When I got away from Mr. Tescheron that afternoon, it was after
three o'clock, and I had to see Flanagan.
Luckily I found the coroner at his office and was received by him
with that warmth of greeting and cordiality which springs from a
political genius, said to be derived by contact with the Blarney
Stone. At any rate, it makes its successful appeal to human nature
and constitutes the capital of Tammany leaders holding their own
against all reformers who fail to take into account the hearts of
the poor. There wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for me.
You may be sure that Jim and I had long ago changed our politics
enough to vote for Flanagan, and he knew it. His handshaking,
sympathetic attention and practical philanthropy kept him in power,
and his record for square dealing in and out of office placed him
apart from some of the crew he trained with. As another Irishman,
Mr. Burke, has remarked you can't indict a nation, this countryman
of his proved to me that it would not be possible to indict an
entire political organization outside the broad scope of campaign
oratory.
I laid the whole case before honest Tim Flanagan.
"And they were to have been married a week from to-day, you say?
Whew! You come with me to see Tom Martin; he'll do anything I say."
It is wonderful how a Tammany Hall leader can help pull a case of
complicated love out of the mire of despair, if the villainy runs
counter to the law.
Tom Martin was the captain in charge of the detective bureau at
police headquarters. If anybody had suggested concerning him that
it was possible for a Tammany district leader to obtain a favor in
that office involving what might technically be called the
compounding of a crime, Martin's icy official rejoinder would
wither his antagonist; but this ice could be cut by certain men.
Tim Flanagan was one of them. When he and Tom Martin got together
on this thing wheels within wheels began to work.
"Certainly, Tim," said Captain Martin. "We'll give Smith a
shake-down right here. I know him well. He is rich and will cough
it all up when we put on the screws. You and your friend take
seats. I'll have him here in a few minutes. Say, that's a lot of
money, though--over five thousand dollars, you say?"
I handed Tescheron's exact figures to Captain Martin. We waited
about twenty minutes, as I recollect, when a Potsdam giant from
County Kildare, the site of extensive greenhouses for the raising
of New York cops, brought in the trembling Smith. The startled
little rascal looked at me, but did not appear to recognize me. He
had been scared to a point I could see where he would give up his
last cent for freedom.
"You're at the old game again, Smithy," said Captain Martin. "How
much did you get out of Tescheron? I have the figures here; just
look it up and tell me--see if we agree."
Smith did not dodge.
"About ten thousand dollars, Stuffer and all," he said.
Stuffer! Five thousand more than Tescheron had admitted to me!
"How much does the interest amount to at six per cent.? Just figure
that up on all the payments, and put in Stuffer," directed Captain
Martin, not in the least surprised at the admission of another five
thousand.
"You'll square me against him?" asked Smith.
"Yes; you bring him here to-morrow, and I'll tell him--see?"
Captain Martin had never heard of Stuffer, but he played his meagre
hand with a winning bluff. The boundary line between detectivism
and poker is shadowy.
"I meant to pay Stuffer to-day," said Smith, "but I guess he got
tired waiting and came to you and squealed."
Smith figured for a few minutes with a small notebook in his left
hand, and then wrote on a slip of paper the following summary:
Services and expenses $2,040.00 Stuffer's fake bird collection
5,000.00 Fee to my man for appraisement of birds 50.00 Payment for
safe return 3,000.00 Interest on above for two months at six per cent
100.90 __________
$10,190.90
Captain Martin did not approve the summary.
"Smith, don't try to dodge me," said he, sternly. "Put that Obreeon
$1,000 item on there, and add the board bill of the Tescheron family in
Hoboken for six weeks at $63 per week, making $378--add interest--your
subpoena servers kept them over there as your guests, remember."
Smith did not whimper. He took the paper and in a few minutes added
$1,391.78, making the total $11,582.68.
I was astounded beyond measure. Flanagan's eyes bulged. Captain Martin
was unruffled. He dealt with that sort of deviltry every day, and read
the mind of Smith as if it were a child's primer. He gave the impression
of knowing all about the mysterious Stuffer feature of the case. If the
hotel proprietor had robbed Mr. Tescheron, I was surprised he had not
mentioned the matter to me. He said nothing of birds. He couldn't have
eaten them, thought I. My curiosity was greatly aroused.
"Mr. Smith, alias Mr. Van Riper, alias Mr. Stewart, what name have you
your bank account under, these days?" asked Captain Martin.
"Under the name of William P. Smith, at the Lincoln Bank." He answered
without hesitating, being duly impressed by the official atmosphere of
the place, whereas I wouldn't have had the thing made public by a
regular complaint for all the world.
"Got no blank checks with you, I suppose?" asked the captain.
"No, sir."
"How much of a balance have you there?"
"About fifteen thousand dollars."
"It's past banking hours now, Smithy, so I tell you what you'll have to
do. Take these blank checks here and make out one to--"
"Albert Tescheron," said I.
"One to Albert Tescheron for--let me see--for $10,572.68, and one to
Benjamin Hopkins for $1,010. You will then have to bunk in here to-night
with me until I learn that these parties have collected the money. Then
you can go, but you'll have to pack out of town and stay out."
"How would the cash do, captain?" eagerly asked Smith.
"Got it with you?"
"I can telephone for it and have it here in twenty minutes."
"Take this 'phone and do it. We'll wait."
Enough greenbacks and change to make $10,572.68 fell into Mr.
Tescheron's hands with a long letter of explanation from me, as he
entered his home that night, and I grasped $1,010.
As to Flanagan and Tom Martin--did I treat? Well, I guess so! Do you
blame me?