THE PERFIDY OF CAPTAIN JIM IRVING
“The hounds--interfering, sneaking hounds--I hate ’em!” roared Captain
James Irving, the head of the New York Detective Bureau in Mulberry
Street.
“The infernal meddlers--that’s what they are, cap!” said Detective
Sergeant Phil Farley, bolstering up his captain’s fury.
“I wish they were in ----!” continued Irving, as he paced--almost
ran--from one end to the other of his private office.
“That same, cap--and the devil keep ’em there till it freezes over.”
“By the eternal, they’ll not beat me out of my own,” fumed Irving.
“What right have these Pinkerton hounds to mix in my business? If
I feel like doing things my way, suddenly these devils of private
detectives poke in their noses. What right, I say, have they to
interfere with the regular police?”
“None--the d----d meddlers. But what’s the last knock from them
fellers, cap?” asked Farley.
“What? This: Scotland Yard has cabled me that George Macdonnell is on
board the _Thuringia_, which lands here from Havre to-morrow, if on
time. Macdonnell has got a lot of ‘dust,’ no doubt, and he’s cabled
that I’d better get to him ahead of the Pinkertons. He expects me to
help him out. That’s good enough; but what’s messed me up is the word
I’ve got that that devil, Bob Pinkerton, who some folks say is honest
and the police are crooks, has hired a tug and gone down the bay to
meet the ship--out at sea, if necessary.”
“What will you do about it?” asked Farley.
“What’ll I do?” cried Irving; “what I should have been doing, instead
of blowing here--order the patrol boat this minute, ready for a sea
trip if necessary, Farley. I’ll go them one better. Don’t waste
a minute. Get a double crew aboard, extra engineers and pilots,
provisions for three days--anything, everything, to get away and beat
out Bob Pinkerton’s mix-ins, curse ’em--the dogs.” Farley started for
the door, but Irving called him back.
“Now, Farley, it means dollars, thousands, perhaps, to us if we get
to Macdonnell first, so I can’t tell you to be too careful. Have the
_Seneca_ steamed up as I have ordered--in less than an hour. I’ll be at
the Battery long before that.”
“I’ll fill the bill, cap; did I ever fail you?”
“I’m warning you--that’s all. Now hustle!” And Farley was gone in an
instant. Immediately Irving called together several of his trusted
followers, and made hurried preparations for a race down New York Bay
after Pinkerton’s tugboat.
This was midway of the year 1873. Early in that year, the great Bank
of England forgeries by the Bidwell brothers, Macdonnell, Noyes, and
others almost as notorious, were first committed and carried along for
several months. Finally discovery came, and the forger band scattered.
Macdonnell fled from London to France and took ship for America, but,
having quarrelled with his mistress, was betrayed by her. He had
always acted “on the square” with the New York police Bank Ring, and,
believing them faithful, had cabled to Captain Irving to get first hand
on him. Macdonnell had something like eighty-three thousand dollars
in United States government bonds in his pockets and one hundred and
twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and bonds hidden in soiled linen
in the bottom of his trunk. This was his share of the million and a
half which the forger band had gotten from the Bank of England. It can
be readily surmised why Captain Irving was extremely anxious to reach
him before the Pinkertons.
Irving was at the pier, ready and fuming, before the _Seneca_ had been
properly steamed up and provisioned. He raced about, fore and aft, and
created more than a little confusion and consequent delay. Finally the
pilot believed he was ready, and Phil Farley said he was certain of it.
“Extra pilots and engineers aboard?” asked the captain.
“Plenty, sir!” replied the master pilot.
“Double crews, Farley?”
“Everything you ordered has been done,” said Farley, “and we’re waiting
for your word to be off.”
“What are you waiting for?” roared Irving to the pilot.
Within five minutes the _Seneca_, a fifty-foot steamer, was ploughing
down the bay under a good head of steam. Sandy Hook was the objective
point, for there all incoming steamers took on port pilots to guide
them through the dangerous channels. Irving paced the deck of the
_Seneca_ like a madman and growled because more speed wasn’t forced
from the propeller. He could not rest till he got where the Pinkertons
were and to the steamer which bore Macdonnell.
