We resolved to tell Irving in a general way that we were going to Europe to make some money, and would pay him and his two fellows their percentage. Then we could (apparently) work with impunity; for, of course, if we committed a forgery in Europe and were recognised as Americans—as probably we would be—the foreign police would report the case to the New York police—that is, to Irving—and we should be safe in New York.

Edwin James and Brea had dropped out of our lives for good, but as my readers will be curious to know of their fate in after times, I will relate it in this chapter.

The morning our scheme on Jay Cooke & Co. fell to pieces, as soon as the manager left the office, telling Brea he was to pay cash for the bonds in place of the check, it was recognized at once that the game was up, and the only thing remaining was to shield James as much as possible. So Brea left the office, but first instructed the clerk to tell the messenger when he came that he had gone for the money, and would call for the bonds. This was done, the messenger arrived, being accompanied by Detective Elder all the time, and took the bonds back again.

At 2 o'clock James went down to the bankers, where he was well known, and inquired for Mr. Newman. Being told he was not in, he said he had made an appointment to meet him there. Invited into the inner office, the manager asked him if he had any personal knowledge of this Mr. Newman, and James said no further than that he had called and given him a retaining fee of $250, and had engaged him as legal adviser, etc. Then the manager produced a telegram he had received in answer to one he had sent to the Philadelphia house, inquiring about Newman, and asking if his letter of introduction was genuine or not. James read the reply; it said the letter was genuine, but that they knew absolutely nothing about the man, and warned him to be cautious. James pretended astonishment, and feigned to be very indignant, declaring that if Mr. Newman did not put in an appearance within half an hour he should begin to fear a fraud had been attempted. When the closing hour came at 3 o'clock, the manager announced to James that he should give the whole matter to the press, but would keep his name out of it.

So they parted with warm congratulations over their escape, the manager pretending to believe James was an innocent tool, but no doubt with a shrewd suspicion that he intended to have a finger in this pie, had the pie ever been baked and divided. Had the bankers been victimized they would have striven with all their power to keep the fact a secret and forbidden their employees to breathe a word about it to any one. But now the case was different. All the morning papers had long accounts of the transaction. They were absurdly inaccurate, but all agreed as to the extreme cleverness of the manager, and noticed how he had suspected, etc., while poor Elder, who both expected and really deserved all the glory, was not even mentioned in the newspaper accounts. However, his feelings were soon after solaced, as Irving informed us that Elder had stood in on a deal that paid him well.

The $5,000 we gave James eased up matters for a time. Practice he had none, but managed to hold on in the hope of realizing on the Brea will matter, but getting deeper and deeper in debt. One night, four years later, the old lady, Brea's mother-in-law, had a more than usually furious outbreak of temper, and fell to beating the three daughters still living with her. Before it was over she had attacked and seriously injured the eldest, and then flew to her room in a passion. Not appearing at breakfast the next morning her daughter went to her room, but she was not there, and the bed was undisturbed. Going to the room that served for office and library, they found the door, as usual, locked. Bursting it open the poor old maids found their mother huddled in a corner of the room dead.

Truly a happy relief for the daughters. Poor girls, theirs had been a hard life. Every suitor who tried to cultivate their acquaintance had been driven from the door by the mother, who never spent a dollar on their education, and her death found them all unused to the ways of the world. The result was that all became victims of fortune-hunters, and the unhappy ladies only changed the tyranny of an unnatural mother for the tyranny of a husband, who in each case wedded for wealth alone, and all three husbands were uncultured men. What an experience! Two of the three still live. How sweet the rest of the grave will be to them!

The genuine will was destroyed and the "family lawyer," James, immediately after the funeral, produced and read "the last will and testament" of the dead woman. The four sisters and a host of poor relations were present at the reading. When Sarah, Brea's wife, heard her name read as chief heir of the vast estate, she was stunned, but if she was stunned, the rest of the family were paralyzed. Legacies were left to many, small in amount, save in the case of the other three sisters, who were to have a certain tenement and land in Harlem and three thousand a year for life out of the estate. None of those present thought for a moment of questioning either the genuineness of the will or the validity of the testaments, save only a poor relation, a nephew, whose name was down for $500. He was indignant with the old lady and loudly declared that he would not put up with it. The next day he employed a briefless lawyer, one that had wit and brass enough and who had his way to make in the world, and was determined to make it.

Without waiting for the will to be probated or having legal authority to do so, Brea and his wife, the very day of the funeral, moved into the house and took possession. But before the week was out he had persuaded the three old maids that they would be happier if away from the scene of their parent's death, so he had them installed in their own house at Harlem, he remaining in undisturbed possession, waiting only for the will to be probated in order to take possession of upward of $200,000 in cash and bonds still in the custody of the old lady's bank. He had full possession of the house, and with entire confidence waited to be put in legal possession of all. But little did he dream that at that moment there was one poor torn sheet of foolscap in the library, casually thrust in a book, lying completely at his mercy to destroy, if he could only have known it, which was going to tear all his wealth from his grasp and drive him forth a foiled plotter, to become an adventurer and ultimately to perish a miserable outcast.

The executors of the will (the same in the forged will as in the genuine) were two simple shopkeepers living near. Eagan was the name of the nephew, and to the surprise of the executors his attorney notified them he should contest the will on behalf of his client, and warned them to dispossess Brea of the house until such time as the law decreed it to be his wife's property. The attorney knew the standing of James in his profession, and, being capable of pretty sharp practice himself, he, by some extraordinary intuition, boldly asserted his belief that the will was a forgery. The three sisters declared they would not contest the will, and had Brea acted wisely by fixing it up to give the attorney a liberal fee, and Eagan a paltry thousand dollars, it would have ended there. But, feeling perfectly secure, no doubt he thought an appearance of firmness would strengthen his position still more, and he was so rash as to denounce the attorney as a shyster and blackmailer.

The attorney's blood was up; he frightened the sisters into supporting him in disputing the will, and had Brea and his wife ousted from the house and the sisters reinstalled. Brea then attempted negotiations with the attorney. Cautious as he was, he said enough to convince the lawyer that for some reason he did not want the case to come before the courts; still the attorney was half inclined to join hands with Brea. In the mean time Ezra (this was the name of the man of law) had acquired great power over the sisters, and they all looked to him both as champion and protector. He resolved to be protector to one, at least, paying assiduous court to Jane, the youngest. Although past 30 and without education or accomplishments, she was warm-hearted and extremely sentimental, and a thrill went through her tender heart when it became evident that Ezra's attention pointed at her. She quickly made him a hero, and invested the thin-shanked, narrow-chested, waspish attorney with a thousand tender attributes, and when, after one month's acquaintance, she found herself alone with him in the poky little parlor and he asking her to be his wife, her woman's heart overflowed, and telling him she had loved him from the first hour they met she threw herself into his arms, crying she was the happiest and most favored woman in the world. In the midst of the happy lovers' talk she ran to the shelf, took down a book, and, opening it, revealed a soiled sheet of paper and asked her lover what it was. His love had given him a gift, indeed. His trained eye recognized it at once as a draft of a new will, in the handwriting of the deceased mother, and dated the very night of her death. It was a rough draft, but across the bottom was drawn the bold, masculine signature of the old lady. There were no signatures of witnesses, but Ezra was lawyer enough to know it would stand and that it revoked all previous wills. Calling in the two elder sisters he read the will to their amazed ears, and then and there wrote out a full statement as to the circumstance under which it was found. All four attached their signatures to the document, and when Ezra kissed his love a tender good night and went home, he hardly felt the paving stones under his feet, for he had carefully tucked away in the inside pocket of his vest, just over his heart, the little soiled piece of paper which told him in unmistakable terms that his fortune was made, and the wedding ceremony once over, that it was beyond all chance of change.

It would seem that the old lady, after her quarrel with her daughters, went to the library in a rage and made the draft of a new will. The chief change in it, as compared with the old genuine will which the conspirators had destroyed, was that it was more favorable to Jane, Ezra's wife to be. But what gave Ezra the greatest satisfaction was the fact that Brea's wife was down by name in the new will for one dollar lawful currency. The will was promptly filed and probated. Ezra gave bonds and was appointed one of the executors, and he had what to him was the immense satisfaction of denouncing Brea to his face as a forger and villain.

