 CHAPTER XXIII At Jinkentown all was well. Mrs. Moroney had made up with DeForest, and his present happiness was so great that he had entirely forgotten his past sorrow. He was very fond of Flora, and enjoyed walking with her, especially when her mother was along. Madame Inbert sometimes drove into Philadelphia with Mrs. Moroney to do shopping, and DeForest was always their coachman. Mrs. Moroney was loyal to a promise she had made her husband, and never went out driving with DeForest unaccompanied by Madame Inbert. DeForest had only one seat to his buggy, and it was rather irksome to be conveying two ladies around all the time. He had but little room seated between them, and as the weather was warm he was often very uncomfortable. He was tall, and his knees were jammed closely against the dashboard, but he bore all the inconvenience manfully. It was always their custom to drive to Mitchell's when they went to the city. The ladies would alight here, while DeForest would stable his horses. At dinner time they would meet again and drive home. One day while in the city Madame Inbert said to Mrs. Moroney, Wait here a few minutes for me, I want to get some money changed. She left Mrs. Moroney at Mitchell's and walked to Third Street. Later she went into a bank and drew five hundred dollars I had left there for her and came out. She then walked up Third Street and went into the office of Miller Brothers Brokers, where she had the money changed into Eastern funds. Mrs. Moroney was smart. She had followed closely after Madame Inbert and acted the part of a shadow. As the latter came out of the broker's office and approached the corner of Chestnut Street, Mrs. Moroney met her. I am glad to meet you, said she. I am on my way to Second Street to get some goods. Did you get your money changed? Madame Inbert was prepared. Yes, said she, but I did not have much. I have the most of my money in a safe place. At the Third Street bank they told me they did not have any Eastern funds and looked very queerly at me, so I went to the broker's office and they finally changed it. A person has to be cautious, as it is sometimes very difficult to succeed. People ask questions at times that it is impossible for one to answer. You have never had to do so much in this way as I have, have you? No, replied Mrs. Moroney, colouring deeply, but I suppose I shall have to learn. I will tell you a secret of mine some time. You may be of great use to me. Will you help me if you can? Yes, said Madame Inbert, recalling her poor husband languishing in confinement. Your husband is like mine. Both are in prison. I feel strongly drawn toward you, and will do all I can for you. Oh! Why can't I succeed in getting my darling free? They had reached the dry-good store and went in to make their purchases. I was deserious of impressing upon Mrs. Moroney the difficulties in the way of changing money, and my plan was successful beyond my expectations. She saw the trouble Madame Inbert had at the bank and at the brokers, and learned that bankers and brokers were liable to ask very pointed questions when changing money. If she had any idea of changing her stolen money she might be frightened out of it, and preferred to rely for assistance on Madame Inbert, who seemed an experienced hand. After they had made their purchases the ladies returned to Mitchell's and were driven home by de Forest. Madame Inbert spent the evening with Mrs. Moroney, but nothing of interest transpired. A day or two after, as they were seated in the garden, Mrs. Moroney took Madame Inbert partially into her confidence, and gave her a sketch of her life, which it must be confessed as narrated by her, made her appear very pure and spotless. She said that Moroney met her a heartbroken widow, and that she married him only to prevent him from committing suicide, so desperately smitten was he. That they came to Montgomery, where Moroney was appointed agent of the Adams Express, a very lucrative position, and then continued, Moroney had a good deal of money of his own. He did not talk much about it, in fact kept it a secret from everyone but me. No one is obliged to state what he is worth. He was a very kind-hearted man, and fairly idolized my little flora. He was making arrangements to buy a plantation and a lot of slaves, had made money buying and selling horses, and owned a large interest in a livery stable in Montgomery. On a trip he made to the north, he purchased a fast horse named Yankee Mary, and used to take me out for a drive every day. That is one of the best men that ever lived. But he is a little inclined to be careless. We were as happy and contented as could be when, oh, unfortunate day for us, the Adams Express was robbed and my husband was accused of the theft. He was arrested in Montgomery but liberated on a small bail. Soon afterward I came north on a visit, and when he came to bring me home he was arrested in New York and thrown into prison. I immediately went south, sold all his property, and secreted the money about me, so that the Adams Express would not get hold of it. I have now the money secreted here, but there have been a great many small burglaries committed around here, and I am in constant dread of its being stolen. I don't dare leave Jinkentown for a night, and fervently wish my husband were out of jail to take care of it. What do you do with your money, Madam Inbert? I take care of it in various ways. Sometimes I carry large amounts concealed on my person, but the last time I was away I placed the most of it in a safe place. I wish I knew a safe place. If my husband were only out, he would soon find one, remarked Mrs. Moroney. What are his prospects of getting out? asked the Madam. Well, I don't know. Indeed, he is sometimes hopeful, sometimes in despair. When he has been writing me lately, of a friend of his named White, who was imprisoned a day or two after him, White has managed to make arrangements to effect his own release on bail, and when he gets out has promised to assist Nat. If White managed to get himself out, I should think him just the man to assist your husband, said Madam Inbert. Nat thinks so too, but he probably will not decide on any plan until White gets out, when they together may do something. A day or two after this long conversation, Mrs. Moroney again alluded to the robberies taking place in Jinkentown, and expressed much anxiety for the safety of her treasure. Madam Inbert informed her that she expected a friend of hers to come in a day or two to exchange some money for her. She had to have some to send to her husband's lawyer, who was making every effort to effect his release. If your money is bulky, from being in bills of small denominations, he might exchange it for you and give you large bills which you could easily carry with you. I have transacted a good deal of business with him, and have always found him careful and honest. If you wish, I will introduce you to him. Mrs. Moroney was always very suspicious, and her fears were somewhat aroused by the proposition. What sort of man is he, she inquired. I know nothing further of him than what I have told you. He has always acted honestly with me. Could you not manage to have the money exchanged for me, without my being known in the transaction? Asked Mrs. Moroney. Yes, I could, but it would be better for you to see him. Oh, no, there is no necessity of his no and me. You can introduce me as a friend, if you like, but get the money changed as if it were your own, and pay him well for it. Just as you please, answered the madam. Mrs. Moroney wished in this way to compromise Madam Inbert and get her into the same boat with Moroney and her. I was doing everything possible to bring out the money, and was able to protect my detectives. I had placed tempting bait for both Moroney and his wife, and they were nibbling strongly. My anglers were experts, and would soon hook their fish, and after playing them carefully, would land them securely. Mrs. Moroney's confidence in Madam Inbert increased daily, until finally she said to her, Madam Inbert, you would do me a great favor if you would take charge of some money packages I have. You could put them in a safe place and let me have small amounts now and then, as I needed them. When my husband gets out, we can use the money, but now we do not need it. The Adams Express might find out I have money, and they might try to get possession of it. It is not theirs, but they would make trouble for me if they could. No, replied the madam, that I could not do. I don't want to be bothered with other people's money. I have enough trouble with my own. If I should take yours, I should never have any rest, fearing it might be stolen, and if it should be, I could never forgive myself. No, it is better for you to take care of it. I will advise you all I can, but cannot take the responsibility of protecting your property. Mrs. Moroney wrote to her husband and asked his advice. She informed him that she had followed Madam Inbert and had discovered her exchanging money, thus proving that she was telling the truth, and now she knew she could trust her. She spoke of the madam's refusal to take charge of the money, but said she had agreed to get it exchanged and asked him what she had better do. Moroney talked to the affair over with White and asked his opinion as to the best course to pursue. She may do very well, said he, but I don't know as I would trust her. You never saw her. She may be a first-rate woman, or she may be the opposite. If I were in your place, I should wish to see her before I trusted her. It would be well to have your wife bring her to the jail to see you. Some women are smart, and she may be. As a general thing, women are very good as play things, but trusting them is an entirely different matter. Moroney carefully considered the matter and finally wrote to his wife, directing her to induce Madam Inbert to accompany her to Eldridge Street jail, as he wanted to see her and judge of her character before trusting her too far. On receipt of this letter, Mrs. Moroney called on Madam Inbert, said she was going to New York to see her husband, and asked the madam to accompany her. She said they would have a pleasant trip and return home the same evening. DeForest came up at this moment and interrupted the conversation. Good morning, ladies, said he gaily. I've come to ask you to take a fish dinner with me in Manayunk. Madam Inbert declined the invitation, but Mrs. Moroney concluded to go, and started off with the happy DeForest. Madam Inbert returned to Stemples, hired his team, and drove into the city. She reported to me and asked for instructions about going to New York with Mrs. Moroney. I told her to go, gave her full instructions, and then had an interview with the vice president. I told him that all was working well, and received his congratulations. Everything seemed auspicious and pointed to speedy success. It was true that a good deal of money was being spent, but there was no other way to carry the matter to a successful termination. Madam Inbert returned to Jinkentown in time for supper, and after a hearty meal called at Cox's. She found no one at home but Mrs. Cox and the children. Mrs. Cox said her sister had not returned from her ride, and she feared that she must have met with some accident. Madam Inbert conversed with her until between eight and nine when Josh and Rivers came in. Mrs. Cox said, Josh, Mrs. Moroney has not reached home yet. I fear she has met with some accident. Hasn't she? Well, I'll go and hunt her up. Come along, Rivers. Josh, you're good for nothing, fellow. I must wait here. Don't you know you should not leave the house unguarded at this time? Oh, thought Madam Inbert danger in leaving the house, hey. So there are two more in the secret, Josh and his wife. Josh said he would only step down the road and would soon return. Nine o'clock came, but no Mrs. Moroney or de Forest. Madam Inbert did not know what to make of it and began to think something unusual was under way. She arose to leave, but Mrs. Cox said, please don't leave me alone. Josh will soon be back. Won't you stay down and watch the house while I put the children to bed? Flora is asleep and I'm lonesome. I do wish that shiftless fellow would come home. I'm very tired, remarked Madam Inbert, preparing to leave, and I'm afraid the tavern will be closed, as it is