About the same hour Captain Irving heard from Scotland Yard, the
Bank of England’s attorneys communicated with their New York legal
representatives, empowering them to engage the Pinkerton detectives
to arrest Macdonnell. Now the chief of the agency men knew that the
Bank Ring was protecting the fugitive, and also were aware of the
extremely friendly relations between him and Captain Irving. More than
that, the agency believed that if by any chance the former had any
cash or salable bonds, the captain wouldn’t leave a leaf unturned
to get possession of them; that, such being the case, the Bank of
England might search ever so much for its property, but it would be
in vain. To defeat a move that might entail that outcome, the chief
of the Pinkertons decided to quietly steam to Sandy Hook and possess
Macdonnell and whatever property he might have. Accordingly, a few
minutes after this determination, a tug was chartered and equipped for
a sea trip. Upon leaving the Battery it was noticed that the police
steamer _Seneca_ was lying at her berth, with no unusual activity
aboard her. Which was good information for the Pinkertons, as it
indicated that Captain Irving had not received word from Scotland
Yard--otherwise he’d be up and doing.
It was sincerely hoped by the Pinkertons that their movements would
escape the attention of the police. But it was not so, for the spies,
ever ready to report instantly anything the agency detectives did, soon
had the news to the Bank Ring.
In those days this private detective agency was yet in its infancy
in New York, but had attracted a great deal of attention from the
public for its honesty. Strictly speaking, I hated the Pinkertons as
thoroughly as the police did, because of their interference with my
professional movements. Many a time I had been enraged and beaten
out of thousands by the popping up of one or more of the agency men.
Nevertheless, I had to acknowledge that they were honest, and that it
was dangerous for a crook when a Pinkerton was on his trail.
But the tug hadn’t been an hour on the trip when Captain Irving heard
of it, and dusk had just about set in when the Pinkertons realized that
either they’d been given away to the police, or the latter had steamed
down the bay without anticipating a race for Macdonnell. As for Irving,
his eyes lighted up with delight upon recognizing the Pinkerton boat
and learning that the steamer had not been sighted.
It was to be a game of vigilance and a test of the boats. Which
would make the better speed? Irving had in view a rich haul for his
incentive, and the chief of the Pinkertons wanted to get Macdonnell
and save to the Bank of England its property. It was to be a race of
corrupt purpose against common honesty,--the police Bank Ring, swift
after graft, and the Pinkertons, earnest to fight for justice.
If ever there was a born fighter, Captain Jim Irving was one. He looked
the part and acted it, was strong-purposed and revengeful. He wanted
Macdonnell for his money and he wanted to demonstrate his prowess over
that of the agency detectives.
“I hate them,” he confided to me once, “as the devil hates holy water.
I’d wade through the infernal regions to beat them out at anything.
They are too much on the level, and they interfere with me. They’d
better steer clear of Jim Irving, for I’m likely to be a peril to them
one of these days.”
Not the smallest detail essential to the furtherance of his plan to
get first hands on George Macdonnell was neglected. He ordered the
_Seneca’s_ boiler steamed up to the top of its capacity, and the
safety-valve was weighted down to an unheard-of degree. He would have
had the engineer take even further risk, but that the latter wouldn’t
do. The furnace was kept well coaled and the stokers were under orders
not to bank the fires. The extra crew was ordered below, that they
might be in readiness should the ship be sighted that night. He said he
wanted no weary men on duty at the critical moment.
“I’m going to give ’em a bitter race,” Irving said with an oath to
Phil Farley. “I swear to the imps of hades them Pinkertons won’t get
Macdonnell.”
One advantage that Irving believed he had was the _Seneca’s_ speed.
There was reason, he said, to feel satisfied that it was much greater
than that of the Pinkerton tug, and with an even start, when the ship
was sighted, victory would be certain to top his efforts. A watch,
consisting of two of the picked men of the crews, was ordered on duty
until midnight, when, the ship not being in sight, another watch would
relieve it. Irving offered a reward of one hundred dollars to the man
who’d first bring to him the news of the sighting of the ship, and
fifty dollars to the second man so reporting. He believed that this
incentive would obviate any danger of the Pinkertons’ getting a lead on
him in this respect. Regardless of this precaution, Irving resolved to
keep an eye out himself, and he smiled happily over nature’s favoring,
for the night was just what he would have it. The sky was cloudless
and the stars shone brilliantly, and as the night wore on to morning
the full moon swept up from the bosom of the ocean and spread a broad
expanse of silver which made it possible to discover anything within
a mile or more in shape of a ship. The deep-sea roll played roughly
with the _Seneca_, but the wind, which had blown treacherously in the
early hours of the watch, had settled to a breeze, and left the sea
very favorable to the _Seneca_ in a race. Irving had hoped that this
condition would prevail, for the big Pinkerton tug was as stanch as a
pilot-boat at breasting rough seas. In fact, it seemed as though the
infernal one, were it possible, had control of the night for the sole
benefit of Jim Irving’s scheming and was doing everything to crown him
with victory.
