The journey, as we have said, was made in safety, and Henry Schulte, with his wealth intact, arrived in New York, and, seeking a quiet, comfortable hotel, he was directed to "The Crescent," where he soon wended his way, and to which he directed his servant to have his trunks conveyed without delay.
The hotel which he had selected was a German boarding-house, of modest dimensions and of unpretentious appearance. Over its doorway swung the faded sign of the Crescent, and over its destinies presided the portly, good-natured landlord, who dispensed the creature comforts to the limited number of guests who lodged beneath his roof.
Henry Schulte entered the little room of the hotel which was used as a bar-room, and, paying no attention to the other occupants, he seated himself at one of the tables, ordered a bottle of wine, which he proceeded to drink slowly until nearly finished, after which he pushed the bottle and glass towards his thirsty and longing servant and bade him consume the balance.
Seated around the room in various attitudes, but all engaged in the occupation of smoking and drinking, were a number of men, all inmates of the hotel, and all Germans, to whom the old man's appearance naturally gave occasion for considerable curiosity.
Several attempts were made to cultivate his acquaintance and to interrogate him upon the incidents of his passage over, but all of no avail. He maintained a reserve that was impossible to overcome; his answers were given in monosyllables, and, as but little encouragement was given to friendly converse, he was finally left alone to enjoy his musings.
At an early hour of the evening he signified his intention of retiring, and, accompanied by his servant, he left the room and shortly afterwards went to bed.
After attending to the requirements of the old gentleman, Frank Bruner returned to the bar-room and joined the group sitting around the table. His mind was fixed upon leaving a service that was distasteful to him, and in which he was made to feel the hand of the master too frequently and too heavily to be borne longer with submission or silence. He was anxious, therefore, to make some inquiries in regard to a change of position from those whom he supposed would be acquainted with the facts he was desirous of learning.
While they were thus conversing, a young man entered, and after saluting those present in a careless, off-hand manner, he seated himself among them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young German, with blonde hair and smoothly-shaven face; his eyes were large and of a light blue color. His cheek-bones were rather prominent, and when he laughed he displayed his teeth, which, being somewhat decayed, gave a rather unpleasant expression to the countenance, otherwise he was what might have ordinarily been considered a good-looking fellow.
Upon seating himself, he was jocularly questioned by one of the number, in reference to some young lady, who was evidently known to them all.
"Ah, William, how did you find the lovely Clara this evening?" inquired his friend, in German.