getting late. But I will see if I can find Josh and send him home. If you don't find him, please come back, pleaded Mrs. Cox. Well, I'll do that, said she going out. She walked to Stimples, and without going into the bar room, where she knew she would find Josh, went to her room and instructed Miss Johnson to find Rivers and tell him to keep Josh for an hour. She then returned to Cox's. Miss Johnson found that Rivers was with Josh, Barclay, and Horton in the bar room. She walked by the door, and, unobserved by the others, gave Rivers a signal to come out. He slipped out, and as he passed her, she said, Rivers, keep Cox for an hour. And in a second he was back calling for more drinks, and getting off jokes which brought down roars of laughter. CHAPTER XXIV Mrs. Cox was very much pleased when Madam Imbert returned and started upstairs to put the children to bed. There was not a moment to lose. As soon as they left the room, Madam Imbert rushed to the outer door and listened. She was satisfied. No one was coming, and so, grasping a lamp, she went down into the cellar. Her quick eye took in everything at a glance, but she could discover nothing out of the way. The floor was a common earthen one, but no signs of recent digging were to be seen. She pitched in, and for a few moments worked like a trojan. She removed and replaced all the barrels, crocs, dishes, everything under which articles might possibly be concealed, but found nothing. She again searched carefully over the floor, and in the center of the cellar saw slight signs of where the ground might have been lately dug up, and the soil carefully replaced. She knelt down to examine it more carefully, when she heard the rumbling of wheels. She sprang to her feet and rushed upstairs. She was none too soon, as she was hardly seated before Mrs. Moroney came in. She was greatly surprised to see Madam Imbert, and exclaimed, What? You hear? It is rather late for you to be out, is it not? Madam Imbert saw at once that she was slightly intoxicated. She replied, Yes, indeed it is. I found your sister all alone, and she begged me to stay until she got the children to bed. Mrs. Cox came in at this moment, looking very angry. Where have you been all this time? You ought to know better than to leave me all alone. Josh has gone out with rivers, and I believe they must be drinking. I am angry with rivers. Josh is getting to drink more than ever since he came here. It is too bad in you to stay away so long. I had to beg Madam Imbert to stay with me, and Flora has just gone to bed, crying for her ma. Madam Imbert, I am very sorry I have been the cause of your late stay. She said Mrs. Moroney, then pointing to some dirt on the madam's dress, which had come from the cellar. She exclaimed, What's that on your dress? Madam Imbert looked carelessly at it, and said, Why, I thought I had brushed that all off. When I was out looking for Josh, I stumbled and gave my knee a terrible wrench. Then glancing at the clock, she said, Why, how late it is. Miss Johnson will think that I am lost. Good night. No, don't go yet. Have a little brandy. It will do you good, as the air is quite chilling. Do you know that De Forest is a very fine fellow? I have a much higher opinion of him than ever before. She got the brandy and partially filled a tumbler with it. Madam Imbert just touched the liquor with her lips, and then passed it quickly to Mrs. Moroney, who drained the glass at a single draft. You are doing wrong, remarked the madam. You should remember your promise to your husband. Well, I shall not be going to-morrow. I shall suffer for this by having a severe headache. Was any one of you down here while Sister was put in the children to bed? Asked Mrs. Moroney, looking full, into Madam Imbert's face, but she saw nothing suspicious there. No, answered Madam Imbert as innocently as a lamb. The two ladies walked out of the house together, and Mrs. Moroney accompanied the madam a short distance up the street, when they met Josh and Rivers. Mrs. Moroney went home with Josh, and Madam Imbert told Rivers to keep watch on Cox's house, as something was in the wind. Rivers informed her if she would have to hurry back to the town, as Stemples would soon close up for the night. Rivers passed slowly around the house. He knew that Josh had taken enough to make him sleep well, and that Mrs. Moroney was in about the same condition, so that Mrs. Cox was the only one he had to fear. After a while he crawled close up to the cellar window. He heard an animated conversation going on inside, but could not distinguish the words. Someone closed the door with a bang, and all sound ceased. He looked up and noticed a light pouring through a narrow window, which he knew lighted a closet opening off from the sitting room. He climbed up to it, and saw, what was to him at least, an amusing scene. Josh, his wife, and Mrs. Moroney were seated in the room. Mrs. Moroney looked as though in a violent passion, and plainly showed that she had been drinking. Josh was making desperate efforts to look and act perfectly sober, but in spite of his efforts he would occasionally give a loud hiccup, while Mrs. Cox sat bolt upright in her chair, looking in sober disgust on both of them. Rivers in his new position could see and hear all that was going on. Mrs. Moroney was talking in an excited manner. What brought that Madam Inbert here tonight? I'm suspicious of that woman. She's very smart, and I saw dirt on her dress. It seems plain to me that she has been in the cellar, and down on her knees. What made you go upstairs and leave her here all alone? You have confidence in her, but you've been drinking, and that makes you suspicious, replied Mrs. Cox. How dare you talk to me in this way, yelled Mrs. Moroney. I know my business. You know why I'm living here and supporting you and your worthless, good-for-nothing vagabond of a husband. He could never earn a living for himself to say nothing of taking care of a family. All I want you to do is to obey me and keep your mouth shut, and I will pay you well for it. Josh is always drunken, blabbing about. Josh attempted to say something. Hold your tongue, you fool. You are so drunk now you don't know what you're doing. Why, said Cox, I did take a drop too much, but I don't believe I've taken half so much as you. In a second Mrs. Moroney grasped a pitcher and smashed it over Josh's skull. Mrs. Cox sprang to assist her husband. For a moment there was a lively time, and the prospects were good for a regular scene, but quiet was soon restored, and Josh, muttering, went off to bed. I must go into the cellar the first thing in the morning, said Mrs. Moroney. Don't look at me in that way. My faculties are all clear. No one must go into it until I come down, as I want it to remain just as it is. I am suspicious of that Madam Inbert. There was no necessity of her being here so late, or of you leaving her alone, you fool. Be sure now, not to let anyone go down. Mrs. Moroney then took a lamp and started for her room. Rivers listened for some time, and finding all quiet went up to stimples. He saw a light in Madam Inbert's room, and after listening around and finding no one stirring, he went quietly under her window and threw some dirt against the panes. The light in the room was instantly turned down. Soon afterward the window was noiselessly raised, and Madam Inbert poked her head out. Who's there? she asked in a low tone. Rivers, he replied, like to see you, important. Wait, said she, I'll be with you at the front door directly. She was acquainted with all the modes of egress, and, threading her way through the darkness, soon stood with rivers in front of the house. He reported all that had taken place. Madam Inbert said, I think it is all right. But still I may be mistaken, and we must be sure. Can't you find some way to get into the cellar? There is a small window about two feet by thirteen inches, which you might remove and gain access in that way. It will be light at four o'clock. It is now twelve, and every one at Cox's will be sound asleep at that time. You can then slip in, and if I have disarranged anything, put it to rights. Be sure not to get caught. I will certainly do it, said Rivers as he started to return to Cox's. During his absence someone had set loose a dog that Cox owned. It was a miserable cur, but was long-winded like its master, and possessed of good barking qualities. Rivers got well concealed, but the dog was after him, bark, bark, bark. He tried all he could to quiet him, but could not. Soon a neighboring dog commenced to howl, then another and another until all the dogs in the village had joined in a grand chorus. He did not know what to do. He was concealed by the side of a fence, but did not dare strike the dog, which kept a few paces from him, barking incessantly. Mrs. Moroney heard the noise, and opening her window said, Sick, sick! Good fellow! Sick! Rivers jumped up and got the dog to follow him until he reached a field some distance from the house, when with a well-directed throw he stunned him with a large stone and soon stamped all life out of him. He then took the melancholy remains, placed them at Barclay's door, and returned to Cox's, where he found all quiet. He returned to his old position, and remained until day began to dawn. At dawn he crawled to the window, easily removed it, and slipped into the cellar. He examined everything carefully, found some marks on the floor where barrels had been removed, and in less than half an hour had obliterated all traces of Madame Imbert's operations. He then crawled out, replaced the window, and quietly returned to his boarding-house. He had made arrangements by which he could always let himself in or out at any hour of the night. The family he boarded with thought he was somewhat of a rake, but, as he always paid his bills promptly, liked him for a border. In the morning Madame Imbert was on the lookout, and between nine and ten rivers came along. He reported that he had replaced everything in the cellar, and described how he had killed Josh's dog, and left his remains at Barclays. Madame Imbert strolled down to Cox's and met Mrs. Moroney at the door. She was more polite than usual, having made an examination of the cellar and found her suspicions baseless. Soon Josh and Rivers made their appearance. Rivers remarked that he had heard a strange dog barking the night before, and got up to find out what was going on, but could discover nothing. Yes, said Mrs. Moroney, that was Josh's dog. A man was lurking around here before I went to bed, so I let the dog out. In a short time I heard it after someone, and opened my window and set it on. You see, Josh, how necessary it is for you to keep sober. If you had been up, you might have shot that scoundrel. This morning I saw his footprints distinctly impressed in the walks. Well, said Josh, if my dog got hold of him, he made a hole in his leg, I'll bet. I know he is a good dog. Yes, I think he is, said Rivers, as he and Josh strolled over toward Barclays. Barclay met them on the way. Josh says he, that dog of mine is a splendid animal by George. You ought have heard him bark last night. A strange dog came around my place. My dog tackled him, and oh, Moses, how they fit. It ended by my dog's killing his antagonist. Come and see how he charred him up. He led the way to where the dead carcass lay. As soon as they came in sight of it, Josh dashed forward and raising the dead animal by its coddle appendage angrily exclaimed, that's my dog. You must be the man who was lurking around my house last night. You'd better go down and explain to Mrs. Maroney what you were doing around here. What do you suppose I could be doing at your house, asked Barclay, much perplexed, why I was not out of my house once last night. I tell you, said Josh, Mrs. Maroney will walk into you when she finds this out. You ought have seen her last night. She smashed a pitcher over my head, and I believe she would have killed me if my wife had not pitched into her. Of course I could not strike back, as she's a woman. Rivers invited them up to stimples, and in less than an hour coxson he had impressed upon Barclay the necessity of his seeing Mrs. Maroney and explaining to her that he had not been lurking around the night before. They started off together, and arrived at Josh's residence just as Madame Inbert and Mrs. Maroney