And thus the hours--mighty long ones to those on board the
_Seneca_--went by, but utilized by the captain to the best advantage.
Among other things, he drilled Detective Farley in the part he was to
play on boarding the ship. In this drama on the sea, Farley was to
follow a close second when Irving climbed to the ship’s deck, and when
Macdonnell was arrested, it was Farley’s part to cover Irving when
the Macdonnell package was passed. To insure success, the engineers
and pilots were promised a hundred dollars each if the _Seneca_ was
first alongside the _Thuringia_. As a matter of fact, talk of rewards
was reeled off by the yard, until every man on board was fired to a
pitch of enthusiasm that satisfied all the craving the captain had for
action. He was gloating over the prospect when at last a light, that
could only come from a steamship, hove in sight to the southward. There
wasn’t anything to tell whether or not this light came from the ship
Irving sought, but he wouldn’t take a chance of losing a minute. He
would know what ship it was that carried the light.
There was prompt action on the _Seneca_, and the Pinkertons were also
stirring. The anchors of both craft were quickly weighed and full
speed was ordered. Not three minutes had passed ere the race was on.
The morning--for it was close on four o’clock--was still flooded with
moonlight, and the sea was, perhaps, a trifle rougher than before
midnight. When the two vessels had gotten well under way, it was seen
that the _Seneca_ had the better of the Pinkerton tug by about an
eighth of a mile in the start. Again, the infernal one had scored a
point for graft as against honesty. Captain Irving patted Phil Farley
on the back and smiled gleefully. On dashed the police boat, throwing
the spray over half her length, as she plunged through swell after
swell and received each time a shaking from stem to stern.
“She’s doing well,” shouted the captain down to the engineer in charge.
“Crowd on all steam--remember the reward--a hundred to every man if we
win over them hounds behind us.”
Meanwhile the Pinkertons were forcing the race, too. The big tug was
ugly to look at, but in her machinery and tenacity to break through the
swells there lay danger to Irving’s success. Presently--perhaps fifteen
minutes after the start--the tug showed certain and startling gain on
the police boat. Irving was the first to discover it, and the glee with
which he had taken the previous conditions was suddenly turned into
concern. The ship’s lights were fully two miles distant yet, and if the
race continued under the existing conditions, the Pinkertons would win
beyond doubt. Irving had erred in estimating the speeding qualities of
the tug. Something must be done. He began to fume and curse--at which
he was proficient--and wondered if it were forgotten that rewards had
been offered to all hands if victory came to the _Seneca_.
“I’ll double them!” he cried down to the engineer. “Put on every pound
of steam you’ve got. More speed!”
The engineer gritted his teeth, realized that the boiler was doing all
and more than it should do, and that the furnace grates were white-hot,
despite the fact that the ash-pan was clean and well wet down.
“More speed down there,” repeated Irving, an oath puncturing every
sentence. “Crowd on steam; I mean to blow this boat to hell, but I’ll
get there.”
The engineer set the weight on the safety lever at the extreme end of
the rod and ordered the stokers to shovel in more coal and turn on
the blowers. Then the throttle-valve was thrown open wide. It seemed
as though the propeller would be torn to pieces. It flew through the
water, until every timber in the _Seneca_ was vibrating like a timbrel.
The vessel had never been forced to such work. The engineer was pale
and trembling, Captain Irving flushed and gleeful. The _Seneca_ was
gaining again. Her nose was fairly under water half the time, and
sheets of spray were flying everywhere. Those on deck were drenched to
the skin. The pilot had difficulty in keeping to the course, owing to
the rain of water on the pilot-house windows.
“At it, men--at it--we win,” cried Irving. “Five minutes more like
this, and if we’re not in hell, we’ll be alongside the ship and before
those cheap dogs.”
“It’s the ship we want, cap,” cried Farley, running up to Irving. “It’s
the _Thuringia_.”
“I know it, fool,” shouted Irving; “and we win, if this boat don’t blow
up or go down.”
At the same time the Pinkerton tug was gaining on the _Seneca_. She was
the better boat in the smooth sea as well as the rough. Her stack was
emitting clouds of black smoke, and her long, strong exhausts of steam
told what great work she was doing; but the fates seemed against her.
Would honesty win over corruption? We shall see.
