Without appearing to do so, I watched that dingy, mottled door leading into the private office until every crack and seam in it was photographed indelibly on my brain.

In the trying periods of one's life, when the heart and soul are on the rack, how strangely trifling details of the objects about one will be noticed and remembered. It seems some cell of the brain, quite separate from the cell of feeling and sensation, works calmly and steadily on, photographing the material of one's surroundings.

I can never forget a flower worn by a lady guest at my table, when, in the midst of enjoyment and surrounded by friends, the hand of the law in the form of a burly detective was laid on me in Cuba. In all the misery and humiliation of that scene I remember the peculiar color of the wood of a cigar box standing on the sideboard. Doubtless each of my readers will recall some similar phenomenon in his own life.

At last, unable to endure the suspense, above all, the uncertainty, I went to the little door, and, opening it, looked in. To my intense relief I saw Mac sitting there apparently talking unconcernedly with Braga, the manager, and the Hebrew. As I had not attracted attention I closed the door, went out in the street and gave George the pre-arranged signal that all was well. Just then our partner appeared but with telltale face. It was flushed with chagrin and vexation, and there was gone from the contour of his body that indescribable port that tells, better than words, of confidence and victory.

We went by different routes to our rendezvous, and I will leave it to the imagination of my readers to picture our state of mind as we listened to his recital of woe—the tale of Priam's Troy over again.

Mac had been cordially received by the manager, and had told him he would require L20,000 the next day; would he please have it ready? The manager replied that he did not require any more exchange on London, but that he would send out for his broker, who would sell his bills on the exchange. He (the manager) would indorse the bills of exchange and indorse the amounts on his letters of credit. Of course, Mac could only acquiesce, and Mr. Braga sent a clerk to his broker, Mr. Meyers, to come around. This was the sharp-eyed Hebrew whom I saw enter.

The manager introduced Meyers to "Mr. Gregory Morrison," and explained that he was to sell exchange for L20,000 on Morrison's credit, which the bank would indorse. Meyers said: "Please show me your letters." Putting his hand into his breast pocket and pulling out the little morocco case containing the two letters, he handed the case and contents to Meyers, who, probably without suspicion of anything being wrong, unrolled both letters, and holding them in his hands, ran his sharp eyes down one of them and read right through the body of the letter. They came to the "note," which read: "All sums drawn against this credit please endorce on the back, and notify the London and Westminster Bank at once." Here he suddenly halted, turned his hawk's eye on Mac and said: "Why, sir, here's the word indorse misspelled. Surely the clerks in the London banks know how to spell!"

Here was a thunderbolt, indeed, that pierced poor Mr. Gregory Morrison through and through, but he showed no sign. He coolly remarked that he did not care to have his bills sold on the exchange, but would go and see the people of the London and Rio and River Plate Banks, as they probably would want exchange and would doubtless let him have what money he required. Meyers said very sharply, "Have you letters to those banks?" "I have," said Mac, at the same time producing two, one to each bank, and each bearing the stamp of their respective banks.

That he had these letters was a happy thing, and no one under forty days' time could say for a fact that they were not genuine. The dramatic production of these letters lulled the fast gathering suspicions, and would have called a halt had they purposed any serious action, for the reason that during the forty days it would take to communicate with London the credits could not be proved to be forgeries. That such letters existed at all was due entirely to the foresight which had provided to meet just such a contingency.

We all were for a brief few seconds utterly dumfounded, but quickly aroused ourselves to the necessity of instant action to protect our comrade. We saw that we must at once give over all thought of trying to do any more business in Rio, and set all our inventions and energy at work to save the L10,000 and to smuggle our companion safely out of Rio. But how?



CHAPTER XVII.

ONCE MORE WE SAIL THE SEAS OVER.

Here in our country we know nothing of the annoyances and humbuggery of the passport system, but now, as in 1872, every person desiring to leave Brazil must be provided with a passport—if a foreigner, from his own Government; if a native, one from the government of Brazil. When ready to leave the country he must take his passport to police headquarters and get it vised, at the same time notifying the police of the steamer he proposes to sail on. Leaving the passport with the agent from whom he buys his ticket, the latter, after ascertaining from the police that the intending passenger is not wanted by the authorities, transmits the passport to the purser of the steamer, who, in turn, hands it to the passenger after the vessel is at sea.

It will be seen that these regulations make it difficult for a suspected person to leave Brazil by the regular channels of communication, and there are no back doors of escape in that country. Once in any seaport town you must, if you leave at all, sail out of the harbor mouth, for in the other direction, that is, inland, one is confronted by the mighty tropical forests, the greater portion of which has never been looked upon by the eye of man; and between all the seaports the same impenetrable forest stretches.

So, straight out of the harbor between the Sugar Loaf and Fort Santa Cruz Mac had to sail. How he should do so with safety was the problem we had to solve. In this venture it would not do to have any blunders. Without doubt the steamers would be watched for him, and instant arrest and incarceration in the deadly tropical prison would be his lot if discovered in the attempt to slip out of the country.

To complicate the matter here it was Monday, and no steamer to sail until Wednesday, so there were forty-eight hours of frightful anxiety ahead of us.

The Ebro, going to Europe, was in the harbor taking in cargo and coal. The Chimborazo, going South, was not yet signaled, and we determined at all hazards to get him off by the Ebro. We all had American passports, and by the use of chemicals could alter the names and descriptions on them at will.

Of course, the names in our passports were the same as we had in our letters. George went to police headquarters, and giving a douceur to an attendant, had the "vise" put on his passport at once. Then going to the passenger agent he bought a ticket to Liverpool by the Ebro, and by paying ten guineas extra had a stateroom assigned to him alone. After this he took a boat and went out to the steamer, carrying with him two bags of oranges and stowed them away under the bottom berths.

To make the escape a success it was decided prudent for George as Wilson to get the agent well acquainted with his face and appearance, so if the question was asked, "Who is this Wilson?" the police would see by the description it was not the man they were looking for. For the next forty hours George made the agent very tired. At one time he would want to know if he could not get some reduction in the passenger rate, or if the Ebro was seaworthy, or if there was any danger of her engines breaking down, etc., until the agent got not only to know "Mr Wilson," but wished him at the bottom of the sea.

When George started for the police office he left Mac and me alone in the park.



It was absolutely essential that Mac should put in one more appearance at the bank. It was an ordeal, but one he had to undergo. He even dreaded to return to his hotel, but go he must; so, just before the bank closed, he called in and casually informed the manager that he should start the next morning for S. Romao, a town in the interior of Brazil, to be absent a week. He was then to go to the Hotel d'Europe, pay his bill, at the same time stating that he was to leave Rio by the 4 o'clock train the next morning, for San Paulo. As Mac had two trunks and other impedimenta befitting a man of his importance, it was necessary to take a carriage to the station, which was nearly a mile distant. It would be unsafe to go in a carriage belonging to the hotel; therefore, he was to say that a friend would call for him. As it was still two hours to sunset, I suggested that after he had arranged matters he should saunter out, walk about the streets until dark, then return to the hotel and be ready when George should call for him at 3 o'clock the next morning.

After these arrangements we separated, George and I following to ascertain if he was being watched or shadowed by detectives. When he entered the hotel we remained in view of the entrance. It was not long before he reappeared and walked leisurely along the street. A few seconds after we saw another man come out, cross the street, and go in the same direction. I followed him, and was soon satisfied that he was keeping Mac in view. This sort of double hunt was kept up until dusk, when Mac returned to his hotel, unconscious that a moment later his "shadow" entered the place also. Here was a complication, indeed, though it was no more than we had anticipated among the possibilities; still, I had indulged in the hope that the bank would rely entirely upon the passport system, and take no further steps for a day or two, which was all the time required to carry out our plan. Though Mac had good nerve, it was already somewhat shaken, and surely the situation would have unnerved most men. Therefore, fearing that the certain knowledge of imminent danger might still further confuse him and cause some false move, we determined to keep our discovery to ourselves.

George next proceeded to an obscure part of the town, and stopping at a small but respectable looking tavern, he engaged a room for the next day, also a carriage, with an English-speaking driver, to be in readiness at 3 o'clock the next morning. Promptly at the hour he was at the livery stable, where he found the carriage ready, and was driven to the Hotel d'Europe. Sending the driver up to the office on the second floor, Mac soon appeared and informed him that he had promised to take to the station a man who was stopping at the hotel. "He is going to S. Romao by the same train," continued Mac, "and seems a good fellow, for I had a long talk with him last night." Upon seeing signs of disapproval in my face, he explained: "Well, you know, he said he could not get a carriage at so early an hour in the morning, and I thought it could do no harm to take him in, and he is waiting upstairs."

Here I joined them, and it would be difficult for the reader to imagine the effect of this surprising communication upon our minds, for it was clear enough that this was the very person who had been "shadowing" Mac the day before, and had skillfully ingratiated himself into his new friend's confidence. I could but admire his nerve in asking a contemplated victim for a ride to the station. I said to Mac: "What in the world can you be thinking of? Don't you see you are blocking our whole plan? Go up and tell him your carriage is loaded down with luggage, and express your regrets that you cannot accommodate him."