Before the discovery of the new will, while it was believed that Mrs. Brea was an heiress and her credit good, she and her husband had made use of the fact, and had incurred debts to a large amount. Brea got his wife to indorse his note for $10,000, and he borrowed that sum from the bankers, but as soon as the true state of the case was known, his creditors became clamorous and had him arrested on civil suits. Unable to give bonds, he was locked up in Ludlow Street Jail, and there he remained six months, until, acting upon Ezra's advice, the sisters agreed to pay all his debts and give him and his wife $1,000 each if they would live west of Chicago. This they were forced to accept, and went to Montana. Brea opened a saloon at Butte City, but he never recovered his spirits again. He became his own best customer, and that, of course, meant ruin, but what, after all, killed him was the knowledge that he had been for more than a score of days in full possession of that old house and had spent scores of hours alone in the old library, and yet had not discovered and destroyed the new will lying there at his mercy.

The Sheriff soon sold out his saloon, while his wife eloped with his best friend. Ruined in pocket, health and character, poor old Brea was left bare to every storm that blew. One morning, as the sun was rising over the town, surprising half a dozen belated gamblers in Ned Wright's saloon as they were getting up to leave, they found lying across the threshold the body of a man, ragged, emaciated, forlorn. It was Brea.

As soon as James had read the will he insisted upon having $5,000 from Brea at once, and he got the money. But when that thunderbolt of the new will fell on the two men, James sadly recognized that fortune and he would shake hands no more, so far as this world is concerned, and he resolved to chance returning to London before the whole of the $5,000 he had from Brea was gone. To London he went; he lived a few years in extreme poverty, driven to all manner of miserable shifts, and at last died. This man died who ought to have been buried in Westminster Abbey, so adding one more brilliant name to the long line of illustrious Lord Chancellors from Thomas a Becket and Cardinal Wolsey down; but he, hating his own soul, took the first step in wrongdoing, and, instead of resting in the mighty Abbey and bequeathing his dust as a precious legacy to succeeding generations, perished forlorn and alone, and was buried in a pauper's grave.



CHAPTER XII.

RESTEZ ICI, MES ENFANTS.

We all landed in Liverpool in the highest spirits, and at once took the train for London, enjoying the novelty of everything.

It was settled that George should pursue the venture alone in France, while I should go with Mac to Germany to act as his second there. To keep entirely clear myself, but at the same time to watch everything, to exchange the German notes he obtained and to be ready to help if any one should attempt to detain him.

Therefore, after completing certain preparations which required skill and considerable business knowledge, we departed to execute this new and, of course, last shuffle for fortune.

We had selected Berlin, Munich, Leipsic and Frankfort as the scenes of our operations in Germany. In France we sought to operate in Bordeaux, Marseilles and Lyons. At 8 p.m. Saturday we all crossed to Calais together, where George said good-bye, and, leaving us to take the train eastward to Berlin, he started west to Bordeaux. We were not to meet again until after our hurried rush through the Continent and our return to London with the proceeds. Before I give an account of Mac's adventure and my own for the next three days I will here give George's narrative in his own language, as related to us when we all met again in London:

After saying good-bye to you I arrived in Paris in due time, and sauntered about for two hours until the train left for Bordeaux, where I arrived at 8 o'clock Monday morning, and went at once to the Hotel d'Orient, and after a bath and breakfast repaired to the bankers. As soon as I presented my letters of introduction they received me with the greatest consideration, lavishing every attention upon me, inviting me to dinner and to a drive through the city afterward. I thanked them, and explained that I was obliged to decline, as my agent was waiting for me at Bayonne, where I had purchased some real estate, and, having been recommended to their firm, I should feel obliged if they would cash my draft for L2,000 and indorse it on my letter of credit. The manager replied that it was the custom of the French bankers to require twenty-four hours' notice before drawing a check, and asked me if the next day would not answer. "We shall be happy to assist you," said he, "in passing the time pleasantly." This was a new custom to me, but I answered instantly, expressing regret that the nature of my business precluded delay, it being necessary that I should reach Bayonne that night. "I suppose," continued I, "that your bankers will not mind your checking out a small sum without the usual notice. However, if it occasions any embarrassment or inconvenience, I can easily procure the money elsewhere." One of the partners replied that their bank would without doubt honor their check, and the matter should be attended to at once. I sat down for a half hour, conversing on a variety of topics. Of course, this was a most trying period to me; the least show of haste or anxiety might have betrayed me to those lynx-eyed, experienced men of business. In the midst of our conversation an undercurrent of thought kept running through my mind thus: "Who knows but they have sent a dispatch to the Union Bank of London, merely as a matter of business precaution, and that they are delaying me to get a reply? In that case I shall have a good opportunity to learn the pure French accent while passing my days in the Bagnio at Toulon." At last, however, the amount was paid over to me in French bank notes. I deliberately counted them and took leave, lighter in mind and heavier in purse by 50,000 francs.



I had arranged that I would send all the money I obtained to the Queen's Hotel, London, by post at the earliest possible moment after receiving it, that in the event of any accident to myself the money should be safe.

After receiving the money I inclosed it in a large envelope, addressing it to the hotel in London. I also wrote on the envelope: "Echantillons de papier" (i. e., samples of paper), after which I threw it into the postoffice.

As I wished to reduce the risk as much as possible (the train for Marseilles not leaving for three hours), I took a carriage and told the driver to take me toward the next station on the way to that city. After we were fairly out in the country I got outside and sat with the driver, chatting with him about the country we were driving through, arriving in the village about half an hour before the train from Bordeaux was due. I dismissed my driver at a small village cabaret (tavern), walked to the station, got aboard the train, and early the next morning was in Marseilles. I breakfasted at the Hotel d'Europe, and looked over the papers to see if the Bordeaux fraud had been discovered. As I could see no indication of it, about 10 a.m. I took a carriage and went to call on Messrs. Brune & Co.

On making myself known I was, as usual, received with the utmost courtesy, began to talk business, and one of the firm got into my carriage and rode with me to his bank to effect the sale of my draft on London for the sum of L2,500. Arriving at the bank I took a seat in the front office, while Mr. Brune went into the manager's room to introduce the transaction; the clerks eyed me, as I thought, suspiciously, but doubtless only curiously, because they perceived I was a foreigner. Another thing which I noticed sent a shiver through me. After Mr. Brune had been a few minutes in the manager's room, the bank porter stepped to the outer door, closed and locked it. It being but 12 o'clock, I imagined the precautionary measure must be due to my presence. "The Bordeaux affair is discovered and has been telegraphed all over France," was my first thought; "all is over with me. I am a candidate for a French prison, sure."

These and a thousand other thoughts flashed through my mind during the quarter of an hour preceding Mr. Brune's reappearance with his hands full of bank notes. I could hardly believe my eyes. I had suppressed all signs of the internal hurricane which raged during those prolonged moments of suspense.

Now the revulsion of feeling was so great that I nearly fainted. However, by a mental effort, I recovered my self-possession and effectually masked all inward convulsions.

Mr. Brune placed in my hands 62,000 francs, in notes of the Bank of France, and we then descended to the carriage and drove to my hotel, where we parted. I paid my bill, and at once made preparations to start for Lyons, which was to be the next and last scene of my operations in France.

As my train did not leave for three hours, I got into a carriage at some distance from the hotel and was driven toward the next station, located on the beautiful bay a few miles from Marseilles.

After driving along the shore of the bay for some miles I remember we met two women, dressed in the quaint costume common to that part of the country, each carrying a basket of eggs. I stopped the carriage and endeavored to enter into conversation with the pair, but could not understand a word of their patois. I then took a couple of eggs, handed out a silver franc piece, and drove on, leaving two astonished women standing in the road, gazing alternately at the piece of money and at the back of my carriage. Arriving at the station I found it would be an hour and a half to train time, and driving to a hotel on the shore I ordered dinner to be served in the upper room of a two-story tower overlooking the bay, with Marseilles in the distance. After dining I strolled along the beach, looking at some queer fish not found north of the Mediterranean, their colors vying in brilliancy with the plumage of tropical birds. Returning to the station I took a ticket for Lyons, stopping off at Arles about sunset, as I wished to see the amphitheatre and other relics of the Roman occupation.

I remained in Arles till midnight, then took the train, arriving in Lyons at 9 the next morning. Repairing to the Hotel de Lyons I had breakfast, and on looking over the papers became satisfied that as yet no discovery had been made. Therefore, I resolved to carry out my third and last financial enterprise and then return to London with all speed.

I called a carriage and drove at once to the establishment of Messrs. Coudert & Co. I sat near the desk, conversing with the head of the firm, and opened a dispatch I sent from Arles, and, after reading, handed it to him, saying: "I see that I shall have use for 60,000 francs, and must ask you to cash a draft on my letter of credit for that amount." He immediately stepped to the safe, took out a bundle of 1,000 franc notes, and counting out sixty, gave them to me.

