"That's your man," said the chief, pointing toward him, "and now you can commence upon him as soon as you please."

"All right," answered Everman; "I will see what I can do."

The firemen had by this time, gathered up their hose and were preparing to return to their various houses, and Thomas Nelson, after assisting in this labor until it was completed, left his companions, and proceeded along the sidewalk in the direction of the hotel. Everman walked on slowly behind him, and seeing him enter the building, he followed closely after him. Nelson proceeded to the bar-room and had just tossed off a cooling glass of beer, when the operative made his appearance.

"You seem to be thirsty after your hard work this morning," said the detective, in a laughing tone.

"It was pretty hot work, and no mistake," replied Nelson; "and we were mighty lucky in saving the adjoining houses. I was afraid once they would certainly go."

"Fill up your glass again," said Everman; and Nelson graciously acquiesced. "Yes," continued the operative, "you boys did excellent work, and you deserve great credit for it. I suppose your fire department here is composed entirely of volunteers?"

"Yes, sir," answered Nelson, quite pleased with the encomiums which his pet hobby received; "and a better organized fire department is not to be found anywhere."

"Well," said the detective, as he raised his glass, "here's to the health of your fire laddies; may you never miss a run, and always have as good luck as you did to-day."

"Good," said the delighted fireman; "I don't know your name, but you're a good fellow, and I am glad to hear you speak so favorably of us."

"My name is Everman," answered the detective frankly. "I only arrived in Woodford yesterday, and expected to meet a friend whose family resides here; but I regret to say I have been disappointed."

"May I ask who you were waiting to meet?"

This was the very question the detective most desired to be asked, and he answered at once.

"Yes. I expected to meet Newton Edwards here, and I have some letters for him from his employer, which he ought to receive."

At the mention of the name, Nelson started in astonishment, and then gave vent to a long, low whistle.

"I am afraid you won't find him here," he said at last.

"Afraid, Mr. Nelson! Why, what's the matter?" quickly inquired the detective.

"Well, sir, I am afraid your friend has turned rascal, and has run away."

"What do you mean?" sharply asked Everman. "Surely, you have no reference to my friend, Newton Edwards?"

"Yes, I mean him exactly. He is a damned thief, that's what he is; and he has broken his wife's heart!"

This was enough for Everman; and in a short time he had learned all that the honest carpenter could tell him. On the evening before, it appeared, Mrs. Edwards had received a letter from her husband, the contents of which had made her frantic with grief, and to-day she was unable to leave her bed. In this letter he had informed her that he had been connected with the robbery of the bank at Geneva, and that he had succeeded in eluding all pursuit, and was now hiding in some obscure place in the state of New York.

"This is all I know about it," added Nelson, "and I suppose I ought not to tell this; but when a man turns out a damned rogue like that, honest people cannot afford to shield or uphold him in his rascality."

"That's my opinion, exactly," rejoined the detective, "and I am sorry, indeed, for Edwards' wife, although I am free to confess that I have no further sympathy for him."

"I ought not to have told you this," said Nelson, with some compunctions of conscience at his garrulity. "And if my wife was to hear that I had done so, she would take my head off."

"Well, she won't hear of it from me, I can assure you, and I am too much disappointed in my friend to speak of it unnecessarily to any one."

Their conversation was continued a few minutes longer, and then Nelson, promising to see my operative again, took his leave.

Here was a revelation, which amounted to a direct confirmation of our suspicion regarding Edwards, and was convincing testimony of the fact that he was hiding from the officers of the law. The information about his location, while indefinite, was a surety of the fact that he had not gone west, according to his previous arrangement, and that he must be looked for in the state of New York.

One thing, however, was necessary to be done at once, and that was to keep a sharp lookout for any letter which might be mailed by Mrs. Edwards or any member of her family. There was no doubt that this lady would sooner or later attempt to write to her husband, and that too within a few days. It was therefore of the utmost importance that a close watch should be kept upon all the movements of the members of Mr. Black's household, and then to endeavor to get at the address of any letters which they might attempt to mail.

Everman immediately sent his report of what he had learned to me, and then sought the chief of police in order to enlist his further aid in such efforts as were now necessary to be taken.

When the chief had listened somewhat incredulously to what Everman had been enabled to learn in the few minutes' conversation which he enjoyed with Tom Nelson, he was overwhelmed with surprise at the rapid success he had met with, and he readily proffered all the assistance in his power.

Everman resolved to see Nelson again, and endeavor to induce him to ascertain the exact locality in which Edwards was hiding. The carpenter could not recollect it at the first interview, and was not sure that he had heard it, but Everman concluded to try to jog his memory upon that point still further. He did not have to seek an opportunity for meeting his man, for that evening he received another call from Nelson, who had evidently taken a great fancy to my affable operative. During the conversation that followed, Everman was informed by his new-found friend, that as well as he could recollect the name of the place from which Edwards' letter was posted began with a "Mac," and that was all that could be elicited from him.

Everman gave as his reasons for desiring to learn this fact, that he wanted to write to him himself, and convey the letters which had been intrusted to him.

After spending some time in the vain endeavor to refresh the carpenter's memory, they at length parted for the night.

"Remember, Mr. Everman," said Nelson, as he left the hotel, "if I can find out for you what you want, I will surely do so; but for heaven's sake don't let my wife know it, or I will be scalped alive."

The detective laughingly promised to beware of the sanguinary Mrs. Nelson, and the carpenter went his way.



CHAPTER VIII.

A Plan to Intercept Correspondence—Edwards Fully Identified—A pretty Servant Girl and a Visit to Church.

While these events were transpiring at Woodford, William had not been idle in the city. A constant watch had been maintained upon the several premises occupied by the relatives of Newton Edwards, in the hope of detecting some attempt upon their part to communicate with the suspected thief. This at all times is rather a difficult object to achieve, but we have frequently been obliged to resort to this mode of acquiring information from lack of definite knowledge on which to base intelligent action. In order that one of the many of these expedients may be fully understood, a few words in detail may not be out of place. As is well known, the mail of an individual is so sacredly guarded by the laws of the country which govern the postal service, that an attempt to interfere with the letters of another is regarded as a felony and punished with severity. Of course, therefore, no efforts of ours would be directed to the obtaining or opening of any letters which might be mailed to the suspected individual. Our object was simply to obtain the addresses upon the envelopes, if possible, and then to search out the parties to whom they had been consigned. In this instance our manner of proceeding was quite simple, but it required that it should be managed with great care and without exciting the suspicion of any one. For this purpose each of the operatives, detailed for this duty, was provided with a number of envelopes of a peculiar size and color, and all addressed to fictitious persons. Our plan was, that if any one of Edward's relatives deposited a letter in any of the street boxes, the operative should be on hand and be prepared to drop his letter into the box immediately on the top of it. Another operative was then to await the visit of the postman on his round for collection, when he would step up to him and making a pretense of a mistake in the address of a letter which he had mailed, would from its position be enabled to obtain a glimpse of the suspected letters below, and their addresses.

This watch was maintained unceasingly for several days without result, and it appeared either that the family were unaware of Edwards' hiding-place, or else that they were fearful of being watched, and avoided communicating with him on that account.

In the meantime, William received another visit from Mr. Silby, the president of the despoiled bank, who stated very reluctantly, that he and Mr. Welton, the cashier, during the absence of Eugene Pearson from the bank, had attempted the feat of loosening the screws upon the lock of the vault, and had been unable to do so. They had exerted their strength to the utmost, and the screws had sturdily resisted their efforts. He was therefore compelled to admit that thus far the suspicions against young Pearson appeared to be well founded, and that the screws had evidently been loosened before the prisoners were confined in the vault, in order to allow them to escape, should the atmosphere prove too oppressive for their safety. Mr. Silby also stated, that he had obtained an interview with a Mr. Crampton, the president of the bank at Independence, where it was learned that the parents of Newton Edwards resided, and that without divulging any of our plans regarding that young man, he had acquired considerable information concerning him. It was learned that Edwards had for some time been regarded as a very fast young man, and several episodes were related of him, in which he had figured in no very enviable light.

His parents were elderly people of eminent respectability, and were much distressed at the actions of their son, from whom they had expected so much. He had begun life with bright prospects, had entered into business with his own capital, but had failed after a short career, owing to his extravagant habits and his inattention to business. After this he had traveled for several firms, and while it was believed he received a large salary, there were many who shook their heads at the stories of his dissipation which reached their ears from time to time.

This was information which was of some value, and opened up the way to accomplish an object which William had long desired. He therefore requested Mr. Silby to introduce John Manning to Mr. Crampton, and directed Manning to accompany that gentleman to Independence, and by their joint efforts endeavor to obtain a photograph of Edwards. This was attended to at once, and in a few days, through the assistance of the sheriff at Independence, we were enabled to secure an admirable likeness of the absconding burglar, although the same had been taken nearly two years prior to this. A number of copies of this photograph were at once printed, and they were furnished to the various operatives who were at work upon the case. Hitherto we had been compelled to rely upon the rather unsatisfactory method of identifying him by description only, and in many cases, except where persons are trained to the work of accurately describing individuals whom they meet, there is danger of not being able to identify any one who has no very prominent distinguishing marks about him.