During this time the baggage was being placed in the carriage, and as soon as Mac had dismissed his "passenger," who for some reason did not show himself, we started rapidly for the station. On the way I requested him to avoid making any new friends until he should find himself well out at sea. I said:

"It might be fatal to attract the attention of any one, or to let any one see you leave the train. Of course, this new acquaintance of yours is only a countryman, but it is not possible to foresee what disaster the least mistake or want of caution might originate. These cars are on the English system, divided into compartments. You must go into the station, stand near the ticket office until your new acquaintance comes, then observe if he buys a first-class; if so, you take a second, and vice versa. Pay no attention to him, and let him see you get into your compartment, but keep an eye on his movements. In case he comes to get in where you are, despite the different class of the tickets, tell him the compartment is engaged. Everything depends on how you carry yourself through the next twenty minutes. A single false step, a word too little or too much, will surely prove fatal to all, for if anything happens to you, we remain in Brazil."

In accordance with our pre-arranged plan, I stopped the carriage opposite the station, it being still dark. Mac alighted, went straight inside, and in a few minutes saw his "passenger" come puffing in, nearly out of breath. Unquestionably supposing Mac's baggage to be already on the train, he purchased a ticket, and after seeing his intended victim enter a compartment, got into another himself just as the train began to move. This was the vital moment for which Mac had been waiting, and, quickly opening the door on the opposite side, he stepped off on that side, hastily crossed to the other platform of the dimly lighted station, and made his way unnoticed into the street. While this was passing, I sat in the carriage, and it was not many minutes before I had the satisfaction of seeing Mac coming back. But for the benefit of the driver we then had a dialogue somewhat as follows:

"It is too bad. Our friends have not arrived. What shall we do?"

"Well, I suppose we must go back to the hotel and wait for the afternoon train," I answered.

"But I have paid my bill there," said Mac, "and do not care to go back."

"Then," I replied, "meet me at the station, and I will look after the luggage."

In case they recovered the trail, the information obtained from the driver would cause confusion and delay sufficient, I hoped, to enable us to get Mac out of Rio.

I then told the coachman to drive me into the city. It was not yet daylight, but after a while I saw a sort of eating house and tavern combined, and had the carriage halted there. Alighting, I entered and said to the person in charge that I did not wish to disturb my friends at so early an hour, and would pay him for taking care of my baggage, as I wished to discharge the carriage. The offer was, of course, accepted, the baggage housed and the carriage dismissed. In the mean time Mac was waiting for us in an appointed place not far away, where I joined him, and we went to the obscure tavern where the room had been engaged. George was awaiting us.

So far our plan was successful. Mac was safely hidden away, while his clever friend was speeding miles away on a wild goose chase. There was only one train a day each way, and we knew the detective could not get back to Rio until late. We felt certain that when he found Mac was not on the train he would think his intended victim had slipped off at some way station—possibly with a view of making his escape into the interior; even if he sent a dispatch to the bank—an unlikely thing for a Brazilian to do—it would doubtless be to the effect that his quarry had left Rio on the early train that morning with him.



We passed some trying hours together. Then George left to take Mac's baggage off to the steamer. He engaged two stalwart porters; they stand on every corner busily engaged in plaiting straw for hats while waiting for a job. Dividing the baggage between the two he had it carried to the wharf, and, taking a small boat, quickly had it stowed in the hold and the small articles carried to the stateroom. Soon after he joined us on shore.

It was but 10 o'clock when he came, and it was with something like dismay that we realized that the whole day was before us. Until the day before, when Mac was in the bank, I had never known how long an hour was, but this day we all came to know how long a day could be.

The Ebro was anchored out in the bay. Her coal was all stowed, but strings of barges laden with sacks of coffee were alongside. She was advertised to sail sharp at noon.

I went out once or twice to the bank and police headquarters, hanging about for a few minutes to see if there was anything suspicious, but there was nothing, and each time I hastened back to Mac.

Our presence cheered him up, and he could not brook our absence. At last the long day drew to an end and the shadows, to our intense relief, began to darken in our little room, where we were holding our watch. The tropic night closes quickly in. Soon the city was shrouded in darkness, and we sallied out to the beach at the head of the bay to find relief in movement. The time passed quicker then, and at last we sat down on some wreckage there and watched the tropic night as it revealed its wealth of stars, and sitting there we began to philosophize, moralizing upon the destiny of man and his relations to things seen and unseen, upon spiritual force; most of all upon divine justice, which in the end evens up all things. But like so many other philosophers who write the style of the gods and make a pish at fortune, we failed to make a personal application of our philosophy.

Near by there was a boat stand from which we had resolved to embark for the steamer about two miles away. The night was lovely as a dream, and we knew that midnight would find a large number of passengers on deck, many of whom would pass the night there. Forward was all the bustle and confusion inseparable from receiving and stowing cargo.

At 9 o'clock I left them to go and get the remainder of the gold not yet on board—some four thousand pounds. The street cars passed near by, and within half an hour I returned with the gold in a bag swung from my shoulder by a heavy strap. I also had with me a woman's wrap and a silk shawl. We sat for an hour longer, and then securing a boat with two negro rowers, we pulled for the ship. Three or four small boats were fastened to the companion ladder, and our arrival attracted no attention. Two officials in uniform—probably custom officers—stood at the companion way. It was an anxious moment, but we slipped through the dimly lighted cabins and passages, and were soon safely in the stateroom. Bidding both good-bye, and promising to be on board again at 8 in the morning, I went ashore and straight to bed, and soon was dreaming of starlit seas, of tropic woods and Summer bowers, white and sweet with May blossoms. My health then, as now, was perfect, and I awoke fresh and hopeful. After breakfasting on a dish of prawns and another of soft-shelled crabs, I was off across the bay. Soon after 8 I knocked softly at the stateroom door, was admitted and presented the lunch I had brought. They gave me a warm greeting, but neither had slept. The room had been hot and stuffy, and the noise of stowing cargo had helped to banish sleep. Both were unnerved somewhat, but I had just come off shore confident and cheerful, and my confidence and spirits proved infectious.

I knew by sight the chief of police and those just under him. I also knew Braga, the bank manager, by sight. They, of course, did not know me, and I could, unsuspected, be a looker-on in Vienna. Soon the passengers, their friends and many idle visitors came off in boatloads, while I, of course, scrutinized every boatload as it came up the side of the ship.

At 9.30 I saw a boat coming, which, when half a mile away, I recognized as containing the chief of police and several of his subordinates; ten minutes after Braga and one of the bank officials came, the only passengers in their boat, and at once joined the police on the after deck and stood with them waiting and watching the boats as they arrived. In the mean time babel reigned around the ship. About three score boats surrounded her, the owners selling to the passengers everything from oranges to monkeys, snakes and parrots.

I determined to conceal from George and Mac that Braga and the police were on the ship, and about every twenty minutes I would slip down and report "All's well;" but soon after 10 o'clock the enemy were joined by the ticket agent from shore, and I could see they were contemplating some movement. Slipping down to the cabin, I said: "Boys, everything is all right; keep perfectly cool. Braga and the police are pulling to the ship and may search it; if so, it will take half an hour to get here. I will keep everything in my eye and give you ample notice." I then returned on deck and stood among the officials. They conversed in Portuguese, which was Greek to me; soon the agent dived below and reappeared with the manifest of the passengers, and an enormous heap of passports. After some conversation they sent the passports back; then, headed by the agent and purser, manifest in hand, they began to verify the list and scrutinize the passengers in the staterooms. Once more I hurried below and reported.

Mac was naturally very dignified, but divesting himself of coat, vest and dignity at the same time, he planted himself under the berth. Very close and very hot quarters he found it, and we put the bags of oranges in front, disposing of them so as to make it appear as if they filled the whole space, when in reality they were a mere screen.

Then we opened the door to the fullest extent. We had taken off our coats—it being frightfully hot—and with a bottle of claret and a bowl of ice standing on the little washstand and two glasses all in full view, we awaited the arrival of our friends, the enemy.

Our door was flat against the partition, giving a full sweep of the room to the eye of the passerby, and George and I waited confidently for the inspection we knew was inevitable. I sat on the foot of the lower berth, smoking and swinging my feet. George sat on a folding camp-stool, with his face toward the door, but not obstructing the view. Soon the procession arrived, with the ticket agent in front. When he saw George he at once recognized him as the Mr. Wilson who had bought the ticket, and he simply said: "How do you do, Mr. Wilson?" and passed on without looking in the room. Braga and the police followed, casually glanced at us two, and were gone. I put on my coat and followed the procession, and at 11.30 they went up on the after deck, evidently satisfied that their man was not on the ship, and contented themselves with watching new arrivals. I flew down, gave them the good news that the search was over, and poor Mac, half-roasted, came from behind the bags of oranges. Declaring he was roasted alive and dying of thirst, he finished the bottle of iced claret.

