“Presume some mistake as to proposed running of special. Local train
from St. Helens timed to follow it has just arrived and has seen nothing
of it. Kindly wire advices.—Manchester.”
The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, although in some respects
the last telegram was a relief to the authorities at Liverpool. If an
accident had occurred to the special, it seemed hardly possible that the
local train could have passed down the same line without observing it.
And yet, what was the alternative? Where could the train be? Had it
possibly been side-tracked for some reason in order to allow the slower
train to go past? Such an explanation was possible if some small repair
had to be effected. A telegram was dispatched to each of the stations
between St. Helens and Manchester, and the superintendent and traffic
manager waited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for the series
of replies which would enable them to say for certain what had become of
the missing train. The answers came back in the order of questions,
which was the order of the stations beginning at the St. Helens end:—
“Special passed here five o’clock.—Collins Green.”
“Special passed here six past five.—Earlestown.”
“Special passed here 5.10.—Newton.”
“Special passed here 5.20.—Kenyon Junction.”
“No special train has passed here.—Barton Moss.”
The two officials stared at each other in amazement.
“This is unique in my thirty years of experience,” said Mr. Bland.
“Absolutely unprecedented and inexplicable, sir. The special has gone
wrong between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.”
“And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory serves me, between the
two stations. The special must have run off the metals.”
“But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass over the same line
without observing it?”
“There’s no alternative, Mr. Hood. It _must_ be so. Possibly the local
train may have observed something which may throw some light upon the
matter. We will wire to Manchester for more information, and to Kenyon
Junction with instructions that the line be examined instantly as far as
Barton Moss.”
The answer from Manchester came within a few minutes.
“No news of missing special. Driver and guard of slow train positive no
accident between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss. Line quite clear, and
no sign of anything unusual.—Manchester.”
“That driver and guard will have to go,” said Mr. Bland, grimly. “There
has been a wreck and they have missed it. The special has obviously run
off the metals without disturbing the line—how it could have done so
passes my comprehension—but so it must be, and we shall have a wire from
Kenyon or Barton Moss presently to say that they have found her at the
bottom of an embankment.”
But Mr. Bland’s prophecy was not destined to be fulfilled. Half an hour
passed, and then there arrived the following message from the
station-master of Kenyon Junction:—
“There are no traces of the missing special. It is quite certain that
she passed here, and that she did not arrive at Barton Moss. We have
detached engine from goods train, and I have myself ridden down the
line, but all is clear, and there is no sign of any accident.”
Mr. Bland tore his hair in his perplexity.
“This is rank lunacy, Hood!” he cried. “Does a train vanish into thin
air in England in broad daylight? The thing is preposterous. An engine,
a tender, two carriages, a van, five human beings—and all lost on a
straight line of railway! Unless we get something positive within the
next hour I’ll take Inspector Collins, and go down myself.”
And then at last something positive did occur. It took the shape of
another telegram from Kenyon Junction.
“Regret to report that the dead body of John Slater, driver of the
special train, has just been found among the gorse bushes at a point two
and a quarter miles from the Junction. Had fallen from his engine,
pitched down the embankment, and rolled among bushes. Injuries to his
head, from the fall, appear to be cause of death. Ground has now been
carefully examined, and there is no trace of the missing train.”
The country was, as has already been stated, in the throes of a
political crisis, and the attention of the public was further distracted
by the important and sensational developments in Paris, where a huge
scandal threatened to destroy the Government and to wreck the
reputations of many of the leading men in France. The papers were full
of these events, and the singular disappearance of the special train
attracted less attention than would have been the case in more peaceful
times. The grotesque nature of the event helped to detract from its
importance, for the papers were disinclined to believe the facts as
reported to them. More than one of the London journals treated the
matter as an ingenious hoax, until the coroner’s inquest upon the
unfortunate driver (an inquest which elicited nothing of importance)
convinced them of the tragedy of the incident.
Mr. Bland, accompanied by Inspector Collins, the senior detective
officer in the service of the company, went down to Kenyon Junction the
same evening, and their research lasted throughout the following day,
but was attended with purely negative results. Not only was no trace
found of the missing train, but no conjecture could be put forward which
could possibly explain the facts. At the same time, Inspector Collins’s
official report (which lies before me as I write) served to show that
the possibilities were more numerous than might have been expected.