As it was almost certain that the Bordeaux fraud would soon be discovered, I determined, now that my risky work was completed, to attempt an immediate escape from France by way of Paris and Calais. I did not, therefore, take the train direct from Lyons to Paris, but engaged a carriage and drove back to a junction toward Marseilles. Here I took a train which intersects further to the northward with another road leading through Lyons to Paris. After going the roundabout route above described, I was back at the Lyons station at 9 p.m. in a train bound for Paris, where I arrived without further incident.

The next morning (Sunday) as I left the railway station I thought detectives were watching me, but, in all probability, it was only the imagination of a guilty conscience. I was then wearing a full beard, and as a precautionary measure I, that morning, had all shaved off save the mustache. Not daring to leave Paris on the through express, which started at 3 o'clock p.m., nor to purchase a ticket to either Calais or London direct, I went to the station and took the noon accommodation train, which went no further toward Calais than Arras, a town some thirty miles from Paris. I arrived there about 1 p.m.

As it would be a couple of hours before the express train was due, I went to a small hotel and ordered dinner. To while away the time I took a stroll through the main street, where were many mothers and nurses with children, nice black-eyed French babies. As I was always a devoted lover of children and other small creatures, I stepped into a shop and bought a package of confectionery, which I distributed among the little ones and their smiling nurses, receiving therefor, almost invariably, the grateful exclamation, "Merci, Monsieur!" I gave some to children 8 and 10 years old, a crowd of whom soon gathered about me. Perceiving that I was attracting too much attention, it was clear that I must get rid of my young friends as soon as possible, or the police might also be attracted, and their presence would lead to unpleasant results in case the frauds had been discovered and inquiry was being made for an Englishman. Purchasing a second supply of candies I hastily gave them out, and with a "Restez ici, mes enfants," I passed through them and continued my walk up the street. Quite a number followed at a respectable distance, and I was cogitating how to double on them when I came to the gateway of the town cemetery, through which I hastily entered. The children remained outside and watched me as I walked up the slope and disappeared. At the rear of the cemetery I observed an old man at work in the adjoining field. I climbed upon the stone wall, which instantly crumbled away, and I was landed on the old Frenchman's domain without leave, amidst a pile of stones. Startled by the racket, he looked up from his digging, and, seeing a stranger uprising from the ruins of the fence, began consigning him to "le diable," with a volley of vigorous French expletives delivered in peasant patois. I listened to him, much amused for a moment, and then held up a five-franc piece. As soon as he beheld it a wondrous change came over him. He eagerly seized the silver and straightway showed me to a lane which led almost directly to the railway station. I purchased a ticket for Calais and took the Sunday afternoon express, and here I am.



CHAPTER XIII.

WE TALK OF THE STARS AND DO THE OTHER THING.

After we saw George off to Paris on the train Mac and I walked up and down the platform outside of the station, star-gazing. Mac, with his brilliant scholarship, elegant speech, logical force and fiery enthusiasm, made a most fascinating companion.

The study of mankind is man, the old proverb says, but like many other proverbs there is a full measure of unreality in it. It takes a good amount of arrogance and conceit for one to fancy he is going to study and understand men. No man can understand himself, and by no amount of experience or study will he ever come to understand that subtle thing he calls his mind or understand the motives that sway him.

I only wish one of those scientists who amuse themselves by pretending to study and understand human minds and motives could have sat in Mac's brain that night, have thought his thoughts and heard his speech, while remaining ignorant of our history and mission. Mac's mind was a storehouse of erudition, his memory a picture gallery, whose chambers were gilded and decorated with many a glowing canvas. As a child he was familiar with the Bible, the Old Testament particularly, and, improbable as it seems, was still a diligent student of Holy Writ. His mind was completely saturated with Bible imagery, yet there we were with our pockets full of forged documents walking up and down that platform star-gazing, while he talked with intelligent enthusiasm of those silver flowers in the darkened sky, of stellar space, how in its infinity it proved the presence of Deity. That with him there was no great and no little. That a thought sweeping across the God-given mind of an infant was as wonderful and as much an evidence of power as the millioned arch of radiant suns in the milky way. While speeding through Belgium on our way to the Rhine, he continued until the sun shone upon the horizon. It was something to stir one's enthusiasm to see his sublime faith in the mighty destiny of man, and to listen to him tell of the dignity and grace of every human soul and his sure faith that all would be garnered in the mighty plains of heaven, and he meant and felt it all; yes, meant all he said, believed all he said, believed that he himself was a potent factor in the Divine economy, and, furthermore, believed it behooved every man to do all things, to be all things good and true, yet on this Sunday morning we were fast speeding to the scene of our contemplated schemes, and with light hearts looked forward to a speedy return to London, fairly well laden with plunder.

We talked the whole night through, or rather Mac talked and I listened, and it was a treat to be a listener, he being the speaker.

A period was put to his oration by the train stopping at Luxemburg, we being summoned to breakfast.

On resuming our journey we took a nap, and when we awoke we found ourselves nearing the Rhine; about noon we arrived at Cologne, and going to Uhlrich platz, drank a bottle of Tokay in a famous wine cellar there, then hurrying back to the station we traveled across the sandy plain that stretches from near the Prussian border to the capital. We arrived soon after dark, and Mac went at once to the Hotel Lion de Paris and registered. I waited across the street in the shadow of the Empress Palace. Mac soon came out, and we went to dine in a large cafe. We enjoyed the novelty of the scene, and were never tired of marveling over the all-predominant militarism. Soldiers everywhere, all with good lungs and loud voices. We spent the evening seeing the town; at midnight we parted to meet and breakfast together at the cafe at 8. I then went to an obscure hotel and soon was in the land of dreams. In the morning I awoke with an anxious feeling, and found myself wishing it were night. At 8, the appointed time, I met Mac. He may possibly have felt some anxiety; if so, it was invisible.

When an honest man makes a mistake he has not only sympathy, but can always pick himself up again. With a rogue a mistake may easily be and almost always is fatal. We feared the unseen and the unexpected. Above all, our imagination magnified the danger while tormenting us with needless fears. In Germany the banks open at 9 o'clock, and we knew they would receive soon after 8 the letter we had deposited in the mail in London. We decided that it would be best for Mac to enter the banker's at five minutes after 9. We had discovered the night before the location of the firm. During breakfast Mac went carefully through his pockets, taking out every scrap of paper and turning everything over to me; then taking out from among the others in our bag the letters of credit and introduction we made our last scrutiny of them. We had not settled upon the amount he should ask for, but agreed that it should not in any case be less than 25,000 gulden ($10,000). If everything seemed favorable then Mac was to use his own judgment and demand any sum under 100,000 gulden ($40,000). His letter of credit was for L10,000, and we did not want to leave it behind. Of course, if we drew any less sum than the amount the credit called for, the sum we drew would be indorsed on the letter, and it would be returned to Mac and be instantly destroyed. So with the documents in his pockets and giving me a smile, out he went, and I followed after, keeping him in sight, and very anxious I was. We were on Unter den Linden. Walking one square and turning to the left half a block away were the bankers—Hebrew, by the way. I saw Mac saunter up the steps and disappear from view. Outside of America money transactions are carried on with the utmost deliberation; to an American with exasperating slowness; so I thought it possible he might remain invisible for a whole half-hour, and a long half-hour it would be to me. In order to have my anxiety shortened by even a half minute we had arranged that when he came out if he had the money he was to stroke his beard as a signal. If it was all right, but delayed, he was to put his handkerchief to his face, but if everything was wrong he was to clasp his hands across his breast for a moment.



In that event I was to keep a lookout to see if he was followed; if so, I was to give him a signal, when he would go straight to his hotel—in passing through would dispose of his tall hat, and put on the soft hat he had in his pocket—then pass out the back entrance and hasten to a certain hat shop, where I would meet him, and take a cab to a little town six miles away, called Juterbock, where all trains going south, west and east stopped. While driving out, we would settle on some plan; but this emergency did not arise. I had stationed myself in a little shop across the street, and from that vantage ground was watching for Mac's reappearance, and just as I had settled myself for a weary watch out he came, smiling and stroking his beard. A moment's glance satisfied me he was not followed. I hastened after, and, coming up with him as he turned the corner, he merely said 2,600 pounds ($13,000). It seemed too good to be true, and I said: "I don't believe you." He replied: "It is all right, my boy; here it is," at the same time thrusting a big package containing gulden notes into my hand. We instantly separated, I hastening to different but near-by brokers' offices, buying for nearly the full amount French bank notes and gold. We went straight to the hatter's and bought one of those broad-brimmed German student hats, which, when he had placed it on his head, put on a pair of spectacles and parted his flowing beard in the middle, made such a transformation in his appearance that I myself would have passed him unrecognized. In the mean time I had picked out a cabdriver, a stupid-looking, conservative-appearing old fellow, and engaged him to drive "mich und meinen freund nach Juterbock." So we entered the cab, an open one-horse affair, and started for that town. Our next objective point was Munich, but as the train did not leave until noon we preferred to spend the time in a pleasant drive, and at the same time make assurance of our escape doubly sure. Around Berlin the country is flat and uninteresting. Our driver was a crabbed old fellow, but we managed to extract some amusement out of him.

