“When our party's head is again on halfway straight, and he isn't such a dizzy Willie, I puts it to him that he'd better do a skulk.
“'You're wanted,' says I, 'an' as near as I make the size-up, you'll take about five spaces if you're brought to trial. You'd better chase; and by way of the Horn, at that. If you go cross-lots, you might get the collar on a hot wire from headquarters, and be taken off the train. Our party nearly throws a faint when I says 'embezzlement.' It's the first tip he'd had, for I don't think he's been made wise to so much as a word since he leaves here. It put the scare into him for fair; he was ready to do anything I say.'
“'Only,' says he, 'I don't know what money I've got. And I'm too dippy to find out.'
“With that, I go through him. It's in his trousers pocket I springs a plant—fifteen hundred dollars, about.
“'Here's dough enough and over,' says I; and in six hours after, he's aboard ship.
“She don't get her lines off until this morning, though; but I stays by, for I'm out to see him safe beyond the Hook.”
“What more do you know of young Van Flange?” I asked. “Did you learn anything about his business habits?”
“From the time you start him with those offices in Broad Street, our party's business habits are hop and faro bank. The offices are there; the clerks and the blackboards and the stock tickers and the tape baskets are there; but our party, more'n to butt in about three times a week and leave some crazy orders to sell Blackberry Traction, is never there. He's either in Mott Street, and a Chink cookin' hop for him; or he's in Barclay Street with those Indians, and they handin' him out every sort of brace from an 'end-squeeze' or a 'balance-top,' where they give him two cards at a clatter, to a 'snake' box, where they kindly lets him deal, but do him just the same. Our party lose over a half-million in that Barclay Street deadfall during the past Year.”
“I must, then,” said I, and I felt the irony of it, “have been indirectly contributing to the riches of our friend, the Chief of Police, since you once told me he was a principal owner of the Barclay Street place.”
Inspector McCue shrugged his shoulders professionally, and made no response. Then I questioned him as to the charge of embezzlement; for I had not owned the heart to read the story in the press.