The first use to which this photograph was put was to exhibit it to Miss Patton, the young lady who had been assaulted in the bank, and she instantly recognized it as the picture of one of the men who had committed the robbery, and the one who had attacked Eugene Pearson, while the other intruder was engaged in the attempt to gag and bind her. This was very important, and no further efforts were now needed to establish the identity of Newton Edwards, or to connect him with the robbery as an active participant.

After several days of unproductive watchfulness at the city residences of Edwards' relatives, it became apparent that something more decisive would have to be attempted. From the reports of the operatives who had been detailed upon this part of the investigation, it seemed evident that the inmates had become suspicious of the fact that their movements were being made the subject of espionage, and it was resolved to adapt another system of operation, and endeavor to have one of my men enter the family, and by some means establish a friendly footing with its members. By this means he would be enabled, while unsuspected, to learn of the movements of the people whom he was watching.

I did not have far to seek for a man who would fully answer the purpose I had in view, and one who would succeed if success were possible. I had tried him in several operations where this kind of work was necessary, and he had invariably accomplished what had been delegated to him to perform. I therefore called Harry Vinton into my office, and stated to him the nature of the mission upon which he was to be sent. He was a handsome, jolly, quick-witted and intelligent young fellow, who had been with me for a long time. Entering my employment as an office boy, and evincing a decided task and talent for the profession of a detective, he had continued in my service, until at this time he was quite an adept in his particular line, and many a successful operation had been largely due to his intelligent efforts, while far removed from the directing eye of myself or my superintending assistants. His manners were frank and easy, and among the ladies he was a general favorite, therefore, I concluded to intrust him with the task of obtaining admission into the residence of the sister of Edwards, on Logan Place.

Our operatives had reported that at this house there was employed, in the capacity of domestic, a young and handsome girl, whose conduct as far as could be judged was exemplary in the highest degree, and informing Vinton of this fact, William inquired if he thought he could manage it successfully.

A merry twinkle shone in Vinton's eyes for a moment and then he answered:

"I think I can, sir; and I am willing to make the attempt."

"Very well," replied William, laughing. "Only look out for yourself. I hear she is a very charming young girl, and you may find yourself in earnest before you are aware of it."

"Perhaps I may," said Vinton, "and perhaps I might not do better than that if I tried."

"All right," said William; "I will not burden you with instructions at present, and you will proceed according to your own judgment, only remember what we want to discover, and succeed if you can."

With these words Vinton took his departure.

A few days passed uneventfully by and no report came from Vinton. He was evidently looking over the ground, and as undue haste would avail nothing in a matter of this kind William forbore to push him.

Vinton, however, had not been idle, and his inquiries had developed the fact that the young servant of Mrs. Andrews was a regular attendant at church on Sunday afternoon, when she was allowed her liberty from her domestic duties.

The following Sunday, therefore, found him wending his way toward the church. The day was bright and balmy, and the streets were thronged with pedestrians all bedecked in their Sunday attire, and apparently enjoying to the full their day of rest.

Vinton reached the church, a magnificent structure, with its many spires glistening in the rays of the sun, and its chime of bells which were ringing out their harmonious cadences upon the air. He had been fortunate to find among his acquaintances a young man who also attended this church, and in his company he repaired to the sacred edifice, and joined in the services of the hour. When the last hymn had been sung and the congregation had been dismissed, Vinton and his companion hurried out to the sidewalk, where they could observe all who came out.

Soon the doors were filled with little groups of men and women, all exchanging friendly greetings, and indulging in pleasant gossip before seeking their homes, and to the intense delight of Vinton, he noticed among a company of young ladies, the face and form of Mary Crilly, the pretty servant of the sister of Newton Edwards.

Finding his gaze riveted upon this group, his companion lightly pulled him by the arm, exclaiming:

"What's the matter, Vinton. Has Mary Crilly captivated your senses?"

"I don't know who you allude to, but there is one of the prettiest girls I have seen for a long time."

"I know who you mean, though," said his companion laughingly, "and she is one of the nicest girls I know. Although she is simply a servant, she is both pretty, intelligent and industrious."

"Do you know her?" asked Vinton, both delighted and surprised.

"Certainly I do," answered his companion; "her name is Mary Crilly, and she is living with a family on Logan Place."

"Can't you introduce me?" inquired Vinton anxiously.

"Yes, if you want me to; that's my sister she is talking to now, they are fast friends, and Mary will probably spend the evening at our house. Come along, and perhaps you will lose your heart."

The apples had certainly fallen right into his lap, and fortune had favored him this time, if never before.

Stepping up with his friend, Vinton was soon made acquainted with the pretty young domestic, and in a short time afterward was walking by her side in the direction of his friend's house, where Mary was to spend the afternoon and evening.

Strange as it may appear, young Vinton, when not on duty, associated freely with his companions, not one of whom suspected the business in which he was engaged. They only knew that he was employed in an office "down town," and that frequently he was required to be absent from the city for weeks. In a large city, however, there is not the same inclination to inquire about the private affairs of one's neighbors, and hence he had been able, for prudential reasons, to avoid announcing his real occupation, and was not compelled to make a social hermit of himself because of his profession.

Being pressed to remain at the house of his friend, Vinton cordially accepted the situation, and devoted himself to the fair Miss Crilly so assiduously that he soon was in high favor with that young lady. After an enjoyable afternoon, he had the pleasure of escorting Miss Crilly to her home, and when he left her at her door, he was gratified to receive an invitation to call again, which he joyfully accepted, and resolved to take advantage of at an early date.

Thus far we had been successful; we had obtained a photograph of Edwards, which had been promptly recognized. We had learned from his wife that he was hiding in the state of New York; and we had reliable men carefully posted in such a manner that in a very short time definite information must assuredly be obtained.



CHAPTER IX.

Waiting and Watching—Two Letters—Newton Edwards' Hiding-Place Discovered.

Harry Vinton continued his attentions to the fair young domestic, and in a few days he invited her to accompany him to the theater. Edwards' sister, Mrs. Andrews, was present when this invitation was extended, and having formed a very favorable opinion of my good-looking operative, she at once consented, and Mary blushingly signified her inclination to accept his escort. His deportment toward Mrs. Andrews was most deferential and polite, and in a very short time he had quite won her kindly regard. This, of course, was precisely what he was most desirous of accomplishing, and he improved every opportunity that offered to ingratiate himself into the good opinion of Mary's mistress. So agreeably and gentlemanly did he conduct himself that ere a week had elapsed he was quite graciously received, not only by the pretty young servant girl, but by the members of the family as well. Mrs. Andrews, who appeared to be a kind-hearted lady, although seemingly oppressed with some trouble, which was not made apparent, was deeply interested in Mary's welfare, and had taken especial pains to cultivate Vinton's acquaintance. This was done evidently with the view of satisfying herself as to the sincerity of his intentions toward the girl, and to advise with her in the event of her discovering that he was an unworthy suitor for her hand.

Vinton lost no opportunity to advance his friendly footing in the family, and frequently offered his services to Mrs. Andrews in the way of performing trifling commissions for her, which he could execute while on his way to and from his daily labor.

From Mary, Vinton learned that the family were in much distress regarding a brother of Mrs. Andrews, but what it was she could not tell.

He also learned that this brother (who was none other than Newton Edwards), and his wife had resided with the family for some time, but that Mrs. Andrews was very unfriendly to the young woman, and scarcely treated her with the respect which was due to her brother's wife. The young lady was very unhappy, Mary said, and several times she had seen her weeping bitterly in her room. Thus matters continued until on one Saturday morning, but a short time previous to this, the brother came home intoxicated, and abused his wife in a dreadful manner, and after ordering her to return to her family, had left the house, and had not been seen since.

"What has become of the young lady?" inquired Vinton, after he had expressed his sympathy for her unfortunate condition.

"Oh, her brother came for her that very afternoon, and after expressing his mind pretty freely to Mrs. Andrews, he took her to his home, somewhere away from the city."

"Did her husband go away, too?" asked Vinton.

"Yes, he went about the same time, and has not been here since."

"Do the people in the house know where he is?" inquired Vinton.

"I don't think they do," answered the girl, "and they are very much worried about him. There was a letter came from some one the other day, and ever since that time Mrs. Andrews has been in great trouble. She does not tell me anything about it, but I think it is about her brother."

"That's very strange, isn't it?"

"Yes, and what is more so," answered the girl, "for several days past there have been several men about the neighborhood who are strangers, and Mrs. Andrews is very much frightened about it. She is afraid to go out of the house, and seems almost afraid to move."

"Does she think they have anything to do with her?" asked Vinton, surprisedly.

"Oh, I don't know about that; but it is a very unusual thing to have strange men loitering about our neighborhood, and she feels very nervous about it."

Vinton expressed his profound sympathy for the unfortunate family, and without hinting any suspicion that anything of a criminal nature had occurred, he parted from the young lady and returned to his home.

A few evenings after this, Vinton again called upon Mary Crilly, and while he was conversing with her, Mrs. Andrews came into the room.

"Mr. Vinton," said she, "before you go, I want to give you a couple of letters to post for me, if it is not too much trouble."

"Certainly not," he replied, "anything I can do for you, Mrs. Andrews, will be cheerfully done by me, I assure you."

"Thanks," said the lady, "I will have them ready before you leave, and would like to have them posted this evening."