were coming out. Barclay immediately went up to her and assured her that he had not been loafing around the night before. Who said you had, said Mrs. Maroney, now fully convinced that it was he. Who said you had? And she opened upon him with a perfect tirade of abuse. Madame Inbert took her by the arm and drew her to one side. Mrs. Maroney, don't take any notice of that man, he is a fool, and your best plan is to let him severely alone. Some people may be wiser than others and will begin to suspect that something is wrong if you go on so. You know the old saying, walls have ears? You are right. You seem to be always right, said Mrs. Maroney, and she let the matter drop. CHAPTER XXV The two women left Barclay perfectly dumbfounded and walked over to the garden. Mrs. Maroney said she was going to New York in the morning to see her husband and begged the madam to accompany her. Madame Inbert agreed to go, saying that she had some purchases to make. They concluded to hire Stemple's team in the morning and drive into Philadelphia, put it up at some livery stable, go to New York, visit Maroney, return to Philadelphia, and drive home in the evening. Nothing of importance took place the day they visited New York. Green knew of their intended trip and shadowed them to New York and back. All he had to report was that nothing had transpired worthy of mention. It is quite as important to find that nothing takes place as to note what actually occurs, for thus the case is cleared of all uncertainty. The shadow reports truthfully of all things just as he finds them. The women, on their arrival in New York, went directly to Eldridge Street Jail, and Mrs. Maroney introduced Madame Inbert to her husband. She then had a long private conversation with him and afterwards rejoined Madame Inbert. The three had a pleasant chat. Maroney acting in all respects the part of a perfect gentleman. His face showed deep anxiety, but he talked very cheerfully and told Madame Inbert that he hoped soon to have the pleasure of meeting her at Jinkentown. He assured her that he would soon be free and would then take vengeance on his enemies. He said he intended to go to Texas and buy a ranch. The Rio Grande country just suited him and he expatiated at length on the beauty of the country and the solubility of its climate. After a few hours passed in social converse they parted. Mrs. Maroney went to visit a friend on 31st Street and Madame Inbert to do her shopping. They agreed to meet at the Jersey City Ferry at four o'clock. Green followed Mrs. Maroney. She visited her friend, stopped some time, and then met Madame Inbert at the appointed place and time. On the road to Philadelphia Mrs. Maroney spoke of her husband and said he was very much pleased with the madam and thought her a very fine-looking intelligent woman, in fact just the person to help them, but he was about to carry out a plan which he knew would be successful. White was soon going to be released on bail and would then arrange everything for him. In the meantime she was to wait quietly and do nothing, as he would shortly be with her. On getting into Philadelphia they ordered their team and drove out to Jinkentown. The same day White came to Maroney and said, Congratulate me, old fellow. Shanks has just brought me some letters from my attorneys and I find that all has gone well. My affairs are in a much better condition and now after a long and irksome confinement I am about to be liberated on bail. In two or three days, or by the end of this week, at farthest, I shall be at liberty. I am delighted to hear of your good fortune, answered Maroney in a hearty tone. You must not forget me when you are out, but as soon as you can arrange your own affairs turn your attention to mine. I am anxious to see the plan to entrap Chase at once said in operation. That would be a good joke when McGibbony nabs him and finds the money on his person. Ha! Ha! Ha! What will the Adams Express say then? They'll feel rather sore over their pet, I reckon. He laughed over the idea for some time while a fiendish expression of joy settled on his face. I'll attend to it as soon as possible, said White. But you see I have no money of my own that I can use at the present time. I would gladly advance you the necessary amount if I could, but all my available cash will have to go as security to my bondsmen. I believe you are a thorough good fellow and will tearfully do all in my power for you. I don't wish you to advance the money for me. I know you would if you could, but you and I are about in the same fix. We have plenty of funds but can't use them at present. I believe I shall be able to raise the money in some way before long. If the job works well with Chase I shall be completely vindicated. Another thing, the suit against me will soon come up and my counsel says that I am sure to win it. I shall be the only witness on the part of the defendant and shall have to swear that I never took any of the money. This will be the truth, as a scent of money never came wrongfully into my possession. It is a good thing they did not know I had an interest in the livery stable, or they would surely have seized that. I have good lawyer, said White. He has carried me through successfully, and as soon as possible after I get out I will help you. The next day Bangs disguised himself and called at the jail as White's counsel. He had a long talk with him in his cell and then walked briskly out in the manner of a lawyer with a large practice, whose moments are precious, but lawyers have one object while he had another. Bangs wished to avoid the scrutiny of the prisoners, as there might be some of them who knew him. White came smilingly up to Moroney after Bangs left and said, My case is surely arranged, and I am off to-morrow. Are you indeed, exclaimed Moroney, I am delighted to hear it. But his voice sank. It seemed as if he wanted White out, so that he could help him, but was afraid to trust him. He turned and walked away, came back, and again congratulated White. White assured him that he was going in the morning. So soon, remarked Moroney, well, I am happy to find you are. I don't want to see any man kept in jail. My own case will soon come up, and after I am cleared here the trial in Montgomery will be a perfect fos. I shall write to my wife and tell her how well you have succeeded. Isn't it strange, White, that I have taken such a lacking to you? You are the right man for me. There is not a soul in this jail but you whom I would trust. He walked into his cell and wrote a letter to his wife. Several times he came out and conversed with White. He seemed to have something on his mind which he wished to disclose, but lacked the courage to do so. He finally backed down entirely and concluded to wait. He played several games of cards with White and the other prisoners, and then conversed with shanks who came to remove some of White's baggage. He found that White had taken a room on Bleaker Street, and the moving of his effects showed how near at hand was the moment of his departure. The next day was an eventful one, and clearly proved the soundness of my theory. After breakfast Maroney took White's arm and walked around the hall several times with him, his manner plainly showing that he was very much embarrassed. He finally drew him into a quiet corner opposite to where the prisoners were congregated playing cards and amusing themselves in various ways. White, said Maroney, I'm going to entrust to you my secret. I feel that I can trust you. I know I can. I have watched you closely, and I find that you are true as steel. Now listen, I've invited you to take hold of my matters. And in order to give you a clear understanding of my case, it becomes necessary for me to divulge to you what at present is known only to my wife and myself. It is useless for me to ask, but still I wish you to give me your solemn promise to keep my secret in violet. Oh, yes, I'll do that, said White, but I have got a good deal of business of my own to attend to, and if you think you can't trust me, you'd better keep it to yourself. No, no, nothing of the kind. I know I can trust you, said Maroney, and you have given the promise. Now, White, who do you think stole the fifty thousand dollars? I am sure I don't know, replied White. Well, I did. I stole it from the company and have been able to keep it so far. If you'll assist me, I shall continue to do so. Would you have stolen it if you'd been in my place? Certainly, exclaimed White, do you think I'm a fool? I shall make a big pile in my operation. Then, said Maroney, if we only join forces, we shall make someone howl. Neither spoke, for some minutes. White acted as if the matter was a common, everyday occurrence, but he thought, he has broken the ice. I shall soon hear it all. Maroney was the first to break the silence. He said, I first stole ten thousand dollars, which was brought to my office on Sunday by the messenger from Atlanta. This package was intended for a party in Columbus, Georgia. It had been missent and forwarded by mistake to Atlanta, instead of to Macon, and from Atlanta to me in Montgomery. My duty was, on receipt of the package, to immediately telegraph to Atlanta of its arrival, and to send it off by the train that left that evening for Columbus. I had no right to the package, and should have immediately rebuilt it and send it off. I was certain that no one knew that it had been missent. It had evidently found its way into the pouch through a mistake, as it was not marked with the way-bill, or its presence known to the messenger. I never thought I should be guilty of theft till the time, but the moment I saw the package, it flashed into my mind that if I took it, I would never be detected. The temptation was too strong to be withstood. I yielded to it, and, without anyone seeing me, dropped the package under the counter. The messenger did not see it, and as his way-bill checked up all right, soon left the office. I watched my chance, and put the packet of money into my coat-pocket, and went home. You see, Wyatt, that was my first offense, and I felt rather frightened. I felt sorry that I had yielded to the temptation, but could not part with the money. It seemed so completely to have infatuated me. I took it home, and hid it, but did not tell my wife a word about it. In a short time dispatchers were sent all around to the different agents to find, if possible, where the package was. I received several of them, but reported that I had not seen or heard anything of it. I was so assured of the impossibility of my detection that I had lost all the fears that it first assailed me, and was as cool as a cucumber. The general superintendent came around with several detectives, but they could not find the money. I was tried in many ways, but I never flinched, and they finally had to give the matter up. In a short time I asked for leave of absence to make a visit to the north. It was granted me, and I started off with the ten thousand dollars in my possession. I soon found that I was followed by a detective, and I led him a wild goose chase until I reached Richmond, Virginia, where I gave him the slip, and he never knew where I went. I did the same in the forty thousand dollar case. I gave them all the slip at Chattanooga. No matter about that, said Wyatt, if you're going to give me a statement, give me a clear one and not jumble everything together. Well, I gave the detective the slip at Richmond and went to Winsborough, South Carolina. There I passed myself off as a cotton buyer, but had great difficulty in making a purchase as Robert Agnew, a prominent cotton broker, held all the cotton in the neighborhood, and did not care to sell as he expected a rise in price every day. To some decorum I induced him to sell me seven thousand five hundred dollars worth, which I paid for with the stolen funds of the company. I had the cotton shipped to R. G. Barnard, Charleston, South Carolina, to be sold proceeds to be remitted to me in Montgomery. The cotton was sold and the amount forwarded to me in two drafts on New York, one of which I had cashed in that city and the other in Montgomery. I lost quite a sum by my speculation as cotton did not rise but fell. I was perfectly contented to stand the loss as the stolen money was exchanged. I bought Yankee Mary with the two thousand five hundred dollars remaining