Ten minutes before 12 the bell was rung and all people for shore were warned to leave. Soon we heard the pleasant sound of the steam winch lifting the anchor, and at noon precisely, to our relief, the screw began to revolve at quarter speed, and the Ebro to respond by forging slowly ahead. All boats fell off but ours and the police boat. At last, after giving a good look up and down the bay, Braga and the police entered the boats, and, casting off, soon were left behind. Once more and for the last time I flew down to the cabin. They saw the good news in my face; then, shaking Mac's hand in hearty farewell, we ran to the upper deck, down the ladder into our boat, and a moment later the big ship, putting on full steam, left us astern, we ordering the boatman to pull hard after the ship. Mac soon appeared on the after deck, and waved his handkerchief to us in farewell. We gave him three cheers, and, excited and happy, with our long anxiety over, we returned to the shore.

With Mac sailing northward ho! with Wilson's passport and ticket in his pocket, and all our money save two thousand pounds in his trunk, our buccaneering expedition on the Spanish Main was over and all but a failure when comparing the L10,000 we had captured with our magnificent expectations.

Here was a gigantic and well-conceived scheme which had almost collapsed through trifles, which, to an honest enterprise would have been light as air, but which to us and to our plans were of crushing force, built up, as all schemes of wrong doing are, on foundations of sand.

To conclude very briefly the narrative of this expedition, I will here add that the day after Mac's departure, altering his passport to fit George's description, we sailed on the Chimborazo south to Montevideo. Upon our arrival we, with all other passengers for the town, were promptly put in quarantine for ten days in a vile little island called in irony the Isle of Flowers; but the mails were fumigated and sent through, as were two additional mails arriving from Europe and Rio. When our quarantine was over we were permitted to enter the city. We found that some advice or rumor had reached there, and we feared to venture our letters of credit for money. So, destroying all documents save our passports, we paid a visit to Buenos Ayres, and then we embarked on a French steamer for Marseilles, arriving there without any particular adventure, and the next day had a happy meeting with Mac in Paris.



CHAPTER XVIII.

LITTLE FISHES WRIGGLING THROUGH GREEN WAVES.

Once more together and our adventures since we separated related, the question arose: What next?

We determined to abandon our dangerous business, for we had capital sufficient to start in an honest career, and resolved to do so. For a long time our attention had been turned to Colorado, and we had frequently talked over a project of going to some growing city there, starting a bank and building a wheat elevator and stockyards. Fifty thousand dollars would start our bank, and $10,000, with some credit, the elevator and yards. This sum we had, with an additional $10,000 to pay our way until profit came in from our investments. Here was another great and honorable scheme—one easily carried out had we only gone on with it. What a success we might have made, particularly so when considered in the light of the development of Colorado since 1872 and our energy and knowledge of business.

In Paris we all stopped at the Hotel Meurice, Rue Rivoli, and spent much time sightseeing. We were particularly interested in viewing the battlefields around Paris—so interested, in fact, that we read up the whole history of the mighty struggle with Germany, which ended in throwing France into the dust. We, like most of the world here, got our ideas of the war and the battles from the current news of the day, as published in the newspapers, and we had a general idea that the Frenchmen had not made much of a fight. That conclusion could only be arrived at by a superficial knowledge such as had been ours. Investigation upon the spot and a study of impartial authorities soon opened our eyes to the fact that France only succumbed after a mighty and most heroic struggle. The first few weeks of the war saw her entire regular army captive, and transported prisoners across the Rhine. That army had made a brave but unfortunate fight. Badly commanded, with the transport and subsistence utterly demoralized, they were no match for the mighty hosts that Germany poured across the Rhine. Perfectly equipped, matchless in discipline since the palmy days of Rome, commanded by the foremost military intellects of the age, they met the French, overmatching them at every point of contact; enveloping their columns with masses of infantry, or sweeping them with murderous storms of shot and shell, or launching a magnificent cavalry at them, against which French valor—ill directed as it was—proved futile, and that splendid array of 480,000 men had to ground their arms, surrender their colors, and, to their own unspeakable shame and humiliation, become captive to their foes, leaving their beloved France defenseless. But the loss of their army, no more than their thronging foes, dismayed France. The heart of the nation was stirred, and from the Rhine to the Atlantic, from the Channel to the blue Mediterranean, France rose as one man. They saw the entire military force of Germany encamped on their soil, and in their undisciplined valor, hurled themselves against it, and gave to their astounded foes an exhibition of Titanic force and determined valor whose story, when known, will become the admiration of all generations of men.

It was against the decree of Heaven that France should win in the struggle, but she fell only to rise the higher for the fall. The year 1871 saw France in the dust, with the armies of her foe encamped over more than half her soil, with robber-like demands for huge sums of gold ere the modern Goths would march home again. To-day she stands the marvel of the world. Twice the France of 1870, with the busy hum of industry through all her borders, an overflowing treasury, a contented people and an army and many which are the awe of Europe. To-day the enemy that flung her to earth twenty-four years ago, seeks safety from her attack in defensive alliances with all the nations of the Continent.

We resolved to see Europe before returning to America, so the next few weeks were spent in a pleasure jaunt.

In the course of it we visited Vienna, remaining there some time and bringing away many and pleasant memories of that music-loving old city on the Danube. We finally all returned to Wiesbaden together and visited the Casino, watching the play and players with an interest that never flagged. Here we saw such vast sums of money ever changing hands that we almost insensibly began to think the thousands we had were as nothing, and when divided up, the sum coming to each seemed almost beggarly.

Gradually we began to speculate as to the desirability of doubling our capital once or twice at least, before we threw up our hands and gave up the game. I need hardly tell the reader that what at first was a philosophical speculation, an airy theory of a possibility, rapidly crystallized into steadfast purpose and determinate resolve, and soon our brains were working, and readily brought forth a new scheme. For was not there the Bank of England, with uncounted millions in her vaults, and was not I, as Frederick Albert Warren, a customer of the bank, and as such were not the vaults of the bank at our disposition?

We rated our powers high and fondly thought that, speaking in a general way, honesty was the best policy, yet in our case there was an exception to the rule. We felt and acknowledged we were doing wrong, but since the wrong (apparently) profited us, we would do wrong that good might come thereby.

Finally we resolved to go on with our postponed assault upon the money bags of the Bank of England, at the same time evolving a plan that seemed to promise unbounded wealth and complete immunity for us all.

So we packed our baggage, bade farewell to Wiesbaden, and one early June morning in 1872 saw us all once more in smoky London, resolved to rouse that Old Lady called the Bank of England from her century-long slumber spent in dreaming of her impregnability.

In Frankfort there are several firms, Fischer by name, all bankers, and as soon as we determined to return to London, Mac wrote a letter in French to the Bank of England and signed it H. V. Fischer, which, of course, would leave the manager to suppose his correspondent was one of the Fischer bankers. In the letter he said his distinguished customer, Mr. F. A. Warren, had written him from St Petersburg, requesting him to transfer to his account in the Bank of England the small balance remaining to his credit on his (Fischer's) books, therefore he had the honor to inclose bills on London for L13,500, payable to the order of the manager, said sum to be placed to the credit of Mr. F. A. Warren.

I took this letter to Frankfort, and, having purchased bills of exchange on London to the amount named, inclosed them and mailed the letter. A day or so after I received a letter at Frankfort from the manager of the bank, acknowledging the receipts of the drafts, and announcing that the proceeds of the same had duly been placed to the credit of F. A. Warren. So I had over $67,000 to my credit, and had now been a depositor for five months.

George took up his residence at a private house in the west end of London, while Mac and I went to the Grosvenor Hotel.

This hotel was one of the very few then in England which were allowed by the aristocrats of London society to be what they called highly respectable, that is, exclusive, and, therefore, a fit dwelling place for their dainty selves. In Dublin there is one of these highly respectable hostels, the Gresham, on Sackville street. This hotel was a type of all of the sort I mention. I once stopped at the Gresham for a week and became one of the "nobility and gentry" that frequent these hotels. The waiters all wore full-dress suits, faultless in cut and fit, and the chief event in their daily existence, the serving of the table d'hote, wore white kid gloves. The bewildering changes of varied colored dishes (I mean crockery ware), was something to make one stare. Course number one brought on a soup dish of pale violet color, quite a work of art, but its contents was a watery compound with an artistic name. Course number two consisted of a unique plate, light green in color, with little fishes wriggling through green waves, but bearing on it a small insipid portion of a genuine inhabitant of the deep; and so on, course followed course, each on a different colored plate. If the dinner was intended for an exhibition of crockery, each one of the seven I had there was a success, but, however gratifying to the eye the dinners might be, they were lamentable failures so far as stomach and appetite were concerned; but when I came to pay my bill I found the white kid gloves and the fancy china again; they were all in it, and many more things as well. The bill was more than a foot long, filled with such items as soap, sixpence; one envelope, one penny; one sheet note paper, one penny; bath, two shillings; extra towels and soap for same, sixpence, and so on through the line.