As I have said, the infernal one seemed to have control of affairs
that time. The _Seneca_, losing at every revolution of her propeller,
had too much of a lead to be overtaken. With a shout from Irving, she
finally ran alongside the _Thuringia_. A deck-hand, under Irving’s
instructions, swung a line to the steamer’s deck, where it was caught
by a seaman. The pilot of the _Seneca_ ran her bow to bow with the
bigger vessel, and quickly they were travelling at one speed. In the
meantime, Captain Irving hailed an officer who came to the rail in much
wonder.
“Throw me a ladder,” he said. “I’m from the New York detective force.
I’ve a warrant for some one on board. It’s a case of life and death!”
In a moment he stepped on deck, closely followed by Farley. As he did
so the Pinkerton tug warped up to the _Thuringia_ and there was another
clamor for a ladder. A moment later the chief of the Pinkertons,
followed by a lieutenant, clambered to the deck, but it was too late!
Daylight had begun to show and a number of passengers, anxious to get
a first glimpse of America, were on deck when Irving came aboard.
Several men were grouped on the saloon deck, among whom was George
Macdonnell. He expected Irving would make a sagacious move and was not
surprised when he saw the police boat making for the ship. He was ready
to pass over eighty thousand dollars and more in gilt-edged bonds to
the chief of detectives, having great confidence in the result. The
instant Irving and Farley set eyes on the forger they went up to him.
The latter made the arrest, while the former, crowding near, received
a package from the forger, which he deftly slipped in his pocket. Just
as the arrest was formally made known, the chief of the Pinkertons
came to the group. He made but a feeble protest. He realized that it
was his play to await developments. Honest motives had been defeated
by the avarice of those paid to defend the rights of the people. No
one was more delighted over Irving’s victory than the forger himself.
Nevertheless, he didn’t tell, even the police, that on board of the
ship, was his small trunk containing nearly one hundred and twenty-five
thousand dollars. He would communicate with his sister, through his
forger friend, George Wilkes, and have her get the trunk at the
custom-house.
To say that Jim Irving was happy scarcely expresses his state of
satisfaction over the defeat of the Pinkertons. Some time after this
experience, in speaking to me of the agency men, he said: “As long as
I’m at the head of the Detective Bureau, it will be a cold day when
the Pinkertons get the drop on me in making arrests. They may have the
whip-hand in Chicago, but not in the city of New York.”
All hands came to the city with the ship, and before the close of
the day Macdonnell was securely detained in Ludlow Street Jail;
and not many hours had elapsed before the Bank of England’s legal
representatives here had extradition proceedings on foot.
I know whereof I speak when I say that the fight to take Macdonnell
back to England was one of the sensations of the day. It had its upper
current of interest which came to the public attention, but there was
an under current of which I had personal knowledge, and to that I will
turn the attention of my friends.
Macdonnell engaged Somerville and Mott, of 27 Chambers Street, to
defend him against extradition. This law firm was the legal adviser of
Colonel Hiram Whiteley, the Secret Service chief whose acquaintance I’d
made through the attempted sale of the ten-dollar bank-notes stolen
at Washington. Somerville and Mott decided to use Whiteley in the
interest of Macdonnell because of his great influence with high United
States officials. Mr. Somerville consulted with Colonel Whiteley, with
the result that there was a studious examination of the extradition
clause under which the opposing attorneys expected to send the prisoner
back to England. It was decided that this clause didn’t quite cover
the case, yet there was considerable doubt as to the outcome. George
Wilkes, who had been with the forger band in its early operations in
London, but who had scented danger and returned to America in season
to escape the result of the exposure, saw Macdonnell in Ludlow Street,
and it was agreed to consult with me. He and Wilkes knew that I had
considerable influence with Mr. Somerville, who was my attorney, and
also that I had a fair acquaintance with Colonel Whiteley. Indeed, in
the two years past my friendship with Whiteley had ripened wonderfully.
Accordingly Wilkes came to see me and detailed the circumstances. I
asked him if Macdonnell had any secrets which could be given to the
United States government, in which case I said I believed that Colonel
Whiteley would interest himself to an extent not yet indicated to me.
“Whiteley is a good fellow,” said I, “and will do anything reasonable
to make himself solid with the administration at Washington, provided
he can keep his skirts clear.”
“I don’t think that Mac would squeal--in fact, I know he won’t,” said
Wilkes, decisively; “so it don’t look like doing anything on that
score.”