and returned to Montgomery after having successfully disposed of all the stolen money. On my return I found everything quiet and went on with my duties as usual, but one day the superintendent came to me and said the company had concluded to change agents and that I had better resign. I did so at once, saying that I was just about going into business on my own account. I must say that when I met the general superintendent I did not like his looks as he seemed to suspect me. He made many inquiries as to how I got my money but was unable to ascertain anything. The superintendent of the Southern Division asked me to take charge of the office until my successor arrived and I willingly consented. The superintendent had much suavity of manner and it was hard for me to tell whether he considered me guilty or not. I rather thought he suspected me. When I found that my time with the company was to be so short I determined to make a good haul as I knew I could never get a situation in the business again for the Adams Express was the only express company in the South. I began to look around to see how I could best accomplish my purpose. I studied the character of the different messengers and thought Chase the best man to operate upon. I determined to wait until I had a good heavy run out and then put my plan in operation. Chase was a good clever fellow but careless. I tried him in several ways and found that he could be gulled more easily than any of the other messengers. I could not do anything on the runs in as the messengers checked the packages over to me. But on the runs out I checked over to them and with a careless man like Chase it would be the simplest thing in the world to call off packages and as he checked them off for me to drop them behind the counter instead of into the pouch. CHAPTER XXVI On the 27th of January I had a very heavy run in and among numerous other packages were four that attracted my attention. One for Charleston, South Carolina, for $2,500 and three for Augusta, Georgia for $30,000, $5,000 and $2,500 respectively. Chase was going out in the morning and then was the time to act. I got an old trunk that was lying in the office and packed it full of different articles. Among other things four boxes of cigars. Early in the morning I was up and down at the office. Chase soon came in, drew his safe over to the counter and began to check off the packages marked on the way-bill as I called them off and placed them in the pouch. If he had obeyed the rule of the company he would have taken each package in his hand and placed it in the pouch but he carelessly allowed me to call off the amounts and place the packages in the pouch. In this way, as he stood outside of the counter, I was enabled to call off all the packages on the way-bill but dropped the four containing the $40,000 under the counter amongst a lot of waste paper I had placed there for the purpose. The way-bill checked off all right. Chase said, OK, so I locked the pouch, handed it to him and he locked it up in his safe. He then went to breakfast, leaving me alone in the office. I immediately picked up the packages, distributed their contents into four piles of equal size, removed the cigars from the boxes and placed a pile of money in each. I then filled the space above the money with cigars, nailed down the lids of the boxes, placed them in the trunk, tied it up and directed it to W.A. Jackson, Galveston, Texas. There was a wagon loading at the door. I had the box immediately placed on it and within an hour of the time I had taken the money it was on its way down the Alabama River for mobile. The boat started down the river at the same time that Chase left for Atlanta. That is what I call sharp work. No one but me knew of the loss of the packages. Chase was in his car perfectly at ease but when he reached Atlanta he was destined to receive a shock he would not soon forget. As soon as he arrived there the loss was discovered and the assistant superintendent to the Southern Division who happened to be in the Atlanta office immediately telegraphed to me for an explanation. I did not take the trouble of answering the dispatch and he came on to Montgomery that night to investigate. All I had to say was that I had checked the money over to Chase and they would have to look to him for an explanation. Telegrams came thick and fast but I was nerved up to pass through anything and left them unnoticed. When Chase returned to Montgomery he was greatly excited and appeared much more guilty than I. The assistant superintendent was in the office when he arrived. I received the pouch from Chase, checked off the way-bill, found the packages all right and, throwing down the pouch, placed the packages in the vault. I then returned and picked up the pouch as if to look into it. I had my knife open but concealed in my coat sleeve. As I raised the pouch to look into it I slipped the knife into my hand and in a second cut two slits in the pouch and threw the knife back up my sleeve. I immediately said to Mr. Hall, who stood directly in front of me, Why it's cut! How the messenger could carry the pouch around cut in this manner and not discover it is astonishing. The assistant superintendent examined the pouch and found it cut as I had stated. This was a great point in my favor and the assistant superintendent was at once convinced that I was innocent of any participation in the robbery. No one suspected me after this until the Vice President and General Superintendent came. They looked at the pouch and one of them said, I understand this, and they had the pouch taken care of. This was the first thing that seemed to create suspicion in the general superintendent's mind. He had me arrested, but could not prove anything against me. My friends all stood by me and I had to do an immense amount of drinking. My wife one day asked me about the robbery. I at first denied my knowledge of it, but she is smart and does not easily give up. She kept at me and I finally concluded that the best way to keep her still was to tell her all. So I owned up to her, and then gave her some money and started her for the North. It is hard for me to keep anything entirely to myself and especially hard to keep anything from my wife. I remained in Montgomery, but was not at all lonely as I always had a squad of friends around me. In fact, I never knew before that, that I had so many. I knew that the trunk was safe, but felt at times a little apprehensive that someone might open it. Its contents were amply sufficient to pay all charges. On it in case it should never be claimed. After my arrest I was taken before Justice Holt's claw. At the preliminary examination I was held in $40,000 bail. But at the final examination the company presented so weak a case that I think I ought to have been discharged at once. The Justice thought differently, but reduced my bail to $4,000, in which amount I was bound over to appear for trial before the Circuit Court. I easily procured bail and was soon at liberty. I remained in Montgomery after my release, keeping a sharp lookout for detectives, as I felt sure the company would have plenty of them on my track. But I could not discover any. It was hard to believe they had none employed, as on the $10,000 case they had a small regiment of them. But none were to be seen in Montgomery, and I concluded they must be looking for the money in another direction. I had a slight mistrust of McGibbon-y, but soon proved to my entire satisfaction that he was not employed in the case. Everything went on smoothly, and I could discover nothing suspicious going on around me. I at length determined to make an excursion to several of the larger southern cities to ascertain if possible whether I would be followed. Before leaving I wrote to the agent of Jones Express at Galveston, assuming the name of W.A. Jackson, and directed him to send my trunk to Natchez. I started out on my trip and visited Atlanta, Chattanooga, Nashville and Memphis. I scanned the passengers who came on board or left the trains, all the guests who put up at the various hotels where I stopped on my journey, but could not discover a sign of a detective. By the time that I got to Memphis I knew I was not followed, and so took the steamer John Walsh, intending to get off at Natchez, gained possession of my trunk which must have reached there, and go on down the river to New Orleans. When I reached Natchez I inquired of the agent of Jones Express whether he had a trunk for W.A. Jackson shipped from Galveston, Memphis. He examined his book and said that he had not received such a trunk, but that possibly it had been sent and detained in the New Orleans office. I was now in a quandary. I was afraid to go to New Orleans and ask for the trunk, as I knew that Adams and Jones Express occupied the same office in that city. Could it be possible that the company had suspicions of the trunk and was holding it as a bait to draw me out? No. It was not possible. Still I did not care to go to the office and ask for the trunk, as someone would be sure to know me and my claiming a trunk as W.A. Jackson would be proof positive to them that something was wrong about it. They would seize and search it and then my guilt would be apparent. I finally determined to go to New Orleans, put up at the city hotel and then carelessly drop into the office of the company and see if I could discover the trunk lying around. I did so, and on coming into the office was immediately recognized by the employees, some of whom were glad to see me. I did not stay long, glanced around, saw the trunk was not there and returned to the hotel. I wanted to find whether the trunk had gone on to Natchez, so I wrote a note asking whether a trunk directed to W.A. Jackson Natchez was in their possession or had been forwarded to its destination and signed it W.A. Jackson. I then walked out of the hotel limping as if so lame as to be scarcely able to walk and met a colored boy standing on the corner. I hired him to take the note to the office for me and bring back the answer. He soon returned with a note which politely informed me that the trunk had been sent to Natchez. I immediately returned to Natchez, found the trunk, signed the receipt, paid the charges and left for mobile via New Orleans, and I tell you I was more than pleased when I arrived there with my trunk. When I reached Montgomery a bevy of my friends came down to see me. Porter, one of my best friends, a splendid fellow, was amongst them and as he was clerk of the hotel I had him order my baggage up. He had a carriage for me and we drove to Patterson's, and then went over to the hotel. In the morning I had him bring the old trunk into my room. I opened it before them all, carelessly took a few cigars from each of the boxes, and gave to them to try. In this way their suspicions in regard to the old trunk, if they had any, were entirely dispelled. Mrs. Moroney was still in New York. I remained for some time in Montgomery, still suspecting that someone was on my track, but could find nothing to confirm my suspicions. It was getting time for me to make some preparation for my defense. I had formed a plan to overthrow the testimony of the company by having a key made to fit their pouch, introducing it at the trial and proving that outsiders might have keys as well as the agents. I was desirous of having the key made at once. It could not be made in Montgomery or at New Orleans, for, though there were plenty of locksmiths, their work was not fine enough to suit me, so I concluded to go to New York and have one made. I had some business to transact with my wife, also, and wrote to her to meet me at a certain date in Philadelphia. I came north, met my wife in Philadelphia, where we stopped day or two, and then started for New York. As I stepped ashore from the ferryboat I was arrested. Never before in my life was I so dumbfounded, I can't tell you how they knew the time I would arrive. The detectives in Philadelphia must have been after me while I was there, and when I left for here they must have telegraphed and thus secured my arrest. They brought me here and I told my wife to come and see me in the morning. I was too confused to say anything and my brain was in a maze. I never dreamed of the possibility of arrest in New York. I might have been prepared for it in Montgomery, but did not think it