We found the Grosvenor another Gresham. However, as we wanted to stop at a swell hotel, we concluded—so long as we were there—to remain; but after a few days we found the cuisine "highly respectable;" that is, for dinner one could get roast—either beef or mutton. As for vegetables, we were strictly limited to turnips, cauliflowers, cabbage and potatoes, and, for dessert, the famous apple tart of England, more deadly even than our mince pie.



The proprietor of a certain popular restaurant in New York has a fad for hanging elaborately got-up Scripture texts—exhortations mostly—around the walls of his restaurant. Interspersed with these are advertisements of his eatables—also exhortations—such as, "Try our buckwheat cakes, 10 cents;" "Try our doughnuts and coffee;" between the two exhortations, a third bidding one flee from the wrath to come; but the most fetching of all are two companion cards. On the one is the legend, "Try our hot mince pie;" on the other is displayed the apropos warning, "Prepare to meet thy God."

So we resolved to sleep at the Grosvenor, but to avoid the apple tart. We soon discovered a good restaurant near by, where we dined, and, as I am on the subject of dining, I will finish this chapter with a little narrative, the moral of which I will leave my readers to find: We were now settled down in London, prepared to devote all our attention to that Old Lady—The B. of E.—and, in accordance with a habit of ours, we began to look for some safe place—hotel, cafe or restaurant—where we could meet, run in at any time for consultation, or to write notes. Three things were requisite—nearness to the money centre of the city, a room where we could be secluded from people coming and going, and a proprietor clever enough not to be inquisitive, with a genius for minding his own business. A man who has a genius for that thing always carries it in his face, just as his opposite—the busybody—carries the traces of his restless inquisitiveness in the face and manner.

That same day we discovered, in a small street leading off Finsbury, a shop with a sign over the door bearing the legend: "Licensed to sell spirits and caterer." It had canned and potted meats, along with bottles of wine, in the window, but was evidently fast going to seed. We pushed our way in and found a bright, fresh-looking young Englishman, evidently a countryman, but intelligent and civil, much like a gamekeeper. We knew at once we had our place and man.

After some weeks we observed, now and then, a couple of sharp-looking customers hanging about the place.

We feared being watched, and began to think it time to change, so suddenly ceased calling at mine host's snuggery and took up new quarters in a private house not far away. About two months later I happened to be near and called. He received me warmly, and told me we had saved him from bankruptcy. He had been a gamekeeper on a nobleman's estate, and his wife had been a housemaid there. They married against the wishes of their master, but they had five hundred pounds, and, coming to London, started business on that. Custom was poor, and soon they were at the end of their rope, when, happily for them, we came along and spent money enough in his place to set him on his feet again.



CHAPTER XIX.

WITH NO REGRETS, WITH NO TORTURING REMORSE.

Although I had the very respectable balance of $67,000 at the bank, I had not as yet, since my arrival in London, paid it a visit. This was in pursuance of our plans. So far I had only done business with the supernumeraries, and none of the people at the top had ever even heard of me. But we determined that they should not long remain in ignorance of the great American contractor, F. A. Warren.

Three months had elapsed since our departure from London on our piratical tour to the Spanish Main. In all nearly five months had elapsed since Green had introduced me to the Old Lady whose impregnable vaults we had now at last determined to loot. That in itself was a favorable circumstance, as it would give me a chance to flourish in a grandly indefinite way to the effect that I had "for some time" been a customer of the bank, and none of the officials would probably take the trouble to ascertain how very brief, in fact, my acquaintance had been.

I left London by the night mail from Victoria Station for Paris, the first of many hurried trips I took to the Continent on the business we had entered upon. Truly, we worked hard, spent money lavishly, brought all our power and genius to work—for what? To have the lightning fall on us.

Upon my arrival I drove at once to the Hotel Bristol, Place Vendome, a swell hotel, where none but the great sirs o' the earth could afford to stop.

Here I registered as F. A. Warren, London, and at once sent off the following letter:

P. M. Francis, Esq., Manager Bank of England, London.

Dear Sir: I am a customer of the bank, therefore I take the liberty of troubling you in the hope to have the benefit of your advice.

Will you kindly inform me what good 4 per cent. stocks are to be had in the market, also if the bank will transact the business for me? I remain very truly yours,

F. A. WARREN.

By return mail came a letter wherein I was advised to invest in India 4 per cents or London Gas. I wrote an immediate order to have the bank purchase ten thousand pounds of India stock and sent my check for that amount, on his own bank, payable to the order of the manager. I received the stock, instantly sold it, and replaced the money to my credit, and the next day sent off an order for ten thousand pounds gas stock, and repeated the operation until I had made the impression I wanted to make on the mind of the manager, so that when I returned to London for my decisive interview and sent in my card he would at once recognize the name, F. A. Warren, as the multi-millionaire American who had been sending him ten thousand pound checks from Paris.

All the time of my stay in France I had nothing to do but enjoy myself, and I entered upon a systematic sightseeing in and around Paris. There are some strange contrasts in that old town. One day I made one of a coaching party to Fontainebleau, twenty-one miles from the city. Every foot of the road there is classic ground, and I had assiduously studied day by day the history of France. That Paris is France is nearly a truth, and I had in my mind a tolerably clear view of the history of the country and of the men who made its history. I was right there on the scene of the history-making, and I found an intensity of interest in my excursions such as I had never experienced before. The driver of the coach was an Englishman by the name of Nunn. I mention this here, as he eventually became my servant, and will appear again in the narrative.

To the Parisian hotel proprietor and shopkeeper the American visitor is truly a providence. "Mine host" looks to him for loaves and fishes, and is never deceived. The antics of our rich countrymen in Paris are portentous in their amazing prodigality, and I fear we are the laughing stock of the shopkeepers there.

At the Cafe Riche and Tortoni's I have seen extravagances in ordering expensive wines and viands by my countrymen that made me regret that the fools who were being served were not forced to toil for the mere necessaries of existence. Certainly they were unworthy stewards of the wealth heaven or the other place had bestowed on them by inheritance. I remember one boy there throwing away in vice and dissipation the fortune his father had through years of a long life spent toilsome hours in accumulating. I sat at a table near him on several occasions, when, after his banquet was half over, he used to reward the waiter with a five-hundred franc note ($100), but the proprietor was ever close at hand and would instantly despoil the garcon of his prize. He was companioned by a member of the demi-monde, who, when arrayed in male attire, as she was nightly, would cut up enough monkey tricks in one night at the Valentino or Mabille to have made the fortunes of all our comic paper artists had they been on the spot to catch her antics with a kodak and then lay them before an admiring public.

The fortune this boy had inherited was unfortunately too vast and too well-invested by his overfond and madly foolish father for the son to run through it entirely. A very few years left him an imbecile in body and mind, to become the prey of a parcel of sharks who, dressing in purple and fine linen and faring sumptuously every day, held him in a state of abject slavery and fear. One day, aboard his own yacht, off Naples, they married him to a notorious woman. Under the guardianship of his wife and her villain paramour he wandered like a spectre amid the scene of his former riot.

For long at Monte Carlo he lingered like a ghost, and at last died in Florence. The American colony attended his funeral in a body, while his widow, dissolved in tears, refused to be comforted. Although many dark stories were whispered, the Americans there forgave her all, for her grief and sorrow were so overpoweringly evident that it would have seemed a crime to doubt her tender love for the departed. After having the body embalmed, she embarked with her dead love for America, and to-day his ashes rest in that mighty city of the dead, Greenwood, under a Greek cross of white marble, bearing the date of birth and death. I went to see it last Easter week. The grave was strewn with flowers, and the pedestal bears this inscription:

"Too good for this world, The angels bore him to heaven, Leaving his heartbroken wife To mourn her unspeakable loss."

Unopposed she succeeded to her husband's estate. It was large then; to-day it has grown to enormous proportions. She is not, but easily might have been, one of the Four Hundred.

At Saratoga last August I saw her sitting on the balcony of the United States Hotel—fat, wrinkled, vulgar-looking, covered with diamonds. Nemesis appears to have postponed her visit to the lady. Her life from her own standpoint has been a tremendous success. She has been philosopher enough to appreciate what an immense factor mere eating and drinking is in the sum of human enjoyment. Born with a cold heart, a constitution of iron, and the digestion of an ostrich, happily for her peace of mind she was absolutely without imagination.



To fill the sum of human happiness (from her own standpoint) she only required one other thing, a good bank account, and that, she said, heaven had put in her way, so her life has been filled full of joy, and of the only sort she cared for or could appreciate. In her early years, when her passions were strong, lover and paramour followed in rapid succession. When her blood grew cold she found her delight in the pleasures of the table, and keeping the same cook, who was an expert, for twenty years, and exercising freely, 1894 found her at 60 with a strong pulse, a perfect digestion and a keen enjoyment of sport, racing in particular, and, on the whole, enjoying life as well as any woman in the universe, with no regrets, no torturing remorse, but with a serene faith that when done with this world she—never having done anything very bad here—will have a pretty good time in the world to come.



CHAPTER XX.

