
 
 235
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 ured joyously the present moment! Now he felt 
 like a child who has lost its parent s hand in the 
 passing throng. 
 
 There had been a day, the year before, when his 
 old mother s letter had not come, and, instead, 
 only a line of stereotyped consolation from the 
 country pastor to the village ne er-do-well. No 
 one had seen him choke over his bowl of soup and 
 bread, or noticed the tears that trickled down upon 
 the shoe-leather in his hand. She had been the 
 only one who had ever written to him. There was 
 nothing now to take him back to the little cluster 
 of white cottages among the hills where he was 
 born. 
 
 As he stood there alone facing the world, he 
 yearned to throw himself once more upon his cot 
 and weep against its iron bars for three years the 
 only arms outstretched to comfort him. 
 
 II 
 
 The Judge concluded his charge with the usual, 
 " I leave the case with you, gentlemen," and the 
 jury, collecting their miscellaneous garments, slow 
 ly retired. Leary, the County Detective assigned 
 to " Part One," pushed an indictment across the 
 desk, whispering: 
 
 " Try him; he s a short one," for it was getting 
 236
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 late, and the afternoon sun was already gilding the 
 dingy cornices of the big court-room, now almost 
 deserted save by a lounger or two half asleep on 
 the benches. 
 
 " People against Graham," called Dockbridge, 
 the youthful deputy assistant district attorney. 
 
 "Fill the box!" shouted the clerk. "James 
 Graham to the bar! " and another dozen " good 
 men and true " answered to their names and settled 
 themselves comfortably in their places. 
 
 At the rear the door from the pen opened and 
 the prisoner entered, escorted by an officer. He 
 walked stolidly around the room, passed through 
 the gate held open for him, and took his seat at 
 the table reserved for the defendant and his attor 
 ney. There appeared, however, to be no lawyer to 
 represent him. 
 
 "Have you counsel?" casually inquired the 
 clerk. 
 
 " No," answered the prisoner. 
 
 " Mr. Crookshanks, please look after the rights 
 of this defendant," directed the Judge. 
 
 The prisoner, a thick-set man of medium height, 
 half rose from his seat, and, turning toward the 
 weazened little lawyer, shook his head rather im 
 patiently. It was obvious that they were not 
 strangers. After a whispered conversation Crook- 
 shanks stepped forward and addressed the Court. 
 
 237
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 The defendant declines counsel, and stands 
 upon his constitutional right to defend himself," 
 he said apologetically. 
 
 There was a slight lifting of heads among the 
 jury, and a few sharp glances in the direction of 
 the prisoner, which seemed in no wise to disconcert 
 him. 
 
 " Very well, then; proceed," ordered the Court. 
 
 The prosecutor rapidly outlined his case one 
 of simple " larceny from the person." The People 
 would show that the defendant had taken a wallet 
 from the pocket of the complaining witness. He 
 had been caught in flagrante deticto. There were 
 several eye-witnesses. The case would occupy but 
 a few moments, unless, to be sure, the prisoner had 
 some witnesses. The young assistant, who seemed 
 slightly nervous at the unusual prospect of conduct 
 ing a trial against a lawyerless defendant (savor 
 ing as it did of a hand-to-hand combat in the 
 days of trial by battle), started to comment upon 
 the novelty of the situation, gave it up, and to 
 cover his retreat called his first witness. 
 
 Dockbridge was very young indeed. He was 
 undergoing the process of being " whipped into 
 shape " by the Judge, a kind but unrelenting ob 
 server of all the technicalities of the criminal 
 branch, and this was one of his first cases. He 
 could work up a pretty fair argument in his office, 
 
 238
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 but he now felt his inexperience and began to wish 
 it was time to adjourn, or that his senior, " Colonel 
 Bob," the stout Nestor of Part One, whose long 
 practice made him ready for any emergency, would 
 return. But " Colonel Bob " could have proved 
 an excellent alibi at that moment, and the battle 
 had to be fought out alone. 
 
 The prisoner, meanwhile, was sitting calm but 
 vigilant, pen in hand. His face, square and 
 strong, with firmly marked mouth and chin, 
 showed no sign of emotion, but under their heavy 
 brows his black eyes played uneasily between the 
 .Court and jury. Evidently not more than thirty 
 years of age, his attitude and expression showed 
 intelligence and alert capacity. 
 
 " Go on, Mr. District Attorney," again admon 
 ished the Judge; and Dockbridge, pulling him 
 self together, commenced to examine the com 
 plainant. 
 
 The prisoner was now straining eye and ear to 
 catch every look and word from the witness-stand. 
 Hardly had the complainant opened his mouth be 
 fore the defendant had objected to the answer, the 
 objection had been sustained, and the reply stricken 
 out. He continued to object from time to time, 
 and his points were so well taken that he dom 
 inated not only the examination but the witness as 
 well, and the jury presently found themselves lis- 
 
 239
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 tening to a cross-examination as skilfully conducted 
 as if by a trained practitioner. 
 
 But, although the defendant showed himself a 
 better lawyer than his adversary, it was apparent 
 that his battle was a losing one. Point after point 
 he contested stubbornly, yet the case loomed clear 
 against him. 
 
 The People having " rested," the defendant an 
 nounced that he had no witnesses, and would go to 
 the jury on the evidence, or, rather " failure of evi 
 dence," as he put it, of the prosecution. It was 
 done with great adroitness, and none of the jury 
 perceived that, by refusing to accept counsel, he 
 had made it impossible to take the stand in his own 
 behalf, and had thus escaped the necessity of sub 
 jecting himself to cross-examination as to his past 
 career. 
 
 If the spectators had expected a piteous appeal 
 for mercy or a burst of prison rhetoric, they were 
 disappointed. The prisoner summed his case up 
 carefully, arguing that there was a reasonable 
 doubt upon the evidence to which he was entitled; 
 begged the jury not to condemn him merely be 
 cause he appeared before them as one charged with 
 a crime; appealed to them for justice; and at the 
 close, for the first time forgetting the proprieties 
 of the situation, exclaimed, " I did not do it, gen 
 tlemen ! I did not do it ! There is an absolute 
 
 240
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 failure of proof ! You cannot find that I took the 
 purse from the old gentleman on such evidence! 
 It is all a lie!" 
 
 It was his one false touch. To raise the issue 
 of veracity is usually a mistake on the part of a 
 defendant, and the defiant look in Graham s eyes 
 might well have suggested conscious guilt. 
 
 As he paused for a moment after this concluding 
 sentence, an Italian band came marching down 
 Centre Street playing the dead march. Some patri 
 ot was being borne to his last sleep in an alien land. 
 Outside the court-house it paused for a moment 
 with one melancholy crash of funeral chords. It 
 seemed a vibrant echo of the discord of his own 
 fruitless life. At the same moment a ray from the 
 red sun setting over the Tombs fell upon the pris 
 oner s face. 
 
 Dockbridge summed the case up in the stock 
 fashion, and then for half an hour the Judge 
 addressed the jury in a calm and dispassionate 
 analysis of the evidence, not hesitating to compare 
 the abilities of the prosecutor and prisoner to the 
 disadvantage of the former, saying in this respect : 
 " Neither must you be influenced by any feeling of 
 admiration at the capacity shown by this defendant 
 to conduct his own case. If he has appeared more 
 than a match for the prosecution, it must not affect 
 the weight which you give to the evidence against 
 
 241 
 
 him."
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 " More than a match for the prosecution ! " 
 That had been rather rough, to be sure, and the 
 fifth juror had looked at Dockbridge and grinned. 
 
 The jury filed out, the prisoner was led back to 
 the pen, the Judge vanished into his chambers, and 
 the prosecutor, his feet on the counsel table, lit a 
 cigar and indulged in retrospection. The benches 
 were deserted. There was no one but himself left 
 in the court-room. Usually, when a jury retired, 
 there was some mother or wife or daughter, with 
 her handkerchief to her eyes, waiting for them to 
 come back, but this fellow had none such. He had 
 fought alone. Well, damn him, he deserved to! 
 But who the deuce was he? It had been clever on 
 his part not to take the stand. Strange to be trying 
 a man you had never seen before of whom you 
 knew nothing, who had merely side-stepped into 
 your life and would soon back out of it. " Poor 
 devil ! " thought the deputy as he lit another Per- 
 fecto. 
 
 Now the jury, as juries sometimes do, wanted to 
 talk and had a consuming desire to smoke, so they 
 both smoked and talked; and when O Reilly came 
 to turn on the lights in the court-room, they were 
 still out, and Dockbridge had fallen fast asleep. 
 
 242
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 III 
 
 At half past ten o clock the big court-room still 
 remained almost empty. Inside the rail the clerk 
 and the stenographer, having returned from a 
 short visit to Tom Foley s saloon across the way, 
 were languidly discussing the condition of the 
 stock-market. A nebulous illumination in the vast- 
 ness above only served to increase the shadowy 
 dimness of the room. The talk of the pair made a 
 scarcely audible whisper in the great silence. Out 
 side, an electric car could be heard at intervals; 
 within, only the slam of iron doors, subdued by dis 
 tance, echoed through the corridors. 
 
 Dockbridge had awakened, and, lounging be 
 fore his table, was trying to get up a case for the 
 morrow. The Judge had gone home for dinner. 
 One by one the court attendants had strayed away, 
 coming back to push open the heavy door, and, 
 after a furtive glance at the empty bench, as 
 silently to depart. 
 
 Below in the stifling pen, alone behind the bars, 
 James Graham sat staring vacantly at the stained 
 cement floor. A savage rage surged through him. 
 Curse them ! That infernal Judge had not given 
 him half a chance. Once more he recalled that 
 
 243
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 day when he had stepped out into the sunlight a 
 free man. Again he saw his iron bed, his cobbling 
 bench, his coarse food, his hated stripes. He 
 choked at the thought of them. Only two months 
 before he had been at liberty. Think of it ! Good 
 clothes, good food, pleasure! God, what a fool! 
 A dull pain worked through his body; he remem 
 bered that he had not eaten since seven that 
 morning. 
 
 Outside in the corridor the keeper was smoking 
 a cigar. The fumes of it drifted in and mingled 
 with the stench of the pen. It almost nauseated 
 him. He leaned his head against the wall and 
 closed his eyes. The act brought rushing back the 
 memories of his childhood, and of how, every 
 night, he would lay his head upon his mother s 
 knee and say, " Have I been a good boy to-day? " 
 A sob shook him, and he pressed closer against the 
 wall. 
 
 A sound of moving feet roused him suddenly. 
 A door swung open, shut again, and voices came 
 with a draught of air from the corridor. 
 
 The keeper waiting outside stirred and stood 
 up, looking regretfully at his cigar. 
 
 " Get up there, you ! " 
 
 The prisoner obeyed perfunctorily, and fol 
 lowed the officer heavily up the stairs and down the 
 dirty passage to the court-room. Outside, he 
 
 244
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 shrank from entering. Those eyes those eyes! 
 That hard, pitiless Judge! But he was pushed 
 roughly forward. Then his old pugnacity re 
 turned ; he set his teeth, and entered. 
 
 He trudged around the room and stopped at the 
 bar before the clerk. On his right sat the twelve 
 silent men. On the bench the white-haired Judge 
 was gazing at him with sad but penetrating eyes. 
 
 It was different from the mellow glow of the 
 afternoon. They were all so still like ghosts 
 and all around, all about him ! He wanted to 
 shout out at them, "Speak! for God s sake, 
 speak ! " But something stifled him. The over 
 whelming power of the law held him speechless. 
 
 The clerk rose without looking at the prisoner. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon 
 a verdict? " 
 
 " We have," answered the foreman, rising and 
 standing with his eyes upon the floor. 
 
 " How say you, do you find the defendant 
 guilty, or not guilty? " 
 
 " Guilty of grand larceny in the first degree." 
 
 The prisoner involuntarily pressed his hand to 
 his heart. He had weathered that blast before and 
 could do so again. Dockbridge gave him a look 
 full of pity. Graham hated him for it. That 
 child! That snivelling little fool! He wanted 
 none of his sympathy! His breath came faster. 
 
 245
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 Must they all look at him ? Was that a part of his 
 trial to be stared down? He glared back at 
 them. The room swam, and he saw only the stern 
 face on the bench above. 
 
 "Name?" broke in the harsh voice of the 
 clerk. 
 
 " James Graham." 
 
 "Age?" 
 
 " Twenty-eight." 
 
 " Married, or unmarried? " " Temperate? " 
 came the pitiless questions, all answered in a mono 
 tone. 
 
 " Ever convicted before? " 
 
 " No," said the prisoner in a low voice, but the 
 word sounded to him like a roaring torrent. Then 
 came once more that awful silence. The dread eye 
 of the Judge seared his soul. 
 
 " Graham, is that the truth? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Are you quite sure? " 
 
 That merciless question ! What had that to do 
 with it? Why should he have to tell them? That 
 was not his crime. He was ready to suffer for 
 what he had done, but not for the past; that was 
 not fair he had paid for that. He must defend 
 himself. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Swear him," said the Judge. 
 246
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 The officer took up the soiled Bible and started 
 to place it in Graham s hand. But the hand 
 dropped from it. 
 
 " No, no, I can t! " he faltered; " I can t I- 
 I It is no use," he added huskily. 
 
 " When were you convicted? " 
 
 " I served six months for petty larceny in the 
 penitentiary six years ago." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Are you sure? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Quite sure? Think again I" 
 
 " Yes, sir," almost inaudibly. 
 
 " Swear him." 
 
 Again the book was forced toward the unwilling 
 hand, and again it was refused. 
 
 " Have you no pity no mercy? " his dark eyes 
 seemed to say. Then they gave way to a look of 
 utter hopelessness. 
 
 " I served three years in Charlestown for lar 
 ceny, and was discharged two months ago." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " O, God! Isn t that enough?" suddenly 
 groaned the prisoner. " No, no; it isn t all! It s 
 always been the same old story ! Concord, Joliet, 
 Elmira, Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown yes, 
 six times. Twelve years. . . . I m a jail- 
 
 247
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 bird." He laughed harshly and rested wearily 
 against the wooden bar. 
 
 " Have you anything to say why judgment 
 should not be pronounced against you ? " 
 
 "Your Honor, will you hear me?" Graham 
 choked back a dry sob. 
 
 The Judge slightly inclined his head. 
 