“In the stretch of railway between these two points,” said he, “the
country is dotted with ironworks and collieries. Of these, some are
being worked and some have been abandoned. There are no fewer than
twelve which have small gauge lines which run trolly-cars down to the
main line. These can, of course, be disregarded. Besides these, however,
there are seven which have or have had, proper lines running down and
connecting with points to the main line, so as to convey their produce
from the mouth of the mine to the great centres of distribution. In
every case these lines are only a few miles in length. Out of the seven,
four belong to collieries which are worked out, or at least to shafts
which are no longer used. These are the Redgauntlet, Hero, Slough of
Despond, and Heartsease mines, the latter having ten years ago been one
of the principal mines in Lancashire. These four side lines may be
eliminated from our inquiry, for, to prevent possible accidents, the
rails nearest to the main line have been taken up, and there is no
longer any connection. There remain three other side lines leading—
(_a_) To the Carnstock Iron Works;
(_b_) To the Big Ben Colliery;
(_c_) To the Perseverance Colliery.
“Of these the Big Ben line is not more than a quarter of a mile long,
and ends at a dead wall of coal waiting removal from the mouth of the
mine. Nothing had been seen or heard there of any special. The Carnstock
Iron Works line was blocked all day upon the 3rd of June by sixteen
truckloads of hematite. It is a single line, and nothing could have
passed. As to the Perseverance line, it is a large double line, which
does a considerable traffic, for the output of the mine is very large.
On the 3rd of June this traffic proceeded as usual; hundreds of men,
including a gang of railway platelayers, were working along the two
miles and a quarter which constitute the total length of the line, and
it is inconceivable that an unexpected train could have come down there
without attracting universal attention. It may be remarked in conclusion
that this branch line is nearer to St. Helens than the point at which
the engine-driver was discovered, so that we have every reason to
believe that the train was past that point before misfortune overtook
her.
“As to John Slater, there is no clue to be gathered from his appearance
or injuries. We can only say that, so far as we can see, he met his end
by falling off his engine, though why he fell, or what became of the
engine after his fall, is a question upon which I do not feel qualified
to offer an opinion.” In conclusion, the inspector offered his
resignation to the Board, being much nettled by an accusation of
incompetence in the London papers.
A month elapsed, during which both the police and the company prosecuted
their inquiries without the slightest success. A reward was offered and
a pardon promised in case of crime, but they were both unclaimed. Every
day the public opened their papers with the conviction that so grotesque
a mystery would at last be solved, but week after week passed by, and a
solution remained as far off as ever. In broad daylight, upon a June
afternoon in the most thickly inhabited portion of England, a train with
its occupants had disappeared as completely as if some master of subtle
chemistry had volatilized it into gas. Indeed, among the various
conjectures which were put forward in the public Press there were some
which seriously asserted that supernatural, or, at least, preternatural,
agencies had been at work, and that the deformed Monsieur Caratal was
probably a person who was better known under a less polite name. Others
fixed upon his swarthy companion as being the author of the mischief,
but what it was exactly which he had done could never be clearly
formulated in words.
Amongst the many suggestions put forward by various newspapers or
private individuals, there were one or two which were feasible enough to
attract the attention of the public. One which appeared in the _Times_,
over the signature of an amateur reasoner of some celebrity at that
date, attempted to deal with the matter in a critical and
semi-scientific manner. An extract must suffice, although the curious
can see the whole letter in the issue of the 3rd of July.
“It is one of the elementary principles of practical reasoning,” he
remarked, “that when the impossible has been eliminated the residuum,
_however improbable_, must contain the truth. It is certain that the
train left Kenyon Junction. It is certain that it did not reach Barton
Moss. It is in the highest degree unlikely, but still possible, that it
may have taken one of the seven available side lines. It is obviously
impossible for a train to run where there are no rails, and, therefore,
we may reduce our improbables to the three open lines, namely, the
Carnstock Iron Works, the Big Ben, and the Perseverance. Is there a
secret society of colliers, an English _camorra_, which is capable of
destroying both train and passengers? It is improbable, but it is not
impossible. I confess that I am unable to suggest any other solution. I
should certainly advise the company to direct all their energies towards
the observation of those three lines, and of the workmen at the end of
them. A careful supervision of the pawnbrokers’ shops of the district
might possibly bring some suggestive facts to light.”