possible that anything of the kind could happen here. My wife spoke to me on the subject, but I was unable to do or say anything. I make it a rule, when I am confused and can't collect my thoughts, to say nothing until I am calm. When I plan what I had better do. In the morning I decided that it was necessary for my wife to go to Montgomery and bring the money north with her. I was in jail and might need the money to procure bail, which I would like to do now. Then there was danger in leaving the money where it was secreted in the old trunk in the garret, as Floyd might want to clear the garret out and I had several times seen himself unclaimed baggage. My old trunk might be sold for a trifle and some one take it home and find it contained a treasure. As soon as she could Mrs. Moroney went to Montgomery for the money. I had informed her, where it was concealed, and told her to get it and bring it north. The money was rather bulky, as although there were some large bills, there were a great many fives, tens, twenties, and a few one hundred dollar notes. The whole of it made a large pile, but my wife proved a good hand. She fooled them all and concealed the money in her bustle. It was a troublesome wait to travel with, and she was obliged to stop at Augusta, Georgia, to rest herself. She also spent a day with my brother at Danielsville, who promised to come and see me. He came, and as you know accomplished nothing. My wife has now got the money concealed in the cellar of Josh Cox's house, Cox's her brother-in-law, and from what she tells me of him is a good-natured fellow, but pretty shrewd. Mrs. Cox is very smart. They never leave the house entirely alone. One or the other of them always keeping watch. That Madam Imbert is said by my wife to be a fine woman. I was much pleased with her when she came here the other day. Mrs. Moroney managed well with her, and discovered that her husband is imprisoned in Missouri. She also followed her in Philadelphia and found her changing money. My wife is smart. She suddenly confronted her, and the Madam admitted all. A man comes to see her, who exchanges money for her. My wife was about arranging with her to have the express money exchanged, but you are going out and I prefer to entrust my affairs with you. You see, Wyatt, I know I can trust you. There is only one thing that troubles me about Jinkentown. A fellow named DeForest is stopping there and is quite attentive to my wife. I think he is an agent of the Adams Express. But from what my wife says, she is smart enough for him and can rope him in long before he can her. Now, I have told you all, and hope you will act in the matter just as your judgment dictates. The fact of the matter is, your knowledge of the north is so great that you can act much better than I. Yes, said Wyatt, I understand the ropes well, and you may depend upon it I will handle them as well as I know how. I think that as soon as I get clear myself, which may take four or five or six days, and have settled up with my lawyers—I don't like those fellows, but sometimes you can't get along without them—I think I will try and get a key to the pouch made. I can do so easily. Then I will go to Montgomery and see Chase, study his movements on the cars and at the hotels. I can at the same time arrange to get the girl, whom I intend to bring from here, into the exchange, and as soon as possible get her acquainted with Chase. But, see here, don't you think it best to get some of the stolen money to use in this case? Certainly, said Maroney, my wife will give you all the money you need. I will give you a letter to her. No, said Wyatt, I don't want to have anything to do with women. Your wife may be perfectly true to you, but if I come in, I doubt very much whether she takes any interest in me, and lest it be to thwart my plans. Why not, asked Maroney? My wife should know and take an interest in all my affairs. She will do all in her power for us, and she is so shrewd that she will be able to help us very much. Well, said Wyatt, that may be all true enough, but women are sure to get strange notions. I don't like to deal with them. Women seem naturally suspicious. I don't want to treat your wife with injustice, but at the same time, if she has a finger in the pie, tend to one she will suspect me of trying to get the whole pile and intending to clear out with it. Don't you believe that for a moment? replied Maroney. She knows I have entire confidence in you, and that will be enough for her. You need have no fears that she will interfere in the matter in any way. I trust you, and my word is law to her. I would prefer to have you take all the money. You can then select what you want for Chase, and try and work off the balance in small amounts. This would be a delicate operation, as the banks very likely marked some of the bills before they shipped them. Yes. There are a great many obstacles to be overcome in changing money, but I think I can manage to work it off in some way. CHAPTER XXVII I will write a letter to my wife, which will pave your way to gaining her implicit confidence. How will you do that? asked White. I will write to her informing her that you are coming, and that you will identify yourself by presenting a letter from me. Yes, but suppose she won't give up the money. I could not go back again, as some of the detectives might suspect me and take me into custody. Oh, nothing of the sort will happen. I will write you a letter that will surely get the money. Come, we will see what we can do. And they sat down at a table where Moroney began to write. My dearest wife, I have confided all to Mr. White. He will be liberated today or tomorrow. He has some business to attend to which will detain him four or five days, when he will call on you in the guise of a book peddler. Now I say to you, trust implicitly in him. I have trusted him with my secret. He will take care of all. Give him everything you have in the packages. Take no writing from him, whatever. He requires something to work off on Chase and wants to use some of the stuff I got in Montgomery. When he succeeds in this, Chase will be in my place. Then he will begin to exchange all I have. Afterwards, all will be easy. When I am at liberty, we can enjoy it in safety. I feel perfectly safe and confident. Now, dearest, as I have before said, trust him implicitly, and all will be right. Yours forever, not. White approved of the letter. Moroney, therefore, sealed it up, directed it, and gave it to Shanks, who was in the jail, to post. Of course, the dutiful young man would not fail to do so. He then wrote the following letter of introduction and handed it to White. My dearest wife, this is the book peddler. You will want to buy books from him. Buy what you want, give him the packages for me. He is honest, all is well, nat. White scanned its contents and said, I suppose this is sufficient, but the question still remains. We'll see, obey it. I will do the best I can, but I have little faith in women. Oh, now, said Moroney, don't make me feel downhearted. I've done the best I can, and I know she will obey me. Very well, replied White. I will go as soon as possible, in a week, more or less, as soon as I can possibly arrange my own affairs. On my arrival in Jinkentown, I will write to you at once, and let you know how I am received. Agreed, I have trusted you, and my wife must trust you. Shanks had several commissions to attend to. He first came to my room in the hotel and handed me Moroney's letter to his wife. I opened and read the letter, and exclaimed, now the battle is ours, victory is almost within our grasp. I saw the vice president and read the letter to him. He was highly delighted and said he could now see the wisdom of all my maneuvers. The following day, White was released from his long confinement. It must be admitted that his duties were extremely arduous, but such is often the fate of a detective. I have sometimes had my men in prison for a longer time than this, and they have often failed to accomplish anything, being obliged to give up without discovering what they were looking for. White remained in New York, attending to his own business after his release. He called once or twice on Moroney to show that he had not forgotten him, and to assure him that he would soon get a pouch key made. This was easily accomplished, as all he had to do was go to the express office, get a key, file it up a little to make it look bright and new, and show it to Moroney as an earnest of his intentions in regard to Chase. We will now leave the parties in New York and return to Jinkentown. Very little had taken place here, and the various parties in whom we have an interest were conducting themselves much as usual. Mrs. Moroney and Madame Imbert went to Philadelphia on the same day that White was liberated. They spent most of the day in the city, and came out on the cars in the evening. DeForest met them and drove them to Stemples in his buggy. After tea, Madame Imbert went down to Cox's and strolled up to the post office with Mrs. Moroney. Mrs. Moroney received a letter which she opened. She said it was from Nat. She began to read it as they walked along. As she read, Madame Imbert noticed that all color left her face and she became white as wax. She folded up the letter and leaned heavily on the Madame's arm for support. What's the matter? Are you sick? She anxiously inquired. No, but I have received so strange a letter. Walk along with me. I'm very weak. I will tell you its contents in a few minutes. She did not go in the direction of Cox's, but led the way to the garden. Here the two women took seats. She read the letter over again and then handed it to Madame Imbert. Read it, she said. The Madame did so. Neither spoke for some time. What do you think of it? She at length asked. I think it a little strange, but at the same time have no doubt but that it is all right. Your husband is, of course, the best judge in this matter and must have good reasons for taking the step. He has full confidence in white, has been locked up with him for several months, has seen him day and night and doubtless has thoroughly studied his character. White is almost like his wife and he knows what he is doing when he consents to trust him so far. Mrs. Moroney was rapidly getting better and said angrily, No, I will never give him the money in this way. It is all nonsense. What do I know about white? This is asking too much of me. Why did he not write and consult me on the subject? He simply says white is out of jail now giving the money and gives me no chance to speak on the subject. Suppose white gets the money. How do I know but that he will run away with it and leave us to suffer without getting any of the benefit? Madam Inbert, I must tell you all. You see that in this letter Nat does not mention money but he means money. As you are now the only one I can trust I will talk plainly to you. My husband took the forty thousand dollars from the express company and also ten thousand dollars previously. Now all is out. When he was thrown into prison in New York he sent me for the money which he had concealed in Montgomery and I brought it here and have it hidden in Josh's cellar. Now what am I to do? If I give it to this man white I shall probably never see it again. In fact I am sure I never shall. You are mistaken, I think, said Madam Inbert. Have confidence. Confidence! It would be my best plan to run away myself. She was going on still further but Madam Inbert stopped her. Don't say anything more at present, my dear Mrs. Moroney. You are too excited to talk calmly. Let the matter rest until morning. They dropped the subject for the time and as Mrs. Moroney expressed a desire for a little brandy to calm her nerves went down to Cox's. Mrs. Moroney offered some brandy to the madam which she politely declined to take but this did not in the least abash her, for she gulped down enough to stagger an old topper. Josh was not at home and so very little was said. Mrs. Cox asked her if she had received the letter from Nat. Yes, she answered in a snappish tone and said no more. Madam Inbert had accomplished all she desired for the day and so left Mrs. Moroney to herself. In the morning Mrs. Moroney sent Flora to her with a request that she would accompany her to Philadelphia. Madam Inbert sent word that she would be happy to go and would come to