What pleased us greatly was to see him from time to time take out from under his seat a loaf of black bread and cut off a slice for himself and one for his horse, and then, seeing we were in no hurry, he would get down, and, walking beside the horse, would feed him and himself at the same time. When we arrived at Juterbock we had an hour to spare, so we drove to an inn, and ordering a bottle of Hochheimer for ourselves and beer and pretzels for our driver, we passed the time pleasantly. In the mean time we had touched a match to the letter of credit, and at train time we went by separate routes to the depot. Each purchased his own ticket; to Nuremberg mine was, his to some near-by city, and at 12.30 we boarded the train and were off for Munich and more profit there on the morrow.

Late at night we arrived, and after locating the bank we went to a theatre, where a variety show was going on, and found the performances good; quite up, in fact, to similar exhibitions here. When the house closed we separated for the night, each going to a different hotel. Our plan was to secure all the cash we could in Munich in time to take a train that left for Leipsic a little before 10 o'clock, arriving there soon after 1, in time to visit the Leipsic bank the same day; then leaving the city that night we would be in Frankfort early on Wednesday. We would then make all haste to escape from Germany to the shelter of mighty London.

Tuesday morning at 7 we met at a restaurant, as agreed, and soon had over again our Berlin experience; but the amount we obtained here was only 12,000 gulden (L1,000), Mac thinking it best to ask for a small sum, Munich not being much of a commercial city. In cashing his credit, although the amount was in gulden, the bank paid him in New Saxon thalers, the thaler being 70 cents. We did not like the new thaler notes, and wanted to change them there, but there was no time if we were to catch the 10 o'clock train. I had Mac's derby hat in a box, and in three minutes he had the hat and spectacles on, and, with his beard again parted, the transformation was complete, and he, a perfect picture of the dreamy German student, sauntered down to the depot and bought his ticket for Leipsic. I followed him, carrying all the cash and documents in my bag. We arrived at Leipsic soon after dinner. Times were brisk, with plenty of bustle there, for the great Leipsic fair was in full blast. Here was an opportunity missed; we ought to have had three or four letters to as many banks. The place was thronged and the banks were paying out and receiving money in thousands. On the train I had sat apart from Mac, but in the same compartment, which was filled. Arriving at Leipsic he left the train, and, walking up the street, entered a wine room, where I joined him. He scrutinized his letters carefully, and, placing them in his pocket, in five minutes was in the bank. Seeing the bank was full of customers, instead of remaining outside to watch, I entered and stood among the crowd, anxious, of course, but letting nothing escape.

Instead of waiting or trying to transact his business with a subordinate, Mac demanded to see the head of the firm. He was received at once, and upon the production of his letters was treated with the utmost consideration. He asked for 50,000 gulden ($20,000), which was given him at once. The amount for fair time at Leipsic was not large. In a very short time the business was done. The money being paid in gulden notes, it made a pretty big bundle. As agreed upon, he went direct to the cafe, carrying the money, while I stopped at a broker's office and bought French money, notes and gold, for my new Saxon thalers. There the transformation scene was re-enacted, but we could not leave town until 5 o'clock. We spent the time visiting the famous fair. Leipsic overflowed with the fair. It was fair on the brain with every one. This annual fair has been a yearly feature of the old city for four centuries, and draws to it people from all over the European world, even from furthest Russia. Soon after 5 o'clock we were on the train, but, for some reason which I now forget, we did not arrive until 10 o'clock the next day at Frankfort.

Frankfort, the home and still the fortress of the Rothschilds.

In Frankfort the Bourse opens at 10 a.m., and closes at 2. During those hours the bankers are to be found on the Exchange only, and not at their offices. Many of the offices are then deserted and fast locked. It proved to be the case with the firm to which our letters were addressed, and if we were to do any business in Frankfort we had of necessity to wait until 2 p.m., but as it was now Wednesday and the third day since our affair in Berlin, the first draft drawn on London, if promptly mailed, would probably have been delivered at the Union Bank this morning. Of course, as soon as the manager of the foreign department found a draft for a large sum drawn by a stranger and made payable to their correspondent in Berlin, he would at once surmise that a fraud had been committed and undoubtedly would send a telegram to Germany to that effect. The forgery once known in Berlin, the rumor of it, with a thousand exaggerations, might easily fly to every Bourse in Europe, and I feared that by 2 o'clock the story might possibly become known on the Frankfort Exchange. So far we had $43,000, the result of our two days' operations, but we had from the first great hopes of Frankfort, chiefly because it was the money centre of the Continent, therefore the bankers were used to handling large sums of money, and so long as everything was all right they would hand out any sum, however large. We really ought to have taken in Frankfort first. Had we done so, we probably would have left the town with $50,000.

Soon as we arrived we went to a cafe, and, leaving Mac there and all the money and papers in the bag, I hastened to the bankers, hoping to find them open and ready for business. In that case I should have talked business—that is, about having letters of credit, etc.—and I could probably have told by their actions if any rumors of our transaction of the two preceding days had reached the city. Had this been so the bankers would have betrayed it by their looks and questions, and would have been anxious to see my credits. Had such questions been asked, I would have simply said that my letters of credit had not yet arrived from Paris. This would have, of course, thrown them off the track, and given us time to move off.

But when I arrived I found the doors locked. I at once returned to Mac and said: "We are through; let us catch the train for Cologne at once." He was anxious to wait until 4 o'clock and make a dash. We both knew the Germans were slow, and might not think of using the telegraph, and we agreed that we had more than an even chance of success; but Mac said: "My boy, you are my manager, and I leave it for you to decide." Then I said we were through, and that he should take no more chances; so we settled it right there, in the little French-German cafe, and taking out all the letters and every scrap of paper we destroyed them.

This decision, of course, brought a great relief—for the strain had been greater than either of us had been willing to confess to the other. So, easy in mind, we ordered lunch. Of course, we would have no news of George until we met in London. We had no anxiety about him; we felt certain he would come out all right. While waiting for the train we discussed the future, and took it for granted that he would secure as much as we had done. We counted ourselves possessors of $90,000. Of this, fully $10,000 would go to our three honest detectives in New York; we would spend about another $10,000, leaving us about $23,000 each. Making this calculation, we sat down, and with the cash safe in our hands we began planning for the future. Did we say: "Now we have a sum of money ample to start us in an honest business, and, as we have promised, we will quit?" Nothing of the kind; we simply ignored our many promises and resolutions. Our ideas had grown with our success, and we felt poor; so we quickly came to the conclusion that it was the part of wisdom, since we were already so far in, to secure $100,000 each, and then to call a halt; so there in Frankfort, in the very hour of our success, we found ourselves planning new schemes, and further down the Primrose Way.

Soon after the noon hour the train started, but first I took Mac's tall hat to the hatter's and left it to be ironed, this, of course, to get rid of it, and leave no trace behind; then, returning to the cafe, we started. I fell behind and we made our way separately to the depot. Mac had absolutely nothing about him save $2,000 in French paper and gold. I had over $40,000 in notes and some gold in my bag. He bought a ticket for Amsterdam, and I one for Belgium, both taking us through Cologne. I saw him safe into a car, while I sauntered carelessly up and down the station, swinging my bag and staring at everything; as the train was about to start I entered another carriage. The railway from Frankfort to Cologne follows the river bank for the entire distance. We quickly passed Bingen, Mayence, Coblenz, and about dusk reached Cologne. This is an important junction, and here we had to change cars, having twenty minutes to wait. Both of us went direct to the cathedral. It is close to the station, and there we had a few minutes' talk. Here Mac threw away his ticket to Amsterdam and I gave him mine to Brussels. We agreed to take separate cars at the station, but at the first stopping place I was to join him in his compartment, for we had before us an all-night ride to Ostend (the rival port to Calais), where we would embark for Dover. At the depot I purchased a ticket to London via Ostend. We left Cologne all right, and at the first station out I alighted and joined him.

We had a pleasant all-night journey, arriving very early the next morning at Ostend. How lovely the sea looked, with the morning sun shining on its restless waves!

We got to Dover without accident, and two hours after the express landed us in London, and we drove at once to our appointed rendezvous, the Terminus Hotel, London Bridge. We had no news of George, but that evening, opening the door in response to a loud knock, he walked in, receiving a boisterous welcome.



CHAPTER XIV.

I PLAY THE SILVER KING.