 Yes. I m a jailbird," uttered the prisoner 
 rapidly. " I m only out two months." There was 
 no defiance in his voice now, and his eyes searched 
 the face of the Judge, seeking for mercy. " I had 
 a good home no matter where and a good 
 father and mother. My father died and didn t 
 leave anything, and I had to work while my 
 mother kept house. I worked on the farm, winter 
 and summer, summer and winter, early and late. 
 I got sick of it. I quit the farm and went to the 
 city. I worked hard and did well. I learned 
 shorthand, and finally got a job as a court sten 
 ographer. That s how I know about the rules of 
 evidence. Then I got started wrong, and by and 
 by I took a fifty-dollar note and another fellow 
 was sent up for it. After that I didn t care. I had 
 a good time of its kind. It was better than a 
 dog s life on the farm, anyway. By and by I got 
 caught, and then it was no use. Each time I got out 
 I swore I d lead an honest life. But I couldn t. A 
 convict might as well try to eat stones as to find a 
 
 248
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 job. But when I got free this time I made up my 
 mind to starve rather than get back again. I meant 
 it, too. I tried hard. It was no use in Boston 
 they re too respectable. All a convict can do 
 there is to get a two weeks job sawing wood. At 
 the end of that time he s supposed to be able to 
 take care of himself. I had to give it up and come 
 to New York. 
 
 " It was August, and I went the rounds of the 
 offices for three weeks, looking for work. No one 
 wanted a stenographer, and there was nothing else 
 to do that I could find. Once I thought I had 
 something on the water-front, but the man 
 changed his mind. A woman told me to go to Dr. 
 Westminster, so I went. He was kind enough, 
 said he was very busy, but would do all he could 
 for me; that there was a special society for just 
 such cases, and he would give me a card. I 
 thanked him, and took the card and went to the so 
 ciety. The young woman there gave me two soup 
 tickets, and said she would do all she could for me. 
 Next day she reported that there was nothing do 
 ing just then, but if I could come back in about a 
 month they could probably do better. Then she 
 gave me another soup ticket. I drank the soup 
 and then I went back to Dr. Westminster. He 
 was rather annoyed at seeing me again, and said 
 that he had done all that he could, but would bear 
 
 249
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 me in mind; meantime, unless I heard from him, 
 it would be no use to call again. I d lived on soup 
 for two days. 
 
 " I got a meal by begging on the avenue. Then 
 another woman told me to go to Dr. Emberdays, 
 and I went to him. By this time I must have been 
 looking pretty tough. He said that he would do 
 what he could, and that there was a society to 
 which he would give me a line. They asked me a 
 devil of a lot of questions, and gave me a flannel 
 undershirt. It made me sick! An undershirt in 
 August, when I wanted bread and human sym 
 pathy ! 
 
 " It was no use. I gave up parsons and tried 
 the river-front again. I didn t get over one meal 
 a day, and my head ached all the time. I heard of 
 a job at One Hundred and Sixty-ninth Street, car 
 rying lumber. I got a nickel for holding a horse, 
 and went up. It was a gang of niggers. They got 
 a dollar a day. The boss was a nigger, too, and 
 didn t want cheap white trash. I almost went 
 down on my knees to him, and finally he said I 
 might come the next day. I slept in a field under 
 a tree without anything to eat that night, and 
 started in at seven the next morning. The ther 
 mometer went up to ninety-six, and we worked 
 without stopping. I had to lug one end of a big 
 stick, with a nigger under the other end, one hun- 
 
 250
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 dred yards, then go back and get another. I got 
 so I didn t know what I was doing. At eleven 
 o clock I fainted, and then I was sick, dreadfully 
 sick. At three the boss nigger kicked me and said 
 I had to stop faking or I wouldn t get paid, and so 
 I got up and lugged until six. But I was so ill I 
 knew it was no use. I couldn t do that kind of 
 work. 
 
 " It was an awfully hot night. I got off the 
 L at Thirty-fourth Street and walked through to 
 the avenue. When I got to the Waldorf I stopped 
 and looked in the windows. There were men and 
 women in there, and flowers and everything to eat 
 just what I could eat if I chose. And I had been 
 working with niggers, Judge, all day long until I 
 fainted, heaving timber. I just stood and waited, 
 and when a chance came to snatch a roll of bills I 
 took it. They couldn t catch me. I was good for 
 ten of em, Judge. 
 
 " After that it was easy. I met some of the 
 fellows that had served time with me and got back 
 into the old life. Judge, it s no use. I don t blame 
 you for what you are going to do, nor I don t 
 blame the jury. Anyone could see through the 
 bluff I put up. I m guilty. I m a jailbird, I say. 
 I m done. Only I ve had no chance, Judge. Give 
 me another; let me go back to the farm. I ll go, I 
 swear I will ! It ll kill me to go to prison. I m a 
 
 251
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 human being. God meant me to live out of doors, 
 and I ve spent half of my life inside stone walls. 
 Let me go back to the country. I ll go, Judge. 
 I m a human being. Give me one more chance." 
 
 There was no sound when the prisoner stopped 
 speaking. The judge did not reply for a full min 
 ute. His face wore its habitual look of sadness. 
 Then he spoke in a very low tone, but one which 
 was distinctly audible in the silence of the court 
 room. 
 
 " Graham, you have read your own sentence. 
 You have confessed that you cannot lead an honest 
 life. Your fault is that you will not work. There 
 are a thousand farms within a hundred miles, where 
 you could earn a livelihood for the asking. Your 
 intelligence is of a high order. By ordinary appli 
 cation you could have risen far above your fellows. 
 You are a dangerous criminal all the more dan 
 gerous for your ability. You almost outwitted the 
 jury, and conducted your own case more ably than 
 nine out of ten lawyers would have done. You 
 have ruined your own life, and cast away a pearl of 
 price. You have my pity, but I cannot allow it to 
 affect my duty. Graham, I sentence you to State 
 Prison for ten years." 
 
 The prisoner shivered, and covered his face with 
 his hands. Then the officer clapped him on the 
 shoulder and pushed him toward the door. 
 
 252
 
 The Jailbird 
 
 " Gentlemen, you are excused." The Judge 
 bowed to the jury. 
 
 " Hear ye! Hear ye! " bawled the attendant: 
 " all persons having business with Part One of the 
 General Sessions of the Peace, held in and for the 
 County of New York, may now depart. This 
 Court stands adjourned until to-morrow morning 
 at half past ten o clock." 
 
 253
 
 IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE
 
 In the Course of Justice 
 
 "The Law is a sort of hocuspocus science that smiles in 
 yer face while it picks yer pocket ; and the glorious uncertainty 
 of it is of mair use to the professors than the justice of it. 
 
 A TRIM, neatly dressed young man, holding 
 in one of his carefully gloved hands a bam 
 boo cane, sat upon a bench in Union Square one 
 brilliant October morning some ten years ago. 
 All about him swarms of excited sparrows chat 
 tered and fought among the yellow leaves. A last 
 night s carnation languished in his button-hole, and 
 his smoothly shaven lantern-jaw and high cheek 
 bones suggested the type of upper Broadway and 
 the Tenderloin. In spite of this, the general effect 
 was not unpleasing, especially as his sparse curly 
 hair, just turning gray at the temples, disclosed a 
 forehead suggestive of more than usual intelli 
 gence in a face otherwise ordinary. A shadowy, 
 inscrutable smile from time to time played upon 
 his features, at one moment making them seem 
 good-naturedly sympathetic, at another, sinister. 
 
 257
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 The casual observer would have classed him as a 
 student or actor. He was both, and more. 
 
 From a large jewelry store across the way pres 
 ently emerged a diminutive messenger-boy carry 
 ing a small, square bundle, and turned into Broad 
 way. The man on the bench, known to his friends 
 as " Supple Jim," rose unobtrusively to his feet. 
 The apostle of Hermes stopped to buy a cent s 
 worth of mucilaginous candy from the Italian on 
 the corner, and then, whistling loudly, dawdled 
 upon his way. The man followed, manoeuvring 
 for position, while the boy, now in the chewing 
 stage and struggling violently, lingered to inspect a 
 mechanical toy. The supple one accomplished a 
 flank movement, approached, touched him on the 
 shoulder, and displayed a silver badge beneath his 
 coat. 
 
 " Young man, I m from the Central Office, and 
 need your help. About a block from here a feller 
 will come runnin after you and say they ve given 
 you the wrong bundle see? He ll hand you an 
 other, and tell you to give him the one you ve got. 
 He s a crook * Paddy the Sneak old game ! 
 see?" 
 
 The boy was all attention, his jaws motionless. 
 
 " Yep ! " he replied, his eyes glistening de 
 lightedly. 
 
 " Well. I ll be right behind you ; and when he 
 258
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 throws the game into you, just pretend you fall to 
 it an hand him your box. Then I ll make the 
 collar. Are you on? " 
 
 " Say, that s easy ! " grinned the boy. 
 
 " Show us what you re good for, then, and I ll 
 have the Inspector send you some passes for the 
 theayter." 
 
 The boy started on in business-like fashion. As 
 his interlocutor had predicted, a hatless " feller " 
 overtook him, breathless, and entered into voluble 
 explanation. The messenger exchanged bundles, 
 and then, eyes front, continued up the street until 
 the detective should pounce upon his victim. For 
 some strange reason no such event took place. At 
 the end of the block he cast a furtive glance be 
 hind him. Both Paddy and the Central Office man 
 had vanished, to dispose in a Bowery pawnshop of 
 the fruits of their short hour of toil, dividing 
 between them one hundred and sixty dollars as the 
 equivalent of the diamond stud which the box had 
 contained. 
 
 Half an hour later, drawn by a fascination 
 which he found irresistible, the hero of this legal 
 memoir took a car to the Criminal Courts Build 
 ing, and made his way to the General Sessions. 
 
 " Forgot my subpoena, Cap n. I m a witness. 
 Just let me in, please ! " he said, with a smile of 
 easy good-nature. 
 
 259
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 Old Flaherty, the superannuated door-keeper, 
 known as The Eagle, eyed the young man suspi 
 ciously for a moment, and then, grumbling, al 
 lowed him to enter the court-room. The thief who 
 had so easily secured admittance, fought his way 
 persistently through the throng, elbowed by the 
 gruff officer at the inner gate, and selecting the best 
 seat on the front bench, compelled its earlier occu 
 pants to make room for him with a calm assurance 
 and matter-of-course superiority which they had 
 not the courage to oppose. 
 
 Supple Jim listened with interest to the call of 
 the calendar. A few lawyers, with their witnesses, 
 whose cases had gone over until the morrow, strug 
 gled out through the crush at the door, with no 
 perceptible diminution in the throng within. The 
 clerk prepared to call the roll of the jury. 
 
 Trial jurors in the case of The People 
 against Richard Monohan, please answer to your 
 names." 
 
 The twelve, in varying keys, had all replied; the 
 trial was " on " again, having been interrupted, 
 evidently, by the adjournment of the afternoon be 
 fore. A venerable complainant now resumed the 
 story of how two young men, whose acquaintance 
 he had made in a saloon the previous Sunday even 
 ing, had followed him into the street, assaulted 
 him on his way home and robbed him of his ring. 
 
 260
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 He positively identified the prisoner as the one who 
 had wrenched it from his finger. 
 
 Next, an officer testified to having arrested the 
 defendant upon the old gentleman s description, 
 and to having found in his pocket a pawn-ticket 
 calling for the ring in question. 
 
 The case, in the vernacular of the courts, was 
 " dead open and shut." 
 
 The People " rested," and the defendant, a mis 
 erable specimen of those wretched beings that con 
 stitute the penumbra of crime, took the stand. His 
 defence was absurd. He denied ever before hav 
 ing seen his accuser, had not been in the saloon, had 
 not taken the ring, had not pawned it, had bought 
 the ticket from a man on the corner who, he re 
 membered, had told him he was getting a bargain 
 at three dollars. He could not describe this 
 " man," or account for his own whereabouts on 
 the evening in question. He had been drunk at 
 the time. It was a story as old as theft itself. 
 
 The prosecutor winked at the jury, and the 
 Judge once more summoned the apostolic-looking 
 complainant to the chair. 
 
 " You realize, sir, the terrible consequences to 
 this young man should you be mistaken ? Are you 
 quite sure that he is one of the persons who robbed 
 you? " he inquired with becoming gravity. 
 
 The witness raised himself by his cane, and step- 
 261
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 ping down to where the prisoner sat, gazed search- 
 ingly into his stolid face. 
 
 " God knows," said he, " I wouldn t harm a hair 
 of his head. But by all that s holy, I swear he s 
 the man who took my ring." 
 
 A wave of interest passed over the assembled at 
 torneys. That was business for you ! No use to 
 cross-examine an old fellow like him. There was 
 a great nodding of heads and shuffling of feet. 
 
 u Do you think you could identify your other 
 assailant if you should see him?" continued the 
 judge. 
 
 " I m sure of it," calmly replied the witness. 
 
 " Very well, sir," continued his Honor; " see if 
 you can do so." 
 
 Half of the audience moved uneasily, and 
 glanced longingly toward the closed means of 
 exit. A woman tittered hysterically. The witness 
 slowly descended, and, escorted by a policeman, be 
 gan his inspection, scrutinizing each face with care. 
 Quietly he moved along the first bench, and then, 
 gently shaking his head, along the second. The 
 interest became breathless. A sigh of relief rip 
 pled along the settees after him. The only specta 
 tor unmoved by what was taking place was Supple 
 Jim, who smiled genially at the old gentleman as 
 the latter glanced at him and passed on. Four 
 rows five rows six rows seven rows. At last 
 
 262
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 there was but one bench left, and the excitement 
 reached the point of ebullition. Would he find 
 him? Were they going to be disappointed after 
 all? Only half a bench left ! Only two men left ! 
 Ah! what was that? People shoved one another 
 in the back, craning their heads to see what was 
 doing in the distant corner where the complainant 
 stood. Suddenly the searcher faced the Judge, 
 and, pointing to the last occupant of the rear set 
 tee, announced with conviction : 
 
 " .Your Honor, this is the other man ! " 
 
 A murmur travelled rapidly around the court 
 room. Honors were even between a Judge who 
 could thus unerringly divine the presence of a 
 malefactor and a patriarch who, out of so great a 
 multitude, was able unhesitatingly to pick out a 
 midnight assailant. 
 
 The " criminal " attorneys whispered among 
 themselves: "Well, say! what do you think of 
 that ! All right, eh? Well, I guess ! Well, say ! " 
 
 This picturesque digression concluded, interest 
 again centred in the defendant, of whose ultimate 
 conviction there could no longer be any doubt. 
 