Cox's immediately. De Forest met Flora and commenced playing with her. I must go home said she as Ma is going to Philadelphia and sent me with a message to Madam Inbert asking her to go too. She said she would and is coming down to the house so I must hurry home. What a fool I am thought De Forest I would rather have her go with me. So he went to Cox's with Flora to offer his services. Mrs. Moroney appeared troubled and excited. He knew that he never made progress with her when she was in a moody state so he timidly said that he was going to Philadelphia and asked her to go along. She said no very harshly and he immediately vanished. She started out and met Madam Inbert on the way down. Come back with me I want to hire Stemple's team she said. Stemple's soon had his team ready for them and they started. I don't want anyone with me but you Madam Inbert as I am much troubled and need your advice. I want to consult a lawyer but don't know how to go about it. There's a lawyer in Philadelphia a good man in fact the same one my husband had at New York for consultation and I think I shall ask his advice. I would not do it if I were in your place advised Madam Inbert if a lawyer once gets hold of the facts he is much more likely to get all the money than white. That is the trouble last night after you left Josh came in and we talked the matter over. You know Josh and the opinion I have of him but with all his faults he is shrewd. His wife and he held the same opinion that it would never do to trust white with the money and Josh was in favor of changing its hiding place. I did not tell them that I had told you all but I intend to do so. I informed them that I was going to the city to consult a lawyer but they were both against me and now you are opposed to me and I don't know what to do or what I am doing. I'm almost crazy. They drove up to a tavern on the way and she took some brandy which seemed to give her more courage. When they reached the city Madam Inbert wished to report to Bangs but found it almost impossible to get away from Mrs. Moroney who had concluded not to ask the advice of a lawyer. They went into Mitchell's and Madam Inbert managed to get away a few moments and reported to Bangs. She had not been with him ten minutes before Rivers who was shadowing Mrs. Moroney came in and reported that she seemed very uneasy and had been out on the street several times glancing anxiously around. Madam Inbert at once hurried back to Mitchell's. Where were you? demanded Mrs. Moroney. I am suspicious of you all. Madam Inbert drew herself up with an air of offended dignity which spoke more than words. I am sorry I have offended you, said Mrs. Moroney quickly. Please forgive me. I am so nervous that for a time I mistrusted even you and thought you had gone for a policeman or a detective. Let's have dinner and go. When they were on the return journey Mrs. Moroney said, I feel much better on the road with you alone than when in the city. I want to talk continually and you are the only one to whom I dare talk. However excited or miserable I may feel, companionship with you always makes me feel happy and contented. At the various taverns they passed on the road Mrs. Moroney always stopped and invoked the aid of stimulants to cheer her up. She suddenly turned to Madam Inbert and asked, Would you be willing to run away with me? We could go down into Louisiana, where we are not known, buy a small place in some out-of-the-way town, and live secluded for four or five years until our existence was forgotten, and then make our appearance once more in the fashionable world, with plenty of money to maintain our position, or we could go to New York and from there to England and the Continent. Yes, we could do all that if we had the money, said the Madam, but you forget that at this time we cannot use it. You have plenty of money of your own, and you might let me stop with you for three or four years, as by that time we could use the express' money without any risk. Yes, I would gladly keep you for years, if that is all you want. When do you expect the man who exchanges your money? Could you not get him here at once? Then we could go. I could write him, replied the Madam, and he would come at once, provided my letter reached him. But sometimes I have to wait two or three months after writing for him before he makes his appearance. He travels a good deal and comes to the place where he has his letters directed only once in a while. He's a strange man, but very honest. I will write to him tonight, if you say so, so that we can soon hear from him and get him here. They arrived in Jinkentown without arranging any decided plan. After tea they again met. Mrs. Moroney said that she was so fatigued that even her brain was so weary that she felt completely broken down and must retire early. Rivers arrived from Philadelphia on the cars long before the women, and went down to see Josh. Josh had remained at home all day with his wife and was glad of the excuse Rivers coming gave him to go down to stimples. He was moody and would not talk much. Even Barclay could not get a word out of him. He was willing to drink, but spoke only in monosyllables. At nine o'clock he went home. Rivers got into Cox's yard and watched the house for about two hours when, finding all quiet, he returned home and went to bed. CHAPTER XXVIII. Time rolled on and the third day after the trip to Philadelphia Madame Inbert was with Mrs. Moroney, who talked incessantly about giving up the money. She alluded to Cox's idea of the question. He said that he would never give White the money, that he did not know the man, and that he would trust no one with forty thousand dollars. He declared that he had now got the money and that he was going to keep it. She insisted that they should let her arrange the matter to suit herself. Mrs. Cox was, like her husband, bound that White should not get the money. Everything appeared against White's chances of getting the money. At this time they were seated in a secluded part of the garden. Mrs. Moroney glanced around, saw that no one was near, and then said, Madame Inbert, you are accustomed to attend to affairs like mine. Won't you take the money, claim it as your own, and go with me to the West? You could then find your friend, and he would be willing to exchange the money for two or three thousand dollars, wouldn't he? I want to get away from here. My sister is against me, and Josh treats me as if he was my equal or superior. Madame Inbert saw she must act very prudently. Mrs. Moroney must be quietly dealt with. She wished her to give the money to White, as if she took the money she would have to be a witness in the case. She wished to avoid this, but if she could not succeed in making her turn the money over to White, as a last resort she would take possession of it herself. She therefore replied, No, I don't like to take it. I have enough of my own to look after. If my poor husband were only out of jail, he would get it changed for you in short order. I don't want any more money about me at present. It would go hard with me if I were discovered with the money on my person. There's little danger of that, said Mrs. Moroney. I carried it all the way from Montgomery and was not much inconvenienced by it. You must help me. Mrs. Moroney, if I were in your place I would do exactly as my husband wished. Yes, yes, said she, but who knows White? I never saw him. We will let the matter drop for present. I will do all I can to assist you. I wrote to my friend last night, and he will send an answer directed to you in my care. Mrs. Moroney was greatly pleased and went home in high spirits. On the following day she got a letter from Moroney. He had seen White, and he would be in Jinkentown in a day or two. He said White was opposed to dealing with women, and if he did not get the money on his first visit he would never come back. He finished by entreating her to give up all cheerfully, remembering that it was for the good of both. This letter arrived in the evening, and Mrs. Moroney, after perusing it, told Madam Imbert that she had made up her mind never to give up the money. I will burn it before I will give it to White, said she. Madam Imbert was rather startled at this avowal, but on a second consideration was convinced that it was a bit of braggadocia, and that there was not the slightest fear of her carrying such a threat into execution. She found Mrs. Moroney in too unreasonable a state of mind to accomplish anything with her that day, and she therefore returned to Stimples. The next day was decidedly a breezy day for all. Early in the morning Mrs. Moroney sent for Madam Imbert, who at once joined her at Cox's. Mrs. Moroney met her at the door. Oh, Madam Imbert, I am so glad you have come. Josh has been acting in a most independent manner. I almost believe he is right in protesting that he will not allow the money to go. Madam Imbert appealed to Mrs. Moroney's sense of duty. She depicted in glowing terms the happiness of the wife who looks only to her husband's interests and makes sacrifices in his behalf. She drew a touching picture of Moroney's sufferings in jail, and tried to impress upon her the conviction that it was more than probable that he had taken the money so as to be able to place her in a situation where she could command any luxury. What did Cox know about suffering or of the steps her husband found it necessary to take in order to affect his release? When Moroney took the forty thousand dollars he had to ship it at once down the Alabama River, and now they could see how wise he was in so doing. He had displayed consummate ability in every movement he had so far made, and was it at all likely that he had lost his cunning? He loves you, said she, and would do anything for you. Your duty as a wife is plain and simple. Do as your husband wishes you to do. Madam Imbert's reasoning was unanswerable, but to Mrs. Moroney it was a bitter pill. Without saying a word she led the way into the house where they met Cox just coming up from the cellar. She had informed both Josh and his wife that she had made a confidant of Madam Imbert, and they thought she had done wisely. Josh, have you been moving the money? demanded she. No, he replied, in rather a surly tone. Then, turning to Madam Imbert, he said, you must have the same opinion of this matter as I. I think it folly to give the money up to White. No one knows about this would-be book peddler, and I will not give up the money to such a man. Let him come to me, and I will talk to him. Josh strutted about the room with the air of a six-footer. I'll have it out of him in short order. I'll show him he can't pull the wool over my eyes, as he seems to have done over Nats. I'll be damned if I can understand it. Cox was ably seconded in his opinion by his wife. Mrs. Moroney had very little to say. Madam Imbert said that in her opinion Josh was entirely wrong. Moroney knew better than they what was for his interest. As for her, if her husband was to tell her to give up all she had, she would cheerfully do so, as she knew he was best able to judge what was for the benefit of them both. The day passed in a continual wrangle. Madam Imbert could hardly get away from Mrs. Moroney long enough to eat her meals. Mrs. Moroney and Josh dealt exclusively in brandy. Toward evening Josh proclaimed his intention of raising the money, and starting with it that night for the West. He would hide himself until Moroney got out of jail, when he would return and deliver the money over to him. Josh was sublime in the purity and philanthropy of his motives. He did not want a cent of the money, not he, but he could not consent to see his brother-in-law swindled, while he stood by and calmly looked on, without making an effort in his behalf. No, this he could not do. To his own serious inconvenience he would voluntarily tear himself from his family, impose upon himself the task of becoming the watchdog of Nat's treasure, and for a time lose himself in the wilderness of the West. Madam Imbert thought his would be a clear case of, though lost to sight to memory dear, but did not say so. Mrs. Moroney rather took the wind out of his sails by saying, Don't you dare to raise the money until I tell you to. I am in no hurry to have it moved. The cellar has proved a safe hiding place so far, and I see no reason why it should not so