The next morning we all drove to Hampton Court, the creation of Wolsey, and when tired we went to the Star and Garter. There we talked over matters, and came to the conclusion we must have a hundred thousand apiece before we could afford to settle down at home.

We resolved to send off the "percentage" to Irving & Company, and to pay all debts we were owing at home.

Mac's heart went out to his father. He longed for a reconciliation, and he determined to send him $10,000 and so make good the money his father had given him to establish himself in New York, at the same time write the old gentleman he had made a big strike in a cotton speculation, in order to explain his having so large a sum to spare.

Our accounts were pretty well mixed up, and I hit upon a novel way to settle them and give each of us an equal start. My proposal was that we should pool everything. To put every dollar we had in the world on the table then and there, and let the firm assume all obligations, purely personal as they were, save only the Irving "percentage," and pay them from the general fund, then divide the balance. This was agreed to, and the queerest balance sheet ever made out was soon ready.



We all had planned certain gifts and presents to friends in America, a considerable sum in the aggregate; all the cost of this was assumed by the firm. The main item was $10,000 to the New York police. When the balances were finally struck nearly $30,000 had disappeared from our cash capital, but on the whole it was a good plan. It drew us all closer together, consequently increased our faith in each other and at the same time prevented all chances of future dispute. This matter settled, we determined to have a little recreation by taking a tour in Italy. After studying guide books and routes we resolved to take a steamer from Southampton to Naples, spend a few days there in seeing the town and visiting Pompeii, etc., then north to Rome.

We had made considerable preparation for our tour, when a circumstance arose that not only changed our plans, but in the sequel changed our lives as well.

We had been paying another visit to Hampton Court, and in place of dining at the Star and Garter we returned by boat on the Thames and dined at Cannon Street Hotel. Before going to the hotel we took a stroll down Lombard street, and, arriving at the intersection of streets opposite the Bank of England, we came to a halt. While watching the human whirlpool in that centre of throbbing life, I turned to my friends, and, pointing to the Bank of England, said: "Boys, you may depend upon it, there is the softest spot in the world, and we could hit the bank for a million as easy as rolling off a log." No response was made at the time, and the casual remark was apparently forgotten. Well for us if it had been.

The next day we went for a drive to Windsor, and were to dine at a famous old roadside inn. On arriving we, of course, visited the castle, and, while viewing the decorations in the stately throne room, Mac stopped us with the remark that something I had said the day before had been sticking in his mind. He went on to say that we wanted a hundred thousand apiece in order to return home in good shape; that the Bank of England had plenty to spare, and it was well for the lightning to strike where the balances were heavy. The bank would never miss the money, and he firmly believed the whole directorate of the fossil institution was permeated with the dry rot of centuries. The managers were convinced that their banking system was impregnable, and, as a consequence, it would fall an easy victim, provided, as we suspected, the bank was really managed by hereditary officials.

Here was a picture, indeed. Three American adventurers, two of them barely past their majority, standing in the throne room of Windsor Castle, and plotting to strike a blow at the money bags of the Bank of England!

The idea grew on us rapidly. After dinner we sat in the twilight of that old inn and discussed the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street from a point of view from which she had probably never been discussed before. I can imagine with what scorn the idiotically puffed and bepuffed magnates of the bank would have regarded us had they known of our discussion.

They afterwards boasted to me, as they had boasted for a century, that their system was perfect, and as a proof that it was so they widely proclaimed they had not changed it in a hundred years. They had proclaimed so loudly and so long its absolute invulnerability that they not only believed it themselves, but all the world had come to believe it as well. "Safe as the bank" was a proverb everywhere underlying the English tongue.

In our discussion we speedily came to the conclusion that any system of finance unchanged in detail for a century, belief in the perfection of which was an article of faith not alone with the officials charged with its management, but with the people of England at large, must, in the very nature of the case, lie wide open to the attack of any man bold enough to doubt its impregnability and resolute to attack.

What a figment of the imagination this boasted impregnability of the Bank of England was the sequel will show. And as for those masters of finance, those earthly Joves of the financial world who sat serene above the clouds, "the Governor and Company of the Bank of England," they soon had the whole money world shaking with laughter when they stood revealed the Simple Simons they proved to be.

We wanted a hundred thousand apiece now, and had resolved to get it from the Bank of England. Such was our confidence that we never thought failure possible. Truly, if there ever was a plan laid in ignorant enthusiasm this was one. Here we were, absolutely without any knowledge of the inner workings of the institution, strangers in London, being under assumed names, without business of any kind, and not only unable to give any references, but unable to stand any investigation.

Exactly how we were to manipulate the bank we did not know. We were inclined, now we had some fifty thousand dollars capital, to avoid so serious a thing as forgery, but had an idea for one of us to obtain in some way an introduction to the bank and to use all the money of the party to establish a credit. In the mean time all were to get in the swim in or around the exchange, and use the one who had the account in the bank for reference for the others. If some good chance offered to go into a straightforward business we could drop forever all thoughts of breaking the law again. This was the theory; in practice, we were almost certain to try on the game we had of late played so successfully.

In conference it was determined an account should be opened with the bank, anyway; after that was done we could decide what use to put it to.

As I had not yet shown up in the previous transactions, I volunteered to go to the front in this; so, telling my two friends to go to the Continent—Italy, if they liked—I would remain in London and manage to get the account started. They took me at my word, and a day or two after sailed from Liverpool to Lisbon, and passed through Portugal to Spain, visiting the chief cities of that country.

I was left alone in London and began prospecting at once, setting all my wits at work to see how I could manage to get an introduction to the bank. I had only $20,000 to start the thing with, as we did not think it policy to risk our entire capital in one place. My first idea was to find some solicitor of standing who kept his account at the Bank of England, to give him a retaining fee of L100 to act as my legal adviser, telling him some fairy tales about establishing a branch firm in London, and engage him, as soon as we started, to devote all his time to our business at a fat salary. But there were many objections to having a lawyer to introduce me, they being wide awake and liable to scrutinize too closely. If one should depart so far from his policy of caution as to introduce a new client he might after the introduction easily notify the bank that I was a stranger to him and perhaps advise them to investigate, and investigation was the one thing I must avoid. Of course, one is supposed to give reference, even if introduced. Although I had no acquaintance with this bank's methods, yet I was confident that all those at the top must be a stupid lot of red-tape sticklers, and I resolved to do my business with them alone. I was pretty sure that the routine of an introduction once well over, so as to give me access to the officials, they could be easily satisfied and made to help on the fraud, in place of being obstacles. The result proved my surmise correct, for such a lot of self-sufficient barnacles no institution in the world was ever burdened with.

The dry rot of officialism permeated the bank through and through; even the bank solicitors, the Messrs. Freshfields, were merely "highly respectable," and sometimes when that term is applied in England it indicates mediocrity. The Freshfields managed to spend four hundred and fifty thousand dollars of the bank's money in our prosecution. That fact alone would have ruined the reputation of any law firm in America, but the ring of toadies who control that close corporation called the Benchers of the Inn was loud in its praise of this firm for the extreme ability shown in working up the case for the bank.

I finally made up my mind to find some old established shopkeeper who kept an account at the bank, and secure an introduction through him.

I determined to carry out the plan at once. The thing was first of all to find my man; so at 2 o'clock that afternoon I stationed myself near the bank to watch depositors coming out and then follow them. Four out of five depositors when they take money to the bank come out examining their passbooks. That afternoon I followed several; of these I selected three; one was an optician and electrician, an old-established firm, doing a large business. Another was an East India importing house. The third was Green & Son, tailors.

The next day I went to the optician and purchased an expensive opera glass, and had him engrave on it "To Lady Mary, from Her Friend," and paid him for it with a L100 note; then I went to the East India firm and bought a costly white silk shawl and a lap robe fit for a prince, and looked at a camel's hair shawl at one hundred guineas.

I had brought from America with me a Western hat, and as I had resolved to play the Silver King, I wore it when going around among the tradesmen. The English had, and still have, absurd ideas concerning that desirable article, "The American Silver King." The stage article they take for the genuine, and devoutly believe that the pavements are thick with them in America, all marching around with rolls of thousand-dollar bills in their pockets, which they throw out to bootblacks and bartenders.

Therefore, I resolved to play this role. After my purchase of the shawl and robe, I drove in my brougham up to Green & Son, and entered, smoking a cigar, and with my big hat pulled well down over my eyes. Soon as I saw the elder Green I felt I had my man. Certainly I had hit well, for the firm (fathers and sons) had been depositors in the Bank of England for near a century, and had considerable wealth; but, English fashion, stuck steadily to business. This is a firm of ultra-fashionable tailors, that, like the historic Poole next door, charge for their reputation more than for the fit of their garments.