The suggestion coming from a recognized authority upon such matters
created considerable interest, and a fierce opposition from those who
considered such a statement to be a preposterous libel upon an honest
and deserving set of men. The only answer to this criticism was a
challenge to the objectors to lay any more feasible explanation before
the public. In reply to this two others were forthcoming (_Times_, July
7th and 9th). The first suggested that the train might have run off the
metals and be lying submerged in the Lancashire and Staffordshire Canal,
which runs parallel to the railway for some hundreds of yards. This
suggestion was thrown out of court by the published depth of the canal,
which was entirely insufficient to conceal so large an object. The
second correspondent wrote calling attention to the bag which appeared
to be the sole luggage which the travellers had brought with them, and
suggesting that some novel explosive of immense and pulverizing power
might have been concealed in it. The obvious absurdity, however, of
supposing that the whole train might be blown to dust while the metals
remained uninjured reduced any such explanation to a farce. The
investigation had drifted into this hopeless position when a new and
most unexpected incident occurred.
This was nothing less than the receipt by Mrs. McPherson of a letter
from her husband, James McPherson, who had been the guard of the missing
train. The letter, which was dated July 5th, 1890, was posted from New
York, and came to hand upon July 14th. Some doubts were expressed as to
its genuine character, but Mrs. McPherson was positive as to the
writing, and the fact that it contained a remittance of a hundred
dollars in five-dollar notes was enough in itself to discount the idea
of a hoax. No address was given in the letter, which ran in this way:—
“MY DEAR WIFE,—
“I have been thinking a great deal, and I find it very hard to
give you up. The same with Lizzie. I try to fight against it, but
it will always come back to me. I send you some money which will
change into twenty English pounds. This should be enough to bring
both Lizzie and you across the Atlantic, and you will find the
Hamburg boats which stop at Southampton very good boats, and
cheaper than Liverpool. If you could come here and stop at the
Johnston House I would try and send you word how to meet, but
things are very difficult with me at present, and I am not very
happy, finding it hard to give you both up. So no more at present,
from your loving husband,
“JAMES MCPHERSON.”
For a time it was confidently anticipated that this letter would lead to
the clearing up of the whole matter, the more so as it was ascertained
that a passenger who bore a close resemblance to the missing guard had
travelled from Southampton under the name of Summers in the Hamburg and
New York liner _Vistula_, which started upon the 7th of June. Mrs.
McPherson and her sister Lizzie Dolton went across to New York as
directed, and stayed for three weeks at the Johnston House, without
hearing anything from the missing man. It is probable that some
injudicious comments in the Press may have warned him that the police
were using them as a bait. However this may be, it is certain that he
neither wrote nor came, and the women were eventually compelled to
return to Liverpool.
And so the matter stood, and has continued to stand up to the present
year of 1898. Incredible as it may seem, nothing has transpired during
these eight years which has shed the least light upon the extraordinary
disappearance of the special train which contained Monsieur Caratal and
his companion. Careful inquiries into the antecedents of the two
travellers have only established the fact that Monsieur Caratal was well
known as a financier and political agent in Central America, and that
during his voyage to Europe he had betrayed extraordinary anxiety to
reach Paris. His companion, whose name was entered upon the passenger
lists as Eduardo Gomez, was a man whose record was a violent one, and
whose reputation was that of a bravo and a bully. There was evidence to
show, however, that he was honestly devoted to the interests of Monsieur
Caratal, and that the latter, being a man of puny physique, employed the
other as a guard and protector. It may be added that no information came
from Paris as to what the objects of Monsieur Caratal’s hurried journey
may have been. This comprises all the facts of the case up to the
publication in the Marseilles papers of the recent confession of Herbert
de Lernac, now under sentence of death for the murder of a merchant
named Bonvalot. This statement may be literally translated as follows:—
“It is not out of mere pride or boasting that I give this information,
for, if that were my object, I could tell a dozen actions of mine which
are quite as splendid; but I do it in order that certain gentlemen in
Paris may understand that I, who am able here to tell about the fate of
Monsieur Caratal, can also tell in whose interest and at whose request
the deed was done, unless the reprieve which I am awaiting comes to me
very quickly. Take warning, messieurs, before it is too late! You know
Herbert de Lernac, and you are aware that his deeds are as ready as his
words. Hasten then, or you are lost!
“At present I shall mention no names—if you only heard the names, what
would you not think!—but I shall merely tell you how cleverly I did it.