 Not that the identification of the accomplice had 
 any real significance, since the man so ostenta 
 tiously picked out by the patriarch in court had 
 been caught red-handed at the time of the robbery 
 within a block of the saloon, was already under in- 
 
 263
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 dictment as a co-defendant, and being out on bail 
 had merely been brought in under a bench war 
 rant and placed among the spectators. But the 
 performance had a distinct dramatic value, and the 
 jury could not be blamed for making the natural 
 deduction that if the complainant was right as re 
 gards the one, ipso facto he must be as to the other. 
 That the complainant had already identified him 
 at the police-station and at the Tombs seemed a 
 matter of small importance. The point was, ap 
 parently, that the old fellow had a good memory, 
 and one upon which the jury could safely rely. 
 
 The Judge charged the law, and the jury re 
 tired, returning almost immediately with a verdict 
 of " Guilty of robbery in the first degree." 
 
 The prisoner at the bar swayed for an instant, 
 steadied himself, and stood clinging to the rail, 
 while his counsel made the usual motions for a new 
 trial and in arrest of judgment. 
 
 " Clear the box! Clear the box! " shouted the 
 clerk, and the jury, their duty comfortably dis 
 charged, filed slowly out. 
 
 The court-room rapidly emptied itself into the 
 corridors. Supple Jim waited on the steps of the 
 building until a young woman, carrying a baby, 
 came wearily out, and, as she passed, thrust a roll 
 of bills into her hand. 
 
 " Your feller s been done dirt! " he growled. 
 264
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 " Take that, and put it out of sight. Don t give it 
 to any lawyer, now! You ll need it yourself." 
 Then he sprang lightly upon the rear platform of 
 a surface car as it whizzed by, and vanished from 
 her astonished gaze. 
 
 Thus was an innocent man convicted, while 
 crime triumphant played the part of benefactor. 
 
 II 
 
 The next morning Supple Jim, sitting in the 
 warm sunshine in the bay-window of his favorite 
 restaurant, lazily finished a hearty breakfast oir 
 ham and eggs, glancing casually, meanwhile, at the 
 morning paper which lay open before him. At 
 a respectful distance his attendant awaited the 
 moment when this important guest should snap 
 his fingers, demand his damage, and call for a 
 Carolina Perfecto. These would be forthcoming 
 with alacrity, for Mr. James Hawkins was more 
 of an autocrat on Fourteenth Street than a Pitts- 
 burg oil magnate at the Waldorf. Just now the 
 Supple James was reading with keen enjoyment 
 how, the day before, a quick-witted old gentleman 
 had brought a malefactor to justice. At one of the 
 paragraphs he broke into a gentle laugh, perusing 
 it again and again, apparently with intense enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 Had ever such a farce been enacted in the course 
 265
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 of justice ! He tossed away the paper and swore 
 softly. Of course, the only thing that had ren 
 dered such a situation possible at all was the fact 
 that the aged Farlan was a superlative old ass. 
 To hear him tell his yarn on the stand, you would 
 have thought that it gave him positive pain to tes 
 tify against a fellow being. Did you ever see such 
 white hair and such a big white beard? Why, he 
 looked like Dowie or Moses, or some of those fel 
 lows. When Jim had tripped him up and slipped 
 off the ring, the old chap had already swallowed 
 half a dozen " County Antrims," and wasn t in a 
 condition to remember anything or anybody. The 
 idea of his going so piously into court and swearing 
 the thing on to Monohan ; it gave you the creeps ! 
 A fellow might go to " the chair " as easy as not, 
 in just the same way. Of course, Jim had not in 
 tended to get the young greenhorn into any trouble 
 when he had sold him the pawn-ticket He had 
 been just an easy mark. And when the police had 
 arrested him and found the ticket in his pocket, 
 there was not any call for Jim to set them straight. 
 That was just Monohan s luck, curse him! Let 
 him look out for himself. 
 
 But to see the patriarch carefully forging the 
 shackles upon the wrong man, had filled Jim with 
 a wondering and ecstatic bewilderment. The stars 
 in their courses had seemed warring in his behalf. 
 
 266
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 Think of it I That fellow Monohan could get 
 twenty years ! It made him mad, this infernal con 
 spiracy, as it seemed to him, between judges and 
 prosecutors. It mattered little, apparently, 
 whether they got the right man or not, so long as 
 they got someone ! What business had they to go 
 and convict a fellow who was innocent, and put 
 him, " Jim," the cleverest " gun " in the profes 
 sion, in such a position? He wondered if folks 
 in other lines of business had so many problems to 
 face. The stupidity of witnesses and the trickery 
 of lawyers was almost beyond belief. It was a 
 perennial contest, not only of wit against wit, 
 strategy against strategy, but, worst of all, of wit 
 against impenetrable dulness. Why, if people 
 were going to be so careless about swearing 
 a man s liberty away, it was time to " get on the 
 level." You might be nailed any time by mistake, 
 and then your record would make any defence im 
 possible. You had the right to demand common 
 honesty, or, at least, intelligence, on the part of the 
 prosecution. 
 
 But the main question was, What was going to 
 become of Monohan? Well, the boy was con 
 victed, and that was the end of it. It was quite 
 clear to Jim that, had he been victimized in the 
 same way, no one would have bothered about it 
 at all. It was simply the fortune of war. 
 
 267
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 But twenty years! His own pitiful aggregate 
 of six, with vacations in between, as it were, looked 
 infinitesimal beside that awful burial alive. He d 
 be fifty when he came out if he ever came out ! 
 Sometimes they died like flies in a hot summer. 
 And then there was always Dannemora worst of 
 all, Dannemora ! It would kill him to go back. He 
 couldn t live away from the main stem now. Why, 
 he hadn t been in stir for five years. All his prison 
 traits, the gait, the hunch, were effaced gone com 
 pletely. His brows contracted in a sharp frown. 
 
 " What s the use? " he muttered as he rose to 
 go. " He ain t worth it ! I can stake his wife and 
 kids till his time s up! But, God! / could never 
 go back ! " 
 
 Yet the same irresistible force which had direct 
 ed him to the court-room the day before, now led 
 him to the Grand Central Station. Like one walk 
 ing in a dream, he bought a ticket and took the 
 noon train alone to Ossining. 
 
 Following a path that led him quickly to a hill 
 above the town not far from the prison walls, he 
 threw himself at full length beside a bowlder, and 
 gazed upon the familiar outlook. Across the 
 broad, shining river lay the dreamy blue hills he 
 had so often watched while working at his brushes. 
 Here and there a small boat skimmed down the 
 stream before the same fresh breeze that sent the 
 
 268
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 red and brown leaves fluttering along the grass. 
 The sunlight touched everything with enchant 
 ment, the cool autumn air was an intoxicant it 
 was the Golden Age again. No, not the Golden 
 Age! Just below, two hundred yards away, he 
 noticed for the first time a group of men in stripes 
 breaking stones. Some were kneeling, some 
 crouching upon their haunches. They worked in 
 silence, cracking one stone after another and mak 
 ing little piles of the fragments. At the distance of 
 only a few feet two guards leaned upon their 
 loaded rifles. Jim shut his eyes. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The day of sentence came. Once more Jim 
 found himself in the stifling court. He saw Mono- 
 han brought to the bar, and watched as he waited 
 listlessly for those few terrible words. The Court 
 listened with grim patience to the lawyer s per 
 functory appeal for mercy, and then, as the latter 
 concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity. 
 
 " Richard Monohan, you have been justly con 
 victed by a jury of your peers of robbery in the 
 first degree. The circumstances are such as to en 
 title you to no sympathy from the Court. The evi 
 dence is so clear and positive, and the complain- 
 
 269
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 ant s identification of you so perfect, that it would 
 have been impossible for a jury to reach any other 
 verdict. Under the law you might be punished by 
 a term of twenty years, but I shall be merciful to 
 you. The sentence of the Court is " here the 
 Judge adjusted his spectacles, and scribbled some 
 thing in a book " that you be confined in State 
 Prison for a period of not less than ten nor more 
 than fifteen years." 
 
 Monohan staggered and turned white. 
 
 The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud. 
 
 " Come on there ! " growled the attendant to 
 his prisoner. But suddenly there was a quick 
 movement in the centre of the room, and a man 
 sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There s been 
 a mistake ! You ve convicted the wrong man ! / 
 stole that ring! " 
 
 " Keep your seats ! Keep your seats ! " bel 
 lowed the court officers as the spectators rose im 
 pulsively to their feet. 
 
 Those who had been present at the trial two 
 days before were all positive now that they had 
 never taken any stock in the old gentleman s iden 
 tification. 
 
 " Silence ! Silence in the court ! " shouted the 
 Captain pounding vigorously with a paper-weight. 
 
 "What s all this?" sternly demanded the 
 270
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 Judge. " Do you claim that you robbed the com 
 plainant in this case? Impossible! " 
 
 " Not a bit, yer Onor! " replied Jim in clarion 
 tones. You ve nailed the wrong man, that s all. 
 I took the ring, pawned it for five dollars, and sold 
 the ticket to Monohan on the corner. I can t stand 
 for his gettin any fifteen years," he concluded, 
 glancing expectantly at the spectators. 
 
 A ripple of applause followed this declaration. 
 
 u Hm ! " commented his Honor. " How about 
 the co-defendant in the case, identified here in the 
 court-room? Do you exonerate him as well? " 
 
 " I ve nothin to do with him answered Jim 
 calmly. " I ve got enough troubles of my own 
 without shouldering any more. Only Monohan 
 didn t have any hand in the job. YouVe got the 
 boot on the wrong foot ! " 
 
 Young Mr. Dockbridge, the Deputy Assistant 
 District Attorney, now asserted himself. 
 
 " This is all very well," said he with interest, 
 " but we must have it in the proper form. If your 
 Honor will warn this person of his rights, and ad 
 minister the oath, the stenographer may take his 
 confession and make it a part of the record." 
 
 Jim was accordingly sworn, and informed that 
 whatever he was about to say must be " without 
 fear or hope of reward," and might be used as evi 
 dence against him thereafter. 
 
 271
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 In the ingenious and exhaustive interrogation 
 which followed, the Judge, a noted cross-examiner, 
 only succeeded in establishing beyond peradven- 
 ture that Jim was telling nothing but the truth, and 
 that Monohan was, in fact, entirely innocent. He 
 therefore consented, somewhat ungraciously, to 
 having the latter s conviction set aside and to his 
 immediate discharge. 
 
 " As for this man," said he, " commit him to 
 the Tombs pending his indictment by the Grand 
 Jury, and see to it, Mr. District Attorney," he 
 added with significance, " that he be brought be 
 fore me for sentence." 
 
 Out into the balconies of the court-house 
 swarmed the mob. Monohan had disappeared 
 with his wife and child, not even pausing to thank 
 his benefactor. It was enough for him that he had 
 escaped from the meshes of the terrible net in 
 which he had been entangled. 
 
 From mouth to mouth sprang the wonderful 
 story. It was shouted from one corridor to an 
 other, and from elevator to elevator. Like a 
 wireless it flew to the District Attorney s office, 
 the reporters room, the Coroner s Court, over the 
 bridge to the Tombs, across Centre Street into 
 Tom Foley s, to Pontin s, to the Elm Castle, up 
 Broadway, across to the Bowery, over to the Ri- 
 alto, along the Tenderloin; it flashed to thieves in 
 
 272
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 the act of picking pockets, and they paused; to 
 " second-story men " plotting in saloons, and held 
 them speechless; the " moll-buzzers " heard it; the 
 " con " men caught it; the " britch men " passed it 
 on. In an hour the whole under-world knew that 
 Supple Jim had squealed on himself, had taken his 
 dose to save a pal, had anteed his last chip, had 
 " chucked the game." 
 
 IV 
 
 Three long months had passed, during which 
 Jim had lain in the Tombs. For a day or two the 
 newspapers had given him considerable notoriety. 
 A few sentimental women had sent him flowers of 
 greater or less fragrance, with more or less gram 
 matical expressions of admiration; then the dull 
 drag of prison-time had begun, broken only by the 
 daily visit of Paddy, and the more infrequent con 
 sultations with old Crookshanks. 
 
 The Grand Jury had promptly found an indict 
 ment, but when the District Attorney placed the 
 case upon the calendar in order to allow our hero 
 to plead guilty, Mr. Crookshanks, Jim s counsel, 
 announced that his client had no intention of so 
 doing, and demanded an immediate trial. 
 
 Dockbridge, however, now found himself in a 
 situation of singular embarrassment, which made 
 
 273
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 action upon his part for the present impossible. 
 He was at his wits end, for the law expressly re 
 quired that no prisoner should be confined longer 
 than two months without trial. And each week he 
 was obliged to face the redoubtable Mr. Crook- 
 shanks, who with much bluster demanded that the 
 case should be disposed of. 
 
 Thirteen weeks went by and still Jim lived on 
 prison fare. Soon a reporter an acquaintance of 
 Paddy s commented upon the fact to his city edi 
 tor. The policy of the paper happening to be 
 against the administration, an item appeared 
 among the " Criminal Notes " calling attention to 
 the period of time during which Jim had been in 
 carcerated. Other papers copied, and scathing 
 editorials followed. In twenty-four hours Jim s 
 detention beyond the time regulated by statute for 
 the trial of a prisoner without bail had become an 
 issue. The great American public, through its 
 representative, the press, clamored to know why 
 the wheels of justice had clogged, and the cam 
 paign committee of the reform party called in a 
 body upon the District Attorney, warning him that 
 an election was approaching and inquiring the 
 cause of the " illegal proceeding which had been 
 brought to their attention." The editor of the 
 Midnight American, with his usual impetuosity, 
 threatened a habeas corpus. 
 
 274
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 Then the District Attorney sent for the Assist 
 ant, and the two had a hurried consultation. Fi 
 nally the chief shook his head, saying : There s 
 no way out of it. You ll have to go to trial 
 at once. Perhaps you can secure a plea. We 
 can t afford any more delay. Put it on for to 
 morrow." 
 
 The next day " Part One of the Court of Gen 
 eral Sessions of the Peace, in and for the County of 
 New York," was crowded to suffocation, for the 
 dramatic nature of Jim s act of self-sacrifice had 
 not been forgotten, and a keen interest remained 
 in its denouement. It was a brilliant January 
 noon, and the sun poured through the great win 
 dows, casting irregular patches of light upon the 
 throng within. High above the crowd of lawyers, 
 witnesses, and policemen sat the Judge ; below him, 
 the clerk and Assistant District Attorney conferred 
 together as to the order in which the cases should 
 be tried; to the left reclined a row of non-com 
 batants, " district leaders," ex-police magistrates, 
 and a few privileged spectators; outside the rail 
 crowded the members of the " criminal bar " ; 
 while in the main body of the room the benches 
 were tightly packed with loafers, " runners " for 
 the attorneys, curious women, indignant complain 
 ants, and sympathizing friends of the various de 
 fendants. Here no one was allowed to stand, but 
 
 275
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 nearer the door the pressure became too great, and 
 once more an overplus, new-comers, lawyers who 
 could not force their way to the front, tardy police 
 men, persons who could not make up their minds 
 to come in and sit down, and stragglers generally, 
 formed a solid mass, absolutely blocking the en 
 trance, and preventing those outside from getting 
 in or anyone inside from getting out. 
 
