Philip would not have felt flattered if he had been able to read the
thoughts of his friend James Congreve, when the latter was riding away
from the village where he had been boarding, toward the great city.
“That’s the last I shall ever see of the young snob, I hope,” he said
to himself. “I’ve got all I can out of him, and now I wash my hands of
him. I wish him joy of waiting for me to-night. It’ll be many a long
day before he sees me or the balance of the bonds.”
James Congreve settled back in his seat, bought a paper from the paper
boy on the train, and began to read in a very comfortable frame of
mind.
From time to time he put his hand on the inside pocket in which he had
placed the bonds, to make sure of their safety, for no one knew better
than he that there were dishonest persons to be met with who were
willing to appropriate valuables belonging to others.
It was some time since he had been so well off as he would be when he
had converted these bonds into money. Indeed, all the summer long he
had been short of funds, or he would not have spent so long a time in a
country village, which to him was dull and afforded him a small field
for his peculiar talents.
Arriving in New York, Congreve took his way to Wall Street. Here it was
that he expected to get rid of the bonds, or, rather, exchange them for
greenbacks.
In this street brokers’ and bankers’ offices abound, and all negotiable
securities readily find a purchaser. He stepped into an office nearly
opposite the opening of New Street, and, approaching the counter, said,
as he drew out his bonds:
“What are you paying for government sixes?”
“Let me see the date,” said the clerk. He spread open the bonds, and
then answered: “One hundred and fifteen and three-eighths.”
“Very well,” replied Congreve. “I will sell them.”
The clerk took them and stepped to the desk, to make an entry of the
purchase.
“What name?” he asked, turning to Congreve.
“John Baker,” said Congreve, with momentary hesitation.
For obvious reasons, he thought it best not to mention his own name, as
trouble might possibly come from the possession of the bonds.
“Shall I give you a check?” was the next question.
“I would prefer the money,” answered Congreve.
“Go to the cashier’s window, and he will attend to you.”
“Not much trouble about that,” thought Congreve, complacently, when he
was startled by a voice at his elbow.
“How are you, Congreve?”
Looking around hastily, he saw a hand extended, and recognized a young
man who had at one time been a fellow-boarder with him in Fourteenth
Street. It is safe to say that James Congreve wished him anywhere else
at that most unfortunate time.
“Hush!” said he, in a subdued whisper; “I will speak to you outside.”
He hoped the clerk had not heard the name by which he had been
addressed; but he hoped in vain. The latter, pausing in his writing,
came to the counter and said:
“Didn’t this gentleman call you Congreve?”
“Yes,” admitted Congreve, uneasily.
“You just gave your name as John Baker.”
“Oh, no! That is, I didn’t say my name was John Baker. That is the
gentleman for whom I am selling the bonds.”
“Then they do not belong to you?”
“No.”
“Where does Mr. Baker live?”
“In New Haven,” answered Congreve, glibly, for he had a ready
invention.
“We do not care to buy,” said the clerk, coldly, for there was
something in Congreve’s manner which made him suspicious.
“Really,” said Congreve, laughing in a constrained manner, “you appear
to be very cautious.”
“We have to be.”
“Shall I tell Mr. Baker it will be necessary for him to come to New
York in person to dispose of his bonds? He is my uncle, and I simply am
doing him a favor in disposing of them.”
“Very possibly; but I think we won’t purchase them.”
“Oh, well! I can carry them elsewhere,” said Congreve, raging inwardly.
His acquaintance, whose recognition had interfered with his plans,
followed him to the door, in rather a perplexed frame of mind.
“Where have you been all summer, Congreve?” he asked, thinking it best
to ignore the scene which he had just witnessed.
“None of your business,” answered Congreve, sharply.
“What does this mean?” asked the young man, in astonishment.
“It means, sir, that I do not wish to keep up my acquaintance with you.
Didn’t you know any better than to blurt out my name just now, and so
get me into trouble?”
“If you are ashamed to appear under your real name, I don’t care to
know you,” answered the young man, with spirit. “So, good-morning to
you, Mr. Congreve, or Mr. Baker, or whatever else you call yourself.”
“Good riddance,” said Congreve.
“There’s something wrong about that fellow,” said Tom Norcross to
himself, as he looked after Congreve, while the latter was crossing the
street. “I don’t believe he came by those bonds honestly. His manner
was certainly very suspicious.”
Congreve entered another banking house, and here he had no difficulty
in disposing of his bonds. He came out with two hundred and thirty
dollars in his pocket, and feeling less irritable than before.
“So that’s done,” he said to himself, “and I am well provided with
money for the present. Now I must make up for lost time, and try to
enjoy myself a little. I was nearly moped to death in that dull country
village, with no better company than a young snob. Now to see life!”
First of all, Congreve installed himself at a fashionable boarding
house uptown. Then he purchased a seat for the evening’s performance at
Wallack’s Theater, and then sought out some of his old companions in
haunts where he knew they were likely to be found. He had a few games
of cards, in which his luck varied. He rose from the card table a loser
in the sum of twenty-five dollars.
“That is unlucky,” thought Congreve. “However, I’ve got two hundred
dollars left. I must be more cautious, or my money won’t last long.”
Still, he felt in tolerably good spirits when he went to the theater,
and enjoyed the performance about as much as if his pleasures were
bought with money honestly earned.
It so happened that the clerk at the first banking house who had
refused to purchase the bonds sat two rows behind him, and easily
recognized his customer of the morning.
“I suspect Mr. Baker, alias Congreve, has disposed of his bonds,” he
thought to himself. “I am really curious to know whether he had any
right to sell them.”
From time to time this thought came back to the clerk, till he formed a
resolution quietly to follow Congreve, after the close of the
performance, and ascertain where he lived.
Congreve, seated in front, was not aware of the presence of the clerk,
or he might have taken measures to defeat his design.
When James Congreve left the theater, he was at first inclined to stop
at Delmonico’s on the way uptown, and indulge in a little refreshment;
but he felt somewhat fatigued with his day’s travel, and, after a
moment’s indecision, concluded instead to return at once to his
boarding place.
“He lives in a nice house,” said the clerk to himself. “Let me notice
the number. I may find it desirable to know where to find him.”
To anticipate matters a little, word came to New York in the afternoon
of the next day that two bonds, the numbers of which were given, had
been stolen from Colonel Ross, and search was made for the young man
who was suspected of having negotiated them. The clerk, who, previous
to returning the bonds to Congreve, had taken down the numbers, at once
identified them as the ones referred to, and gave information to the
police.
The result was that just as Congreve was sitting down to supper on the
evening of the second day, he was informed that a man wished to see him
at the door. On answering the call, he saw before him a small man, of
quiet manner, dressed in a sober suit of black.
“You name is Congreve, I believe?” he said, politely,
“Yes, sir,” answered James, in a hesitating tone.
“Then I must trouble you to go with me.”
“I have just sat down to supper.”
“I am really sorry to disturb you, but you are charged with selling two
stolen bonds in Wall Street yesterday.”
“There is some mistake,” said Congreve, hurriedly. “Colonel Ross sent
me the bonds by his son, with a request that I would sell them for
him.”
“Glad to hear it,” said the detective, laconically. “Then you will be
able to clear yourself. Meanwhile, you must come with me.”
And James Congreve spent the night in a boarding house by no means
fashionable.