One of the firm and an attendant flew to wait upon me, but, paying no attention to them, I started on a slow march around the establishment, examining the array of cloths, they following at my heels. I went down one side and returned on the other to the door. Arriving there I halted and, pointing first at one roll of cloth and then another, said: "One suit from this, three suits from that, two from that, a topcoat from that, another from that, another suit from that, one from that. Now, show me some dressing gowns." The first shown was twenty guineas. I instantly said that would do. One may be certain the tailor and his assistant flew around, one to measure and the other to write the measurements of this American sheep that Providence had led astray into their shop. When asked my name and address, I gave F. A. Warren, Golden Cross Hotel, and then, for fear I might forget my name, I made a memorandum of it and placed it in my vest pocket. They bowed me out, evidently greatly impressed with my taciturnity, and especially my big hat, confident also that they had hooked a fortune in a genuine American silver king. I entered the brougham and drove directly to the Golden Cross Hotel, Charing Cross, and there registering "F. A. Warren" and securing a room I left for my hotel. This room at the Golden Cross I kept for a whole year, but never slept there. It was the only address the Bank of England ever had of their distinguished customer, Mr. Frederic Albert Warren.

I did not trouble any more about the other two store people, but looked about the town, amusing myself. In due time I called and tried the garments on, and, when ready to deliver, I left the cash with the hotel people with orders to pay the bill, which was done. There the matter rested for ten days, when I drove up again, and, remaining in my carriage, the head of the firm came out to me and I remarked: "I must have more garments; duplicate that order," and drove off.

A week after I called to have them tried on, and then said that as I was going to Ireland for a few days' shooting with Lord Clancarty, I would send down a portmanteau for the garments and call for it on my way from the hotel to the station. So I bought the most expensive trunk I could find and sent it to the tailor. When the day came for me to call I provided myself with six L500 bank notes, five L100 and about fifty L5 notes to go on the bottom of the roll. Before leaving my hotel I had a large trunk put on the cab, and then taking inside of it all the dressing bags, rugs, silk umbrellas and canes in the whole party, I drove to the tailor's, paid my bill with a L500 note and had the portmanteau put on the cab. I turned to go, but, halting at the door, I remarked quite in a casual manner: "By the way, Mr. Green, I have more money than I care to carry loose in my vest pocket to Ireland; I think I will leave it with you." He replied, "Certainly, sir," and as I was pulling the roll out of my vest pocket he said: "How much is it, sir?" "Only L4,000; it may be L5,000;" to which he replied: "Oh, sir, I would be afraid to take charge of so much; let me introduce you to my bank." He ran for his hat, accompanied me to the Bank of England, and, calling one of the sub-managers, introduced me as an American gentleman, Mr. F. A. Warren, who desired to open an account. A check and a pass book were brought and the signature book laid before me for my autograph, and I was requested to sign my name in full, so I christened myself Frederic Albert. I drove to the North Eastern station and telegraphed the boys at Barcelona that the thing was done and they could, if they liked, curtail their excursion and return to England at once.

So the first step had been taken and successfully. We talked of now giving up all further idea of breaking the law, and starting in London as brokers and promoters of stock companies. The plan was for me to take the money of the firm, L10,000, place it all in the Bank of England, and begin to buy and sell stock and keep my money moving in and out of the bank. Then George and Mac were to start an office and launch out as promoters and refer to Mr. Warren of the Bank of England. This would place them on a footing at once, and I would gradually drop out of the Bank of England after introducing George and Mac in their right names. This was a grand plan, and had we only carried it out fortune would have been ours, and honor as well, but we were too impatient of any delay in securing wealth and overconfident of our success and cleverness. Above all, we were anxious to get home again. But I have got somewhat ahead of my story.

Soon after I had a telegram from George and Mac saying that they would arrive in time for a late dinner, and for me to wait and dine with them. At the time I was living at the Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria Station. We had a pleasant meeting and a good dinner to celebrate it. I exhibited my check book, and they were eager to know all details of my interviews, not only at the bank, but with the tailor, and over the wine I related with great spirit the details of the little comedy. I have to this very day a vivid recollection of the shouts of laughter that arose from my companions during the recital. We laughed then, but we did not laugh for the next twenty years, neither did we partake of any sumptuous banquets. In the world of crime success is failure, and perhaps never had the absolute accuracy of that statement been so fully confirmed as in our own lives.

That merriment of ours ended in anguish too deep for words. For twenty years I never looked upon a star, nor saw the face of a woman or of a child; that is to say, from my early years when the heart beats fast and the blood runs warmly in the veins. That fearful gap of time was filled to the brim with the peltings of a pitiless storm, hungry, driven, toiling like a galley slave under the Summer's burning sun, or thinly clad exposed to every blizzard and all the whirling storms of Winter, until my early manhood had vanished and the best years of my prime were all melted away, and at last I came forth from my dungeon, but with the mark of suffering and desolation burned deep upon me, to face a world of which I could not but be ignorant.



CHAPTER XV.

PIRATICAL CRUISE IN TROPICAL SEAS.

The way to the bank vaults with their treasures had been laid open, but there remained many matters of detail to be carried out before we could enter them. There promised to be a delay of several months, but we were impatient over the prospect of delay of even six months in securing the fortunes we wanted, and which we had come to consider essential to our happiness.

Our plan to ease the bank of a million or two of her forty million sterling was, roughly stated, to borrow from day to day large sums upon forged securities, the bad feature of the plan, from our point of view, being the fact that the bank, as a matter of course, would retain these documents, which could be produced at any future time to found a criminal charge against us, provided justice ever had the opportunity to weigh us in her balances.

Protected as we were by the police in New York, we felt that the chance of our identity ever becoming known was remote. Still, there was an element of chance we wanted to eliminate entirely. In our recent raid on the bankers of France and Germany we never exhausted our letter of credit, but had the amount of cash we drew indorsed upon it, and brought the actual forged document away and instantly destroyed it. Had we been arrested in Europe, no doubt, under the laws prevailing there, they would have made us suffer upon the verbal statement of the banker; but in America to convict one of forgery the document itself must be produced in court.

I paid several visits to the bank, depositing and drawing out various sums of money. I had talks with the sub-manager, and, on various pretexts to get information, I interviewed bankers and money men in the city. Finally, after many conferences, we came to the conclusion that the boasted impregnability of the bank was imaginary, and that the vanity and self-sufficiency of the officials would some day prove a snare to the institution they ruled over.

The next conclusion we arrived at was that, easy as it might be to defraud the bank, yet there was an infinity of detail which would require six months of preparations to carry out. Then, again, the word forgery began to look black in our vocabulary. We knew John Bull was an obstinate fellow when he once got his back up, and we began to think it wise to keep beyond his dull weather eye.

Finally, as the result of many debates, we resolved to abandon the Bank of England matter temporarily, possibly forever, because it was too dangerous, and the delay would be too great. Our new plan was to go to South America on a buccaneering expedition. There being no cable in 1872, and it took, as we ascertained, forty days to send a letter from Rio de Janeiro to Europe and get a reply; so that, if we executed an operation boldly and well, we might hope for anything. We resolved to go to South America, but to leave my account stand in the bank, and if our success was as great as expected, we would let the Bank of England keep the million or two we wanted, and continue her century-long slumber until the time came when some adventurous but unscrupulous mind should accept the temptation she held out to seize some of her bags of sovereigns.

Our plan was, in the main, similar to the one we had lately used with so much success in Germany and France. Only in this case we proposed to use the credit of the London and Westminster Bank, and, therefore, obtained the documents required to carry through such an operation successfully.

The steamer Lusitania of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company was advertised to sail on the 12th, and we determined to go by her. Our plan was to go on the same steamer, to be ever within supporting distance of each other, and yet pretend to be strangers, or if associating together, to act so as to make all observers think our acquaintance merely casual.

Mac had his tickets in the name of Gregory Morrison. He carried letters of introduction to Maua & Co., who had branches in all the coast cities down the coast, including Montevideo and Buenos Ayres on the east coast, and Lima, Valparaiso and Callao on the west.

The steamers of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company, leaving Liverpool, touch at Bordeaux, Santander and Lisbon, then are off 6,000 miles away to Rio, never slowing the engines for a moment during the voyage. Two days at Rio to discharge cargo and take in coal, then off again to Montevideo, discharge cargo, and coal again, then away round the Horn, and thousands of miles up the west coast, touching everywhere to land mails and passengers; finally after 14,000 miles of sea travel they reach Callao, then take the home track for Liverpool.