 Around the room the huge pipes of the radiators 
 clicked diligently ; full steam was on, not a window 
 open. 
 
 Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and 
 Dockbridge, with several innuendoes reflecting 
 upon the moral character of any man who would 
 confess himself a criminal and yet put the county 
 to the expense and trouble of a trial, briefly 
 opened the case. 
 
 The stenographer who had taken Jim s confes 
 sion was the first witness. He read his notes in 
 full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air of 
 finality in the direction of the jury. 
 
 " Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crook- 
 shanks?" he inquired. 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. 
 
 Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent. 
 
 The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a 
 plea from the defendant, paused and leaned tow 
 ard the prisoner s counsel. 
 
 276
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 " Come, come, what s the use? " he suggested 
 benignantly. "Why go through all this farce? 
 Let him plead guilty to robbery in the second de 
 gree. He ll be lucky to get that! It s his only 
 chance." 
 
 But upon the lean and withered visage of the 
 veteran Crookshanks flickered an inscrutable smile, 
 like that which played upon the features of his 
 client. 
 
 " Not on your tin-type! " he ejaculated. 
 
 Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a 
 moment, then glanced a trifle uneasily toward the 
 crowd of spectators. Once more he turned in the 
 direction of the prisoner. 
 
 " Well, I ll let him plead to grand larceny in 
 stead of robbery," he said, with an air of acting 
 against his better judgment. 
 
 Crookshanks grinned sardonically and again 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Very well, then," said the prosecutor sternly, 
 " your client will have to take the consequences. 
 Call the complainant." 
 
 " Daniel Parian, take the witness chair." 
 
 The crowd in the court-room waited expect 
 antly. The complainant, however, did not re 
 spond. 
 
 " Daniel Parian! Daniel Parian! " bawled the 
 officer. 
 
 277
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 But the venerable Parian came not. Perchance 
 he was a-sleeping or a-hunting. 
 
 " If your Honor pleases," announced Dock- 
 bridge, " the complainant does not answer. I must 
 ask for an adjournment." 
 
 But in an instant the old war-horse, Crook- 
 shanks, was upon his feet snorting for the battle. 
 
 " I protest against any such proceeding! " he 
 shouted, his voice trembling with well-simulated 
 indignation. " My client is in jeopardy. I insist 
 that this trial go on here and now ! " 
 
 Dockbridge smiled deprecatingly, but the jury 
 and spectators showed plainly that they were of 
 Mr. Crookshanks s opinion. The Judge hesitated 
 for a moment, but his duty was clear. There was 
 no question but that Jim had been put in jeopardy. 
 
 4 You must go on with the trial, Mr. Dock- 
 bridge," he announced reluctantly. " The jury has 
 been sworn, and a witness has testified. It is too 
 late to stop now." 
 
 The Assistant was forced to admit that he had 
 no further evidence at hand. 
 
 " What ! " cried the Judge. " No further evi 
 dence ! Well, proceed with the defence ! " 
 
 Dockbridge dropped into a chair and mopped 
 his forehead, while the jury glanced inquiringly in 
 the direction of the defendant. But now Crook- 
 shanks, the hero of a hundred legal conflicts, the 
 
 278
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 hope and trust of all defenceless criminals, slowyl 
 arose and buttoned his threadbare frock-coat. He 
 looked the Court full in the eye. The prosecutor 
 he ignored. 
 
 " If your Honor please," began the old lawyer 
 gently, " I move that the Court direct the jury to 
 acquit, on the ground that the People have failed 
 to make out a case." 
 
 The Assistant jumped to his feet. The specta 
 tors stared in amazement at the audacity of the 
 request. The Judge s face became a study. 
 
 What do you mean, Mr. Crookshanks? " he 
 exclaimed. This man is a self-confessed crim 
 inal. Do you hear, sir, a self-confessed criminal." 
 
 But the anger of the Court had no terrors for 
 little Crookshanks. He waited calmly until the 
 Judge had concluded, smiled deferentially, and re 
 sumed his remarks, as if the bench were in its 
 usual state of placidity. 
 
 " I must beg most respectfully to point out to 
 your Honor that the Criminal Code provides that 
 the confession of a defendant is not of itself 
 enough to warrant his conviction without addi 
 tional proof that the crime charged has been com 
 mitted. May I be pardoned for indicating to your 
 Honor that the only evidence in this proceeding 
 against my client is his own confession, made, I be 
 lieve, some time ago, under circumstances which 
 
 279
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 were, to say the least, unusual. While I do not 
 pretend to doubt the sincerity of his motives on 
 that occasion, or to contest at this juncture the 
 question of his moral guilt, the fact remains that 
 there has been no additional proof adduced upon 
 any of the material points in the case, to wit, that 
 the complainant ever existed, ever possessed a 
 ring, or that it was ever taken from him." 
 
 He paused, coughed slightly, and, removing 
 from his green bag a folded paper, continued: 
 " In addition, it is my duty to inform the Court 
 that a person named Farlan left the jurisdiction of 
 this tribunal upon the day after Monohan s con 
 viction of the offence for which my client is now 
 on trial. 
 
 " After such an unfortunate mistake," said 
 Crookshanks with an almost imperceptible twinkle 
 in his " jury eye," " he can hardly be expected to 
 assist, voluntarily in a second prosecution. I hold 
 in my hand his affidavit that he has left the State 
 never to return." 
 
 The Judge had left his chair and was striding up 
 and down the dais. He now turned wrathfully 
 upon poor Dockbridge. 
 
 " What do you mean by trying a case before me 
 prepared in such a fashion? This is a disgraceful 
 miscarriage of justice ! I shall lay the matter be 
 fore the District Attorney in person ! Mr. Crook- 
 
 280
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 shanks has correctly stated the law. I am ab 
 solutely compelled to discharge this defendant, 
 who, by his own statement, ought to be incarcer 
 ated in State Prison! I I the Court has been 
 hoodwinked ! The District Attorney made ridicu 
 lous! As for you," casting a withering glance 
 upon the prisoner, " if I ever have the opportunity, 
 I shall punish you as you deserve ! " 
 
 Dead silence fell upon the court-room. The 
 clerk arose and cleared his throat. 
 
 " Mr. Foreman, have you agreed upon a ver 
 dict? What say you? Do you find the defendant 
 guilty, or not guilty? " 
 
 " Not guilty," replied the foreman, somewhat 
 doubtfully. 
 
 There was a smothered demonstration in the 
 rear of the court-room. A few spectators had the 
 temerity to clap their hands. 
 
 " Silence ! Silence in the court ! " shouted the 
 Captain. 
 
 The clerk faced the prisoner. 
 
 " James Hawkins, alias James Hawkinson, 
 alias Supple Jim, you are discharged." 
 
 As our hero stepped from behind the bar, Paddy 
 was the first to grasp his hand. 
 
 You re the cleverest boy in New York! " he 
 muttered enthusiastically; "and say, Jim," he 
 lowered his voice could it be with a shade of em- 
 
 281
 
 The Course of Justice 
 
 barrassment? "you re a hero all right, into the 
 bargain." 
 
 " Oh, cut that out! " answered Jim. " Wasn t 
 I playing a sure thing? And wasn t it worth three 
 months, and ten dollars per to the old guy for 
 staying over in Jersey, to put em in a hole like 
 that?" 
 
 And the two of them, relieved by this evasion of 
 an impending and depressing cloud of moral su 
 periority, went out, with others, to get a drink. 
 
 282
 
 THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 DOCKBRIDGE yawned, threw down his 
 fountain-pen, whirled his chair away from 
 the window, through which the afternoon sun was 
 pouring a dazzling flood of light, crossed his feet 
 upon the rickety old table whose faded green 
 baize was littered with newspapers, law books, 
 copies of indictments, and empty cigarette boxes, 
 and idly contemplated the graphophone, his latest 
 acquisition. To a stranger, this little office, tucked 
 away behind an elevator shaft under the eaves of 
 the Criminal Courts Building, might have proved 
 of some interest, filled as it was on.every side with 
 mementoes of hard-fought cases in the courts be 
 low, framed copies of forged checks and notes, 
 photographs of streets and houses known to fame 
 only by virtue of the tragedies they had witnessed, 
 and an uncouth collection of weapons of all varieties 
 from a stiletto and long tapering bread knife to the 
 most modern Colt automatic. On the bookcase 
 stood an innocent-looking bottle which had once 
 contained poison, while above it hung a faded in 
 dictment accusing someone long since departed of 
 administering its contents to another who did " for 
 
 285
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 a long time languish, and languishing did die." 
 An enormous black leather lounge, a safe, several 
 chairs, and some pictures of English and American 
 jurists completed the contents of the room. Here 
 Dockbridge had for five years interviewed his wit 
 nesses, prepared his cases, and dreamed of estab 
 lishing a forensic reputation which should later by 
 a shower of gold repay him in part for the many 
 tedious hours passed within its walls. From the 
 grimy windows he could look down upon the court 
 yard of the Tombs and see the prisoners taking 
 their daily exercise, while from the distance came 
 faintly the din and rattle of Broadway. An air- 
 shaft which passed through the room communicated 
 in some devious manner with the prison pens on the 
 mezzanine floor far beneath, and at times strange 
 odors would come floating up bringing suggestions 
 of prison fare. On such occasions Dockbridge 
 would throw wide both windows, open the tran 
 som, and seek refuge in the library. 
 
 Taken as a whole, his five years there had been 
 invaluable both from a personal and professional 
 point of view. He had found himself from the 
 very first day in a sort of huge legal clinic, where 
 hourly he could run through the whole gamut of 
 human emotions. It was to him, the embryonic 
 advocate, what hospital service is to the surgeon. 
 He was, as it were, an intern practising the sur- 
 
 286
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 gery of the law. And what a multitude of cases 
 came there for treatment every disease of the 
 mind and heart and soul ! For a year or two he 
 had been racked nervously and emotionally, forced 
 from laughter in one moment, to tears the next. 
 Then the mere fascination of his trade as prose 
 cutor, the marshalling of evidence, the tactics of 
 trials, the thwarting of conspiracies, the analysis of 
 motives, the exposure of cunning tricks to liberate 
 the guilty, had so possessed his mind that the suf 
 fering and sin about him, though keenly realized, 
 no longer cost him sleep and peace of mind. And 
 the stories that he heard! The mysteries which 
 were unravelled before his very eyes, and those 
 deeper mysteries the secrets of which were never 
 revealed, but remained sealed in the hearts of those 
 who, rather than disclose them, sought sanctuary 
 within prison walls ! 
 
 How he wished sometimes that he could write 
 if only a little ! Through what strange labyrinths 
 of human passion and ingenuity could he conduct his 
 readers ! Sometimes he tried to scribble the stories 
 down, but the words would not come. How could 
 you describe your feelings while trying a man for 
 his life, when he sat there at the bar pallid and 
 tense, his hands clutching each other until the 
 nails quivered in the flesh; the groan of the con 
 victed felon ; the wail of the heart-broken mother 
 
 287
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 as her son was led away by the officer? He had 
 seen one poor fellow faint dead away on hearing his 
 sentence to the living tomb ; and had heard a mur 
 derer laugh when convicted and the day set for his 
 execution. Sometimes, in sheer desperation at the 
 thought of losing what he had seen and experi 
 enced, he would turn on the graphophone and talk 
 into it, disconnectedly, by the hour. It usually 
 came out in better shape than what he turned off 
 with his pen. If he could only write ! 
 
 "Dockbridge! Hi, there, Dockbridge!" 
 
 The door was kicked open, and the lank figure 
 of one of his associates stood before him. His 
 visitor grinned, and removed his pipe. 
 
 " Bob ll be up in a minute. Come along to 
 1 Coney. " 
 
 " Don t feel kittenish enough," answered Dock- 
 bridge. 
 
 " Oh, come on ! It ll do you good." 
 
 The sound of rapid steps flew up the stairs, and 
 Bob burst into the room, almost upsetting the first 
 arrival. 
 
 " What are you doing up here in this smelly 
 place? " he inquired. " Got a cigarette? " 
 
 Dockbridge threw him a package without alter 
 ing his position. 
 
 At this moment the heavily built figure of the 
 chief of staff entered. 
 
 288
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 "Holding a reception?" he asked good-natur 
 edly. 
 
 Bob had slipped behind the owner of the 
 graphophone and was rapidly surveying his desk. 
 Suddenly he pounced on a pile of yellow paper, 
 and, snatching it up, ran across the room. 
 
 "I thought so! He s been writing." 
 
 " Here you, Bob, give that back! " cried Dock- 
 bridge, springing up. He was blocked by the chief 
 of staff. 
 
 " Fair play, now. It may be libellous. The 
 censor demands the right of inspection." 
 
 " Oh, I don t mind if you see it! " said Dock- 
 bridge, " only I don t intend that cub to snicker 
 over it. It s nothing, anyway." 
 
 " The Maximilian Diamond! shouted the 
 thief. "By George, what a rippin title! Full 
 of gore, I bet! " 
 
 You give that back ! " growled its owner. 
 
 " Gentlemen, allow me to present the well- 
 known author and brilliant young literary man, 
 Mr. John Dockbridge, whose picture in four 
 colors is soon to appear on the cover of the 
 Maiden s Gaslog Companion, " continued Bob. 
 " I read, The villain stood with his dagger ele 
 vated for an instant above the bare breast of his 
 palpitating victim. My, but it s great! " 
 
 You see you d better read it to us in self- 
 289
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 defence," remarked the chief of staff. " Go 
 ahead!" 
 
 " Promise, and I ll give it back," said Bob, 
 from the door. " Refuse, and I send it to the 
 4 American. 
 
 " It wasn t for publication, anyway," explained 
 Dockbridge. 
 
 " Of course not," answered Bob. " We ll pass 
 on it. Perhaps we ll send it in for that Five- 
 Thousand-Dollar competition." 
 
 "Well, shut up, and I will. Give it here!" 
 Dockbridge recovered the manuscript and returned 
 to his armchair. The others disposed themselves 
 upon the lounge. 
 
 " Oyez ! Oyez ! " cried Bob. " All persons de 
 siring to hear the great American novel, draw 
 near, give your attention and ye shall be heard." 
 
 " Keep still ! " ordered the chief of staff. " Go 
 ahead, Jack. I ll make him shut up." 
 