“Tush for that,” I replied; “I’ll tell Whiteley that Macdonnell has
important information about a five-hundred-dollar treasury-note
plate that is missing, which I know is giving the government a lot of
trouble. On that ground he’ll make a fight for Mac’s release on bail as
a reward for the information. Once out on bail, and the rest will not
be a hard job you can rest assured.”
With this understanding I saw Colonel Whiteley at his office in
Bleecker Street, not far from Police Headquarters, and told him I
believed Macdonnell had information of the missing treasury plate
of which he was in search; that in the event the information didn’t
pan out, there were several thousands of dollars in the deal for him
anyway. With the incentive that he might add to his influence at
Washington by discovering a plate from which counterfeit money was
being spread abroad, together with the fact that there would be a fat
roll of money in the bargain, Whiteley agreed to take energetic steps
in the matter. At his first chance he went to Washington and placed
the subject before an attorney highly versed in international law and
who was a personal friend of George H. Williams, the United States
Attorney-general. The colonel also consulted with members of the
Department of Justice and, in fact, investigated at great length into
the merits of the case. He returned with the report that the consensus
of opinion of the Washington authorities was that the case, if properly
handled before the courts, would result in favor of Macdonnell. In
fact, the colonel made it plain that Attorney-general Williams would
advise the Department of Justice that an extradition warrant in the
case could not legally issue. I doubt not that great lengths would
have been traversed in order to obtain any, almost inconsequential,
information of the missing treasury plate. The mere construing of an
enigmatical treaty clause was as nothing. The Treasury Department was
in a heap of worry over the plate, not to mention others from which the
counterfeiters were ever sending forth treasury notes to the loss of
the United States. The recovery of the five-hundred-dollar plate alone
would be worth the price of Macdonnell’s freedom, a dozen times over.
Charles Ballard was serving a thirty-year sentence in Albany, New York,
for turning work from this plate; but where was the plate? It had been
so industriously used that it was becoming a menace to the financial
market. Ballard had been offered a pardon if he would disclose its
hiding-place, but he had scornfully thrown the pardon, so to speak, in
the very face of Uncle Sam.
Colonel Whiteley so wrought up the interest of the Washington
authorities with my story of Macdonnell’s alleged information that he
was empowered to offer almost any terms; was commanded, in fact, to
exhaust every plausible means to obtain the coveted secret. Colonel
Whiteley told me that he’d be sure to obtain the prisoner’s release on
bail, provided there was any kind of chance of getting a clew to the
plate.
“However, there will be some expense attached to it,” he explained,
“for I had to consult with an attorney in Washington, and his price is
pretty stiff. I’ll have to give him ten thousand or nearly that, and
there are some other charges.” I knew what he meant, but I wondered
if that wasn’t a pretty stiff law fee where there’d been nothing more
than a consultation. However, knowing Macdonnell had made money, I was
agreeable, and declared that ten thousand dollars would be placed in a
Wall Street trust company subject to the colonel’s order.
Immediately I sent for Wilkes, told him of the situation, and advised
him to get from Macdonnell twelve one thousand-dollar bonds and that
I’d see they got to the right place. Wilkes reported to Macdonnell, who
wrote to Captain Irving, requesting him to deliver the bearer twelve
of the bonds left in his keeping. A message came back that staggered
Macdonnell: “Let the matter stand as it is for the present--the
Pinkertons may demand the surrender of the property,” it read.
Macdonnell knew that no one besides himself, Detective Farley, and
Captain Irving had witnessed the passage of the bonds on board the
steamer. In desperation, another message was sent to Irving, but there
was no reply to it. Macdonnell was dumfounded. He’d always been on the
“square” with the Bank Ring. Finally there had come a “throw-down”--the
Ring had “done” him.
“It’s a freeze-out,” he gasped to Wilkes.
“What about the trunk at the custom-house?” asked his friend.
“I don’t dare have any one call for it. If it’s examined, that end of
the game will be gone, too.”
“I told Bliss about it,” said Wilkes, meaning me, “and he told me that
if you’d say the word he’d have the trunk sent to any address you
mention within twenty-four hours.”
“I’m afraid to risk it--Bliss is right, but I’m afraid to try it; maybe
a woman might get it. What do you think? My sister can try it.”
“Think you’d better trust to Bliss, George,” advised Wilkes; “he stands
high with Chief Whiteley of the Secret Service. If Whiteley asks for
the trunk on the ground that it will further the interests of the
service, he’ll get it without an inspection being made.”
“I don’t trust Whiteley,” said Macdonnell; “my sister’ll get it--Mrs.
Hosgrove.”