I was true to my employers then, and no doubt they will be true to me
now. I hope so, and until I am convinced that they have betrayed me,
these names, which would convulse Europe, shall not be divulged. But on
that day ... well, I say no more!
“In a word, then, there was a famous trial in Paris, in the year 1890,
in connection with a monstrous scandal in politics and finance. How
monstrous that scandal was can never be known save by such confidential
agents as myself. The honour and careers of many of the chief men in
France were at stake. You have seen a group of nine-pins standing, all
so rigid, and prim, and unbending. Then there comes the ball from far
away and pop, pop, pop—there are your nine-pins on the floor. Well,
imagine some of the greatest men in France as these nine-pins, and then
this Monsieur Caratal was the ball which could be seen coming from far
away. If he arrived, then it was pop, pop, pop for all of them. It was
determined that he should not arrive.
“I do not accuse them all of being conscious of what was to happen.
There were, as I have said, great financial as well as political
interests at stake, and a syndicate was formed to manage the business.
Some subscribed to the syndicate who hardly understood what were its
objects. But others understood very well, and they can rely upon it that
I have not forgotten their names. They had ample warning that Monsieur
Caratal was coming long before he left South America, and they knew that
the evidence which he held would certainly mean ruin to all of them. The
syndicate had the command of an unlimited amount of money—absolutely
unlimited, you understand. They looked round for an agent who was
capable of wielding this gigantic power. The man chosen must be
inventive, resolute, adaptive—a man in a million. They chose Herbert de
Lernac, and I admit that they were right.
“My duties were to choose my subordinates, to use freely the power which
money gives, and to make certain that Monsieur Caratal should never
arrive in Paris. With characteristic energy I set about my commission
within an hour of receiving my instructions, and the steps which I took
were the very best for the purpose which could possibly be devised.
“A man whom I could trust was dispatched instantly to South America to
travel home with Monsieur Caratal. Had he arrived in time the ship would
never have reached Liverpool; but, alas! it had already started before
my agent could reach it. I fitted out a small armed brig to intercept
it, but again I was unfortunate. Like all great organizers I was,
however, prepared for failure, and had a series of alternatives
prepared, one or the other of which must succeed. You must not underrate
the difficulties of my undertaking, or imagine that a mere commonplace
assassination would meet the case. We must destroy not only Monsieur
Caratal, but Monsieur Caratal’s documents, and Monsieur Caratal’s
companions also, if we had reason to believe that he had communicated
his secrets to them. And you must remember that they were on the alert,
and keenly suspicious of any such attempt. It was a task which was in
every way worthy of me, for I am always most masterful where another
would be appalled.
“I was all ready for Monsieur Caratal’s reception in Liverpool, and I
was the more eager because I had reason to believe that he had made
arrangements by which he would have a considerable guard from the moment
that he arrived in London. Anything which was to be done must be done
between the moment of his setting foot upon the Liverpool quay and that
of his arrival at the London and West Coast terminus in London. We
prepared six plans, each more elaborate than the last; which plan would
be used would depend upon his own movements. Do what he would, we were
ready for him. If he had stayed in Liverpool, we were ready. If he took
an ordinary train, an express, or a special, all was ready. Everything
had been foreseen and provided for.
“You may imagine that I could not do all this myself. What could I know
of the English railway lines? But money can procure willing agents all
the world over, and I soon had one of the acutest brains in England to
assist me. I will mention no names, but it would be unjust to claim all
the credit for myself. My English ally was worthy of such an alliance.
He knew the London and West Coast line thoroughly, and he had the
command of a band of workers who were trustworthy and intelligent. The
idea was his, and my own judgment was only required in the details. We
bought over several officials, amongst whom the most important was James
McPherson, whom we had ascertained to be the guard most likely to be
employed upon a special train. Smith, the stoker, was also in our
employ. John Slater, the engine-driver, had been approached, but had
been found to be obstinate and dangerous, so we desisted. We had no
certainty that Monsieur Caratal would take a special, but we thought it
very probable, for it was of the utmost importance to him that he should
reach Paris without delay. It was for this contingency, therefore, that
we made special preparations—preparations which were complete down to
the last detail long before his steamer had sighted the shores of
England. You will be amused to learn that there was one of my agents in
the pilot-boat which brought that steamer to its moorings.