"I will attend to it, madam," said Vinton respectfully.

After passing a pleasant hour with Mary, Mrs. Andrews returned, and handed Vinton two letters which he placed in his pocket without looking at the addresses, a proceeding which he noticed gave Mrs. Andrews some degree of pleasure. After a few moments' further talk he took his leave, and hastened to the agency. Here he was fortunate enough to find my son William, and he immediately produced the two letters and laid them upon the desk.

"I don't know whether there is anything in these or not," said he, "but I thought I had better let you see them."

William took up the two envelopes, and looked at their addresses. With a start of surprise, he read the superscriptions. One of them was addressed to "William Amos, McDonald, New York," and the other to "Newton Edwards, Denver, Colorado, care Windsor Hotel."

Here was a dilemma! Could it be possible that Newton Edwards, knowing that the detectives were upon his track, would continue to use his own proper name, and have letters addressed to him in that open manner? This was certainly a most foolhardy thing for a sensible man to do, who was seeking to evade the officers of justice. Was it not more reasonable to think that Mrs. Andrews, taking alarm at the possibility of the actions of herself and family being watched, and being fully aware of the crime her brother had committed, would be advised to direct her letter to him under an assumed name?

A glance at the inside of these neat little envelopes would have satisfied all doubts upon the question, but with a delicate regard for the privacy of individual correspondence, William would not have opened them for any consideration.

"This is very clever," said he; "but I am afraid Mrs. Andrews is not quite sharp enough for us this time. However, we will sleep upon the matter, and see what will turn up by to-morrow."

The next morning all doubts were set at rest. Mr. Warner, my son William and myself, were seated in my office discussing this question. We were unanimous in our opinion that the letter addressed to Newton Edwards was a decoy; and with Everman's information before us, that Edwards was hiding somewhere in New York state, which began with a "Mac," all of us were convinced that the second letter alone was deserving of serious attention.

While we were thus debating the question, the mail brought us a report from William Everman at Woodford, that settled all doubts. Mrs. Edwards, he stated, had been seen to mail a letter that evening, and after a serious effort, Everman had obtained a glance at the address. It was as follows:

William Amos, McDonald, New York.

"That settles it!" said I; "send at once to McDonald, and my word for it, Edwards will be found."

Whether I prophesied true or not, will soon be seen.



CHAPTER X.

The Burglar Tracked to His Lair—The Old Stage Driver—A Fishing Party—A Long Wait—A Sorrowful Surprise—The Arrest of Newton Edwards.

Our plans were soon completed for a visit to the place indicated by the address upon the two letters. In the meantime, however, I had telegraphed to the police officials at Denver, and learned from them that no such person as Newton Edwards had been about that place, or was known there at all. They also promised that if any one called for a letter addressed to that name they would arrest him at once and inform us immediately.

McDonald, I soon learned, was a little village in the central part of New York, remotely situated, and with no railroad or telegraph facilities of any kind. An excellent hiding-place for a fugitive certainly, particularly, as I suspected, if he had relatives residing there. Far away from the swift and powerful messengers of steam and electricity, he might safely repose in quiet seclusion until the excitement had died away and pursuit was abandoned. Such places as these afford a secure harbor for the stranded wrecks of humanity, and many a fleeing criminal has passed years of his life in quiet localities, where he was removed from the toil and bustle, and the prying eyes of the officers of the law in the more populous cities and towns.

Two men were selected for this journey, and their preparations were soon made. That evening they were flying over the ground in the direction of the little hamlet, where they were hopeful of finding the man they were seeking.

As an additional precaution, and fearing that Edwards might not remain in McDonald for any length of time, I telegraphed to my son, Robert A. Pinkerton, at New York city, to also repair, as soon as possible, to that place, and if Edwards was there to arrest him at once, and await the arrival of my operatives from Chicago.

Immediately upon the receipt of this message, Robert left New York city by the earliest train, and without event, arrived at the station nearest to the village of McDonald, which he learned was about twelve miles distant. Here he was obliged to take a stage coach, and after a long, hot and fatiguing journey of several hours, he arrived about nightfall at the sleepy little village, which was his point of destination. By making inquiries of the stage-driver in a careless manner, and without exciting any suspicion, he learned that there was a constable at that place, and on arriving, he immediately sought out this important official. From him Robert learned that there was a strange young man stopping with an old farmer about two miles out of the village, who had been there several days, and who was represented as a nephew to the old gentleman. Upon showing him the photograph of Edwards, he recognized it at once, and signified his readiness to render any service in the matter which might be required of him. After disclosing as much as he deemed advisable to the constable, whose name was Daniel Bascom, Robert gladly accepted his hospitality for the night, and feeling very tired and weary after his hard journey, he retired to rest, and slept the sleep of the just, until he was awakened in the morning by his hospitable entertainer. Springing from his bed, and looking out at his window, he saw that the sun was just peeping over the hills in the east, and throwing its first faint rays over the beautiful landscape that was spread before him, lighting up hill and dale with the roseate but subdued splendor of its morning beams.

After partaking of a hearty breakfast, Robert and the village constable matured their plans of operation. As a well-dressed city young gentleman might occasion some curiosity in the village, and as young Edwards might take alarm at the unexpected appearance of a stranger in that retired locality, it was decided to make some change in Robert's apparel. The constable therefore very kindly offered him a suit of his clothing, which as the two men were nearly of the same size, and the articles slightly worn, answered the purpose admirably, and in a few moments Robert was transformed into a good-looking countryman, who was enjoying a short holiday after the labors of harvesting, which were now over.

In company with Mr. Bascom, the constable, Robert sauntered into the village. It was a beautiful morning; the air was delightfully fresh and cool, and the rays of the sun danced and glistened upon the dew-drops which sparkled upon every tree and flower. The feathered songsters filled the air with their sweet melodies, and nature with all its gladsome beauty was spread before him. Such a feeling of rest and thorough enjoyment came over him, that it was with an effort, he was able to shake off the pleasures of the hour, and bring himself to the disagreeable business in hand. After a short walk they approached the general store of the little village, which was the lounging-place of all the farmers for miles around. When they arrived they found a motley gathering assembled to witness the great event of the day in this town, the departure of the stage-coach, and Robert was speedily introduced as a relative of Mr. Bascom, who had came to McDonald to spend a few days.

The mail coach was an important institution in McDonald, and was regarded as the great medium of communication between that place and the great world outside. Every morning at precisely the same hour the coach departed, and every evening with the same regard for punctuality the old time-worn vehicle rolled up before the platform in front of the store, to the intense delight and admiration of the assembled crowd.

For nearly forty years had this identical old coach performed this journey, and the same old driver had drawn the reins and cracked his whip over the flanks—I was about to say, of the same old horses. This, however, could not have been so, although the sleepy-looking, antiquated animals that were now attached to the lumbering old yellow coach, looked as if they might have done duty for fully that length of time.

Two young men were already seated in the stage, and their luggage was securely stowed away in the boot. The postmaster—the village storekeeper filled that responsible position—was busily engaged in making up the mail, and old Jerry, the fat good-natured old driver, was laughing and joking with the by-standers, as he awaited the hour for departure. As Robert stepped upon the platform he bestowed a hasty, though searching glance at the two men in the coach, and to his relief found that neither of them was the man he wanted, and he quietly stepped back and watched the proceedings that were going on around him.

The postmaster appeared at last, mail-sack in hand, which he consigned to Jerry's care, and that burly individual clambered up to his place as gracefully as his big body and exceedingly short legs would permit. Seating himself upon his box, he gathered up his reins and shouted a good-natured farewell to the crowd. A quick and vigorous application of the whip awakened the dozing horses so suddenly that they started up with a spasmodic jerk which nearly threw the old fellow from his perch. By a desperate effort, however, he maintained his seat, but his broad-brimmed hat went flying from his bald head and rolled to the ground, scattering in its fall his snuff-box, spectacles and a monstrous red bandanna handkerchief. This little episode called forth a peal of laughter from the by-standers, in which the old man heartily joined.

"Stick to 'em, Jerry!" cried one, "too much oats makes them animals frisky," while another hastened to pick up the several articles and restore them to their owner.

Jerry wiped the great drops of perspiration from his bald, shining pate, as he replied:

"Them hosses are a leetle too high fed, I'll admit, but I'll take some of the vinegar out of 'em afore night, or my name ain't Jerry Hobson."

Everything being now in readiness, he again spoke to his steeds, and this time without mishap, the lumbering old vehicle rattled away on its journey. The little crowd gradually dispersed and soon left Robert and the constable alone with the store-keeper.

"I didn't see old Ben Ratcliffe around this morning," said Mr. Bascom to John Todd, the store-keeper.

"No," answered that individual; "he was here last evening, and said if the weather was fine he was going with his nephew over to the lake, fishing."

"That accounts for it, then," said the constable; "I don't think he has ever missed a day for ten years before."

"No, I don't think he has; but that young Mr. Amos, who is stopping here with him, is very fond of fishing, and the old man promised to take him over to Pine Lake this morning, so 'Uncle Ben' missed the mail for once."

After a short conversation with the store-keeper upon general matters, the two men took their leave. It seemed very evident that as yet there was no suspicion on the part of Edwards, as to the discovery of his hiding-place, and here in fancied safety, surrounded by nature in all its beauty, with affectionate relatives, the young burglar was enjoying himself as heartily as though no cares were oppressing him, and no thought of detection ever troubled his mind.