The next I heard from Macdonnell was that his sister had gone to the
custom-house, and, posing as “the wife of George Matthews,”--the
name tagged on the trunk,--put in a claim for it. The unsuspecting
inspectors examined the trunk in a perfunctory way and were about to
pass it, when some soiled linen tumbled apart and out rolled cash and
bonds. Of course “Mrs. Matthews” didn’t get the trunk. The Pinkertons
stepped in, claimed the property for the Bank of England, and it was
turned over to the latter. Poor Macdonnell was disconsolate enough. He
made another fruitless attempt to get bonds from Irving, and as a last
resort wrote to his old father in Canada. I told Wilkes what I could
have done--that Whiteley would have sent the trunk, unopened, at my
request, to any address that Macdonnell had given me, and that I was
sorry over what had happened.
“He ought to have trusted me,” I said.
“It wasn’t that, George, be sure; Mac was simply knocked out, beaten
to jelly, by Irving’s treatment. What a crooked crook that fellow is!”
said Wilkes.
“Now that you speak of it,” I remarked, “Irving wanted me to sell
the bonds for him--his share; they--he and Phil Farley--divided
them--something more than eighty thousand dollars’ worth.”
“And you wouldn’t help him out?” asked Wilkes.
“The devil, no,” replied I. “When I told him that it was Macdonnell’s
bonds he wanted me to sell, he denied it. I knew he was lying.”
“The sneak,” said Wilkes, at parting with me. “Of all crooks, Bliss,
the crooked cop is the crookedest.”
“Right, Wilkes; good-by. Wait one moment,” I called; “if I can help
Mac, I will, but I am afraid he won’t get out unless he can raise the
‘dust.’”
In the meanwhile Mr. Somerville had been doing his best to aid
Macdonnell, but Colonel Whiteley seemed to lose heart when no money was
in sight for the Washington attorney, and all together the prisoner’s
case took a most hopeless phase. Macdonnell was able to give a little
information about missing government plates, but it was so immaterial
and meant to be so, that, had Colonel Whiteley been disposed to
ask for his release on bail, he wouldn’t have dared to do it. When
this disheartening state of affairs had been communicated to the
prisoner, it was quickly followed by a tearful letter from his father,
telling how the old place in Canada had been mortgaged, and that the
amount realized, together with every dollar that could be scraped up
among relatives and friends, would not make half the sum asked for.
Macdonnell actually wept with disappointment. Not because he was in
sight of an English prison, for that didn’t frighten him; it was over
the perfidy of Jim Irving, his miserable betrayal by the man to whom he
had so implicitly trusted the bonds and his liberty. He resolved once
more to appeal to the chief of detectives, and wrote:--
“Jim, I appeal to your manhood, your past friendship for me, to give me
enough of the bonds to help myself out of this mess. If you must keep
more than your share, do so, but send me the twelve bonds I asked for.
Again I appeal to your manhood.”
It was as though the note had never been written. It was delivered to
Captain Irving by the faithful Wilkes, but nothing came of it. Wilkes
was told not to bother Police Headquarters too much, for it might be
dangerous.
Hopeless, abandoned, and beaten, when Macdonnell’s case came before
the courts, it was none the less so; and presently he sailed away in
the company of Scotland Yard officers, and in due time was tried,
convicted, and sentenced to what is called a life term in England. He
served his time, and is now back in America, in the West, a poor old
man, who, some folks say to-day, is honest and trying to redeem the
past. I hope so, for his sake.
And what became of the bonds stolen by Captain Jim Irving? Be sure they
weren’t turned over to the Bank of England. Be certain, too, that when
Macdonnell, in a spirit of revenge, at his trial told the court that
the New York chief of detectives had eighty thousand dollars’ worth of
the Bank of England’s property, Captain Irving, indignantly denying the
accusation, said:--
“What! do the Englishmen believe the word of a crook? Humph, damnable
of them, I say.”
Now the bonds, as I have stated, were divided between Irving and
Farley. The former sold his share in a Jersey City “fence,” and the
latter to Gleason and Roberts, the forgers, who sometimes dealt in
crooked bonds. Irving and Farley received eighty-five per cent of the
face value of the bonds. In view of the fact that they were gilt-edged,
these coppers didn’t do badly. Indeed, it was a mighty profitable race
at sea for Jim Irving and his faithful detective sergeant, Phil Farley,
but it was an unfortunate meeting for George Macdonnell. I have talked
many times with Captain Irving since that day, but I never heard him
say a word to make me think that he had a twinge of conscience over his
perfidious act.