DETAILS NECESSARY, IF TEDIOUS.

After the events narrated in the last chapter, I returned to London. I arrived early in the morning, and, meeting my companions, we had a long and anxious talk over my near-approaching and all-important interview with that great Sir of the London world, the manager of the Bank of England. Happy for us if in that interview the manager had asked for the customary references, or had used ordinary business precaution and investigated me, or, indeed, had acted as any ordinary business man would have done under ordinary circumstances. Our own conclusions were that the fact that I was already a depositor, together with the impression made by the letters and my L10,000 checks, would put the thing through. Yet we, of course, felt that a thousand things could arise to block our way effectually. A look, a word too much, a shadow, or a smile in my face might ruin all; but still, after providing so far as possible for every contingency, after planning what was to be said or left unsaid at the interview, after my companions filling me full of advice, we felt after all that everything must be left to my discretion, to say and to act as I thought best under the circumstances.

This council of war was held in my room in the Grosvenor. I had arrived from Paris at 6 o'clock. Mac and I breakfasted together at 8. George joined us at 9, and we talked until 10, then we set out together for the bank. Arriving there, they remained outside, watching for my reappearance. Entering the bank, I sent in my card (F. A. Warren) by a liveried flunkey, and was immediately ushered into the manager's parlor. He has long since gone over to the majority, so here I will not so much as name or describe him. Sufficient to say, that as soon as I set eyes upon him I thought that we would have no particular difficulty in carrying out our plans, save only so far as details went.

The manager, who had been told that I was a railroad contractor, expressed himself highly gratified to have me do my business through the bank, and said they would do all in their power to accommodate me. I told him that, of course, I was financing large sums, and would require more or less discounts before the year was out. Then I came away, and meeting my two friends outside of the bank, in answer to their eager inquiries as to what had transpired, I told them that, so far as the bank officials were concerned, our way to the vaults of the bank was wide open.

So ended the last scene of Act I.

The next day I went to the Continental Bank, in Lombard street, and bought sight exchange on Paris for 200,000 francs, paying for it by a check on the Bank of England. I was given a note of identification to the Paris agent of the bank.

That night I left Victoria Station for Paris. At 10 the next morning I had my money, and, going to the Place de la Bourse, near the Exchange, I commissioned a broker, who was a member of the Exchange, to purchase bills on London for L8,000. I cautioned him to buy bills drawn only on well-known banking houses. About 3 o'clock he had the bills ready. I paid him the amount, along with his commission, and, examining the paper, found that he had purchased for me about what I wanted.

I will explain, for the benefit of any reader not conversant with financial transactions, that if John Russell, cotton broker in Savannah, ships a thousand bales of cotton to a firm in Manchester, England, the firm in Manchester authorizes him to draw a bill of exchange on their firm, payable at some London bank at three or six months' time, for the value of the cotton. We will say the price is L10,000. Russell draws ten bills for L1,000 each, say payable at the Union Bank of London. He gives these bills to a money broker in Savannah, who sells them on the Exchange and gets for them whatever the rate of exchange may then be on London. The president of the Georgia Central Railroad may have ordered a thousand tons of steel rail in England for his road, and to pay for them he orders a broker to buy for him bills on London to the amount of the cost of the rails. He purchases the Russell bills, and these bills of exchange he sends in payment to the steel rail manufacturers in England, so, as a matter of fact, the president of the Georgia Central pays Russell for his thousand bales of cotton, but has the bills of exchange. So, in place of L10,000 in gold being freighted twice across the ocean, the ten pieces of paper cross only once. These ten bills for L1,000 each, drawn on the Union Bank of London at six months, in due time are presented, duly accepted and paid at maturity by the bank.

Instead of commercial notes or bills they are now known as acceptances, and are just as good as a bank note. Therefore, if the owner—no matter who it is—wants the money at once, any bank will discount all or either for the face value less the interest. In every commercial centre of the world these accepted bills are being discounted by banks and moneyed corporations for enormous sums, but by no bank in the world in such huge amounts as by the Bank of England. Their daily discounts run into the millions.

What our plan was will be made clear later.



The evening of the day of my arrival in Paris found me on the express speeding to Paris. Two hours past midnight I was on the miserable little passenger steamer that plies across the chopping channel, and which I suppose has seen more of human misery than all the fleets that sail the Atlantic, for the channel has stronger counter currents, and wind, tide and currents seem ever to be in violent opposition, and here

"E'er across the main doth float A sad and solemn swell, The wild, fantastic, fitful note Of Triton's breathing shell."

And Triton (old Neptune's t'other name) makes all passers over this part of his realm pay ample tribute for "his fantastic, fitful notes."

The Paris night express lands one at early dawn in London, nearly always weak on the legs, however. I breakfasted with Mac, and after that took the bills to the various banks on which they were drawn, and leaving them for their acceptance, I called again the next day and received them back, bearing across the face, the magic words:

"London, Aug. 14, 1872.

"Accepted for the Union Bank of London.

"E. Barclay, Manager.

"J. Wayland, Assistant Manager."

Then I hurried to the Grosvenor, and we all looked at them with curiosity, for it was upon the imitation of just such acceptances that our whole plan was based. I intended to present this and many more batches of genuine bills for discount at the bank until the officials should become accustomed to discounting for me. In the mean time, as fast as I got genuine acceptances and bills, we kept on making imitations of them for future use, only leaving out the date until such time as we should be ready to put them in for discount. Of course, the success or failure of our whole plan turned upon this point. Is it the custom of the Bank of England (in 1873) to send acceptances offered for discount to the acceptors for verification of signatures?

This is always done in America, and had this very requisite precaution been used by the Bank of England our plan would have been fruitless and we should have been a few thousands out of pocket; but, if not, then we could throw into the hopper enough acceptances of home manufacture so that through the red tape routine of the bank millions of sovereigns would be ground out into our pockets.

Taking my deposit book and the genuine bills, I went to the bank and left the bills for discount. This was at once done and the amount placed to my credit. I drew L10,000, and that night found me once more one of 500 unfortunates paying tribute to Neptune. This time I landed at Ostend and took the train for Amsterdam. There I repeated the Paris operation, securing L10,000 in genuine bills. I returned to London, and as before left them for acceptance. Then my companion manufactured a lot of imitations and put them away with those previously manufactured, to be all ready when the day came to use them. The genuine bills were then discounted. Again and again I went to the Continent, repeating the operation, until at last my credit at the bank was firm as a rock, and we were ready to reap our harvest. But these operations, simple as they seem, lasted over a period of six months, and had been made at heavy cost. Our ordinary living expenses were not less than $25 a day for the three, while our extraordinary expenses were enormous. I probably traveled 10,000 miles over the Continent in my bill-buying expeditions to Paris, Amsterdam, Frankfort and Vienna.

Another source of expense was the commissions paid to brokers for buying bills on the exchange. Then we had many expenses purely personal, and, enormous as it seems, the sum total from the day of our return from Brazil until the day of our operations against the bank began to bring us in cash were quite $500 a week, so that we had invested $15,000 in preparation, not to speak of our hard work—and it was hard work, and trying, too, for there were a multitude of details to be worked out.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE EGYPTIANS PASS OVER THE RED SEA AND THE HEBREWS ARE DROWNED THEREIN.

All the details of events leading through the long Summer and Autumn days of 1872 up to the hour when the golden shower began to fall on us are of intense, almost dramatic, interest. I will not, however, lengthen the narrative by giving here any further account of them, but will merely relate the story of the last five days before the actual presentation of our home-brewed acceptances.

The bank had been discounting for weeks comparatively large sums for me. Many thousand pounds of the genuine article discounted had matured and been paid, and more thousands were still in the vaults, awaiting maturity, and would fall due, while our home-manufactured bills would be laid away in the vaults, there to remain for four or five months until due. Of course a full month or two months before that we could pack our baggage and be on the other side of the world; I on some hacienda in Mexico, George and Mac at some fashionable resort in Florida. They soon to knock at the gates of the Four Hundred, I to spend a year or two in Mexico, playing "grand senor," until, under the skillful management of our friends, Irving, Stanley and White, at Police Headquarters in New York, the affair had blown over, and they invited me to return.

But, as the sequel will show, the reality took on a different complexion from the ideal.



My credit at the bank was solid as a rock. That means I had gone through the red-tape routine. It only behooved us to use circumspection enough to avoid making mistakes in our papers, and fortune was ours. I knew everything was all right, but George, being a thorough business man himself, could not comprehend that it could be quite right, and he insisted upon one supreme test. Any single bill of exchange is seldom drawn for more than L1,000, rarely for L2,000, and one of L6,000 is almost unheard of. If a party in Bombay wanted exchange on London for L100,000, his broker would probably furnish him with one hundred bills for L1,000 each. But George had made up his mind that as a test, and to make an impression upon the bank manager, I should go to Paris and get a bill on London from Rothschilds drawn to the order of F. A. Warren direct. Could this be done it would, of course, make it appear that I had intimate relations with the Rothschilds, and as a minor consideration we could use the Rothschild acceptance—a pretty nervy thing to do, as Sir Anthony de Rothschild, the head of the London house, whose name we proposed to offer, was a director of the Bank of England, and would have to pass his own paper for discount—that is, paper bearing his name, manufactured by ourselves.