 " Mind you do," said Dockbridge. " It s about 
 that big diamond, you know. The story begins in 
 this room." 
 
 " Well, begin it," laughed Bob. 
 
 His companions pulled his head down on the 
 chief s lap and smothered him with a handker 
 chief. 
 
 Well," said Dockbridge rather sheepishly, 
 " here goes." 
 
 290
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND 
 
 A stout, jovial-looking person, with reddish 
 hair, sandy complexion, and watery blue eyes, 
 stood waiting in my office, his wrist attached by 
 means of a nickel-plated handcuff to that of a 
 keeper. My two visitors conducted themselves 
 with remarkable unanimity, and with but a single 
 motion sank into the chairs I offered. 
 
 "Well, what s the trouble?" I inquired ge 
 nially. 
 
 The keeper jerked his thumb in the direction of 
 the other, who grinned apologetically and hitched 
 in my direction. Bending toward me, he whis 
 pered : " I am the victim of one of the most re 
 markable conspiracies in history. My story in 
 volves personages of the highest rank, and is 
 stranger than one of Dumas romances. I am a 
 bill-poster." 
 
 Not knowing whether he intended to include 
 himself among the illustrious persons alluded to, I 
 nodded encouragingly and produced some cigars. 
 
 " My name is Riggs," continued the prisoner, as 
 he bit off the end of his cigar and expelled it 
 through the window. " Got a match? " 
 
 The keeper drew a handful from his pocket. I 
 lit a cigar for myself and assumed an attitude of 
 attention. 
 
 291
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 " My wife is little Flossie Riggs. Don t know 
 her? Why, she dances at Proctor s, and all over. 
 I was doing well at my trade, and would have been 
 doing better, if it hadn t been for that confounded 
 diamond. It was this way. There was a fellow 
 named Tenney, who posted bills with me about 
 five years back, and he finally got a job down in 
 the City of Mexico with a railroad, and I used to 
 correspond with him. 
 
 " Among other things, he told me about a great 
 big diamond that the Emperor Maximilian used 
 to wear in the middle of his crown. According to 
 Tenney, it was one of the biggest on record. He 
 said that Maximilian was so stuck on it that he had 
 it taken out and made into a pendant for the Em 
 press Carlotta, and that she used to wear it around 
 at all the court functions, and so on. About the 
 same time he took two other diamonds out of 
 the crown and made them into finger-rings for 
 himself. 
 
 " After a while the Mexicans got tired of hav 
 ing an empire and put Maximilian out of business. 
 They stood him and two of his generals up in the 
 parade ground at Queretaro and shot em. Now 
 when he was stood up to get shot he had those two 
 rings on his fingers, and the funny part of it was 
 that when the people rushed up to see whether he 
 was dead or not, both the rings were gone. Just 
 
 292
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 about that time, while Carlotta was in prison, the 
 diamond with the big pendant disappeared too. It 
 weighed thirty-three carats. I got all this from 
 Tenney. I don t know where he found out about 
 it. But it all happened way back in 67. 
 
 " Somehow or other I used to think quite a lot 
 about that diamond partly because I was sorry 
 for Max, who looked to have come out at the 
 small end; and there didn t seem to be any occasion 
 for shooting him anyhow, that I could see. 
 
 " Well, I went on bill-posting, and got a good 
 job with the Hair Restorer folks and was doing 
 well, as I said, until one day I happened to take up 
 a paper and read that there were two Mexicans out 
 in St. Louis trying to sell an enormous diamond, 
 but that the dealers there were all afraid to buy it. 
 Finally the police got suspicious, and the Mexicans 
 disappeared. Then all of a sudden it came over 
 me that this must be the diamond that Tenney had 
 wrote about, for all that it had been lost for nearly 
 forty years, and I made up my mind that the Mexi 
 cans, having failed in St. Louis, would probably 
 come to New York. I knew they had no right to 
 the diamond anyway, first because it belonged to 
 Maximilian s heirs, and second because it hadn t 
 paid no duty; and I said to myself, Next time I 
 write to Tenney he will hear something that will 
 make him sit up. So every morning, when I 
 
 293
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 started out with my paste-pot and roll of posters, 
 I would keep my eye peeled for the two Mexicans. 
 
 " But I didn t hear any more about the diamond 
 for a long time, and I had most forgot all about it, 
 until one day I was plastering up one of those 
 yellow-headed Hair Restorer girls in Madison 
 Square, when I saw two chaps cross over Twenty- 
 third Street toward the Park. They were the very 
 gazeebos I d been looking for. Both were dark 
 and thin and short, and, queerer still, one of them 
 carried a big red case in his hand. 
 
 With my heart rattling against my teeth, I 
 jumped down from the ladder and started after 
 them. They hurried along the street until they 
 came to a jeweller s on Broadway, about a block 
 from the Square. They went in, and I peeked 
 through the window. Presently out they came in 
 a great hurry. They still had the red case, and I 
 made a dash for the door and rushed in. There 
 was the store-keeper with eyes bulgin half-way 
 out of his head. 
 
 " Say, says I, did those dagoes try to sell 
 you a diamond? 
 
 Yes, says he, the biggest I ever saw. They 
 wanted forty thousand dollars for it, and I offered 
 them fifteen thousand, but they wouldn t take it. 
 
 I didn t give him time for another word, but 
 turned around and made another jump for the 
 
 294
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 door. The Mexicans were almost out of sight, but 
 I could still see them walking toward the Fifth 
 Avenue Hotel, and I hustled after them tight as I 
 could, picked up two cops on the way down, and, 
 just as they were turning in at the entrance, we 
 pounced on em. 
 
 4 You re under arrest ! I yelled, so excited I 
 didn t really know what I was doing. The fellow 
 with the red case dodged back and handed it over 
 to a big chap who had joined them. This one 
 didn t appear to want to take it, and seemed quite 
 peevish at what was happening. He turned out 
 afterward to have been a General Dosbosco of the 
 Haytien Junta. Well, the cops grabbed all three 
 of them and collared the leather case. Sure 
 enough, so help me ! There inside was the big 
 diamond, and not only that, but a necklace with 
 eighteen stones, and two enormous solitaire rings. 
 The big stone was yellowish, but the others were 
 pure white, sparklin like one of those electric 
 Pickle signs with fifty-seven varieties. By that 
 time the hurry-up wagon had come, and pretty 
 soon the whole crew of us, diamonds, Mexicans, 
 cops, paste-pot, and me, were clattering to the po 
 lice-station for fair. There I told em all about the 
 diamond, and they telephoned over to Colonel 
 Dudley, at the Custom-house, and the upshot of 
 the whole matter was that the two Mexicans were 
 
 295
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 held on a charge of smuggling diamonds into the 
 United States. 
 
 " If you don t believe what I tell you," said 
 Riggs, noticing, perhaps, a suggestion of incredu 
 lity in my face, " just look at these " ; and fumbling 
 in his pocket, he produced some very soiled and 
 crumpled clippings, containing pictures of Max 
 imilian, the Empress Carlotta, and of a very large 
 diamond which appeared to be about the size of 
 the " Regent." It was then that I dimly remem 
 bered reading something of a diamond seizure a 
 short time before, and it was with a renewed in 
 terest that I listened to the continuation of my 
 client s story. 
 
 " Well," said Riggs, " that was strange, now, 
 wasn t it? 
 
 You can imagine how I felt when I went home 
 and told little Flossie about the diamond; that I 
 was entitled to a fifty per cent, informer s reward; 
 how I was going to give up bill-posting and just be 
 her manager, and how we could take a bigger 
 flat, and all that; and I thought so much about it, 
 and talked so much about it, that I began to feel 
 like I was Rockefeller already, which may account 
 in part for what happened afterward." 
 
 At this point the keeper moved uneasily, and I 
 pushed him another cigar. 
 
 " Well," continued Riggs, " I just walked on 
 296
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 air that afternoon after leaving the Custom 
 house, and went around blabbing like a poor fool 
 about my good luck. On the way home I stopped 
 in to take a drink. There were a lot of my ac 
 quaintances there, and I had something with most 
 of them, and then the first thing I knew everything 
 swam before my eyes. I groped my way into the 
 street and started toward home, but I had only 
 taken a few steps when a gang of strong-arm 
 men attacked me, knocked me down, and robbed 
 me. I struggled to my feet and followed them. 
 They turned and attacked me again. I drew my 
 knife, and then everything got dark, and the next 
 thing I knew I was in the police-station. 
 
 " I ll admit that this part of it does seem a little 
 queer." Riggs dropped his voice mysteriously and 
 leaned toward me. " But I have no doubt that I 
 was drugged and beaten for the purpose of getting 
 me locked up in the Tombs as part of a well- 
 planned scheme. You will see for yourself later 
 on. 
 
 " Next morning, while I was waiting examina 
 tion in the prison pen, a man came along who said 
 he was a lawyer and would take my case. I said, 
 All right, but that he would have to wait for his 
 pay. He laughed, and said he guessed there would 
 be no trouble about that ; and the next thing I knew 
 I was up before the Judge. My lawyer went up 
 
 297
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 and whispered something to him, and the magis 
 trate said: 
 
 " Five hundred dollars bail for trial. 
 
 " Look here, I spoke up, ain t I going to 
 have a chance to tell my story? 
 
 " Keep quiet, said the lawyer from behind his 
 hand; this is just a form. You won t never have 
 to be tried. It s just to get you out. 
 
 " So I said nothing, and went back to the pen 
 and waited; and the next thing I knew the hurry- 
 up wagon had taken me to the Tombs. I tell you 
 it was pretty tough bein chucked in with a lot of 
 thieves and burglars. The bill of fare ain t above 
 par, you know, and the company s worse. I sat 
 in my cell and waited and waited for my lawyer to 
 show up, for he had said he d be right over. But 
 he didn t come, and I had to spend the night there. 
 Next morning the keeper told me that my lawyer 
 was in the counsel-room. So down I went with two 
 niggers, who also had an appointment with their 
 lawyers. It s a nasty, unventilated hole, and they 
 lock you and the attorneys all in together. Ever 
 been there? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Well, says he, c now have you got a bonds 
 man? 
 
 " A what? says I. 
 
 A bondsman someone to go bail for you. 
 298
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 No, I answered, for I knew nothing about 
 such things. 
 
 " What ! I thought you told me you had a lot 
 of friends who had money! You haven t been 
 trifling with me, have you? 
 
 " I knew I hadn t told him anything of the 
 sort, but I thought that maybe he had forgotten; 
 so I said I hadn t any friends who had any money, 
 and knew no one to go bail for me. 
 
 " Bad! very bad! said he. You ve got to 
 have money to get out. Isn t there anyone who 
 owes you money, or haven t you got some claim or 
 something? 
 
 " Then all of a sudden it flashed over me about 
 the diamond and my fifty per cent, of the reward, 
 and then something in his eye made me think again. 
 It seemed to me that I had seen him before some 
 where. I couldn t remember just where, but the 
 more I hesitated the surer I was. Then it came 
 over me that a few days in jail, more or less, made 
 mighty little difference when I was going to be a 
 rich man so soon, and I decided I had better hang 
 on to what I d got. 
 
 " No, said I, * I ain t got nothinV 
 
 " You lie! says he, growing very red. * You 
 lie ! You ve got a claim against the United States 
 Government. 
 
 " Then he saw he d made a break.
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 " Why, they all told me you caught a smug 
 gler, or something, and had a claim against the 
 Government for a hundred dollars. 
 
 " A hundred ! I yelled. Twenty thousand ! 
 
 " Oh! said he, as much as that? Why, I ll 
 get you out this afternoon. 
 
 " How? said I. 
 
 " * Well, you will have to assign your claim so I 
 can raise the money on it. It s a mere form. 
 
 u But the thought came into my mind, Better 
 stay there ten years than let him have the claim; 
 so I said that I didn t understand such things, and 
 I d just wait until I could be tried. 
 
 " Tried? said he. Why, you won t be tried 
 for months. 
 
 " My heart sank right down into my boots. 
 
 " Don t be a fool! he went on. Here you 
 are, sick and in prison, and if you don t raise 
 money to get a bondsman you ll stay here a long 
 time. You might die. And if you assign that 
 claim to me, I have a pull with the Judge and I ll 
 have you out by supper-time. 
 
 " I guess I ll wait awhile, said I. 
 
 " Think it over, anyway. Now I tell you 
 what I ll do. To-morrow you go up for pleading. 
 You have to say whether you are guilty or not 
 guilty. I ll act as your lawyer and see you through 
 that part of it for nothing, and then if you still 
 
 300
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 don t want to assign the claim, why, you can do as 
 you choose. 
 
 " That seemed fair enough, so I agreed. I 
 spent another night in the cells, and next day about 
 thirty of us were taken across the bridge into the 
 court-room. One by one we were led up to the 
 bar, and the clerk asked us were we guilty or not 
 guilty. The ones that said they were guilty went 
 off to Sing Sing or Blackwell s Island. It scared 
 the life out of me. I was afraid that I might not 
 be able to say not, and so get sent off too, but 
 pretty soon I saw my lawyer. 
 
 " P. Llewellyn Riggs! 
 
 " Up jumped Mr. Lawyer and says, * Not 
 guilty. 
 
 " What day? " asked the clerk. 
 
 " The 2ist, says Mr. Lawyer. 
 
 " I was dumb for a minute. 
 
 " * Look here, I whispered. * To-day s only 
 the first that s three weeks. 
 
 " Keep quiet, shouted an officer, and gave me 
 a punch in the back. 
 
 " It s all right, whispered Mr. Lawyer. It s 
 only a form. And they hustled me out back to the 
 Tombs. 
 
 " I didn t hear anything all that day or the next. 
 It seemed as if I should go mad. But at last I was 
 notified that my lawyer was there again, and down 
 
 301
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 I went glad enough for the change. By that time 
 I was feeling pretty seedy. 
 
 " Well, young man, said he, can we do busi 
 ness? 
 
 That depends, I answered. 
 Come, no fooling, now; if you want to get 
 out, give me an assignment of your claim. 
 
 " Never, I replied. 
 
 " Then to h with you! he shouted; you 
 can rot here alone and try your case by yourself, 
 and I hope you ll get twenty years. 
 
 " I almost sank through the floor. Twenty 
 years! " 
 
 Riggs had become quite dramatic, and was again 
 leaning forward looking me straight in the eyes. 
 
 " Well, I stood fast, and he cursed me out 
 and left me, and I began to feel that after all 
 maybe I was a fool. I hadn t let my wife know 
 where I was, but now I wrote to her, and she came 
 right down and comforted me. A brave little 
 woman she is, too. And what was more, she said 
 that a nice young lawyer had just moved into our 
 house and had the flat below, and she would go 
 and get him. 
 