remain. You will please remember that it belongs to Nat and me. I am able to take care of it, so you may just let it alone. Josh said no more, but mentally washing his hands of the whole transaction started for stemples. He found rivers and barkly there, but said nothing about what had happened, further than that he was having trouble at home. In the evening Mrs. Moroney received a letter from her husband stating that the book peddler would call the next day. The next day was to be an eventful one for me. By noon I should know the fate of my enterprise. I had no doubts about what the results would be, but I should then have the proofs in hand to show my employers that the confidence they had bestowed upon me had not been misplaced, that the theory I had advanced and worked upon was the correct one, that my profession, which had been dragged down by unprincipled adventurers until the term detective was synonymous with rogue, was, when properly attended to and honestly conducted, one of the most useful and indispensable adjuncts to the preservation of the lives and property of the people. The Divine administers consolation to the soul. The physician strives to relieve the pains of the body, while the detective cleanses society from its impurities, makes crime hideous by dragging it to light. And it would otherwise thrive in darkness, and generally improves mankind by proving that wrong acts, no matter how skillfully covered up, are sure to be found out, and their perpetrators punished. The great preventative of crime is the fear of detection. There are quacks in other professions as well as in mine, and people should lay the blame where it belongs upon the quacks and not upon the profession. In the evening I received a letter from Madam Imbert, telling me of the difficulties in the way of Whites receiving the money. She was full of hope, and said she thought she could manage to make Mrs. Moroney give up the money, but if all else failed she would take the money herself. It was often offered to her by Mrs. Moroney, and Josh had said he had no objections to her receiving it. She would make arrangements so that if White did not get the money she would. The money would be in Philadelphia the next evening if she had to walk in with it herself. The recovery of forty or fifty thousand dollars today is considered a small operation, but in 1859, before the war, the amount was looked upon as perfectly enormous. I showed Madam Imbert's letter to the Vice President. He was greatly pleased to find success so near at hand, and agreed to make a little trip with me in the morning. White was with me in Philadelphia, and I made all my arrangements for the following day's work. I was up bright and early the next morning. The sun rose in a cloudless sky, and the weather promised to be fine. It would most likely be excessively hot by noon, but the morning was fresh and balmy. White in his character of a book-peddler was to go into Jinkentown on foot so as to give the impression that he had walked out from the city. Shanks was to drive him to within about two miles of Jinkentown, where White was to get out and walk in, while Shanks would drive back and wait for him at the Rising Sun, a tavern on the road. The Vice President and I drove over from Chestnut Hill, put up our team at the Rising Sun, and took up our position as near the probable scene of action as was prudent. Early in the morning, just as day began to dawn, rivers came in and reported the condition of affairs. He had watched coxes through the night, but aside from high words there had been no demonstration. I sent a note to Madame Imbert by him, with instructions to deliver it to her as soon as she was up. I told her to be sure and do as she said she would, get the money to-day at all hazards, by storm if necessary, as I did not like to trust cox another day. CHAPTER XXIX At Jinkentown there was no lull in the fight. The battle was going on gloriously. Breakfast at coxes was a meager meal, even the children were neglected, as all the grown portion of the household were on the lookout for the book-peddler. Sister Anne, sister Anne, do you see anyone coming? was the cry. Every once in a while one of them would go to the gate and look anxiously down the road in the direction of Philadelphia. Mrs. Moroney was impatiently awaiting the arrival of Madame Imbert. She did not have to wait long, as the madam came down immediately after breakfast. Her commanding figure and decided expression made her appear like a general giving orders. She was perfectly calm, while all the rest were so excited that they did not know what to do or say. She controlled the position. Mrs. Moroney had not slept any, and was still unable to decide upon her action. She strolled out with the madam a short distance, thinking to find relief in a quiet chat. She said she was filled with doubts and fears. She was afraid to trust Josh, and he might go off at any moment with the packages. Madame Imbert told her that there was only one thing to be done, and that was to give up the packages to White as her husband ordered. Are you sure, said she, that the letter is in your husband's handwriting? Mrs. Moroney looked at her in a startled manner, and pulled the letter from its hiding place in the bosom of her dress. She scanned it over carefully and said, Yes, it is Nat's writing. Then there is nothing to do but to give it up. If my husband ordered me, I would gladly give up all I have in this world to please him. They remained away from the house for some time, and when they returned it was nearly noon. On looking down the street they discovered a book peddler, slowly toiling along from the direction of Philadelphia and evidently bending his steps towards Cox's. As Mrs. Moroney saw him coming along, sweltering in the sun and bending under the weight of his load of books, she gave an involuntary start, and Madame Imbert, on whose arm she leaned, felt that she was trembling with excitement. Cox stood beside his wife in the doorway with his teeth clenched. His wife looked unutterable things, but neither uttered a word. Madame Imbert and Mrs. Moroney went into the yard and stood leaning over the gate, watching the peddler, who was rapidly drawing near. He arrived at the gate at the appointed time. You used to buy any books, asked he, at the same time handing Mrs. Moroney a novel to look at, which he opened so as to disclose a note. He spoke to her in a low tone and said, I'm from prison, then glancing at the note. I think that is for you. She took the novel and, holding it open as if reading it, scanned the contents of the note. My dearest wife, this is the book peddler. You may want to buy books from him. Buy what you want. Give him the packages for me. He is honest. All is well, Nat. When she had read the note, she stood looking at it, apparently unable to speak. Madame Imbert looked at her, and as she began to fear that some of the neighbors might notice the long stay of the peddler, said, Have you no message for the man? Time is precious. Yes, she answered, looking up as from a trance. Madame Imbert spoke in a low tone. Tell him to meet you down the lane. Yes, said she, I will meet you down the lane at two o'clock and take some books from you. The peddler left a few novels and walked off. Mrs. Moroney and Madame Imbert walked into the house. Now was the time for Madame Imbert to show her power. Come, Mrs. Moroney, be quick. You must act at once. Get the money for the book peddler. Quick! Mrs. Moroney seemed to act mechanically. Madame Imbert's strong will had asserted a power over her that she could not resist. They went into the cellar accompanied by Josh and his wife. Dig the money up, commanded Mrs. Moroney still in the same mechanical tone. Josh hesitated. Give me the spade, said Madame Imbert. Show me where the money is secreted. Then turning to Josh and his wife she said, You are fools! You would not only ruin Mrs. Moroney but yourselves. Moroney knows best what is for his interest. Mrs. Moroney pointed out the spot where the money was buried. The Madame struck the spade into the ground. Stop, I'll do it, said Josh. If you are bound to make a beggar of yourself, it is no fault of mine. The money was about eighteen inches under the level of the cellar floor, wrapped up in a piece of oil skin. It was soon unearthed and taken upstairs. Mrs. Moroney said, I will go and get the buggy—oh no, Josh, you go to Stemples and get his team. Tell him it is for me. Josh, without waiting to fill up the hole, started off. Madame Imbert wrapped the money in two newspapers, and when Josh came with the team, which he soon did, put it into the front part of the buggy and covered it with the apron, and, getting in with Mrs. Moroney, drove down the lane. White, when he received the message from Mrs. Moroney, returned to the rising sun and reported to me, We, the vice president and I, secreted ourselves under some magnolias growing close by the lane and near where the meeting would take place. At the appointed time the book peddler was seen by us coming up the lane and at almost the same moment a buggy came in sight going down. It was a moment of breathless interest to both of us. They met almost directly opposite to where we were concealed. Madame Imbert said, Let us have some books. The peddler lifted his satchel into the buggy. The Madame hurriedly emptied it of its contents and, holding it open, jammed the bundle of money into it and handed it back to the peddler. Not a word more was said. Madame Imbert turned the team around and started the horses on a fast trot toward Jinkentown, while the peddler sweltered along under the broiling sun in the direction of the tavern. Madame Imbert drove up to Stemples, took the books which were wrapped in papers to her room and invited Mrs. Moroney up to take some brandy. Mrs. Moroney was in a passive state and did everything Madame Imbert told her to do, as if powerless to resist. She remained for some time with Madame Imbert but finally said in a pitiful tone, Well I believe I am sick. This excitement has nearly killed me. Madame Imbert advised her to lie down and accompanied her to Cox's. Josh had gone out with Rivers and Mrs. Cox refused to be seen. Madame Imbert administered an opiate to Mrs. Moroney and then returned to the tavern. Toward evening she hired Stemples' team and drove into Philadelphia. The Vice President and I remained concealed until the two women were well out of sight when we overtook White, who was slowly toiling down the road. I received the satchel containing the money from him. From the time he received the money until he handed it over to me, I had had my eye on him, not exactly because I did not trust him, but I thought it wrong to lead the poor fellow into temptation. We went to the rising sun where we took dinner, but did not mention the subject which was uppermost in our minds. After dinner we drove into the city and placed the money in the vaults of the Express Company. The Vice President at once telegraphed to the President of the Company to come from New York as he did not wish to count the money until he was present. In the evening Madame Imbert arrived at the hotel and finding I was in consultation with the Vice President sent word in that she would like to see me. When I came to her she eagerly asked, Is the money all right? All right, I answered. When she heard this her strength seemed suddenly to leave her and she nearly fainted. The victory was complete, but her faculties had been strained to the utmost in accomplishing it and she felt completely exhausted. She had the proud satisfaction of knowing that to a woman belonged to the honors of the day. The President arrived on the 3rd of August and we met at the Lapier House where we counted the money. The package proved to contain thirty-nine thousand five hundred and fifteen dollars within four hundred and eighty-five dollars of the amount last stolen. The officers of the Adams Express Company were much pleased at my success and perfectly satisfied with everything. The money had been recovered and the case had come to a stand still. I held a consultation with the President and Vice President and asked them if they had any further orders for me. The President said I had better finish the operation and not give up until Moroney had been convicted and placed in the penitentiary. I had done them invaluable