We tried to talk George out of this notion, which Mac and I regarded as a freak, unnecessary in the first place, and impossible anyhow. But he was persistent, and I had to start out and try. I expected an expense of $1,000 and a delay of two weeks, but fortune or the devil favored us. So, purchasing at the exchange broker's in London 200,000 francs in French paper money, once more I left Victoria Station for Paris. Once more, an unwilling victim, I heard the "wild, fantastic, fitful note of Triton's breathing shell." At Calais I took my place in what the French call a coupe; that is, the end compartment on a car, which, by paying ten francs extra, you can occupy alone. It is unlike the other compartments in that there are no arms dividing it into seats; so one can lie full length on the cushion.

Before this night I speak of I had cherished a theory as to what I should do in the event of an accident happening to any train whereon I was a passenger. In such a case I proposed to catch on to some object and hold on, leaving my body and limbs to swing freely. My theory ever since that night has been that I will go just wherever the breaking timbers and flying furniture send me. I had fallen into a sound sleep before the train started, and was aroused from it to find myself hurled about the compartment much as a stout boy would shake a mouse in a cage, and quite as helpless.

Our train was off the track. My carriage was near the engine, and the momentum of the long train forced the car in the rear of mine up on end, and it appeared as if it would fall over and crush me. I thought my hour had come, and I cried out, "At last!" There was no fear or terror in it, but merely the thought that after many months of almost incessant travel, and necessarily of peril, "at last" my fate had come. It had not. How good heaven would have been if it had sent me to my doom then and there!

The accident had occurred at Marquise, a small town sixteen miles from Calais and four from Boulogne, the first stopping place of the express. It was a very long train, but the carriages were all empty except two. A heavy excursion train had left Paris, and the cars were going back empty. What lessened the number of passengers was the fact that it was Sunday night. The English do not travel on Sundays as a rule. So, fortunately, a great loss of life was prevented. However, two were killed and half of the remaining passengers injured. My own injuries were slight and consisted of trifling cuts on the face and hands from flying glass. But, far worse than that, I had received a nervous shock, which took some weeks to wear off, and during the rest of my journey to Paris and return to London I was as nervous as a timid woman. I stayed at Marquise until noon, when the express passing at that hour made a special stop to pick me up.

In our glorious and free country the killing or mangling of a few persons more or less is of no particular concern to any one beyond the friends of the victims, least of all to the railway magnate or to his servant. But in France an accident which results even in the wounding of a passenger is a very serious matter to the road where it occurs and to its officials. They always hasten to take the fullest responsibility, and if attention or the more solid matter—cash—can comfort the sufferer, he will have no occasion to mourn long. If one life be lost—even a servant of the road—a strict judicial inquiry takes place upon the scene of the accident, by a high official of the State, advised by experts, not as in this country, by some drunken country loafer or ward heeler, who, all ignorant of the law, has been "elected" county coroner, and one who is more anxious to procure free passes on the road than he is concerned for the victim murdered by the neglect or parsimony of inefficient railway officials.

The road from Paris to Calais is known as the Chemin de Fer du Nord, and Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, head of the Paris Rothschilds, is the president of the road. This fact occurred to me within a few minutes of the accident, and I thought I might make use of the affair as a means to help me in my business at Paris. I arrived about dark, went to the Grand Hotel, and to bed at once. My nerves were so shaken that I was timid, even when in the elevator, but I slept well and awoke at daylight feeling better.

At 10 o'clock, limping badly and leaning on a cane, I entered a carriage and drove to the Maison Rothschild, Rue Lafitte. The banking house might well be called a palace. The various offices open upon a courtyard, while the whole architecture of the building would suggest the residence of an officer of State or nobleman rather than a building devoted to finance. But the currents which centre there are potent and far-reaching, and come richly laden with tribute from the four quarters of the world. To win that tribute slaves toil, and, toiling, die, in Brazilian diamond mines, and thousands of coolies, entrapped by agents in China and India, enter into perfidious contracts which commit them to hopeless slavery and send them to wear out their lives in despairing toil amid the pungent and murderous ammoniacal fumes of the guano islands of Chili and Peru. The Rothschilds, too, own the Almaden quicksilver mine and others.

They control the quicksilver industries of the world, and to swell their abnormal hoard, portentous in its vastness, other poor wretches, condemned under form of law, are doomed to days of wearing toil, and, their bones rotting from quicksilver absorption, to nights of racking pains. So, too, far Siberia contributes its quota of human misery that the golden stream of interest on century-old loans may have no interruption, but pour on unceasingly into the vaults of the Rothschilds.

Alighting from the carriage and mounting the steps with difficulty, I entered the English Department, and, seating myself, awaited the manager's presence. He came, and expressing great concern when he learned I was a victim of the Marquise disaster, asked what he could do for me. I replied I wanted to see the Baron. He disappeared into a range of offices, and no doubt told Baron Alphonse I was some important personage, doubly important because injured on his road.

Soon a slight, sallow man of about 43 appeared, wearing an old-fashioned stovepipe hat and a shabby suit of snuff-colored garments. The look of the attendants testified that the deity was before me. Taking off his antiquated chapeau he began a profuse apology for the accident, explaining that accidents were most unusual events in France; that he would order his own physician to attend me, that I should have every attention without the slightest charge or expense to myself, etc., etc., and ended by saying I was to command him if he could serve me. In return I told him since he was so distressed over the accident and my plight, I should say no more about either, but as I was too badly shaken to complete the business on which I had come to Paris I should request him to instruct his subordinates to aid me in transmitting the funds I had brought from London back again. He called the manager and told him to accommodate me in anything, then, shaking hands and with many expressions of regret, he withdrew.

I told the manager I wanted a three months' bill on London for L6,000. He informed me that the house of Rothschild was not issuing time bills, but since the Baron's order suspended the rule in my case, he would procure me six bills for L1,000 each. These really were just as good for our purpose as one bill for L6,000, but I had come to Paris on George's demand that I should procure one bill for this unusual amount, so perforce I had to say "No," that I wanted one bill only.

The manager began to remonstrate, saying it was unusual, and wanted to explain the nature of a bill of exchange, but I cut him short, bidding him recall the Baron at once. The thought of recalling that Jupiter to repeat an order was enough to send a thrill through the entire staff, and he instantly said: "Oh, sir, if you wish the L6,000 in one bill, you shall have it, but it will involve some delay." So paying him 150,000 francs on account, I ordered the bill sent to me at 2 o'clock precisely at the Grand Hotel, and drove off to the Louvre, where I spent two hours in the picture galleries. At 2 o'clock I was at the hotel, and an attendant came with the bill, and, pointing to a signature on it, informed me it was that of a Cabinet Minister, equivalent to our Secretary of the Treasury, certifying that the tax due the government on the bill was paid. He explained the revenue stamp required upon a bill of exchange was one-eighth of 1 per cent. of the face of the bill, making the tax on my single bill 187 francs, or about $37. All bills are stamped in a registering machine, which presses the stamp into the paper; but there were no registering machines for a stamp of so high a denomination as 187 francs either in the branch revenue office in the Rothschild bank or at the Treasury, so the Baron had taken the bill to the Treasury himself and got the Cabinet Minister to put his autograph on it—probably the first and only time in history that such a thing had been done. I wanted very much indeed to keep that bill as a curiosity, but then the necessity of the time was on me, and I was not then a collector of curios.

I had been only eighteen hours in Paris, and by a happy fluke the business was done over which I had counted upon spending a good part of the month.

When I left London I was all at sea as to how I should carry out the objects of my visit to Paris. One plan was to procure an interview by strategy with the Baron Alphonse and try to cajole him, but without reference, and devoid of all business relations or acquaintance in Paris, it was at best a questionable expedient, and I probably would have had a take-down. But the accident at Marquise came and smoothed the apparently insuperable difficulties in my way. But I have found that something unusual does come to help a man on his way to the devil when he is anxious to get there, which he is pretty sure to do, if he is only diligent and careful to improve his opportunities.

What diligence and strict attention to business do men exhibit when they start out to wreck their own lives and break the hearts of those near to them! In a play by a modern writer, one scene presents Satan flying at midnight over one of our cities, while the drunken songs and joyous shouts of some gilded revelers rise in the night. The merry songs and laughter are music to the ears of Lucifer. He pauses in his flight to listen, and as the songs and shouts increase in volume he looks down on the revelers and with a bitter sneer soliloquizes thus of them:

"Ye are my bondsmen and my thralls, Your lives I fill with bitter pain."

And that sums it up pretty well; but we must look straight away from the entrance of the Primrose Way to the exit.

Well, I had successfully played my trump card on the Rothschilds, and, not seeing the end, thought I had won, and cleverly won; so before sitting down to dinner I went to the telegraph office and telegraphed to my partners:

"The Egyptians all passed over the Red Sea. But the Hebrews are drowned therein."