“The moment that Caratal arrived in Liverpool we knew that he suspected
danger and was on his guard. He had brought with him as an escort a
dangerous fellow, named Gomez, a man who carried weapons, and was
prepared to use them. This fellow carried Caratal’s confidential papers
for him, and was ready to protect either them or his master. The
probability was that Caratal had taken him into his counsels, and that
to remove Caratal without removing Gomez would be a mere waste of
energy. It was necessary that they should be involved in a common fate,
and our plans to that end were much facilitated by their request for a
special train. On that special train you will understand that two out of
the three servants of the company were really in our employ, at a price
which would make them independent for a lifetime. I do not go so far as
to say that the English are more honest than any other nation, but I
have found them more expensive to buy.
“I have already spoken of my English agent—who is a man with a
considerable future before him, unless some complaint of the throat
carries him off before his time. He had charge of all arrangements at
Liverpool, whilst I was stationed at the inn at Kenyon, where I awaited
a cipher signal to act. When the special was arranged for, my agent
instantly telegraphed to me and warned me how soon I should have
everything ready. He himself under the name of Horace Moore applied
immediately for a special also, in the hope that he would be sent down
with Monsieur Caratal, which might under certain circumstances have been
helpful to us. If, for example, our great _coup_ had failed, it would
then have become the duty of my agent to have shot them both and
destroyed their papers. Caratal was on his guard, however, and refused
to admit any other traveller. My agent then left the station, returned
by another entrance, entered the guard’s van on the side farthest from
the platform, and travelled down with McPherson the guard.
“In the meantime you will be interested to know what my movements were.
Everything had been prepared for days before, and only the finishing
touches were needed. The side line which we had chosen had once joined
the main line, but it had been disconnected. We had only to replace a
few rails to connect it once more. These rails had been laid down as far
as could be done without danger of attracting attention, and now it was
merely a case of completing a juncture with the line, and arranging the
points as they had been before. The sleepers had never been removed, and
the rails, fish-plates, and rivets were all ready, for we had taken them
from a siding on the abandoned portion of the line. With my small but
competent band of workers, we had everything ready long before the
special arrived. When it did arrive, it ran off upon the small side line
so easily that the jolting of the points appears to have been entirely
unnoticed by the two travellers.
“Our plan had been that Smith the stoker should chloroform John Slater
the driver, so that he should vanish with the others. In this respect,
and in this respect only, our plans miscarried—I except the criminal
folly of McPherson in writing home to his wife. Our stoker did his
business so clumsily that Slater in his struggles fell off the engine,
and though fortune was with us so far that he broke his neck in the
fall, still he remained as a blot upon that which would otherwise have
been one of those complete masterpieces which are only to be
contemplated in silent admiration. The criminal expert will find in John
Slater the one flaw in all our admirable combinations. A man who has had
as many triumphs as I can afford to be frank, and I therefore lay my
finger upon John Slater, and I proclaim him to be a flaw.
“But now I have got our special train upon the small line two
kilomètres, or rather more than one mile, in length, which leads, or
rather used to lead, to the abandoned Heartsease mine, once one of the
largest coal mines in England. You will ask how it is that no one saw
the train upon this unused line. I answer that along its entire length
it runs through a deep cutting, and that, unless some one had been on
the edge of that cutting, he could not have seen it. There _was_ some
one on the edge of that cutting. I was there. And now I will tell you
what I saw.
“My assistant had remained at the points in order that he might
superintend the switching off of the train. He had four armed men with
him, so that if the train ran off the line—we thought it probable,
because the points were very rusty—we might still have resources to fall
back upon. Having once seen it safely on the side line, he handed over
the responsibility to me. I was waiting at a point which overlooks the
mouth of the mine, and I was also armed, as were my two companions. Come
what might, you see, I was always ready.