The uncle of young Edwards, it was learned, was a general favorite about the country. A good-natured, honest old farmer, who had lived there from boyhood, and was known to all the farmers and their families for miles around. Even in his old age, for he was long past sixty now, he cherished his old love for gunning and fishing, and held his own right manfully among those who were many years his junior.

It was decided, as a matter of precaution, that they should call at the house of Uncle Ben, in order to ascertain whether he and his nephew had really gone fishing, and to that end the constable harnessed up his horses, and in a few minutes they were on their way to the old farm-house, which stood at the end of a long shady lane leading off from the main road.



Driving up to the gate, the constable alighted and approached the house, while Robert remained seated in the buggy. In a few moments he returned, and stated that Mrs. Ratcliffe, the good farmer's wife, had informed him that her husband and nephew had gone off before daylight to a lake about five miles distant, and they would not return until late in the evening.

It was deemed advisable not to attempt to follow them, as their appearance at the lake might give the young man alarm, and as they were not sure of any particular place to find them, they concluded to quietly await their return. They accordingly drove back to the village, and Robert returned to the constable's house to dinner. In the afternoon the two operatives whom I had sent from Chicago arrived, having been driven over by private conveyance. Without publicly acknowledging them, Robert gave them to understand that he would meet them at the house of the constable, and upon repairing thither they were duly informed of what had taken place, and instructed as to the plans proposed for that evening.

Nothing of any note transpired during the afternoon, and after sundown the party started out upon their errand. Night soon came on, throwing its sable mantle over the earth, the sounds of the busy day were hushed, and all the world seemed wrapped in the tranquil stillness of a summer night. The stars, in countless numbers, were twinkling and sparkling in the blue heavens above, while the new moon, like a silver crescent, shed its soft light upon a scene of rare beauty and quiet loveliness.

Arriving within a short distance of the old farmer's house, the horses and buggy were secreted in a little grove of trees that skirted the main road, and the men stationed themselves in convenient hiding-places along the lane, to await the return of the farmer and his nephew. From the appearance of the farm-house, it was evident that the fishing-party had not yet returned, and they settled themselves down to a patient, silent waiting, which, as the hours wore on, grew painfully tedious and tiresome. At last, long past midnight, and after they had begun to despair of accomplishing the object of their visit, they heard a faint noise, as though footsteps were approaching.

"Hist!" cried Robert, "some one is coming."

They listened intently, and gradually the noises grew louder and more distinct. As they came nearer the constable distinctly recognized the voice of the old farmer, who was evidently relating some humorous story to his companion, who was laughing heartily. The merry tones of this young man's laugh were as clear and ringing as though he had not a care in the world, and had not committed a crime against the laws of the state. No one, to have heard that hearty, melodious burst of merriment, would have supposed for an instant that it came from the lips of a fugitive from justice.

They were now nearly opposite to the crouching figures by the roadside. The old farmer had evidently reached the climax of his story, for both of them broke out again into a fresh burst of violent laughter that awoke the echoes round about them.

The laugh suddenly died away, the merriment ceased abruptly, as a dark form emerged from the roadside, and the muzzle of a revolver was placed close to the cheek of the young man, while Robert called out menacingly:

"Newton Edwards, I want you!"

With an exclamation of pain, the young man dropped his fishing-pole and the bucket of fish he was carrying, while a chill ran through his frame, and he shivered like an aspen in the grasp of the determined detective.

The others had now come forward, and as soon as he could recover from his astonishment, the old farmer cried out:

"What does this mean?"

"It means," said Robert coolly, "that we have arrested your nephew for burglary, and that he must go with us."



The moon just then came peeping from behind a cloud, and fell upon the haggard face and wild eyes of the hapless prisoner, who until then had not uttered a word.

"It is all a mistake, Uncle Ben," faltered he; "but there is no use of making a denial here; if the blow has fallen, I must meet it like a man."

The old man, with tears in his honest old eyes, gazed for a moment at his miserable relative, and then, putting his sturdy old arms around him, he turned to the officers:

"Gentlemen, I suppose it is your duty. I have no fault to find. If the boy has done wrong, he must suffer; but bring him to the house now, and in the morning you can go your way."

His offer was accepted, and directing the constable to return to his own home with his carriage, the others walked slowly up the lane toward the house.

But few words were spoken during the night. The old farmer and his wife retired to their room, and during the few hours that remained, their voices could be heard as they sorrowfully discussed the painful situation.

Securing Edwards' effects, which consisted of a small portmanteau, they learned from the honest old farmer, whose word was as true as gold, that nothing else belonging to the young man was in the house. All attempts to induce the young man to speak were unavailing, and they finally let him alone, and during the long hours he maintained a dogged silence. The detectives patiently awaited the dawning of the morn. At last the eastern sky was tinged with red, and the faint beams of a new day came streaming in through the windows of the old-farm house; and then Edwards, after bidding a tearful adieu to his aged and stricken relatives, and accompanied by the officers, left the house and proceeded on his way to McDonald, to commence his journey to Chicago.



CHAPTER XI.

Newton Edwards brought back to Chicago—Attempt to Induce a Confession—A Visit to his Relatives—The Burglar Broken Down.

It was in the gray dawn of the morning when the party arrived at the house of the constable, Daniel Bascom. Here breakfast was prepared, and after full justice had been done to a bountiful repast, an examination of the effects of Newton Edwards was commenced. Ever since his arrest the young man had maintained a rigid silence, not deigning to notice the detectives in any manner whatever. He partook of his breakfast in a dazed, dreamy fashion, scarcely eating anything, and pushing back his plate as though unable to force himself to partake of food. In his satchel was discovered a roll of bank-bills, which on being counted was found to contain a trifle over three thousand five hundred dollars.

Edwards gazed at this money with a greedy, frightened look, like a wild beast at bay, but did not utter a word, as Robert placed it in a large envelope and secured it about his person.

"Will you be kind enough to inform me," said Robert, when this was completed, "how you come to have so much money about you?"

After a moment's hesitation, Edwards replied, doggedly:

"Yes, sir, I will. It is the proceeds of the sale of some property that I owned in the west."

"Very well," replied Robert, finding it useless, at present, to attempt to induce him to tell the truth. "You will have ample opportunity to satisfy a court and jury upon that point in a very short time."

Nothing farther was said to him until the time arrived for departing, and then the party, with their prisoner, walked into the village in order to take the stage for the railroad station at Birmingham.

Before leaving Mr. Bascom's, however, Robert handsomely remunerated the energetic constable for his valuable assistance, and after thanking him warmly for his active and cordial aid in our behalf, requested his company to the village.

As they approached the store, where the stage-coach was in waiting, they found an unusual crowd awaiting their appearance. The news of the robbery and arrest had by some means become known, and the eager faces of nearly three score of curiosity-seekers greeted them upon their arrival.

Old Jerry himself seemed to be impressed with an idea of additional importance, as though he was about to be called upon to perform a noble service of great responsibility to his country, in assisting to convey such a distinguished company in his old coach. The farmers gathered in little groups about the platform, and conversed in low tones, as they furtively regarded with sentiments almost approaching a respectful awe, the unwonted presence of the detectives and their charge. There was an utter absence of the boisterous hilarity which had been manifested on the preceding morning, and one might have thought that they had assembled for the purpose of officiating at a funeral, so thoroughly subdued and solemn did they all appear.

The journey to the railway station was made in due time, and without accident, and the party were speeding on their way to Chicago. Robert forbore to press the young man any further, and let him severely alone during the entire day. During the night they all retired to their sleeping berths, Edwards being securely handcuffed to one of my men, and occupying the same berth with him.

In the morning, Robert noticed a slight change in the demeanor of Edwards, and thought he detected a disposition to converse. He did not encourage him, however, preferring by all means that the advances should be made by the young man himself. Nor did he have long to wait. They procured their breakfast in the dining car, and after the meal was concluded, Robert, without uttering a word, handed Edwards a cigar, which he very gratefully accepted. After sitting quietly smoking for a few moments, he turned to Robert and asked: "Mr. Pinkerton, how did you discover that I was in McDonald?"

"In the same manner in which we have discovered many other things in connection with this robbery," replied Robert. "I may say, however, that the man we came for was William R. Amos; do you know anything about such a person?"

As Robert spoke he gazed scrutinizingly at the face before him, and Edwards winced perceptibly under his glance.

"I can explain that all right," he at length replied, with considerable embarrassment. "I got into some trouble at home with a young lady, and thought it best to leave town for a short time."

"Edwards," said Robert sternly, "falsehood and impudence will not help you in this case, and I wish to hear no more. I have only to say that we have evidence enough against you to insure a conviction, and your only hope lies in making your sentence as light as possible."

"How so?" he asked.

"By telling all you know about this matter. One of your accomplices, we have got dead to rights, and if you won't tell perhaps he will."

"Who have you got?" inquired Edwards, anxiously.

"That I cannot tell you now; our business is with you for the present. I want you to consider this matter carefully. You are a young man yet, and though you have thrown away golden opportunities in the past, you have yet an opportunity to reform your ways, and by assisting the officers of justice in recovering the money which you and your companions have stolen, and in arresting the rest of your associates, you may receive the clemency of the court, and perhaps benefit yourself materially."