Modern buccaneers, indeed, were we, engaged in a nineteenth century piratical descent upon the shores of South America. Instead of the burly, much-beweaponed pirate of other years, we were mild-mannered, soft-spoken, courteous youngsters, yet our steel pen and bottle of ink were more deadly instruments or at least of surer fire and of better aim, than the long toms and horse pistols of the piratical braves of the seventeenth century. Our hopes of gain were high, and we counted on an ample return for the trouble of our adventure. I say trouble, for danger we feared none, so confident were we of our ability to carry off everything with a high hand, and so complete was our faith in each other that we had no anxiety as to the result, but simply regarded our trip as a pleasant voyage into tropic seas—a happy change from the March wind and sombre skies of England to the bright skies and balmy air of the tropical world in the Winter months.

I had a balance in the bank of L2,335, and we, as a matter of policy, wanted to have our capital ready at hand. The bank has a rule that a depositor must never have less than L300 to his credit. My friends were somewhat skeptical as to whether the bank did not regard their new customer, F. A. Warren, with some suspicion and as a depositor to be watched. My personal relations with the bank people convinced me everything was all right, but to convince my friends I determined to give them a proof that the bank would break their rule on my account.

The Monday before we sailed for Brazil I called at the bank and told the sub-manager that I was going to St. Petersburg and on to Southern Russia for a time to inspect some work I was doing there, and I purposed to withdraw my account. He begged me not to do so, said many flattering things to me, and urged that it would be convenient to have an open account in London.

"Well," I said, looking at my passbook, "I see I have L2,335 to my credit. I will leave the odd L35 with you." He instantly acquiesced. Had he said: "No, you must leave at least L300, as our rules require," I should have said "All right," and made it five hundred. I drew out the L2,300 at once, intending to deposit L300 before leaving London, but in the haste of our preparations I neglected it, and my balance at the bank stood L35 for all the weeks I was on our piratical cruise to the Spanish Main.

Storing most of our baggage in London, we took the train to Liverpool, and, purchasing tickets for Rio, we went on board the good ship Lusitania, but not the "good" ship, for her first trip, this being her second, had won for her the name of being unlucky, and Liverpool insurance men, no less than Liverpool sailors, do not bank on an unlucky ship—their faith of ill luck following an unlucky ship has been justified in thousands of instances, as it was in the case of the Lusitania. But I am not going to relate the after history of the ship.

From the hour of our arrival in Liverpool we were outwardly strangers, and during the voyage no one ever suspected that we were anything else. We soon discovered we had a pleasant company of fellow voyagers, and as we steamed out of the Mersey and headed southward we settled down to have a good time. Boreas was friendly, and away we sped across the Bay of Biscay, rapidly neared the mouth of the Garonne, on an estuary of which is situated the old city of Bordeaux. Arriving there, the ship lay at anchor for some hours, taking in and discharging freight, and receiving emigrants for various parts of South America. When the steamer was about to leave, it was a strange and rather comical sight to witness the farewells and leave-takings from the crowds of friends who had come to see them off. The customary performance appeared to me so peculiar that I will describe it as well as I can after so many years: Two men standing face to face, one clasps the other round the body, the other passive, then leaning back lifts the party clear off the ground once, twice or thrice, probably according to the degree of relationship or amount of affection; then the operation is reversed, the embraced becoming the embracer. In some cases the ceremonial is repeated the second or third time, neither kissing nor crying being the fashion there.

The next morning we were off the coast of Spain, watching the silvery gleam from the ice-clad peaks of the Pyrenees—at least those of us who were not engaged in the more disagreeable employment of discharging their debt to Father Neptune. However, by the time the ship arrived at the small port of Santander the passengers were mostly recovering from the mal de mer occasioned by the rough water in the Bay of Biscay. While leaving this tiny landlocked harbor, one of the propeller blades touched the rocky bottom, and broke short off, but our ship continued her voyage with undiminished speed, and within three days was steaming up the Tagus to Lisbon. Here the passengers who wished to avail themselves of the opportunity had a few hours on shore; then we were off for the long diagonal run across the Atlantic.

"The Lady of the Lusitania," as she was called, because there was no other lady among the saloon passengers, was the wife of a captain in the British army, who was going out for a few months' hunting on the pampas of Buenos Ayres, and, of course, accompanied by many dogs, with an assortment of guns. There was also a chaplain in the British navy who was going out to join his ship at Valparaiso. A strange character was he; a big, burly man, about 28 years of age, the most inveterate champagne drinker on board, and that is saying a good deal. Whenever he met any of the "jolly" ones of the saloon passengers it was "Come, old fellow, will you toss me for a bottle of fizz?" as he called his favorite wine, and he had no lack of accepters. The majority in the saloon consisted of a party of fifteen young Englishmen, civil engineers, who were going under the leadership of a Swedish colonel to survey, for the Brazilian Government, a railway line across the southern part of Brazil, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. In all there were twenty-five young men, full of frolic and fun, who made things rather lively about the ship. They went in for everything from which any fun could be extracted. At the equinoctial line they roped in the "greenhorns" to look through the field glasses at the line, and having fastened a hair across the field of view, of course, we could all see it plainly. Father Neptune came on board and those of the crew who had never crossed the Equator were hunted out of their hiding places, dragged on deck, lathered with a whitewash brush dipped in old grease, shaved with a lath-razor, and then tumbled unceremoniously backward into a cask of water.

After a prosperous voyage of three weeks we arrived within sight of the famous "Sugar Loaf," and were duly disembarked at the Custom House, our baggage passed, and were off to our hotels, each going to a different one, and each registering the name our letters of credit and introduction bore. While in Rio we went by day in the parks or cafes, and spent our evenings together, having a most enjoyable time.

This was our first experience of the tropics, and life under the Equator proved as novel and as fascinating as it ever does to the inhabitant of a cold climate. The show of tropical fruits in the markets was magnificent, and, although strangers are warned not to partake of it, yet our health was so good and our digestion so perfect that we disregarded all warnings and gratified our palates without stint, with no bad results following.

However, we felt after all that we were there on business; we wanted plunder, in fact, and not pleasure, in Rio. Our pleasure lay in Europe or America, there in the good time just ahead, when, as moneyed men, we returned, and, surrounded by those nearest and dearest, we would enjoy life to the full.

Mac was the grand swell of our party, and, wanting to excel us all in his financial successes, was eager to go to the front. Accordingly, we fixed everything so that he could everywhere strike the first and the heaviest blow.

Of course, on our twenty-two days' voyage we had ample time for discussion, and before we passed the Equator had settled on our plan. First of all, it was agreed that one of the party should keep his neck out of the noose, to stand by if either of the others came to grief. Very much to my satisfaction, it was again decided that I was the man to stand from under.



The firm of Maua in Rio was the most considerable in all South America, and Mac's introductions were to this firm. The plan was for Mac to present himself to Maua & Co., and to draw within twenty-four hours, at least L10,000, so as to make sure of our expenses, and a day or two before steamer day to arrange for a very large sum, twenty or thirty thousand pounds. As soon as that was obtained, George was to go to the Bank of London and Rio de Janeiro, and secure as much as he thought it safe to ask for, five or ten thousand pounds. This would be paid in Brazilian paper money, which I was to exchange for sovereigns. Then I was to buy a ticket for myself on the steamer going south, take the gold off and stow it away in my stateroom. At the last moment, in the bustle and confusion of sailing, Mac and George were to slip into my stateroom, conceal themselves and sail with the steamer, and when once out of the harbor, to see the purser, explain that they had arranged with a friend to purchase tickets; but, as he had not put in an appearance, they would be obliged to pay a second time. We purposed to go down the east coast and up the west to Lima. Visiting the cities as we went from Lima, we would go to Panama, there catch the steamer to San Francisco, and after a pleasant sojourn in California go overland to New York with a million.

This was our plan, but, as all the world knows, there is a vast difference between making plans and carrying them into successful execution.



CHAPTER XVI.

"SHOW ME YOUR LETTERS OF CREDIT."

Fate, Providence, call it what you will, seldom fails to upset wrongdoing, making it rocky for the wrongdoer.

By an irony of fortune we carried with us that which was going to balk all, or nearly all, our fine scheme.

In our letters of credit in some mysterious way the name of the sub-manager of the London and Westminster Bank had been omitted, although this was absolutely essential to the validity of the letters. There was also another error, an error of such an extraordinary nature—that of spelling "endorse" with a "c"—that it is enough to make any man contemplating an unlawful act despair of success, since we could be defeated by such mysterious and unforeseen accidents.

A few hours after our arrival Mac called at the bankers' and was well received by the manager.

He told the manager his letters of credit ran from L5,000 to L20,000 each, and that he should want L10,000 the next day. Would they have it ready?