 " So next morning I had been in there a 
 week the young lawyer came. I liked him from 
 the start. When I told him my first lawyer s name 
 he just leaned back and laughed. 
 
 302
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 " Old Todd? he says; { why, he s the worst 
 robber in the outfit. If he had gotten that assign 
 ment he d have let you lie here forever and been in 
 Paris by this time. You re a lucky man, says he. 
 
 " Well, I thought so too, and laughed with him. 
 
 " But, he continued, you re in an embarrass 
 ing position. You can t get out without money, 
 and you can t collect your claim. You ll have to 
 assign it to someone. You can t assign it to your 
 wife. That wouldn t be valid. Haven t you got 
 some friend? 
 
 " I m afraid not, said I. 
 
 " That s unfortunate, he remarked, looking 
 out where the window ought to be. Very un 
 fortunate. I might lend you a couple of hundred 
 myself, he added. I will, too! 
 
 " The blood jumped right up in my throat. 
 
 " God bless you ! said I, you re a true 
 friend! 
 
 " He laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " You re in hard luck, old man, but you re go 
 ing to win out. I ll stand by you. Here s a five. 
 I ll go out and get the rest right off. 
 
 Then all of a sudden I began to feel like a 
 king. I could see myself in a new suit, having a 
 bottle up at the Haymarket. I realized that I was 
 a twenty-thousand-dollar millionaire. And just to 
 show my chest, I said : 
 
 303
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 ** Why, you re an honest man and a true 
 friend. You take my claim and go and collect it 
 this afternoon, says I. 
 
 " No, he hesitated, it s too much responsi 
 bility. I ll trust you for the money and you can 
 pay me afterward. 
 
 " But with that, ass that I was, I fell to begging 
 him to take the claim, and saying he must take it, 
 just to show he believed I trusted him ; and so after 
 a while he reluctantly yielded and filled out a pa 
 per, and I signed it and got in the warden as a 
 witness, and he rose to go. 
 
 " Well, till this afternoon, says he. 
 
 " Au revoir, I laughed, get yourself a bottle 
 of wine for me, says I. And off he goes. 
 
 " As I passed back to the cells, who should I see 
 beside the door but my old lawyer. 
 
 " I shook my fist in his face. 
 
 " * You old robber, I says, we ll see if I can t 
 get along without you ! 
 
 " He sneered in my face. 
 
 " Oh, you fool ! says he, * you poor, 
 
 poor, , fool ! 
 
 " Then he was gone. So I went back to the cell, 
 and sang and whistled and figured on where I 
 should take my little Flossie for dinner. I waited 
 and waited. Six o clock, and no word. Then I be 
 gan to get nervous. 
 
 304
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 " * You poor, poor, , fool ! 
 
 " The words rang around in my cell. Then 
 something sort of gave inside. I knew I d been 
 robbed, and I yelled and shook the bars of the 
 door and tried to get out. I cried for Flossie. 
 The keepers came and told me to keep still; but I 
 was plump crazy, and kept on yelling until every 
 thing got black and I fainted." 
 
 " And your lawyer never came back? " 
 
 " He never came back ! " Riggs exclaimed. 
 " He never came back ! I ve been robbed ! I m a 
 
 poor fool, just as Todd said I was." Riggs 
 
 burst into maudlin tears. 
 
 I gave him what consolation I could, and prom 
 ised thoroughly to investigate his story. 
 
 The keeper and Riggs arose in unison, the same 
 urbane smile that had previously illuminated the 
 countenance of the latter restored. 
 
 " You couldn t manage to let me have a hand 
 ful of cigars, could you? " he whispered. I gave 
 him all I had. His cheek was irresistible. I would 
 have given him my watch had he intimated a de 
 sire for it. 
 
 Then I called up the Custom-house. 
 
 " Paid? " came back the voice of the United 
 States District Attorney. " Of course not. The 
 claim is worthless until the diamond is sold; and, 
 anyway, such an assignment as you describe is in- 
 
 305
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 valid under our statutes. You had better execute a 
 revocation, however, and place it on file here. Yes, 
 I ll look out for the matter." 
 
 One day, about a week later, I was informed 
 that Riggs had been convicted of assault, and sen 
 tenced to a year s imprisonment on Blackwell s 
 Island. A jury of his peers had apparently proved 
 less credulous than myself. 
 
 Many strange epistles from his place of confine 
 ment now reached me, hinting of terrible abuses, 
 starvation, oppression, extortion. He was still the 
 victim of a conspiracy this time of prison guards 
 and fellow convicts. He prayed for an opportu 
 nity to lay the facts before the authorities. I threw 
 the letters aside. It was clear he possessed a 
 powerful imagination, and yet his tale of the dis 
 covery of the diamond had been absolutely true. 
 Well, let the law take its course. 
 
 A year later a jovial-looking person called at my 
 office, and I recognized my old friend Riggs in a 
 new brown derby hat and checked suit. 
 
 After shaking hands warmly, he presented me 
 with a card reading : 
 
 P. LLEWELLYN RIGGS, 
 Private Detective, 
 
 Broadway. 
 306
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 Yes," he explained in answer to my surprised 
 expression, " I ve gone into the detective business. 
 My unfortunate conviction is only a sort of adver 
 tisement, you know, and then I was the victim of 
 an outrageous conspiracy! " 
 
 " But," said I, " I thought you were going to 
 retire on the proceeds of the diamond." 
 
 " Why, haven t you heard? " he replied. " I 
 gave my wife an assignment of the claim with a 
 power of attorney, and when the diamond was sold 
 she ran away." 
 
 "Ran away?" 
 
 Yes; she took a friend of mine with her. But 
 I shall find her just as I did the diamond! " He 
 struck a Sherlock Holmes attitude. " By the way, 
 if you should ever want any detective work done 
 you ll remember " 
 
 " I am not likely to forget," I answered, " the 
 victim of one of the most remarkable conspiracies 
 in history." 
 
 Meantime the Mexicans were tried, convicted, 
 and sent to prison. The jewels themselves were 
 duly made the subject of condemnation proceed 
 ings, and whoso peruseth The Federal Reporter 
 for the year 1901 may read thereof under the title 
 " The United States vs. One Diamond Pendant 
 and Two Ear-rings." They were, so to speak, 
 
 307
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 tried, properly convicted, and sold to the high 
 est bidder. The Mexicans are still serving out 
 their time. One turned state s evidence, stating 
 that he was a musician and had won the love 
 of a beautiful senorita in the city of Mexico who 
 had given him the gems to sell in order that they 
 might have money upon which to marry. He also 
 protested that his sweetheart had inherited them 
 from her mother. 
 
 Inside the cover of the old red case is printed in 
 gold letters: 
 
 LA ESMERALDA. 
 
 F. CAUSER ZIHY & Co., Mexico and Paris. 
 
 And a faintly scented piece of violet note-paper 
 lies beneath the double lining, containing, in a 
 woman s hand, this : 
 
 The diamond necklace is from Maximilian s crown, 
 the Emperor of Mexico. The centre stone has thirty- 
 three and seven-tenths carats, and the eighteen surround 
 ing it no less than one each. The diamond ring, the 
 stone thereof, was in Maximilian s ring at the time he 
 was shot. 
 
 But that is all ; there is nothing to tell what hand 
 snatched the jewels from the lifeless fingers of the 
 dead Emperor, or who purloined the necklace from 
 the royal household. 
 
 308
 
 The Maximilian Diamond 
 
 In a dusty compartment on my desk there lies a 
 brown manila envelope, and sometimes, when the 
 day s work is over and I have glanced for the last 
 time across the court-yard of the Tombs at the 
 clock tower on the New York Life Building, I take 
 it out and idly read the press story of the famous 
 diamond. And there rises dimly before me the 
 pathetic scene at Queretaro where a brave and 
 good man met his death, and I wonder if per 
 chance there is any truth in the superstition that 
 some stones carry ill-luck with them. But it is a 
 far cry from the Emperor of Mexico to a New 
 York bill-poster. 
 
 Dockbridge threw the manuscript on his desk 
 and lit a cigarette. 
 
 " Is that all? " asked the lank deputy, stretching 
 himself. " I thought it was going to have some 
 sort of a plot." 
 
 " It s a pretty good story," said the chief of 
 staff. " Have you really got any clippings? " 
 
 " I think it s rotten ! " remarked Bob. 
 
 Well, it s every word of it true, anyway," 
 muttered Dockbridge. 
 
 309
 
 EXTRADITION
 
 Extradition 
 
 "TAOCKBRIDGE," said the District Attor- 
 JL^ ney, coming hurriedly out of his office, 
 " I ve got to send you to Seattle. We ve just lo 
 cated Andrews there Sam Andrews of the Boo 
 dle Bank. One of Barney Conville s cases, you 
 remember. Here s the Governor s requisition. 
 Barney s down in Ecuador, so McGinnis of the 
 Central Office will go out to make the arrest ; but I 
 must have someone to look after the legal end of 
 it to fight any writ of habeas corpus and handle 
 the extradition proceedings. They might get 
 around a mere policeman, so I m going to ask you 
 to attend to it. The trip won t be unpleasant, and 
 the auditor will give you a check for your ex 
 penses. Remember, now your job is to bring 
 Andrews back! " 
 
 He handed his assistant a bulky document be 
 decked with seals and ribbons, and closed the door. 
 Dockbridge gazed blankly after his energetic 
 chief. 
 
 313
 
 Extradition 
 
 "Oh, certainly, certainly! Don t mention it! 
 Delighted, I m sure ! Thank you so much ! " he 
 exclaimed with polite sarcasm. Then he turned 
 ferociously to a silent figure sitting behind the rail 
 ing. " Sudden, eh? Don t even ask me if it s con 
 venient! Exiles me for two months! Just drop 
 over to Bombay and buy him a package of cigar 
 ettes ! Or run across to Morocco and pick up Per- 
 dicaris, like a good fellow ! Don t you regard him 
 as a trifle inconsequent? " 
 
 Conville s side partner McGinnis, a gigantic 
 Irishman with extraordinarily long arms and huge 
 hands, climbed disjointedly to his feet. 
 
 " /w-consequence, is it, Mister Dockbridge?" 
 The words came in a gentle roar from the altitudes 
 of his towering form. " Sure, the m-consequence 
 of it is that we re to have the pleasure of travellin 
 togither." He looked big enough to swing the 
 little Assistant lightly upon one shoulder and stride 
 nimbly across the continent with him. 
 
 " An iligant thrip it will be ! I m only regretful 
 I can t take me wife along wid me." 
 
 Pat s matrimonial troubles were the common 
 property of the entire force. The only person to 
 tally unconscious of their existence was McGinnis 
 himself. His lady, the daughter of fat ex-Detec 
 tive-Sergeant O Halloran, made one think inevi 
 tably of the small bird that travels through life 
 
 3H
 
 Extradition 
 
 roosting on the shoulder of the African buffalo. 
 His domestic life would have been one of wild ex 
 citement for the average citizen, but McGinnis had 
 a blind and unwavering faith in the perfection of 
 his spouse. Conceive, however, his surprise when 
 the Assistant District Attorney suddenly smote him 
 sharply in the abdomen, and shouted : 
 
 "I ll do it!" 
 
 "Phwat?" ejaculated Pat. 
 Take my wife ! " 
 
 " Yez have none, ye spalpeen ! " 
 
 " I ll have one by to-morrow ! " 
 
 " An is it Miss Peggy ye mane? " 
 
 " No other. The county pays part of the bills. 
 I ll make this my wedding trip ! " 
 
 " God save us, Mr. Dockbridge ! " gasped Mc 
 Ginnis. " Ain t he the little divel ! " he added to 
 himself delightedly. 
 
 Peggy had at first opposed strenuously Jack s 
 proposition. The idea of going on one s honey 
 moon with a policeman ! Yes, it was all right to 
 combine business and pleasure on occasion, but one 
 did not usually associate business with marriage 
 at least she hoped she did not for Jack Dock- 
 bridge knew he hadn t a cent, and neither had she. 
 He explained guardedly that that was the princi 
 pal reason in favor of the plan. They would have 
 part of their expenses paid.
 
 Extradition 
 
 Peggy, being a New Englander, acknowledged 
 the force of the argument but pointed out that 
 there was still the policeman. 
 
 Then Dockbridge pictured the West in glowing 
 colors. Why, there were so many bad men out 
 there, one actually needed a body-guard. Had she 
 never heard of the Nagle case? What, not heard 
 of the Nagle case, and she going to marry a law 
 yer ! A newly married pair could not travel alone, 
 unprotected. 
 
 Peggy said he was a fraud, an unadulterated 
 fraud an unabashed liar! Still, she had those 
 furs that had belonged to her mother. She ad 
 mitted, also, wondering what the Rockies were 
 like. If she did not marry him now, how long 
 would he be gone? Six months? 
 
 Jack explained that he might be killed by In 
 dians or desperadoes. In that case the wisdom of 
 her course would undoubtedly be apparent. She 
 could then marry someone else. But that was the 
 reason a policeman would be desirable. And then 
 he was only a sort of policeman himself, anyway. 
 One more would make little difference. In the 
 end they were married. 
 
 316
 
 Extradition 
 
 II 
 
 It was a gay little party of three that left Mon 
 treal for Vancouver the following Saturday. The 
 red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved 
 himself a most entertaining comrade, as he re 
 counted his adventures in securing the return of 
 divers famous criminals under the difficult process 
 of extradition. He had brought safely back 
 " Red " Mclntosh from New Orleans, and Tre- 
 lawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had 
 captured " Strong Arm " Moore in St. Louis, and 
 been an important figure in the old Manhattan 
 Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dock- 
 bridge as " Judge," and introducing him to all 
 strangers as " me distinguished frind, the Dis- 
 thrick Attorney av Noo York." 
 
 There were few passengers for the West, and 
 the triumvirate easily became friendly with the 
 conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the 
 various divisions. The trip itself proved one un 
 alloyed delight. Peggy sat for hours spellbound at 
 the windows as the train sang along the frozen 
 rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and 
 through the snow-mantled forests of Ontario. 
 Sometimes the three in furs and mufflers clung to 
 the reverberating platform of the end car watching 
 
 317
 
 Extradition 
 
 the diminishing track, or held their breath in the 
 swaying cab as the engine thundered through the 
 drifts of Manitoba and Assinibola toward Moose 
 Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies. 
 