Edwards was silent for a long time after this, and it was evident that he was seriously considering the matter. The words of the detective had made an impression upon him, but with the craftiness of an old offender, he was debating a plan by which he might turn his admissions into account for himself. At length he turned to Robert and asked:

"Will I be able to escape if I tell what I know?"

"I cannot promise that. But you are aware that the giving of information which leads to the capture of your associates and the recovery of the balance of this money, will work to your advantage very decidedly in the mind of the judge."

"Very well," said Edwards, with a dogged sullenness, "your advice is very good, but I have no confession to make."

"Take your own course," said Robert, carelessly. "My advice was for your own good, and as you don't seem willing to accept it, I have nothing more to say."

Although he had not accomplished very much as yet, Robert was still hopeful of inducing Edwards to unburden himself; but he resolved to attempt nothing further with him until they arrived in Chicago, where he could be managed more successfully by those who were more fully conversant with the facts in the case. He well knew that we already possessed testimony amply sufficient to convict Edwards of participating in the robbery, but what we most desired was to obtain information concerning his partners in the deed. However, he decided to allow him ample time for reflection and said no more to him upon the subject until they reached Chicago, when he was at once conducted to the agency.

A consultation was immediately held in order to devise the best means to be pursued to induce Edwards to reveal who his partners really were. William at once resolved upon a plan which he was hopeful would lead to good and immediate results. Calling a carriage, he directed the driver to take him to the residence of Edwards' sister, Mrs. Andrews, on Logan Place. On arriving at the house, he found that lady and her daughter at home, and he was immediately ushered into the parlor by the pretty servant, Mary Crilly. Without unnecessary preliminary, William informed the lady that we had succeeded in arresting Edwards for the robbery of the Geneva Bank, and that he was now in custody. He also stated that from information which he had obtained, he was led to believe that his family were perfectly aware of his actions in this matter, if indeed they had not aided him in accomplishing it.

At this point both mother and daughter burst into tears and sobbingly denied any knowledge of Edwards' crime until after he had committed it, and then they could not act as his accusers. Mrs. Andrews finally urged him to visit Edwards' brother, who resided on Freeman street, and hinted that he could tell something about the matter, although she asserted he took no part in it, and knew nothing about it until it had been completed.

Taking it for granted that they had told him all they knew about the robbery, William next hurried to the place of business of Edwards' brother, whom he was fortunate enough to find in his office, and disengaged. He at once stated who he was, and what he wanted to know. Mr. Edwards was at first disposed to deny all knowledge of the matter, but on William's informing him of his brother's arrest, and hinting that he had made a partial confession, he changed his mind and became quite communicative.

The brother then stated that for years he had been troubled with Newton's bad habits and extravagances, although he had never known him to commit a crime until the robbery of the bank at Geneva. He remembered hearing his brother boast once when he was intoxicated, that he could get plenty of money without work; but as Newton gambled a great deal, he imagined that he had alluded to that means of obtaining his money.

"Well," said William abruptly, "I want to know what you know about this robbery."

"I will tell you all I know," answered Mr. Edwards. "Some three or four weeks before I heard of this robbery, Newton was at my house, and was intoxicated. He boasted in his maudlin way that he had an opportunity to rob a bank, and that the cashier was a party to the affair; but I attributed all this to the wild utterances of a drunken man, and paid no further attention to it. On the Saturday night before the robbery took place, however, he came to my house during my absence, and had a companion with him, for whom he made a bed upon my parlor floor. In the morning they went away, and I have not seen him since. My wife informed me afterward that Newton, who was drunk at the time, had told her that the man with him was the one that was to help him to rob the bank, and that she had then ordered both of them out of the house. I did not at any time know where the bank was located, nor did I ever seriously entertain the idea of his attempting anything of the kind; but when I heard of the robbery of the Geneva bank, I at once suspected my brother, and although humiliated deeply at the thought, I could not take any step that would tend to bring disgrace and ruin upon my own family."

Without entering into the question of family honor, William inquired:

"Do you know the man who was with him at your house, and who was to assist in this robbery?"

"No," answered Mr. Edwards. "I never heard his name, and all that I ever knew of him was that he came from Denver, Colorado."

"Can you describe him?" asked William.

"Yes, I think I can," said Mr. Edwards, and he then gave a description of the man, which agreed perfectly with that of Edwards' companion on the day of the robbery.

Having now obtained all the information that was possible to be gained from this source, William returned to the agency, and entered the room where Edwards was confined. He found the young man sitting with his face buried in his hands and evidently in sore distress.

"Mr. Edwards," said William in his quick, imperious manner, "I have just had an interview with your brother and sister, who have told me all they know about this matter. You will readily see what little hope there is left for you if you persist in keeping from us the information which we desire. Whether you confess or not will make but little difference to us now, as sooner or later your associates will be caught, and your refusal to help us will only make it the harder for you. If you don't confess, Eugene Pearson will."

As William uttered this last sentence Edwards started to his feet, and exclaimed:

"My God, you know more than I thought! I will tell what I know."

At last we had succeeded in breaking him down, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in William's eyes as he requested the presence of Mr. Warner and my son Robert, while the story was being told.



CHAPTER XII.

The Confession of Newton Edwards—The foul Plot fully Explained—Eugene Pearson's Guilt clearly Proven—A Story of Temptation and Crime.

The confession of Newton Edwards revealed a history of undiscovered crime that had been carried on for years. Beginning at first in wild and extravagant conduct, which consumed the liberal salary which he received, and then led to the incurring of debts which became pressing and impossible of payment by legitimate means; then followed a thirst for gambling, in which large returns were promised for small investments, and failing in this, came the temptation to crime and his consequent ruin.

How certain it is, that once the downward step is taken, the rest follows swiftly and inevitably, and ruin and disgrace tread swiftly and surely upon the heels of folly and crime. Newton Edwards began life under the brightest aspects. Of respectable parentage, he had enjoyed the benefits of a liberal education, and his first essay in business had been both fortunate and profitable. Beloved by his family, and admired by a numerous circle of friends, he deliberately gave himself up to a life of excess and dissipation, and the end was soon to be a dark and gloomy prison.

I will, however, leave him to tell his own story, and the moral of it is so plain that he who runs may read. We were all seated around the fallen young man awaiting his recital, and after a few moments of hesitation and embarrassment he began:

"I will tell you all there is to relate, and in order that you may fully understand my present situation, I will commence with the first temptations, which finally led to the commission of this crime."

"Yes," said William, encouragingly, "tell us all."

"The robbery of the Geneva bank was planned more than six months ago," continued Edwards, "but its real origin dates back more than a year. At that time I was traveling for a large house in the city, and was receiving a liberal salary. I had a large trade, and my employers were very generous with me. I cannot tell you how I drifted into habits of dissipation, but it was not very long before I found it a very easy matter to dispose of my salary almost as soon as received, and was forced to borrow money of my friends to enable me to maintain myself at all. From that I was tempted to gamble, and being fortunate at the outset, I soon found, as I imagined, an easy way to make money without serious labor; but I speedily discovered that my first success was doomed to be of short life, and I began to lose more money than I had ever won. It was after one of my losing experiences at the gaming-table, and when I was hard pressed for money to meet my immediate wants, that I visited Geneva, for the purpose of selling goods to some of my customers in that place. At that time I made the acquaintance of a young man by the name of Horace Johnson, who was a practicing dentist of that town. Like myself, he was a wild and reckless fellow, given to dissipation and drink, and who, like myself, had been able to conceal the fact from his family and their friends. Johnson's prevailing vice was an uncontrollable passion for gambling, and he had been addicted to this practice for a long time. I afterward understood that he had acquired this habit while attending a dental college in St. Louis, where he had become quite an expert in the handling of cards, and was well posted in the tricks so frequently resorted to by gamblers to fleece their unsuspecting victims. When he returned from college and established his business in his native town, he became the leader of a set of fast young men, and his office was the nightly resort of his associates, where they played and gambled frequently, until the morning hours drove them to their homes.

"As I have said, I met Johnson at this time, and on my succeeding visit I was introduced by him to Eugene Pearson, the assistant cashier of the bank. That evening we spent together at Johnson's office in drinking and card-playing. Johnson stated that there was an excellent opportunity to make money offered, if we were disposed to accept it. I asked him what it was, and he stated that there were quite a number of well-to-do merchants in the town who were in the habit of meeting in a room which they had furnished for the purpose, and where they played cards for small amounts and for amusement.

"Johnson stated that we could readily make their acquaintance, and once introduced into their games, it would be an easy matter to induce them to play heavily, and then, from his knowledge of gamblers' tricks, we could win their money in spite of them. We all agreed to this, although Pearson declined to become an active player, because of his position in the bank.