Thinking this rather witty, I went to dinner well satisfied. An hour past midnight the moon looked from behind a cloud and saw me, one of many miserables, leaning over the bulwark of that wretched Dover steamer, again paying tribute to Neptune.



CHAPTER XXII.

"ACCEPTED. LIONEL ROTHSCHILD."

When George and Mac received my telegram they, knowing the difficulties of my mission, deemed it incredible that I had succeeded within a day, so when my telegram came they thought I was attempting some jest. Upon my arrival in London, walking into Mac's room—he being still in bed—I announced that I had in my pocket Rothschild's bill for L6,000, drawn on the London house. He flatly refused to believe me, but when he, and later George, saw the bill, they were forced to believe. I at once took it down to St. Swithin's lane, and, leaving it for acceptance, called the next day, when I found scrawled across it in thin, pale ink the mystic words "Accepted. Lionel Rothschild."

The bill itself was drawn on cheap, blue paper, on the same form as the blank bills to be had at the Paris stationers', where I had bought some. From Rothschilds' I went direct to the hotel where we had our rendezvous, and the acceptance was so simple and easy that Mac had it copied on another bill in ten minutes. The business methods of the bank were so loose that there was no necessity for imitating signatures, but as a precaution this was done to some extent. I then proceeded to the Bank of England for my last personal interview with the manager. I must halt here for a brief space in the narrative, in order to enlighten my reader upon some new developments, also to introduce the new member we at this time brought into our firm.



There was a friend, a very old friend, of mine residing in Hartford, Edwin Noyes by name. We had known each other from our schoolboy days, and there was a warm friendship between us. Our paths in life had been wide apart, but we maintained a frequent correspondence and often met. He knew nothing of my primrose life, but supposed, of course, from the style of my living that I was the possessor of a handsome income from my business, which lay, as he imagined, in that mysterious precinct known as "The Street," which, of course, meant Wall street, and that my business was speculating in stocks.

He was a trifle older than myself, of a steady, reserved nature, and a discreet and safe friend. This was the new member of our firm. How he came to be so I must explain. Up to this time, as the reader will have noticed, I was the only one of the party known at the bank, and, of course, was the only one who seemed to be taking any risk. Even in the event of discovery it would apparently be necessary for me only to take flight. George and Mac, not being known in connection with the fraud, could remain in London until such time as they chose to go home. To make matters absolutely safe for me as well we got up this scheme.

I told the manager of the bank that I had bought an immense plant and shops in Birmingham to manufacture railway material, and that I should be there superintending the work a good deal; therefore I might occasionally send any bills I had for discount from there by mail. I had sent two or three lots of the genuine bills in that way. If I could send the imitation bills the same way, Mac and George could carry on the business through the mail in my name and I could be at the other side of the world while the actual operation was going on, so that, far from my ever being proved guilty, there would be proof of my innocence, for how could I be guilty of a crime committed in England at the very time I was on a pleasure jaunt in the West Indies and Mexico? Thus it was arranged. Mac and George could do everything and remain in the background themselves, provided we had a safe man whom I could introduce at the bank as my clerk or messenger, also to represent me in different places where I could introduce him as my messenger before I left England.

The reader will see the extreme artfulness of the plot, but in all wrongdoing there is sooner or later a slip up. Be the plot ever so artful, or however safe the wrongdoing may appear, the unforeseen something will happen.

Of course, Mac and George not being known at the bank need not care, but it might easily be serious for me.

When the explosion came, fifty people in and about the bank would remember my face. But if I brought Noyes on the scene to act as my clerk I need only introduce him to the paying teller of the bank, and to Jay Cooke & Co., the American banking house, where I proposed to buy enormous quantities of United States bonds, paying for them in checks on the Bank of England. Of course, the bonds being all bearer bonds, would, with our knowledge of finance, be as good as so much cash.

So, knowing Noyes, if he would embark in the enterprise, had plenty of nerve and could never be bribed or bought into betraying us should he by any failure of our plans happen to be arrested, we determined to send for him. A short time before we arrived at this conclusion I had sent this precautionary letter to him:

"Grosvenor Hotel, "London, Nov. 8, 1872.

"My Dear Noyes: You will be surprised to hear from me from London, but the fact is I have been here with George and a friend of ours for a year, and have made a lot of money from several speculations we have embarked in. In fact, we have been so successful that we have determined to make you a present of a thousand dollars, which find inclosed. Please accept the same with our best wishes.

"We may be able to give you a chance to make a few thousands, if you would care to venture across the ocean. Perhaps we can make use of you. If so, I will send you a cable. If I do, come any way, as we will pay all your expenses should you determine not to go in with us on the deal. Be cautious and preserve absolute secrecy when you leave home as to your destination. Will explain the reason for this when we meet. Keep your weather eye open for the cable. It may come any hour after you have this.

"Hoping you are quite well, I remain," etc., etc.

* * * * *

A few days later we sent him this cable (it was afterward produced in court in evidence against him): "Edwin Noyes, New York. Come by Atlantic on Wednesday; wire on arrival at Liverpool; meet at Langham."

He arrived ten days later, and at a little dinner given in his honor we told him our plot. He was astounded, and for the remainder of the dinner, and for the day, too, for the matter of that, he acted like a man in a dream, and we three were amazed that he did not instantly fall into our plan.

Here was the dramatic representation of the poisonous effect of wrongdoing. We three had by degrees become accustomed to look upon a fraud committed by ourselves with equanimity. I say by degrees. Insensibly we had been sinking deeper and deeper, until, our moral senses blunted, we found excuses to our own consciences. But here was my companion and friend; he was no Puritan, but, like ourselves but a few brief months before, regarded crime with detestation, and now, when the men he trusted proposed he should become a party to a crime, his mind revolted in horror. Well for him had he yielded to the prompting of his own conscience and fled from us and the fearful temptation of sudden wealth. At last he said he would consider it. After a day or two of silence he began to question us as to our mode of operation, then his mind became more and more familiarized to the thought, until at last, fascinated by our association, he acquiesced, saying: "I will do it. I want money badly. The Bank of England, after all, will not miss it. So I'll go in for this once."

By our direction he went to an obscure hotel in Manchester square, and then purchased clothes more suitable for his new position than the fashionable tailor-cut suit he wore from New York.

On several occasions I had gone to Jay Cooke & Co. in Lombard street and purchased bonds under the name of F. A. Warren and giving checks in payment upon the Bank of England. So one day I went there with Noyes and purchased $20,000 in bonds, giving my check for them. I then introduced Noyes as my clerk, directing them to deliver any bonds I bought to him at any time. The next day he called and they gave him the bonds which I had given my check for the day before, so there was no necessity any longer for me to come in person to make purchases. Noyes could appear there any day, give an order for bonds, secure a bill for them, and in half an hour bring a Warren check for the amount of the bill, pretending, of course, that he had got it from me, but really getting it from Mac, leaving the check for collection and to call the next day for the bonds.

The same day that I introduced him to Jay Cooke & Co. I took him to the Bank of England at a busy time of day, and while drawing L2,000, I casually introduced him to the paying teller as my clerk, requesting the teller to pay him any checks I sent. Then for the next few days I had Noyes take checks to the bank and had him order two or three small lots of bonds from Jay Cooke & Co., so that they became familiarized with seeing him come on my business.



The plan was complete at last. Everything was ready to carry out our scheme in perfect safety to all, and, as related in the beginning of the chapter, I was now on my way to the bank for my last visit, with the Rothschild bill in my hand. Many accounts were given of this famous interview in the English press just after the discovery of the fraud and prior to my arrest, also when the details transpired at the trial. The facts were simply these: I presented myself at the bank, and, sending in my card to the manager, was ushered at once into his parlor. After a few remarks upon the money and stock market, I produced the bill, remarking that I had a curiosity to show him which had been sent me by a correspondent in Paris. It was certainly a curiosity; it was a thing entirely unknown in the history of the bank to have a bill of exchange bearing the signature of a Cabinet Minister certifying that the internal revenue tax had been paid on it. This, along with the circumstance that the bill was made payable to myself, evidently made considerable impression on the manager and confirmed him in his good opinion of his customer. The unusual features of this bill of exchange led him to relate some of the inner events of the bank's history, during which I asked him what precaution the bank took against forgery. He told me a forgery on the bank was impossible. But I asked: "Why impossible? Other banks get hit sometimes, and why not the Bank of England?" To that question he gave a long reply, ending with the assertion that "our wise forefathers have bequeathed us a system which is perfect." "Do you wish me to understand you have not changed your system since your forefathers' time?" I said. To which he emphatically replied: "Not in the slightest particular for a hundred years." In conclusion I told him I should be fully occupied looking after my different business interests, but would give him a call if I found time. I also said I would have the bill discounted and take the cash away with me, instead of having it placed to my credit. He called an attendant, gave the necessary order, and the cash was handed me. Bidding the manager good-bye, I repaired to our meeting place and showed the notes for the discounted bill. Even George was satisfied that my credit at the bank was good for any amount of discounts on any sort of paper.