 In the monotonous hours across the frozen 
 prairie Peggy learned all the mysteries of the 
 throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the pres 
 sure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there 
 was a clear track for a hundred miles, the driver, 
 with his perspiring brow and frosty back, allowed 
 her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. 
 For an hour he stood behind her as she opened and 
 closed the valve, pulled the whistle at his direction, 
 and slackened on the curves. She was undeniably 
 pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that 
 looked a bit like her out on the Edmonton run. 
 He opined loudly that by the time they reached 
 Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as 
 well as he could himself. He repeated this em 
 phatically, with much blasphemy, to the fireman. 
 
 Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd 
 moments she perused diligently her husband s copy 
 of " Moore on Extradition." She didn t intend to 
 be the man of the family she was too sensible for 
 that but she saw no reason why a woman should 
 not know something about her husband s profes 
 sion, particularly when it was as exciting a one as 
 
 Jack sc 
 
 318
 
 Extradition 
 
 Four days brought them within sight of the 
 mountains, and the next morning, when they 
 stopped for water, the whole range of the Cana 
 dian Rockies lay around and above them, their vir 
 gin summits sparkling in the winter sun. 
 
 " Glad you came, Peg? " shouted Dockbridge, 
 hurling a feather-weight snowball in her direction 
 as she stood on the platform in silent wonder at 
 the scene. 
 
 She answered only with a deep inspiration of the 
 dry, cold air. 
 
 " Shure, ain t we all av us? " inquired Mc- 
 Ginnis lighting his pipe. " Say, this beats th 
 Bowery. Th Tenderloin ain t in it wid this. I d 
 loike to camp right here for the rest of me days ! " 
 
 There was something so unlikely in this, since, 
 apart from the mountains, the only visible object in 
 the landscape was a watering-tank, that they all 
 laughed. 
 
 Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the 
 divide, clearing at last the first Titanic bulwark, 
 now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels, now bathed 
 in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the 
 whole magnificent range of the Selkirks, they 
 dropped into the boisterous canon of the Eraser, 
 and knew that their journey was drawing to a 
 close. 
 
 The blue shadows of morning melted into the 
 319
 
 Extradition 
 
 breathless splendor of high noon upon the sum 
 mit of the world, then, reappearing, faded to pur 
 ple, azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an 
 iridescent line of burning crests. Night fell 
 again, and the stars crowded down upon them like 
 myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung 
 in and out behind the giant peaks. 
 
 " Shure, tis a sad thing we can t ride in a train, 
 drawin th county s money foriver! " sighed Mc- 
 Ginnis as the sunset died over the foaming rapids. 
 
 "Ah, but we ve work to do, Pat! " answered 
 P e ggY- You mustn t forget Sam Andrews and 
 the Boodle Bank. There s fame and fortune 
 waiting for us." 
 
 On the run down the coast they held a council 
 of war. Pat was to continue on to Seattle and ar 
 rest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy hastened 
 to Olympia to secure the Governor s recognition of 
 their credentials and his warrant for the deliver 
 ance of Andrews to the representatives of the State 
 of New York. 
 
 The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black 
 beard, proved unexpectedly tractable, and not only 
 issued the warrant, but invited them both to lunch. 
 It developed that he had graduated from Jack s 
 college. Oh, yes, he knew Andrews ! Not a bad 
 sort at all. One of those fellows that under pres 
 sure of circumstances had technically violated the 
 
 320
 
 Extradition 
 
 law, but a perfect gentleman. Of course he had to 
 honor their requisition, but he was really sorry to 
 see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under 
 arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the af 
 fair in the proper spirit and return with them 
 voluntarily. You must not be too hard on 
 people! Everybody committed crime inadver 
 tently. There were so many statutes that you 
 never knew when you were stepping over the line. 
 He frankly sympathized with the fugitive, al 
 though obliged officially to assist them. You could 
 not help feeling that way about a man you always 
 dined with at the club. Well, the law was the law. 
 He hoped they would have a pleasant trip back. 
 He must return himself to the Council Chamber 
 to a blasted hearing a delegation of confounded 
 Chinese merchants. 
 
 They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. 
 They found McGinnis, together with the prisoner 
 and his lawyer, awaiting them at The Ranier- 
 Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, 
 with a brown beard and a pair of genial gray eyes. 
 As the Governor had stated, it was clear that he 
 was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for 
 bringing his lawyer. It was only, they would un 
 derstand, to make sure that his arrest was entirely 
 legal. He had no intention of attempting to re 
 tard or thwart their purpose in any way. Of 
 
 321
 
 Extradition 
 
 course, the whole thing was unfortunate in many 
 respects, but that he should be desired in New 
 York to unravel the complicated affairs of the bank 
 was only natural. Everything could be easily ex 
 plained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do 
 was to return with them as quickly as possible. 
 Altogether he was very charming and entirely con 
 vincing. He hoped they would not consider him 
 presuming if he suggested that a few days in 
 Seattle would prove interesting to them ; there was 
 so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of 
 easy access; and in the meantime he could get his 
 affairs in shape a little. 
 
 Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It 
 would be mean to take Mr. Andrews away with 
 out giving him a chance to say good-by to his 
 friends, and she wanted to see Victoria and Esqui- 
 mault, and Tacoma. While Mr. Andrews (in 
 charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business 
 matters, she and Jack could do the sights. In the 
 meantime they could all live together at the hotel, 
 and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was un 
 der arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and 
 neither did McGinnis. Andrews was politely 
 grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him 
 with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them 
 they would not have any reason to regret so doing. 
 
 Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied 
 322
 
 Extradition 
 
 themselves with sight-seeing, while Andrews busied 
 himself with arrangements to depart. The favor 
 able impression made by the prisoner upon his 
 captors had steadily increased, and in a short 
 time they found themselves regarding him in the 
 light of a most agreeable companion whom fate 
 had thrown in their way. 
 
 " And now for New York ! " exclaimed Jack, 
 lighting his cigar, as they sat around the dinner- 
 table on the evening of the third day after their 
 arrival in Seattle. " How shall we go Northern 
 Pacific, Union, or The Short Line and across on 
 The Rock Island?" 
 
 " Divel a bit do I care," answered Pat comfort 
 ably from behind an enormous Manuel Garcia 
 Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. 
 " Th longer th better, suits me. Tis the county 
 pays me, an I loike ridin in the cars down to 
 th ground." 
 
 " What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews? " in 
 quired Peggy, " You know the country. Where 
 would we see the most mountains? " 
 
 Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar 
 smoke, they would have noticed the flash of An 
 drews gray eyes which so quickly died away. He 
 hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the con 
 sideration it deserved. 
 
 " There s practically no choice," he replied at 
 3 2 3
 
 Extradition 
 
 length, knocking the ash from his cigar. " They re 
 all lovely at this time of year. The Rock Island 
 route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interest 
 ing." He paused doubtfully, then resumed his 
 cigar. 
 
 But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had 
 become all eagerness, had observed his manner. 
 
 You were going to add something, Mr. An 
 drews; what was it? " 
 
 Andrews smiled. " Oh, nothing ! I was about 
 to say that if it wasn t such a tough journey you 
 might go back by the Northern Montana and con 
 nect with the Soo. It s a magnificent trip in sum 
 mer, but I dare say pretty cold in winter. Won 
 derful scenery, though." 
 
 " Let s go ! " exclaimed Peggy. " That s what 
 we are after scenery! I don t care if it is cold. 
 I ve got my furs. Montana, you say? And the 
 Soo? That sounds like Indians. What do you 
 say, Jack? " 
 
 "Oh, I don t mind!" answered her husband. 
 " Andrews knows best. He s been that way. 
 Sure, if you say so." 
 
 Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar. 
 
 324
 
 Extradition 
 
 III 
 
 All day long the snow had been falling steadily 
 in big, fluffy flakes. The heavy train ploughed 
 through dense pine-clad ravines, beside torrents 
 buried far below the snow, under sheds into whose 
 inky blackness the engine plunged as into the 
 bowels of the earth, across vibrating trestles, and 
 up grades that seemed never-ending, where the 
 driving-wheels slipped and ground ineffectually, 
 then clutched the sanded rails and slowly forged 
 onward. For two days it had been thus, and from 
 the windows only the gently falling, ever-falling 
 snow met the eye. Heavy clouds shrouded the 
 shoulders of the mountains, and the gorges be 
 tween them were choked with mist. And onward, 
 upward, always upward groaned the train. 
 
 Inside Jack s compartment in the first Pullman 
 sat the four members of our party playing cards, 
 now on the best of terms. They had long since 
 given up condoling upon the weather, and had 
 settled down to making the best of it with cards, 
 chess-board, and books. Between McGinnis and 
 the prisoner flowed an unending stream of anec 
 dotes and adventures. It could not be denied that 
 the erstwhile bank president was a man of much 
 culture and wide reading. He had studied for the 
 
 325
 
 Extradition 
 
 bar, and from time to time astounded Dockbridge 
 by the acuteness of his mental processes. This was 
 the afternoon of the second day, and they were just 
 completing their thirteenth rubber of whist. 
 
 The snow fell thicker as the light waned; soon 
 the lamps were lighted and the shades were drawn. 
 The through passengers on the train were few, and 
 the good-natured conductor had adopted the party 
 for the trip. 
 
 " We re most at the top o the pass," he re 
 marked, as he paused to inspect Jack s hand over 
 his shoulder. " Should ha made it an hour ago 
 but for this blank snow. I never saw it so thick. 
 Too bad you ve missed the whole range, and to 
 morrow morning we ll be at Souris, and then 
 nothin but prairie all across Dakota. When you 
 wake up, the mountains 11 be two hundred miles 
 west of you. Hard luck ! " 
 
 " My trick," said Andrews. " What s that, 
 conductor? Souris to-morrow morning? Any 
 stops to-night? " 
 
 " Nope ; clear down-hill track all the way. 
 There s a flag station an hour beyond the divide 
 Ferguson s Gulch, and sometimes we stop for wa 
 ter at Red River. There s no regular station 
 there, and Jim wants to make up time, so I reckon 
 we ll make the run without stoppin . Are you 
 folks ready for dinner? " 
 
 326
 
 Extradition 
 
 The strain on the wheels suddenly relaxed, and 
 it seemed as though the whole train sighed with 
 relief. Ahead, the engine gave a succession of 
 quick snorts, as if rejoicing at once more reaching a 
 level. The train gathered head-way. 
 
 " She s over the divide," announced the con 
 ductor, taking a bite from the plug of tobacco 
 carefully wrapped in his red silk handkerchief. 
 "Now Jim can let her run." 
 
 " What do you call the divide? " asked Peggy. 
 
 " The Lower Kootenay," he answered. " Oh, 
 it s great here in summer! Finest thing in Can 
 ada, in my opinion." 
 
 " In Canada ! " exclaimed Dockbridge, with a 
 start. "What do you mean? Are we in Can 
 ada?" 
 
 " You ve been in Canada since three o clock," 
 was the reply. " We cross the lower left-hand cor 
 ner of Alberta look on the map there in the 
 folder. After makin the divide we drop right 
 back into Montana. They couldn t cross the 
 Rockies at this point without leavin the States for 
 a few miles." 
 
 The conductor arose and unfolded the map. 
 
 " Ye see, here s where we leave Clarke Fork, 
 then we skirt this range, turn north, followin that 
 river there, the north branch of the Flathead, and 
 so over the line; then we turn and jam right 
 
 327
 
 Extradition 
 
 tnrough the range. Two hours from now you ll be 
 back in the old U. S." 
 
 Dockbridge had started to his feet and was 
 staring intently at the map. It was only too true. 
 They were in Canada. In Canada! And they were 
 holding their prisoner without due process of law ! 
 The warrant of the Governors of New York and 
 Washington were valueless in his Majesty s Do 
 minion. Did Andrews know ? Jack pretended to 
 study the map before him and glanced furtively 
 across the table. Pat was scowling ferociously at 
 the cards before him, and Andrews was lighting a 
 cigarette. Apparently he had heard nothing or 
 had paid no attention to what the conductor was 
 saying. With his brain in a whirl Dockbridge 
 folded up the time-table and handed it back. 
 
 " Well, I m getting ravenous," he remarked. 
 
 Just then the porter appeared from the direction 
 of the buffet carrying their evening meal. 
 
 " Same here," echoed Andrews. 
 
 For an hour or more they lingered over the 
 table, Andrews seeming in unusually good spirits. 
 Dockbridge ceased to feel any uneasiness. He 
 realized how easily he might have been trapped, 
 but no harm was done in the present instance, for 
 the minute section of Alberta which they trav 
 ersed offered no opportunities for the securing of 
 any legal process by which their prisoner could be 
 
 328
 
 Extradition 
 
 released. Again, Andrews had not urged the route 
 upon them; that had been Peggy s doing. And, 
 moreover, was he not returning with them of his 
 own free-will? No, it was absurd to have been so 
 upset at such a trifling matter. 
 
 " What do you say to some more whist? You 
 and I ll be partners this time, Andrews." 
 
 The things were cleared from the table and they 
 began again. The speed of the train seemed to 
 have increased, and the cars swayed from side to 
 side as they sped down the grade. Peggy raised 
 the shade and looked out. The pane was plastered 
 with an ever-changing, kaleidoscopic crust of flakes 
 that spat against it, dropped, clogged against the 
 others, and sagged downward in a dense mass 
 toward the sash. At the top of the glass the 
 storm could be seen whirling down its myriads 
 outside. 
 
 " What a night! " she ejaculated, as she pulled 
 down the shade. 
 
 At that moment came a prolonged wail from 
 the engine, followed by the quick clutch of the 
 brakes. The wheels groaned and creaked, and the 
 passengers tossed forward in their seats. Again 
 the whistle shrieked. The train, carried onward 
 by its momentum, ground its wheels against the 
 brakes which strove to hold them back. Gradually 
 they came to a stand-still. 
 
 329
 
 Extradition 
 
 The conductor rushed toward the door, and a 
 brakeman hurried through with a lantern. 
 
 " Ferguson s Gulch ! " he shouted as he ran by. 
 " Must ha signalled us! " 
 
 Dockbridge s heart dropped a beat, and he 
 glanced apprehensively toward Andrews. The lat 
 ter was smiling, but the hand that held his cigar 
 trembled a very little. 
 
 You re young yet, Dockbridge," he re 
 marked, with slightly tremulous sarcasm. " There 
 are one or two things still for you to learn. One 
 of them is that a United States warrant is useless 
 in Canada. You hadn t thought of that, eh? " 
 
 " Warrant is it? Shure this is all the warrant 
 / want," replied Pat, snapping a shining Colt from 
 his pocket. " Plaze don t git excited, me frind. 
 P r aps ye don t know it all, yerself. Wan move, 
 an I ll put six holes in yer carcus ! " 
 
 Dockbridge grasped Peggy by the arm and 
 drew her breathless to her feet. "What is it? 
 What is it? " she gasped, clinging to him in the 
 aisle. Jack reached over and released the shade. 
 Outside in the darkness red lights swung to and 
 fro. A blast of icy air poured into the car from 
 the open door. He hurried out into the vestibule. 
 The storm was sweeping by swiftly and silently, 
 and absurdly the motto of his old bicycle club 
 flashed into his mind, " Volociter et silenter." 
 