"On the next visit I made to Geneva, I remained over Sunday, and being taken to the club, we managed to win several hundred dollars before morning. This continued for some time, and always with the same success, and as a consequence I became more reckless in my expenditure of money than ever before, because I knew of a sure plan to replenish my pockets, when they were empty. Shortly after this, I received a letter from Johnson requesting me to come to Geneva as soon as possible, as he and Pearson had devised another scheme to raise money and wanted my assistance. Being hard pressed at that time, I responded as soon as I could, and in a few days found myself in Geneva, where I was heartily welcomed by both Johnson and Pearson. After supper we met in Johnson's office as usual, and then the plan was made known to me. At first I was startled by the daring proposition, which was nothing more or less than to rob Pearson's bank by means of forged checks. The checks, which had been already prepared by Pearson, were exhibited to me, and I was surprised at the cleverness of the forgery. It looked easy and safe, and I consented. The person selected as the victim was a rich farmer by the name of Henery Sharpless, whose accounts were only settled about twice a year, and consequently detection was not likely to follow very soon. After carefully comparing the forged checks with an old one that was genuine, I no longer hesitated and signified my readiness to try the experiment.

"On the following day, therefore, I went to Johnson's office, and there put on a hickory shirt, a pair of coarse boots and pantaloons, and in a few minutes I was transformed into a veritable countryman. Johnson colored my face and hands with some preparation which made me appear like a tanned and sunburnt farmer, and thus equipped, I started for the bank. I was provided with two checks for three hundred dollars each, one of which was to be presented to the Geneva bank, when, if I experienced no trouble, I was to present the other at the Union National Bank, where also Mr. Sharpless kept an account. I had no difficulty whatever in obtaining the money, and after dividing it among the other two, I left town on the first train. I received two hundred dollars for my share, and the forgeries were not discovered until a long time had elapsed, and when it was almost impossible to obtain any information concerning them. To this day I don't believe that any of the officers of the two banks have the slightest idea as to how the thing was done. Soon after this forgery, Johnson left Geneva and located at St. Louis, where he still resides. Emboldened by the success of this first venture, Eugene Pearson, who was really the master-spirit in these later efforts, boldly proposed to rob the bank in which he was engaged, but this was something too audacious to be considered for a moment. At length, by dint of repeated suggestions, Johnson and myself began to give some consideration to the matter, and upon Pearson's assuring us of the perfect ease with which the robbery might be accomplished, we at last began to discuss various plans by which the bank might be robbed. Several ideas and propositions were discussed, but either through fear or some other consideration, they all fell through.

"At last we decided upon the plan which was finally carried out. Johnson and myself were to come to Geneva disguised as much as possible, and after the business of the day was over, and the other officers had gone home, Pearson was to give us the signal that the coast was clear. We were then to enter the bank, the doors of which would be left open, and after securing the young lady and Pearson, we were to rob the vault and place them within it. In order that they might not suffer from their confinement, Pearson was to start the screws in the lock, so that there would be no difficulty in opening the vault, after giving us time to make good our escape. It was understood that there was about twenty thousand dollars in the vault, in gold, silver and notes, and Pearson was to take his share out in advance and hide it, so that no danger should be incurred in the attempt to divide it afterward. As the time approached for carrying this plan into effect, Johnson began to show signs of weakening, and finally declined to have anything to do with it, although he promised to make no disclosures regarding our movements, and to keep our secret inviolate. After Johnson's backing out we did not know what to do, and were just about abandoning the whole thing, when I came across an old traveling friend of mine in Chicago, who had been on a protracted spree, and who was without money and friends, in a strange city, and who came to me to borrow enough to get him home to Denver. The idea at once occurred to me to induce him to join us and in this I was successful, for he was in a desperate state, and anything that promised to furnish him with money would have been greedily accepted at that time. Even after this, however, I don't believe that either of us would have had the courage to carry out the scheme, if we had not continued our drinking, and I don't believe I was sober a single moment until after we had accomplished our object and the robbery was committed. How it was done, you all know, and it is not necessary for me to detail the particulars of an event which will overcast my whole life."

As he ceased speaking, Edwards buried his face in his hands, and wept aloud.

"Who was this man whom you procured to help you?" inquired William.

Edwards hesitated for some time, as though he was loth to divulge the name of his companion, but finally he said:

"His name is Thomas Duncan, and he was in the clothing business, in Denver, Colorado."

"Now tell us how much money you took from the bank, and how it was divided?" asked Mr. Warner.

"There is something about that that I cannot understand," replied Edwards. "From what Pearson told me, there must have been more than twenty thousand dollars in the vault, twelve thousand of which was in gold. The agreement was that Duncan, Pearson and myself were to have six thousand dollars apiece, and the balance was to be paid to Johnson for his silence. Pearson took his share out on the Saturday before the robbery, and when Duncan and I came to divide the money, we found that we were five thousand dollars short. There is only one solution I have to give for this, and that is that Pearson did not act fair with us, and took five thousand dollars in gold more than he was to have done."

"Where did you and Duncan separate after the robbery?" asked William.

"At Clinton, Iowa," was the reply. "Duncan went on toward Des Moines, while I made my way east, where I remained until you found me."

Upon being questioned further, Edwards stated that when he met Duncan, he had a room in the lower part of the city, with a very respectable lady, who rented furnished apartments, and that when he left the city, having no money, he left his trunk and baggage in his room until he could settle for his rent.

This was all that could be gained from Edwards at this time, and it must be confessed was most important. Pearson's guilt was fully proven, and we had a strong clew as to the identity of the third man in the robbery. It is true that he had more than a month the start of us, but we did not despair of finding him at last. In the meantime, much was to be speedily done. Edwards must be conveyed to Geneva at once, Johnson must be arrested at St. Louis, and we must pay our respects to Eugene Pearson as soon as possible. We must also start immediately upon the track of Thomas Duncan, and endeavor to trace him to his hiding-place. Everything was therefore made ready for the departure of Edwards, who was consigned to the care of two trusty operatives until evening, when they would take him to Geneva; and William forwarded a telegraphic message to Mr. Silby, at Geneva, to this effect:

"WATCH THAT PACKAGE."



CHAPTER XIII.

Edwards Taken to Geneva—The Arrest of Eugene Pearson—His Confession—More Money Recovered—Dr. Johnson Arrested.

As may be imagined, our detective labors were now but fairly commenced. We had, it is true, succeeded in capturing one of the active participants in the robbery, and in securing nearly four thousand dollars of the money that had been taken. We had also obtained information which would enable us to arrest two more of the parties who were connected with the affair, and perhaps secure an additional sum of money. The information which Edwards had given, however, was of vast importance to us, and enabled us to pursue our further search with a more intelligent knowledge of the parties interested, and with a more reasonable hope of eventual success.

Our suspicions regarding Eugene Pearson had been fully sustained, and while it was a source of regret to us that we would thus prove beyond question the deep guilt of a trusted and respected employe of the bank, and would be compelled to shatter the false foundations of an honorable name, our duty in the premises was clear. Indeed, I have no hesitation in asserting that of all the parties connected with this burglary I had far less regard or sympathy with this deceitful and base-minded young scamp than for any of the others. If Edwards' story was reliable, Eugene Pearson was the arch conspirator of the entire affair, and no possible excuse could be offered for his dastardly conduct. His position in the bank was a lucrative one, and his standing in society of the highest. His family connections were of the most honorable character, while the affection of his employers for him, would certainly have appealed to his sense of honor, if he possessed any, so strongly that guilt ought to have been impossible. For Eugene Pearson there was no consideration of regard in my mind. He had deliberately, and without the slightest cause, violated the most sacred pledges of affection and duty, and had proven recreant to trusts, the very nature of which should have prevented a thought of wrong-doing. He was not dissipated. He did not drink to excess, and his part in the gambling operations of his friends had always resulted profitably to himself. He was a regular attendant at church, conducted himself in the face of all men as one incapable of wrong, and against whom no taint of suspicion could possibly attach. A veritable "wolf in sheep's clothing" was this dishonest man, and as such I felt that he richly deserved the fate that was so soon to overtake him. The day of his hypocrisy and dishonesty was soon to set, to be followed by a long night of ignominy and disgrace which is the inevitable result of such a course of crime as he had been guilty of. I cannot find words to express the detestation in which I regarded this smooth-faced liar and thief, who had outraged all the finer attributes of manhood, and, like the ungrateful dog, had bitten the hand that fed him.

Before taking Edwards to Geneva, it was necessary to make some investigations with regard to Thomas Duncan, who as yet had completely eluded our search, and whose correct identity had until this time, been entirely unknown to us. William resolved, therefore, to improve the time remaining until evening, in making an investigation of the premises previously occupied by Duncan while he was in the city.

Having obtained the exact location of this house, William and Robert repaired thither at once. They found it, as represented, a quiet, respectable house, and located in a neighborhood of unexceptionable reputation. Upon being admitted, they requested to see the lady of the house, who was a quiet, modest-looking widow lady of about fifty years of age. William introduced his brother as a Mr. Staunton, lately of Boston, who was desirous of obtaining a pleasant room in that locality, and who could furnish undoubted references as to respectability and promptness. They were shown several unoccupied rooms, and finally entered the one which had probably been occupied by Edwards' companion in the robbery, for here were two trunks packed and strapped, and apparently ready to be taken away.

"This room," said the lady, as the two gentlemen noticed the trunks, "has been occupied by a gentleman who has left the city. These are his trunks, and he has ordered them to be sent to him."

William had already approached near enough to notice that the lettering upon the trunks was "T. J. Duncan, Des Moines, Iowa," and he was convinced that thus far Edwards' revelations had been correct.

"I once knew a man by that name," remarked William, carelessly. "He traveled in the west for a clothing firm in Philadelphia."