The next day he went to the bank, George and myself being posted outside. In ten minutes he reappeared with a square bundle under his arm. He smiled as he passed us, and, turning a corner, entered a cafe, where he joined us. His bundle contained L10,000 in Brazilian bank notes. He assured us that everything was serene at the bank, that he could have L100,000 if he wanted to ask for it.

I had already been to the three largest money brokers and arranged to buy gold. So, leaving Mac and George, I got a sole leather bag we had for the purpose, and, hiring a stalwart black porter, went to the brokers. I bought sovereigns for the whole L10,000. It was ten bags with one thousand pounds in each. The weight was 168 pounds. The black fellow put it on his head, and followed me to my hotel, and found it a pretty good load, too. So here we had one big fish landed, and confidently counted on several more.

I related above how we had in some incomprehensible way omitted putting on the letter of credit the sub-manager's name. How could we have committed such a blunder? My answer is that this is only another example of the unforeseen "something" ever happening to defeat any anticipated benefit from ill-gotten gains.

The next day Mac went to the bankers again, and was requested by the manager to show the letter of credit on which was indorsed the ten thousand pounds he had drawn against it. Looking at the letter, the manager said: "This is singular; there is only the name of Mr. Bradshaw, the manager, on this letter; J. P. Shipp, the sub-manager's name, should be on the credit as well." And then he went on to say that some time since they had been notified by the London Bank that all letters issued by them would bear two signatures.

Mac was a man of nerve, but it required all he had not to betray his uneasiness. He said he really could not say how the omission had occurred; he supposed it must have been accidental, but he would examine his other letters as soon as he went back to the hotel.

The look of chagrin and vexation on Mac's face when he came out was a sight to see, and one that is as vivid in my memory now as in that far off day in 1872.

He went direct to the hotel, and there George and I soon joined him. We sat down and looked at each other. The game apparently was up, and we were a sorely disgusted party. We did not fall out with or reproach each other, but felt we deserved a kicking. We did not ask each other any questions, but I know our faces all wore a sadly puzzled look as we repeated mentally, "How could we have made such an oversight?" But soon another blunder—the misspelled word—was to crop up, that made this one of the omitted name seem as a fly to an eagle.

Mac and I thought the game up, and were mentally planning for flight. But George, being a man of extraordinary courage and resource as well, declared we could and would retrieve the blunder. He declared a bold step must be taken, that, as the bankers had only seen the one credit, the name of Shipp, the sub-manager, must be instantly put on the others. We had the genuine signature of J. P. Shipp on a draft, and Mac at once sat down to write it on all the letters. It was a trying ordeal for him, Mac's nerves having had a wrench. He was a temperate man, but under the circumstances we advised him to take a glass of brandy to steady his nerves. Then placing the genuine signature before him and the forged letters, he began to put in the name. The signatures were not well written, but under the trying circumstances they were wonderfully well done. All this had taken place within half an hour after he had left the bank.

It was a trying ordeal, but Mac was quite willing to do as George advised. That was that he should take several of the letters and march boldly into the bank and say: "Here are my letters; they are all right. Both signatures are on all my letters but the one, and from that the second signature has been in some way omitted." George's last word to Mac was: "Rely upon us to extricate you from anything. Keep cool. Act up to the character you have assumed. They can never fathom that the names could have been written in so short a time. Boldly offer them more exchange on London, and if there is any hesitation say you will transfer your business to the English Bank of Rio at once."



He started on his decisive errand, followed by us, in a miserable state of anxiety. He was not long in the bank, but returned empty-handed. Upon meeting at the designated place, he informed us the manager was evidently agreeably surprised when shown the letters with both signatures, and transferred the indorsement from the letter that had but one signature to one with two. Once more we had matters all right, and the broken place patched up again, but it behooved us not to do so any more. But we did.

During our stay in Rio we saw much to interest us. The negro was very much in evidence. Slavery was still the law of the land; all the toil and burden-bearing falls to the poor slave's lot. One day we all three took an early train and alighted at a small hamlet on the border of a stream about thirty miles from Rio, beyond the ranges of mountains that hem in the city. We managed to find some saddle mules and started to see the country. We rode for some miles through a land covered with moundlike hills, no sooner coming to the bottom of one than we were ascending another. These hills are covered with coffee bushes filled with red fruit, about the size of a cherry, each containing two kernels. The coffee was being picked into large flat baskets by slaves, which, when filled, they carried away on their heads to the drying grounds.

The roads were bordered with orange trees loaded with luscious fruit, to which we helped ourselves. After a time we turned into a bridle path and rode some miles through a dense forest. We emerged upon the outskirts of a coffee plantation, where the slaves were just on their way to dinner, and another half mile brought us to the planter's residence. Thirty or forty slaves of both sexes and all ages were grouped upon the grass, engaged in eating a black-looking stew out of metal dishes, their fingers serving for knives, forks and spoons. Seeing three horsemen ride out of the forest, they stared in stupid wonder, until one more intelligent than the others went in search of the overseer. Presently a white man appeared, and, in response to Mac's "Parlate Italiano," came the smiling answer, "Si, Signor," proving, as we wagered he would be, a native of beggarly, sunny Italy.

The overseer showed us over the place, and explained all the processes of preparing coffee for the market. In one corner of a large, unpainted building was what he called the infirmary, and a comfortless looking place it was. He said there was no doctor employed, and that he dealt out medicine to the slaves himself. After being served with coffee we thanked him for our entertainment and returned to Rio by an evening train.

The mail steamer Ebro was advertised to leave Rio for Liverpool on Wednesday of the week following the exciting events narrated in the last chapter. This was the mail that would carry the draft for L10,000 on the London and Westminster Bank, along with a letter from the Rio bank, stating that they had cashed Mr. Gregory Morrison's draft upon the letter issued by them.

Twenty-two or three days after the steamer left Rio the London bank would know their correspondents in Rio had been victimized, but 8,000 miles of blue water was between them, with no way to bridge it but by steam; so we had at least forty-four days more to gather in our harvest. I ought to say, apparently forty-four more days, for by an amazing blunder we were about to bring a storm upon our heads.

The steamer we purposed to load our money on and ourselves, too, was the Chimborazo, advertised to arrive on Tuesday and to leave for the River Plate and the west coast the next day. So it was agreed that on Monday Mac should go to the bank and arrange to cash his letters for twenty or thirty thousand pounds, and go the next day for the money. As soon as Mac came from the bank and announced that all was well, another of us was to call at the Bank of London and Rio and the River Plate Bank, present his letters of introduction and ask in each bank to have the five thousand pounds or ten thousand pounds ready the next day. They purposed to call about 11 o'clock, so as to give me time to exchange the Brazilian bank notes for sovereigns, and to buy my ticket by the Chimborazo, to secure my stateroom and to take the gold to the steamer, and, above all, to get my passport vised by the police.

Monday came. We expected a nervous day, not such a paralyzingly nervous one as it proved to be. In fact, a nervous Tuesday followed a nervous Monday. My reader must remember that we were in the tropics, with a blazing sun looking down on us with an intensity that made one long for Greenland's icy mountains to cool us.

We went into the public park for our last consultation before our fortune, which never came, was to come.

Mac had in the little morocco case in his pocket two letters each for L20,000. Certainly no man in the world, save him, could have carried off such a game played for such high stakes. Handsome in person, faultless in address, cool in nerve, a master of all the languages spoken in Rio—Portuguese, Spanish, Italian and French. Above all, he had a boundless confidence in himself. What an honorable future might have been his but for his youthful follies! Truly he could have achieved a wonderful success in any honorable career. Unhappily for him, he, like thousands of our brainiest youth, had entered the Primrose Way. In our youthful fire and thoughtlessness we saw only the flowers and heard the siren's song, but at last the Primrose Way led us down into a gloom where all the flowers withered and the gay songs turned into dirges.

Looking at his watch Mac jumped up, saying: "It is 10.45 and time to be off." So he started for the bank, we following at some distance, our nerves all on the stretch. We felt that our lives and fortunes were trembling in the balance. The minutes dragged like hours. While watching we saw several persons enter or leave the bank, and still our friend delayed his appearance.

To our suspicious minds there appeared to be strange movements about the bank that boded ill for us. A thousand suspicions born of our fears came and went through our minds, until at last, unable to endure the suspense, I entered the bank myself, and stood there, pretending I was waiting for some one. I sharply scrutinized every one and everything. Mac was somewhere out of sight in the private offices. The clerks were gossiping together, and that fact to me was suspicious. Then, to my alarm, a bank clerk entered from the street with an eagle-eyed man, a Hebrew, evidently, of about 45 years of age. Both passed hurriedly into the private office, leaving me in an agony of suspense. My only relief at that moment was the thought that George and myself had not as yet compromised ourselves, and could, in the event of Mac's arrest, manage to save him, either by bribery or a rescue.