 330
 
 Extradition 
 
 The lamp above his head threw a yellow circle 
 against the vast night. Pie stumbled down the 
 steps and clung to the rail, putting his head into 
 the sleet. It stung his face like the tentacles of a 
 sea-monster. In the foreground stood the conduct 
 or, already white with the snow, his lantern swing 
 ing to leeward in the wind, shouting to a man on 
 horseback. Four other mounted figures, their 
 steeds facing the blast, marked the point where the 
 light ended and the night began again. Three 
 train hands, each with a lantern, paced to and fro 
 beside the car. Ahead could be heard the cough 
 ing of the engine. The man on horseback waved 
 his hand in the direction of the train, flung himself 
 heavily to the ground, tossed the reins to one of 
 the others, and strode toward the car. 
 
 " Jones and Wilkes, hold the horses; Frazer and 
 White, come along with me," he directed over his 
 shoulder. He pushed by Dockbridge and climbed 
 into the car. The conductor followed. 
 
 " Where is the officer and his prisoner? " he 
 demanded in a harsh voice. 
 
 " Inside, your Honor," answered the conductor, 
 shaking the snow from his coat. " This is Mr. 
 Dockbridge, the District Attorney from New 
 York." 
 
 " Umph ! " grunted the stranger. He was an 
 immense man with a heavy jet-black beard and 
 
 33i
 
 Extradition 
 
 hair in thick curls all over his head. A broad- 
 brimmed sombrero cast a deep shadow over his 
 features, heightening their natural unpleasant 
 ness. Two of the others now jumped upon the 
 platform and entered the car, and Dockbridge saw 
 that they wore some kind of uniform and that the 
 lining of their overcoats was red. Peggy cowered 
 to one side as the three strangers forced their 
 way by her and paused at the door of the com 
 partment. 
 
 " Is Mr. Andrews here? " inquired the one 
 whom the others addressed as Judge. 
 
 " I am Mr. Andrews. This is the officer who 
 holds me in custody." 
 
 The Judge turned to one of his followers. 
 
 " Serve him ! " he growled. 
 
 The one addressed took from beneath his coat 
 a bundle of papers, and selecting one, handed it to 
 McGinnis, who let it fall to the floor without a 
 word. 
 
 " Put up that pistol! " continued the Judge. 
 
 At this moment Dockbridge, who had listened 
 as if dazed to the colloquy, now mastered sufficient 
 courage to assert himself. 
 
 " Here ! what s all this? " he exclaimed in as de 
 termined a manner as he could manage to assume. 
 4 What are you doing in my compartment with 
 your wet feet? Who the devil are you, anyway? " 
 
 332
 
 Extradition 
 
 He squeezed by his huge antagonist and took his 
 stand by McGinnis. 
 
 The conductor and the majority of the train 
 hands had crowded into the passageway and filled 
 the door with their dripping and astonished faces. 
 The officer handed another paper to Dockbridge. 
 
 " This is Judge Peters, sir; and this paper is a 
 writ of habeas corpus returnable forthwith, sir," 
 said the man. 
 
 Dockbridge glanced at the paper and saw that 
 the officer s statement was correct. The paper was 
 a writ ordering him to produce the body of Samuel 
 Andrews before the Honorable Elijah Peters, 
 Judge of the Supreme Court of Alberta, forthwith, 
 and show cause why said Andrews should not be 
 set at liberty. He was trapped. It could not be 
 denied. 
 
 " Is this Judge Peters? " he inquired politely of 
 the man with the black beard, who had taken off 
 his hat and seated himself upon the sofa. 
 
 " I am," returned the other curtly. " And I 
 now pronounce this car a court, and direct you to 
 release your prisoner as detained by you without 
 lawful authority." 
 
 He leaned forward and shook his finger threat 
 eningly at McGinnis. " Put up that pistol! " 
 
 McGinnis looked at Dockbridge. 
 
 " Put it up, Pat," directed the latter. " There s 
 333
 
 Extradition 
 
 no occasion for pistols." He winked at Peggy. 
 " Pardon my lack of courtesy in addressing you, 
 Judge Peters, when you first entered. I was un 
 aware, of course, to whom it was that I spoke." 
 
 The Judge shrugged his shoulders deprecat- 
 ingly. 
 
 " I m naturally taken somewhat by surprise, and 
 hardly feel that I can do justice to my own position 
 in the matter at such short notice. However, as 
 the court is now in session, I can only ask the privi 
 lege of arguing the matter before your Honor. If 
 I might be permitted to do so, I would suggest 
 that the hearing take place in some larger space 
 than this compartment, in which my wife desires 
 speedily to retire." He looked inquiringly toward 
 the Court. 
 
 " That s right, Jedge," spoke up the conductor. 
 " Don t keep the lady out of her room. You can 
 hold court in the baggage-car." 
 
 The black-bearded man grumblingly arose to 
 his feet, leaving a large pool of water in the middle 
 of the floor. 
 
 " As you choose. Bring along the prisoner, and 
 be quick about it. I ve got to ride fifteen miles to 
 night." 
 
 The crowd streamed down the aisle and into the 
 baggage-car in front. McGinnis followed with 
 Andrews. 
 
 334
 
 Extradition 
 
 "Shall I come along, Jack?" whispered his 
 wife. 
 
 " No, stay here. I m afraid we re beaten. I 
 shall only spar for time, and try to invent some way 
 out of it." 
 
 Peggy sadly watched his disappearing form. 
 What a disgusting anticlimax! She reviled her 
 self for being the one who had forced the selection 
 of the Montana route. It was all her fault. 
 When a man s married his troubles begin ! Jack 
 would lose his job, and then where would they be? 
 She had gotten him into the fix, and now she would 
 do her best to get him out of it. She threw on his 
 fur coat and cap and followed into the baggage- 
 car. The Judge had seated himself on a trunk. 
 Jack stood at his right with the warrant in his 
 hand. A single lantern cast a fitful glare over the 
 two, around whom crowded the passengers and 
 train hands. Peggy heard her husband s some 
 what immature voice stating the circumstances 
 of the wreck of the Boodle Bank. The Judge 
 seemed not uninterested. The crowd was getting 
 larger every moment. Passengers kept coming in 
 in every kind of dishabille, and last of all the engi 
 neer and fireman entered by the forward door. 
 Outside, the huge engine hissed and throbbed as if 
 impatient of the delay. Peggy slipped unseen be 
 hind a pile of trunks, snapped the big padlock 
 
 335
 
 Extradition 
 
 through the staples of the door, then, hurrying 
 back to the compartment, rummaged until she 
 found Jack s box of cigars. Arming herself with 
 these and with her copy of " Moore on Extradi 
 tion," she made her way back to the baggage-car. 
 
 Yes, yes, I know all that! " the Judge was 
 saying. " But that s all immaterial. It ain t what 
 he did. It s what right you ve got to hold him in 
 the Dominion of Canada on a warrant from a 
 governor of one of the United States. Show me 
 that, or I ll discharge the prisoner here and now." 
 
 " Excuse me, please," exclaimed Peggy, forcing 
 her way through the throng into the open space 
 under the lamp, " I thought you might like to 
 smoke. Lawyers all like to smoke." 
 
 There was an immediate response from the 
 Court. 
 
 " Well, I don t care if I do," remarked the 
 Judge more genially. " Confounded cold out there 
 in the snow waiting for the train. Thank y ." 
 
 He handed back the box, and Peggy passed it 
 to the engineer and told him to " send it along." 
 Then she whispered in her husband s ear: 
 
 " Read him that chapter on International Re 
 lations. Keep it going for ten minutes, and we ll 
 win out, yet. I ve got a scheme." 
 
 Dockbridge took the book, opened it deliber 
 ately, and lighted a cigar for himself. Peggy 
 
 336
 
 Extradition 
 
 pushed back through the spectators to the sleeping- 
 car. Only a solitary brakeman remained outside in 
 the snow, stamping and swinging his arms. 
 
 " Halloo, Mr. Sanders," said Peggy, " you 
 ought to go in and hear the argument. They re 
 having a regular smoke talk. It s so thick I can t 
 breathe. They re giving away cigars. I should 
 think you would freeze." 
 
 " Well, I m froze already," answered Sanders. 
 " I reckon I ll go in and hear the fun. Is that 
 straight about the cigars? " 
 
 " Of course it is," laughed Peggy, while San 
 ders climbed on board. The snow swept by in 
 clouds as Peggy gave one glance at the retreating 
 form of the brakeman, and jumped down into the 
 night. 
 
 IV 
 
 The Judge threw back his burly form against 
 the side of the car and exhaled a thick cloud of 
 smoke. 
 
 " Now, young feller, if you have any legal right 
 to detain your prisoner, let s hear it. This court s 
 goin to adjourn in just ten minutes by the watch, 
 and I reckon when it adjourns it ll take the pris 
 oner with it." 
 
 The spectators, who had seated themselves as 
 337
 
 Extradition 
 
 best they could, looked expectantly toward the 
 New Yorker. 
 
 Jack arose, holding the book impressively be 
 fore him. The gusts from the storm outside pene 
 trated the cracks of the loosely hung sliding bag 
 gage-door and made the feeble lantern swing and 
 flicker. The smoke from twenty cigars swirled 
 round the ceiling. The conductor placed his own 
 lantern on a trunk by Jack s side. 
 
 " If the Court please," began Dockbridge, 
 " while it s entirely true that no warrant issued out 
 of a court of the United States or by a governor of 
 one of the United States gives any jurisdiction over 
 the person of a fugitive who is held in custody in 
 the Dominion of Canada, it is nevertheless a fact 
 that under the principle of comity between friendly 
 nations the government of one will not interfere 
 with an officer of another who is performing an 
 official act under color of authority." [" Sounds 
 well," said Jack to himself, " but don t mean a 
 blame thing."] " This principle is as old as the 
 law itself, and is sustained by a long series of de 
 cisions in our international tribunals. The doc 
 trine is clearly set forth by Grotius " [" that ought 
 to nail him! "] " when he says: No nation will 
 voluntarily interfere with a duly authorized officer 
 of another nation in the performance of his duty, 
 whose act does not interfere with the functions of 
 
 338
 
 Extradition 
 
 government of the other. He pronounced this 
 balderdash with much solemnity and with great 
 effect upon the assembled train hands. " Now, 
 your Honor, I am a duly authorized officer of the 
 State of New York, the same being at peace with 
 the Dominion of Canada." 
 
 " Bosh ! " interrupted the Judge. " You re talk- 
 in nonsense. I won t be made a fool of any 
 longer. Prisoner discharged. This court stands 
 adjourned, and, as I said, it is goin to take the 
 prisoner with " 
 
 A jerk of the train prevented the conclusion of 
 his sentence. There came another pull from the 
 engine, followed by a succession of violent puffs. 
 The train started. 
 
 " My God! The engine!" shouted the fire 
 man, making a spring for the door. 
 
 "Locked! Locked!" he yelled, and threw 
 himself upon it. The conductor dived for the plat 
 form. The Judge started to his feet. 
 
 This is an infernal trick! " he cried. " Stop 
 this train ! D ye hear? Stop this train at once ! " 
 
 But the train was gathering head-way every mo 
 ment, and was fast dropping down the grade. A 
 triumphant whistle shrilled through the night with 
 a succession of short toots. 
 
 " For God s sake, open the door! " gasped the 
 engineer. " Get a crow-bar, somebody ! We ll be 
 
 339
 
 Extradition 
 
 going a hundred miles an hour inside of a min 
 ute! " But no crow-bar was to be found, and the 
 door resisted all their efforts. On rushed the train, 
 thundering down the pass, swaying around curves 
 until the frightened occupants of the baggage-car 
 clung to one another to retain their foothold, and 
 every moment adding to its speed. The baggage 
 man threw open the side door. The night dashed 
 by in a solid wall of white. 
 
 "Damme! This is a crime!" roared the 
 Judge. " I m being kidnapped. Your Govern 
 ment shall be notified if we re not all killed. 
 Can t somebody stop this train? Do you hear? 
 Stop it, I say! " 
 
 For an instant Dockbridge had been as startled 
 as the others. Then it came to him in one in 
 spired moment. Peggy was on the engine! A 
 series of whistles came across the tender. 
 
 " Toot toot toot ! Toot toot toot ! 
 Toot toot toot ! Toot toot ! " the old Har 
 vard cheer that Peggy had heard echoing across 
 the foot-ball field a hundred times. 
 
 Of course ! She was going to fetch them out of 
 Canada, and then to thunder with all the judges of 
 the Dominion! He began to laugh hysterically. 
 On and on, faster and faster, rushed the train. 
 The pallid faces of the passengers and crew stared 
 strangely out of the blue haze. Breathless, each 
 
 340
 
 Extradition 
 
 man struggled to keep his footing, momentarily 
 expecting to be dashed into eternity. The minutes 
 dragged as hours, until at last, from somewhere 
 in the rear of the train, the fireman returned with a 
 wrench, and throwing his whole weight upon the 
 padlock, quickly snapped its staples. The door 
 burst open, sending him flying headlong. Through 
 the car poured a furious gust of wind and snow, 
 blinding, suffocating, and into the midst of this 
 jumped the engineer, and, clambering desperately 
 upon the tender, disappeared. 
 
 Perhaps it was the dimness of the light, but An 
 drews had suddenly begun to look white and old. 
 
 At the same moment a red light flashed by along 
 side the track and the train roared across a suspen 
 sion bridge without slackening speed. 
 
 " Red River! " gasped the fireman, clambering 
 to his feet. 
 
 The blood leaped in Jack s veins. Red River! 
 Then they were across the line. Peggy had won I 
 God bless her ! With a triumphant glance at the 
 cowering Andrews, he turned upon the frightened 
 crowd. 
 
 " You can t beat the Yankee girl! " he shouted. 
 " Judge, you re right. We ve adjourned court, 
 and are taking the prisoner with us INTO THE 
 UNITED STATES ! " 
 
 34i
 
 BY ARTHUR TRAIN 
 
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 SIDE LIGHTS ON THE ADMINISTRATION 
 
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 CONTENTS 
 
 What Is Crime? The Trial of Felonies 
 
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 Red Tape What Fosters Crime? 
 
 Insanity as a Defence 
 
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