"Oh!" said the lady, "this gentleman, I think, was in the same business, and perhaps he may be the one you knew?"

"I would not be at all surprised," replied William. "Where is Mr. Duncan now, do you know?"

"No," answered the lady, "nothing further than that he has ordered his baggage sent to Des Moines, Iowa."

Finding that thus far Edwards had spoken truthfully, and that no further information could be elicited from this source, Robert promised to call again, and the two men withdrew.

At the next corner they found two operatives, who had been directed to await their appearance, and William, after describing Duncan's trunks to them, ordered them to keep a sharp lookout for their removal, and to endeavor to follow them to their destination.

This done, they returned to the agency and completed their arrangements for taking Edwards to Geneva that evening. Operative Everman, who had returned from Woodford, was directed to proceed at once to St. Louis, and effect the arrest of Dr. Johnson, the dentist, on a charge of forgery, and to convey him to Geneva as soon as possible.

It may be stated in passing, that until the confession of Edwards was made, I had no knowledge whatever of the forged checks which he mentioned, and the bank had made no efforts to discover the perpetrators of that fraud, which had now so unexpectedly been brought to light.

We had been very careful to keep the fact of Edwards' arrest a profound secret, and as yet, the officers of the bank and the peaceful community at Geneva were in entire ignorance of what had taken place. William had telegraphed to Mr. Silby, stating that he would be in Geneva that night, and requesting him to meet him at the train. About midnight, therefore, when they arrived with their charge, there was no excitement or bustle about the place, and even the wakeful and observant railroad men were unsuspicious of the arrival of one of the robbers. A carriage was procured and the party were rapidly driven to the city hall, where, to the surprise of the officials, Edwards was placed in confinement, charged with being a participant in the robbery of the Geneva bank. Fearing that the information would leak out before morning, and that Eugene Pearson would take fright and endeavor to dispose of his share of the proceeds, it was deemed advisable to go at once to his residence and arrest him.

This was done as speedily and quietly as possible, and before the young man was aware of the danger he was in, he was our prisoner. I will not attempt to depict the grief and anger of the family of this unfortunate young man when the object of our visit was made known; but their resentment of our action was just what might have been expected from people who believed implicitly in the innocence of their child, and regarded any attempt to deprive him of his liberty as an unpardonable outrage.

As respectfully, but as firmly as possible William stated his determination to arrest the young man, and informed them that every opportunity would be afforded him to defend himself, and to remove the stain upon his character when the proper time arrived.

Eugene Pearson, the culprit, was the least disturbed of the party. His coolness was imperturbable. He flatly denied all knowledge of the robbery, and in the strongest terms, assured his weeping and grief-stricken relatives of his innocence.

The arrest, however, was quietly accomplished, and Pearson was soon confined beneath the same roof which sheltered his associate in crime, Newton Edwards.

Early the next morning the town was alive with people and the greatest excitement prevailed. The news of Eugene Pearson's arrest had spread far and wide, and a universal sentiment of indignation pervaded the whole community. Angry men gathered at the corners of the street, and threats of vengeance against the officers of my agency were loudly uttered. A lawless outrage had been committed by us, and the righteous indignation of an injured community refused to be appeased. The hotel where my men were stopping was besieged by the angry citizens, and our actions were denounced in the most belligerent manner. Eugene Pearson, in their opinion, was above suspicion; he was their ideal of a moral young man, his father was respected everywhere, and the base and unwarranted invasion of their home by my officers was an indignity which they were resolved they would not allow to pass unpunished. As the morning advanced the excitement increased, and several of the boldest of the angry citizens approached William, and in no complimentary terms expressed their contempt, not only for him individually, but for the methods which had been used to ferret out and apprehend men who were innocent of any wrong.

Under ordinary circumstances William would have resented these insults, and that too in a manner that would have convinced them that he was fully able to defend himself; but realizing the importance of coolness and discretion at this critical juncture, he preserved his good humor, and securing their attention for a few moments, he requested them not to be too hasty in their actions. If Eugene Pearson was innocent, he stated, no serious harm had been done the young man; and if he was guilty, as he could prove in a short time, they would deeply regret the course they were now threatening to pursue.



In the meantime he had not been idle in his attempts upon the stoical firmness of Eugene Pearson himself, and at length the young burglar was broken completely down; he confessed his guilt, and promised to conduct the officers to the spot where he had hidden his share of the booty. In company therefore with two of the officers, he repaired to the barn in the rear of his father's house, and buried in the ground in the yard, they found a sack of coin amounting to the sum of six thousand dollars.



So far, so good. We had now captured two of the robbers, and had secured nearly one-half of the stolen money of the bank.

It is needless to say that immediately following the confession of Eugene Pearson and the finding of the money he had stolen, the opinions of the previously enraged citizens underwent a decided change. If William had desired any evidence of the overwhelming triumph which he had achieved, the deportment of these disappointed men toward him would have fully satisfied him. No longer regarded as a ruthless invader of the privacy of honest homes, and guilty of outraging the finer feelings of humanity, he was everywhere received with the utmost respect and deference, and many apologies were offered for their inconsiderate conduct of a few hours before. And yet it must be recorded, that with this indisputable evidence of Eugene Pearson's guilty participation in the robbery, there yet remained many, who, unable to refute the damning proofs against him, were filled with a sympathetic sentiment of regard for their fallen idol, and their prevailing feelings were those of sorrow and regret.

The majority of them, however, came up by scores, frankly acknowledged their mistake, and freely apologized for their actions, which under the circumstances, were shown to be so hasty and ill-timed.

In a day or two after this, Dr. Johnson made his appearance, under the escort of William Everman; and the delectable trio were placed in separate cells to prevent any collusion between them prior to their examination.

Johnson's arrest had been very easy of accomplishment. He was entirely unaware of what had transpired with the other two, and having had no active participation in the robbery, had imagined himself perfectly secure and had taken no means of escape.

Everman, on his arrival at St. Louis, had, in accordance with my instructions, obtained the assistance of the chief of police of that city, who very cheerfully and cordially volunteered all the aid in his power. Two men were therefore detailed to accompany Everman in searching for Dr. Johnson, and it was nearly midnight before they succeeded in ascertaining definitely where he lived. Shortly after that hour, however, the detectives ascended the stoop of the doctor's residence and requested to see him. He appeared in a few minutes, and as he stood in the doorway, Everman quickly placed his hand upon his shoulder, and informed him that he was wanted at police headquarters. The doctor turned pale at this announcement, and requested an explanation of such an unusual proceeding; but Everman informed him that all explanations would be made in due time, and at the proper place. Trembling in every joint, the discomfited doctor obeyed, and in a few minutes was conveyed to the office of the chief, where he was closely examined, but refused to divulge anything in connection with the robbery of the Geneva bank, and asserted boldly his entire innocence of the charge. Despite his pleadings for delay he was brought to Geneva upon the next train, and in a short time three of the guilty parties were safely in custody.



Our work had thus far been prompt and successful. We had captured the leaders of this gang, and had recovered nearly half of the stolen money. Much more, however, remained to be accomplished, and we determined that our efforts should not be relinquished until Duncan, the remaining member of this burglarious band, had been secured, and some clew to the remainder of the money had been obtained.



CHAPTER XIV.

Proceedings at Geneva—Speculations as to the Missing Five Thousand Dollars—John Manning Starts in Search of Thomas Duncan.

The days which followed the arrest of the three young bank robbers were eventful ones in the history of Geneva. The three youthful offenders, now downcast and humiliated, were afforded a speedy hearing, and when the facts already adduced by us had been received, they were remanded to jail for trial at the next term of court.

It is needless to say that the good citizens of the little town were shocked beyond expression at the unexpected results of our investigation. Both Pearson and Johnson had grown to manhood in their midst, and until this time no taint of suspicion had ever been urged against them. No thought of wrong-doing had ever attached to them, and no shadow had dimmed the luster of their fair fame. Now all was changed, and the irreproachable reputations of days gone by were shattered. Debased and self-convicted, they stood before the bar of justice, to answer for their crimes. Instead of being the objects of admiration, they were now receiving the well-merited scorn of those who had been their friends and neighbors. Scarcely past their majorities, and just stepping over the threshold of life, the future bright with promises and fruitful of golden experiences, they had recklessly thrown all to the winds, and now stood before their former friends with the brand of the felon upon their brows. No sadder spectacle could have been presented, and certainly none more full of warning to the careless youths who thronged the court-room, than the presence of the aged parents of these young men on the day of the hearing. Their cup of bitterness and sorrow was indeed full, and as they raised their tear-stained eyes to their children, there was not one present whose heart did not throb in sympathy for their misfortunes. More especially was this the case with the mother of Eugene Pearson. He was her idol; and until the very moment of his arrest, she had never known him to be guilty of aught that would bring the blush of shame to his cheek. Now, however, the awful revelation came, and the boy on whom she had lavished all the wealth of her true heart's affection was proven, before all the world, to be the blackest of ingrates, and a designing hypocrite and thief. Mr. Silby, too, was much affected by the discovery of Pearson's guilt. His affection and regard were so sincere and trustful, that, had he been his own son, he could not have been more painfully disappointed at discovering his cupidity.

