PRODUCING THE EVIDENCE.

329

They walked in silence to the private room of the detective in the hotel. The messenger in every look and action manifested great uneasiness and anxiety, evidently wondering whether the keen-scented hound of the law had really struck a decisive trail. Reason assured him that he was safe, but the apprehension born of guilt and perplexity, suggested that after all, reason might be wrong. After the door had closed upon them, the detective began, "Mr. Middleton, you deserve a better fate than this, and God knows I am sorry, very sorry, that your crime and my duties have created our present relations. Middleton, I have worked hard. When I started on this case, little did I foresee that the cross would fall on you. But I may as well tell you at once, for we understand each other, and it is needless to waste words, I've got you dead."

"Well, if you have," replied the messenger, "let me see it. I don't propose to take anything on trust. If you've got me dead, show your hand."

"I shall be happy to accommodate you in every particular," answered the special agent, pulling from one pocket the revised description of the stolen money, and from another two ten-dollar bills, each wrapped up separately, and labeled with elaborate care. On the reverse side of both were several hieroglyphics which struck the attention of the robber without special effort on the part of the exhibitor. He would not have turned so pale had he known that the cabalistic marks were made a few hours before by the detective himself. Spreading out the description deliberately, the officer continued: "You know that paper, I presume. Well, let us see whether I have got you or not. Compare this note with the second entry in the list of tens. Now compare this with the fifth."

A pair of uneasy eyes glanced hurriedly from the notes to the description, and back again from the description to the notes. There could be no mistake. The correspondence was exact. The fellow turned the bills over, but asked no

explanation of the marks, having evidently already discovered far more than it was comfortable to know.

Then, in a tone of subdued, melancholy triumph, the officer broke in upon his meditations, "You don't think I have got you, Jack?"

With an oath, he replied, "Furay, it looks so."

"Middleton, what demon has taken possession of you? How did you win your own consent to do this terrible wrong?"

In silence the man who had passed, unscathed by the law, through many dark transactions, squinted with a furtive leer out of his schooled and practiced eye, trying to discover whether the detective really had all the evidence which he seemed to have, or was attempting to play a trick on him as he had often done on others. After deliberating apparently about the propriety of answering, he inquired abruptly, "Furay, where did you get those bills?"

"Why, Jack, if you want to know very badly, you had better ask one of the Schimmerhorn boys. It is enough for you to know that I have them. But why did you do it? Was you crazy with drink, or what?"

"Well, Furay, I'll tell you. I have been drinking and gambling. Since I came to this territory, everything has gone against me. Nothing that I have touched has turned out well. Do you wonder that I grew so desperate as not to care much what might happen to me? I did not see how under heaven I could ever be trapped in this operation, and so took the risk. But my bad luck clung to me, and here is the result. Perhaps it is just as well, anyhow. I ask you again, Furay, where did you get those bills?"

"I told you, Jack, it is sufficient for you to know that I have them. They are here. John Middleton, it is enough to make angels weep to see a man of your talents and opportunities fall as you have fallen. How could you betray the confidence of the governor, and of the friends who have sustained you from childhood? How could you bring dishonor upon wife and children?"

THAT FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR NOTE.

331

"You have been connected with courts a long time. The ways of justice have no secrets that are hidden from you. We have known each other for years, and you are well aware that it is not my habit to fire blank cartridges, or waste my shot. Now, Jack, I am going to be candid with you. Having shown you what I have, I am going to admit what I have not. Frankly I do not know what you did with that five hundred dollar note. Whatever knowledge I may have of the rest, I have been unable to find any trace of that. You are sufficiently familiar with courts and with the penalties meted out to poor unfortunates, situated as you are now, to know that the easiest way out of trouble is the best way. Come, where is that note?"

"Let us understand each other, Furay. I want to see the exact point in your suggestion. How will it benefit me to tell where that note is?"

"Jack, you stole that bill out of a letter intrusted to your charge, and if you deny the act, I propose to prove it before twelve men. I appeal to your experience to decide whether it is better to acknowledge your folly and ask for mercy by a show of penitence, or to drive me to the necessity of exposing to the world the full measure of your crime? In which case will the court be more likely to deal with leniency?"

"Perhaps you are right, Furay. In fact, I believe you are. You have given good advice, and I will respond in the same spirit. If you go to B. L. Crandall, of Tilsit, you will find it. I owed him one hundred and thirty-seven dollars, and he advanced me ninety-three more in money and goods, promising to hold the note till I redeemed it. I told him it came in a remittance from Washington, and that I expected more from the same source."

"I propose to go to Tilsit to-night for that bill,” replied the detective, "and I want an order for it."

"To-night in this storm!" ejaculated the criminal, in

amazement.

"Yes, that is just what I am going to do."

After some parley, the robber wrote the following order.

"B. L. CRANDALL, TILSIT: Please deliver to Colonel John B. Furay, who is a special agent of the post-office department, that $500 bill that I let you have. My statement to you about it was not correct. It belongs to the postoffice department, and Colonel Furay must have that identical bill.

(Signed)

JOHN MIDDLETON."

The prisoner was turned over to the United States marshal for the territory, who happened to be in Ceylon in attendance on the district court.

After considerable trouble and delay, a span of horses with a driver were procured, and the special agent set forth through the darkness and the rain for Tilsit, forty-three miles distant. It was his purpose to reach there and secure the stolen note before any possible alarm could be sounded by telegraph the next morning. The roads were bad, the mud deep, and the drive slow; but the travelers, drenched till they were water-soaked, arrived at Tilsit about four o'clock A. M. The little town was buried in silence and slumber. He called first at the jail to inquire where Crandall lived, and was there directed to the sheriff, who, like the jailer, was unable to give the desired information. He then drove to the house of the postmaster, an honest, faithful old gentleman, whom, on account of advanced age, he desired, if possible, to avoid disturbing at that unseasonable hour. The excellent old man, however, rose with alacrity, and getting into the buggy, piloted the way to Crandall's. After some delay and parley through the window, that gentleman answered the bell in person, and invited the callers in. The special agent declined to advance beyond the oil-cloth in the outer hall, as the water dripping from his garments made a pool around his feet.

"Mr. Crandall," inquired the officer, "you know John Middleton?"

"Yes, I know such a person."

"Mr. Crandall, he gave you a five hundred dollar bill the third of this month."

"I am certainly sorry to have disturbed you, but I must have that bill."

"What business is it of yours," replied that gentleman, querulously, "whether he did or did not? Is it for a matter of no greater consequence that you dragged me out of bed?"

"I am certainly sorry to have disturbed you, but I must