“The moment that the train was fairly on the side line, Smith, the
stoker, slowed-down the engine, and then, having turned it on to the
fullest speed again, he and McPherson, with my English lieutenant,
sprang off before it was too late. It may be that it was this
slowing-down which first attracted the attention of the travellers, but
the train was running at full speed again before their heads appeared at
the open window. It makes me smile to think how bewildered they must
have been. Picture to yourself your own feelings if, on looking out of
your luxurious carriage, you suddenly perceived that the lines upon
which you ran were rusted and corroded, red and yellow with disuse and
decay! What a catch must have come in their breath as in a second it
flashed upon them that it was not Manchester but Death which was waiting
for them at the end of that sinister line. But the train was running
with frantic speed, rolling and rocking over the rotten line, while the
wheels made a frightful screaming sound upon the rusted surface. I was
close to them, and could see their faces. Caratal was praying, I
think—there was something like a rosary dangling out of his hand. The
other roared like a bull who smells the blood of the slaughter-house. He
saw us standing on the bank, and he beckoned to us like a madman. Then
he tore at his wrist and threw his dispatch-box out of the window in our
direction. Of course, his meaning was obvious. Here was the evidence,
and they would promise to be silent if their lives were spared. It would
have been very agreeable if we could have done so, but business is
business. Besides, the train was now as much beyond our control as
theirs.
“He ceased howling when the train rattled round the curve and they saw
the black mouth of the mine yawning before them. We had removed the
boards which had covered it, and we had cleared the square entrance. The
rails had formerly run very close to the shaft for the convenience of
loading the coal, and we had only to add two or three lengths of rail in
order to lead to the very brink of the shaft. In fact, as the lengths
would not quite fit, our line projected about three feet over the edge.
We saw the two heads at the window: Caratal below, Gomez above; but they
had both been struck silent by what they saw. And yet they could not
withdraw their heads. The sight seemed to have paralyzed them.
“I had wondered how the train running at a great speed would take the
pit into which I had guided it, and I was much interested in watching
it. One of my colleagues thought that it would actually jump it, and
indeed it was not very far from doing so. Fortunately, however, it fell
short, and the buffers of the engine struck the other lip of the shaft
with a tremendous crash. The funnel flew off into the air. The tender,
carriages, and van were all smashed up into one jumble, which, with the
remains of the engine, choked for a minute or so the mouth of the pit.
Then something gave way in the middle, and the whole mass of green iron,
smoking coals, brass fittings, wheels, woodwork, and cushions all
crumbled together and crashed down into the mine. We heard the rattle,
rattle, rattle, as the _débris_ struck against the walls, and then quite
a long time afterwards there came a deep roar as the remains of the
train struck the bottom. The boiler may have burst, for a sharp crash
came after the roar, and then a dense cloud of steam and smoke swirled
up out of the black depths, falling in a spray as thick as rain all
round us. Then the vapour shredded off into thin wisps, which floated
away in the summer sunshine, and all was quiet again in the Heartsease
mine.
“And now, having carried out our plans so successfully, it only remained
to leave no trace behind us. Our little band of workers at the other end
had already ripped up the rails and disconnected the side line,
replacing everything as it had been before. We were equally busy at the
mine. The funnel and other fragments were thrown in, the shaft was
planked over as it used to be, and the lines which led to it were torn
up and taken away. Then, without flurry, but without delay, we all made
our way out of the country, most of us to Paris, my English colleague to
Manchester, and McPherson to Southampton, whence he emigrated to
America. Let the English papers of that date tell how thoroughly we had
done our work, and how completely we had thrown the cleverest of their
detectives off our track.
“You will remember that Gomez threw his bag of papers out of the window,
and I need not say that I secured that bag and brought them to my
employers. It may interest my employers now, however, to learn that out
of that bag I took one or two little papers as a souvenir of the
occasion. I have no wish to publish these papers; but, still, it is
every man for himself in this world, and what else can I do if my
friends will not come to my aid when I want them? Messieurs, you may
believe that Herbert de Lernac is quite as formidable when he is against
you as when he is with you, and that he is not a man to go to the
guillotine until he has seen that every one of you is _en route_ for New
Caledonia. For your own sake, if not for mine, make haste, Monsieur
de ——, and General ——, and Baron —— (you can fill up the blanks for
yourselves as you read this). I promise you that in the next edition
there will be no blanks to fill.
“P.S.—As I look over my statement there is only one omission which I can
see. It concerns the unfortunate man McPherson, who was foolish enough
to write to his wife and to make an appointment with her in New York. It
can be imagined that when interests like ours were at stake, we could
not leave them to the chance of whether a man in that class of life
would or would not give away his secrets to a woman. Having once broken
his oath by writing to his wife, we could not trust him any more. We
took steps therefore to insure that he should not see his wife. I have
sometimes thought that it would be a kindness to write to her and to
assure her that there is no impediment to her marrying again.”