Another interview had been obtained with Edwards at Geneva, and he gave us some further particulars about the course which he and Duncan had taken after having robbed the bank. Shortly after leaving the city of Geneva, they made their way to the railroad, along the track of which they journeyed for some distance. The day was exceedingly warm, and the valise in which they were carrying the stolen money became very heavy and burdensome. Finding it impossible to proceed any further with such a heavy load, they decided to take out all of the money but a few sacks of silver, amounting altogether to about three hundred dollars. This they did, concealing the money about their persons, and then hiding the valise in a corn field which skirted the railroad track. Being furnished with a description of the locality, William proceeded, in company with the officers of the bank, to the place designated, and after a short search, succeeded in finding the satchel which they had discarded. Upon opening it, they found, as Edwards had said, three small canvas sacks containing about three hundred dollars in silver coin. No trace, however, was discovered of the sack supposed to contain the five thousand dollars whose disappearance was still a mystery. Pearson indignantly denied having taken more than six thousand dollars as his share, and this had been found in the yard of his father's house. Edwards was equally positive that he had not seen this sack, and yet the fact remained that there were five thousand dollars in gold coin which could not, as yet, be accounted for.

Numerous theories were now advanced to account for this mysterious disappearance. One was that some outside party had found the valise, and finding the gold, had left the silver in order to make it appear that the satchel had not been disturbed. This was discarded at once, as the position and condition of the valise when found was such that it could not have been tampered with, or even opened. This was a surprising thing to contemplate, for the ground for miles around had been thoroughly searched by hundreds of people, and it was evident that no one had discovered the hiding-place of this valise.

Another theory was that it was improbable that the two robbers would overlook a sack containing that large amount of money. Its very weight would have betrayed its presence, and added nearly nineteen pounds to the burden which they carried, and therefore there were still some grounds for entertaining a belief that Pearson had taken more than his share of the booty. To this belief I was not inclined to give much weight, as I felt convinced that Pearson had made a full confession of what had taken place, and had made honest restitution of the money he had taken. Under all the circumstances, therefore, I was inclined to think that Edwards and his companion had taken the gold, and that the capture of the remaining robber would unravel the seeming mystery.

I was further convinced of this by another incident which transpired in this connection. After the valise had been found and returned to the bank, Edwards was taken into the building. The silver coin which had been recovered was placed within the satchel, and handed to him. After taking it in his hand, he immediately exclaimed:

"Why, that isn't nearly as heavy as it was when we left the bank!"

Mr. Silby then brought out a sack containing five thousand dollars in gold, and placed it in the satchel. Again Edwards lifted it, and this time he at once said:

"That is more like it!"

This experience strengthened me in the belief of Eugene Pearson's innocence, and that Edwards and his companion had either lost the gold in some manner, or had disposed of it in some other way.

Acting upon this theory, the ground in the vicinity of the spot where the valise was found was thoroughly searched by both the bank officials and my operatives. All in vain, however; no trace was obtained of the missing sack of gold, and the matter of its loss was as much a mystery as ever.

After the preliminary hearing had been held, the prisoners were removed to the county town, some miles distant, where they were placed in confinement, awaiting the day of trial, which would not take place for some time to come.

While these events were transpiring, we had by no means been idle. Our primary success in arresting the three men thus far secured, had been most gratifying to the officers of the bank as well as to ourselves. Of course I was anxious to continue the search for the missing robber, but no one possessed a better knowledge than myself of the expense and delay that would be contingent upon such an undertaking. I therefore, as was my duty, fully informed the officers of the bank of the difficulty to be encountered if our investigation was continued. More than thirty days had elapsed since the robbery had been committed, the news of the burglary had been spread far and wide, and the information of the capture of the three robbers would be equally disseminated. This would probably place the fugitive upon his guard, and we could not pretend to fix a limit to the time that would be necessary to effect his capture. All these facts were fully explained to the bank officials, and with the assurance that we would achieve success if it were possible to do so, the matter was left to their decision.

They were not long, however, in coming to a determination, and without hesitation, I was directed to prosecute the search according to my own judgment, in which, they assured me, they placed the utmost reliance.

Thus supported, we made immediate arrangements for a protracted and unceasing search for the fleeing burglar, and before the hearing had taken place in Geneva, operative John Manning had been despatched to Clinton, Iowa, at which point it was designed to commence operations.

The two operatives who had been detailed to look after the trunks of Thomas Duncan, in Chicago, had also reported the result of their espionage. After waiting for more than two hours, they noticed that an express wagon was driven up before the door, after which the trunks were brought out, placed in the wagon, and rapidly driven away. The operatives followed as rapidly as they were able to do, and ascertained that they were taken to the railroad station for shipment to Des Moines.

As has already been detailed, Edwards and Duncan parted company at Clinton, Iowa, Duncan proceeding west, while Edwards had come direct to Chicago, from which point he had made his way eastward to the little village in New York, where he remained in fancied security until he was so unexpectedly taken into custody.

Clinton, Iowa, was therefore the place from which to trace the flight of the bank robber, and John Manning was dispatched to that place, with full authority to exercise his own judgment about his future course of action.



CHAPTER XV.

On the Track of the Fleeing Burglar—Duncan's Home—Some Reflections.

Within a few hours after receiving his orders, John Manning, satchel in hand, stepped from the train at Clinton, and proceeded to a hotel. It was nearly nightfall when he arrived, and after hastily partaking of his evening meal, he started out to make some inquiries about the man he was in search of. Having by some means gained a knowledge of Thomas Duncan's associates in Clinton, he had no difficulty in finding them, and dropping into a saloon which they frequented, he quietly introduced his name in a casual conversation with the proprietor.

"Do you know Tod?" asked that gentleman, with some surprise.

"Oh yes, very well," replied Manning. "I spent several days with him in Chicago, about a month ago, and had quite a pleasant time."

"Oh, I remember; he stopped here after that, on his way to his home in Des Moines. You must have had quite a time, for Tod looked very much broken up."

"Well, he was on quite a spree, I believe—and so he went to Des Moines, did he?"

"Yes, he started for that point; but I believe he intended stopping some time in Ames, where he has a good many friends."

"Did he say what he intended doing there, or whether he was going on out to Denver?" asked Manning.

"No, I think he said he was going with a fishing-party from there and would be gone several weeks." After stating that he was about to travel in that direction himself, and learning the names of several of Duncan's friends in Ames, Manning left the saloon, and returned to his hotel. Ascertaining that he could leave on a train that night, he hastened to the depot and was soon speeding on his way.

He arrived at Ames in due season, and here he was fortunate enough to find a friend of Duncan's, who informed him that instead of remaining in that city he had only lingered there one day, when he left on a freight train for Des Moines, stating that he was to meet a friend in the latter city and could not wait for the regular passenger train.

Manning without delay then started for Des Moines, and upon arriving there, telegraphed the result of his investigation thus far. In reply he was informed that Duncan's baggage had been sent to Des Moines, and directed to inquire at the office of the American express whether it had been received or delivered.

Immediately on the receipt of these instructions Manning repaired to the express office, and there to his intense delight, he discovered Duncan's trunks among the unclaimed baggage. Making himself known to the express superintendent, who was friendly to our interests, he remained around the office until late in the evening, when as the office was about to be closed, and feeling confident that the trunks would not be called for that night, he repaired to his hotel and sought his much-needed repose.

The following morning he was up betimes, and deferring his visit to Duncan's friends until he had seen the trunks removed, he made his way again to the express office and took up his position as a watcher.

Shortly before noon, a wagon was driven up before the door, and a man presented himself and demanded the trunks in which the detective was so much interested. The wagon bore the name of a grocer, John Miller, and was evidently used in delivering the wares dispensed by the merchant whose name was painted upon its sides. After the trunks had been transferred to the wagon, the driver mounted to the seat and slowly drove away. Manning followed on behind them, and after a short journey, the driver drew up before a handsome residence, surrounded by a beautiful lawn, adorned with numerous beds of bright blooming flowers. The building was a two-story one, with a wide porch extending around three sides, and was evidently the abode of a gentleman in fortunate circumstances. The trunks were removed from the wagon, and carried into the hall, after which the driver returned and drove away. After waiting for some time in view of the house, he saw the trunks taken in, and placed in a front room in the second story.

Having now traced Thomas Duncan's trunks to their destination, and feeling the need of additional assistance, Manning repaired to the office of the chief of police and requested an interview with that functionary. Upon being conducted into the private office of the chief, Manning at once introduced himself, and stated the cause of his appearance in the city. He met with a most cordial reception, and the chief, without hesitation, promised him all the assistance in his power. He had heard of the robbery at the time of its occurrence, and had also read of the capture of the three men, who were suspected of being implicated in that affair. Upon being informed that Thomas Duncan was connected with the burglary, the chief evinced considerable surprise, for he was well acquainted with the young man, and had been for several years, in fact, almost since his boyhood. From the chief, Manning learned that Duncan's parents had lived in the city for a long time, and that "Tod" was rather a wild, careless fellow, who was frequently found in bad company. For a long time the young man and his father had been estranged, owing to the son's persistent course of folly and dissipation. Long and patiently had the old gentleman borne with his son, and had repeatedly opened his purse to liquidate debts which Tod had contracted; but finally, finding it useless to attempt to induce him to change his mode of life, he had forbidden him the house, and had not received him since.