Everything now was ready for my departure from England. For some weeks my partners had been busy preparing for the completion of the operation.

The first lot of bogus bills were ready to go into the mail at Birmingham as soon as I was out of the way—it having been decided that I should then be out of the country. So one Monday late in November I packed my baggage, and, after many warm hand shakings, I bade my friends adieu. We had had many talks about the happy future. We had planned pleasant things in the future, and spoken confidently of our four-in-hands, our Summer cottages at Saratoga and Newport, of our town house, fine suppers and our boxes at the opera. After that I saw them for a brief hour on the coast of France and once more said adieu. When we met again it was in Newgate. I need hardly say that for the next twenty years we had no boxes at the grand opera, no four-in-hands, nor yet any fine suppers, but all that which was merely external passed away, consumed in that fierce flame, but all that was manly and true remained; that is, our devotion and courage and our high resolve to conquer fate and live for better things.

Before leaving London we had squared up our cash account. It was something to make one stare to see how our money had melted away. It was arranged to send in the first lot of bogus bills on Thursday, giving me two full days out of the country. Here I made a fatal mistake in determining to go to the West Indies, then on to Mexico. As George had planned I should have gone at once to New York, stopped at the best hotel in the city and registered in my right name. By taking this course I should have been safe and could have laughed at any attempt of the bank authorities to extradite me, for the first lot of bogus bills could have been held back until I had actually arrived in America. Then there could not have been found a single particle of evidence against me.

I say "if I had come to New York." But there is some mysterious spell over men embarked in crime that blinds their eyes to the plainest dictates of common sense or prudence. This has been proved in a thousand dramatic instances, but never more forcibly than in our own. It would seem as if clever, daring men do almost impossible things with ease, but there is a Nemesis which blinds them to trifles, fatal if overlooked, causing them to make mistakes of which a schoolboy would be ashamed.

When we first got our combination together I thought we had found a short cut to fortune, and never doubted of our success to the very end, and amid many mishaps, that either crippled or ruined our schemes and lengthened this short cut to fortune, I maintained my confidence until on that day down in blazing Rio, when the letter "c" in lieu of the "s" in indorse came to the front to crumble our "sure thing" into ruin. I remember that in the stupefaction which for a few minutes settled down on us, I felt we were really fighting against fate. A fate that like the fiat of Deity says "Thou shalt not," to all wrongdoing.

For some time after that "indorce" takedown a feeling took possession of me that such short cuts to fortune were risky, and that if success did come the success would in the end prove a failure. But there is so much in companionship and such magnetism in human association that when we all three met in Paris and went in and out together, then, under the stimulus of our union, I forgot all my forebodings and began to think the unforeseen fatal something would not happen, and that we could conquer fortune whether she would or no, and by any method on which we chose to enter. But, as will be seen in the sequel, when reveling in an unheard-of success, literally loaded down with wealth, Nemesis appeared and by means even more simple than our error in Rio stripped us of our wealth and dignity and left us naked to every storm that blew.



CHAPTER XXIII.

SHOWERS OF GOLD FALL—AND THEN?

I shall try and condense into a single chapter the narrative of events in London from the time of my departure until the day, some months later, when our scheme exploded and all took to flight when Noyes was arrested.

Our expenses had been so enormous that we were anxious to make enough to recoup them, so it had been agreed that the first batch of bogus bills should not exceed the amount paid out since leaving Rio.

I left for Paris on Monday. On Wednesday, Noyes went to the bank and drew out all the money to my credit, except three hundred pounds. The same day he went to Birmingham and mailed lot number one of home-manufacture bills representing L8,000.

The next twenty-four hours was an anxious time for my friends. The bills would be delivered by the early mail on Thursday, and if all went right the proceeds would be placed to my credit by 12 o'clock, and the bills themselves would be stowed away in the vaults until they were due some months ahead. George and Mac waited with the greatest anxiety until 2 o'clock. They had everything packed for instant flight, when at that hour they sallied out of Mac's lodging and started for the bank to make the test. They had filled out two Warren checks, one for L2,300 payable to Warren, another for L4 10s., payable to bearer.

Noyes went on ahead, the others following, and took his stand on the steps of a hotel in a side street not far from the bank. Keeping his eye out for a suitable appearing party he finally stopped a uniformed messenger, and, telling him to take the L4 10s. check to the bank, bring the money to him there, and he would be paid for his trouble.

Of course, as soon as the messenger had turned his back Noyes bolted around the corner to a place agreed upon, while Mac followed the messenger to the bank and saw he was paid without question. He gave the pre-arranged signal to George, who went with all haste to notify Noyes, and when the messenger arrived with the cash, he found him standing on the steps as cool and unconcerned as possible. Paying the messenger, all three started to the bank, Mac on the way giving Noyes the L2,300 check, which he presented. Nodding good day to the cashier he asked for L2,000 in gold and the remainder in notes, which were handed him at once, and three very happy men sat down that evening to dinner, because the day's operations had conclusively proved that the Bank of England methods were fallible.

The next morning Noyes went to Jay Cooke & Co. and ordered $75,000 in United States bonds, giving a check for them on the bank. The same afternoon he went to Birmingham and mailed another letter, this one containing L15,000 in bills, and later drew L2,000 in gold from the bank. On Monday he went after the bonds, and the $75,000 was handed over to him without questions. The whole operation was a repetition of these tactics, but with an ever-increasing volume in the amounts of the bills. On some days the mail brought to the bank letters with bills for $100,000, sometimes for more, sometimes for less. So November and December passed away, and the bank continued day by day and week by week laying away in its vaults the worthless collateral of Mr. F. A. Warren in exchange for its gold.

But why not be satisfied and stop while it was all right? That is the question of a wise man, but who ever knew any man who wanted to do a thing, whether he did it or not, who could not find half a hundred good reasons why he should do it. But as Christmas came near Mac began to long for home. He had repaid his father every penny of the large sum he was owing him; there had been a reconciliation by mail, and each steamer that came bore many long letters from parents and sisters, all speaking of their joy over the happy turn of events that was going to bring the absent member of the flock home within its walls again. The father's heart, long estranged, grew very tender toward his boy, and with pride he thought his eldest had thrown off the follies of his youth, and in manful strength was making ample atonements for the thoughtlessness and the wanderings of his youth. He and they were all destined to a terrible awakening. For soon the press of the world was to teem with accounts of his son's arrest and incarceration for participation in a gigantic fraud. When the blow fell it came with crushing force on that home, and a shadow deep as night settled down on the household; all joyousness and even hope itself fled when the cable bore the news that their boy had been condemned to life imprisonment in a foreign dungeon. And one by one the members of that family passed away from a world that held no more for them since their good name had been tarnished.

In London the boys talked of spending Christmas at home, but the argument to stay—and it prevailed—was that since the money came in so easily and in such amounts it was a pity to run away from it. Then, again, by obtaining an enormous sum and putting it in a place of absolute security, the bank would be glad to compromise the matter in consideration of receiving a million or two back again.

So they spent a pretty merry and an exceedingly expensive Christmas in London, but later in February they determined to pack up and leave.

Everything smiled upon them. The gold and bonds they had, meant fortunes for all. I was away in tropic islands leading an idle life with my bride amid the cocoanut and palm trees. Mac and George had never appeared in the transaction, and as for Noyes, not a soul in all America knew he was in Europe, and in all Europe only three or four people had seen him, and knew him as representing Warren.

The business was finished. All three laden with money were going to leave England, leaving the bank to slumber on for weeks until the first bills became due before there could be a discovery. By that time the cash would have been safely stowed, and how or where or to whom could anything be traced?

So in council they had decided to be content with the enormous amount they had. The last batch of bills was in the mail. Only one day more and the strain on the nerves would be over. That day Noyes bought bonds and drew cash for more than $150,000. At 3 o'clock they sat down to lunch, their last in London, and then went direct to Mac's apartments in St. James' place. All the material for making fraudulent bills was there, and what could be burned was to be thrown into the grate, and the rest to first be filed into blank nothings and then thrown into the Thames. The three were there and they were happy. They had engineered a gigantic scheme, had struck for wealth and won. The short cut to fortune in defiance of fate had been traversed and now they set about a grateful task—that of getting themselves and their rich argosy out of England. Mac being the artist of the party, and having executed the actual writing, drew the sealed box containing the unused bills up to the fire and began throwing them in one by one. In doing so he occasionally would throw some bill more elaborate than the common run on the floor beside his chair. He had finished his task and took from the floor those he had thrown there, looked at them for a moment, then crumbling them together, raised his hand to throw them in the fire, but as the devil always forsakes his friends at the critical moment, he stopped, smoothed out the bills and turning to the others, said: "Boys, these are perfect works of art; it is a pity to destroy them." From our point of view it was, since it was only necessary to drop them into the mail and they would coin us thousands. Then George said: "Suppose we send them in." The others said "All right," and our doom was sealed.