service so far, but it still remained to cap the climax by bringing the guilty party to justice. This I assured him would soon be accomplished and I left to give the necessary orders to my detectives. I told Madam Inbert to return to Jinkentown and ordered Rivers and Miss Johnson also to remain as before. The Vice President also told DeForest to remain in Jinkentown for the present. When was to continue in Philadelphia, Roke, who had been sent back to Montgomery was to await orders there, as was also Porter. White was to attend to Moroney, while Bangs was to continue in Philadelphia in charge of all. CHAPTER 30 On the fifteenth of August White called on Moroney in Eldridge Street Jail. He detailed what had transpired at Jinkentown and told Moroney that he had the money hid in a safe place in Philadelphia. This was undoubtedly the truth, as the money was safe in the vaults of the Adams Express. I deemed it best to curtail expenses as soon as possible and instructed White to impress upon Moroney that Jinkentown was not a safe place for his wife, and that she had better leave there. He was to endeavor to get Moroney to send her to the West, and to Chicago if possible. He told Moroney that he was afraid some of the expressmen were watching his wife, and if he did not look out she might be induced to blow on him and tell all. He dwelt on his repugnance to being mixed up with women with such effect that Moroney was convinced that she had better go to some other part of the country, and so wrote to her at once. He told her she had better go West. She was so near the headquarters of the company that he feared they might find her out and make trouble for her. He hinted that he was not entirely satisfied with de Forest, and wished her to go as soon as possible. White said he was having the key to the pouch made, and would be able to show it to him in a day or two. He did not wish anyone in the jail to see him with the key, and wished Moroney to be careful that no prisoners were in their neighborhood when he disclosed it. When he did bring the key, Moroney examined it closely, and expressed himself well pleased with it. The days set for the trial of the suit in New York was near at hand, and Moroney would have to prove that he had not taken the fifty thousand dollars. He did not much care how the suit went, as he was confident he would be acquitted at his criminal trial in Montgomery. When the suit came off, we managed to get a judgment against him for the fifty thousand dollars in such a manner that it was not necessary to let him know that the money had been recovered, or that White was working against him. He was of course the principal witness in his own behalf, and if wholesale perjury could have saved him, he would have been acquitted beyond a doubt. The day after the trial, White called on him, and he laughed heartily at the judgment which had been obtained against him. Wait till I get to Montgomery, he said, and then they will find that their judgment does not amount to shucks. White, I wish you would settle up my matters as soon as possible. I'm going to Charleston this evening to see if I can't pass some of the money, and must hurry off and pack my satchel as the train leaves at four. Goodbye for a time. I will write and let you know how I succeed, said White as he prepared to leave. I know you will succeed, remarked Moroney, and White hurriedly walked out of jail. This was all done to blind Moroney as to White's real character. There was no necessity of White's leaving the city to accomplish his purpose. All he had to do was to write letters and send them to the agents of the Adams Express at the different points where Moroney supposed him to be, and they would mail them to Moroney. He pretended that he was having great trouble in trying to exchange the money, and wrote that he would be in New York in a few days. At the end of a week he walked down to the jail. He met Moroney with a troubled look on his face and said that he had been frightened away from Charleston after he had exchanged about five hundred dollars. He was doing very well when he found the detectives were close after him, and he had to leave without his carpet bag. It is uphill work, Moroney, trying to exchange this money. The Adams Express are keeping a sharp look out everywhere, and I have had a number of detectives on my track. I have no money of my own and need all of yours. So far I have exchanged only enough to get me to Montgomery and to pay the girl for stuffing the express money into Chase's pocket. Moroney gave White what money he had, and told him to go on and fix Chase as soon as possible. Mrs. Moroney had all the money so that we had to foot all White's bills. The company had already been at heavy expense, and I was deserious of stopping all unavoidable expenditures. White remained in Philadelphia or New York, as the case might be, performing on paper a journey through the South. Moroney received letters from him from Augusta, Georgia, New Orleans, Mobile, and Montgomery. He seemed to meet with many adventures and reverses, but was slowly and surely accomplishing his mission. He had the girl in Montgomery, and she was rapidly winning her way to the innermost recesses of Chase's heart. In a couple of days came another letter. Chase was captivated, and had so far worked on the confiding innocent nature of the girl as to prevail on her to consent to let him into her room that night. She had the money to put into Chase's pocket, and all was going well. Moroney could not sleep so anxiously did he look forward for the coming of the next letter. He paced his cell at night. What would have been his feelings if he could have looked through about a mile of brick and mortar to where White was snoring in bed? The next day no letter came. He grew almost frantic, and was so irritable and excited that his fellow prisoners wondered what had come over him. The following day the anxiously expected letter arrived. He hastily broke it open, and found that the faithful White had been true to his trust. Chase had gone into the girl's room. McGibbony had seized him as he came out. A search was instituted, and the stolen money and a pouch-key had been discovered in his pocket. Hurrah! said Moroney. I'm all right now. Boys, here's five dollars, the last sin I have. We will make a jolly day of it. We will now return to our friends in Jinkentown. It took some time for Moroney to impress upon his wife the necessity of her going west. She had little money, for though she had pocketed the proceeds of the sale of her husband's livery-stable and other effects in Montgomery, her expenses had been heavy, and the money had dwindled away until she was nearly penniless. One day Mrs. Moroney said to Madame Imbert, Wouldn't you like to go out west somewhere and settle down for a while? It makes no difference to me where I go, she replied. I have to see the gentleman who exchanges my money for me once in a while, but no matter where I go he is sure to come to me when I send for him. Why would it not be a good plan to go to some place in the south? Swansboro, North Carolina is a good place. Yes, remarked Mrs. Moroney, but it is so dull. What do you say to Jackson, Mississippi? It's a beautiful place. No, we don't want to go to the south now. It is altogether too warm. Were you ever in Chicago, Madame Imbert? No, but it is a good place to summer in, I understand. Well let's go there, will you? Yes, certainly if you wish, said Madame Imbert, and they at once began to arrange for their departure. It was decided that Madame Imbert should go ahead to Chicago and see if she could rent a furnished house for them. She started off and, as a matter of course, easily accomplished her purpose. I had a house in Chicago where I lodged my female detectives, and as I had only two in the city at the time, I easily found them a boarding house and turned the house over to Madame Imbert. The servants were well trained and understood their business thoroughly. Everything being arranged, Madame Imbert wrote to Mrs. Moroney and Miss Johnson, telling them to come on. Two weeks after, Mrs. Moroney, Miss Johnson, and Flora arrived in Chicago and took up their quarters with Madame Imbert. It was necessary to have a young man to run their errands, and shanks was promptly furnished to them. White did not need his services any longer, as he was able to run his own errands. Business was crowding fast, and the time set for Moroney's trial at Montgomery was drawing near. The governor of Alabama requested the governor of New York to deliver Moroney for trial in Montgomery, which request was immediately exceeded to. I sent Moroney south in charge of an officer from Philadelphia, of course, shadowed by my own men. This was the last time that Roke was on duty in this case. He had done good service already in its early stages, and might be of service again. The vice president accompanied the parties. When they arrived in Montgomery, Moroney was not met and escorted to the exchange by a bevy of admiring friends. On the contrary, he was led to jail. Hope never forsook him. He received letters from White, who said all was going well, and he expected to get the funds exchanged soon. Moroney wrote in reply that he hoped he would hurry up, as he wished to give a part of the money to his lawyer in New York. The lawyer was evidently expecting to reap a rich harvest at the company's expense. Little more need be said. The circuit court was in session, his honor John Gill Shorter presiding, and Moroney would soon be tried before him. He was confident that he would be acquitted and had all his plans made as to what he would do when he was liberated. Not the shadow of a doubt had crossed his mind as to the feelty of White. He heard that he was in Montgomery and received a note from him saying that all was well, that the Adams Express had compelled him to come, an unwilling witness, to see if they could not force the secret from him, but they would find that they had collared the wrong man this time. Moroney was braced up by this note. He knew that White would not give up. He felt confident of that. It was the morning of the trial, and before night fall he would be a free man. It was a lovely day, and the courtroom was packed with spectators among whom were many of Moroney's former friends. He walked proudly into the courtroom, between two deputies, with an air that plainly said, I am bound to win. His friends clustered around him and vied with each other as to who could show him the most attention. Foremost among them was Porter, to whom he gave an extra shake of the hand. I will not dwell upon the trial. The witnesses for the prosecution were called one by one. They were the employees of the company who were in any way connected with the shipment or the discovery of the loss of the money, which ought to have been sent to Atlanta, when in reality it had gone down the Alabama in Moroney's old trunk. The witnesses proved that the money had disappeared in some mysterious way, but they did not in the slightest degree fasten the guilt upon Moroney. His spirits rose as the trial progressed, and his counsel could not but smile as he heard the weak testimony he had to break down. He had expected a toughly contested case, but the prosecutors had presented no case at all. At length the crier of the court called, John R. White. As John R. White did not immediately appear in answer to the call, Moroney seemed, during the brief period of silence, to suddenly realize how critical was his position. His cheek blanched with fear. He seemed striving to speak, but not a word could he articulate. As White deliberately walked up to the witness stand, Moroney seemed at once to realize that White would never perjure himself for the sake of befriending him. His eyes were filled with horror as he gasped for breath. A glass of water was handed to him. He gulped it down and vainly endeavoring to force back the tears from his eyes. In a hoarse, shaky voice he exclaimed, Oh, God! Then turning to his counsel he said, Tell the court I plead guilty. He, pointing to White, knows the whole. I'm guilty. I am gone. This ended the matter. The counsel entered a plea of guilty, and the judge sentenced Moroney to pass ten years in the Alabama penitentiary, at hard labor. End of the Expressman and the Detective. Recording by Pete Williams, Pittsburgh, PA.