"Sir," replied the knave unabashed, "I am one of those who do make a living by their wits."
John Felix, a dealer in automatic musical instruments in New York City, was swindled out of $50,000 on February 2d, 1905, by what is commonly known as the "wire-tapping" game. During the previous August a man calling himself by the name of Nelson had hired Room 46, in a building at 27 East Twenty-second Street, as a school for "wireless telegraphy." Later on he had installed over a dozen deal tables, each fitted with a complete set of ordinary telegraph instruments and connected with wires which, while apparently passing out of the windows, in reality plunged behind a desk into a small "dry" battery. Each table was fitted with a shaded electric drop-light, and the room was furnished with the ordinary paraphernalia of a telegraph office. The janitor never observed any activity in the "school." There seemed to be no pupils, and no one haunted the place except a short, ill-favored person who appeared monthly and paid the rent.
On the afternoon of February 1st, 1905, Mr. Felix was called to the telephone of his store and asked to make an appointment later in the afternoon, with a gentleman named Nelson who desired to submit to him a business proposition. Fifteen minutes afterward Mr. Nelson arrived in person and introduced himself as having met Felix at "Lou" Ludlam's gambling house. He then produced a copy of the Evening Telegram which contained an article to the effect that the Western Union Telegraph Company was about to resume its "pool-room service,"—that is to say, to supply the pool rooms with the telegraphic returns of the various horse-races being run in different parts of the United States. The paper also contained, in connection with this item of news, a photograph which might, by a stretch of the imagination, have been taken to resemble Nelson himself.
Mr. Felix, who was a German gentleman of French sympathies, married to an American lady, had recently returned to America after a ten years' sojourn in Europe. He had had an extensive commercial career, was possessed of a considerable fortune, and had at length determined to settle in New York, where he could invest his money to advantage and at the same time conduct a conservative and harmonious business in musical instruments. Like the Teutons of old, dwelling among the forests of the Elbe, Mr. Felix knew the fascination of games of chance and he had heard the merry song of the wheel at both Hambourg and Monte Carlo. In Europe the pleasures of the gaming table had been comparatively inexpensive, but in New York for some unknown reason the fickle goddess had not favored him and he had lost upward of $51,000. "Zu viel!" as he himself expressed it. Being of a philosophic disposition, however, he had pocketed his losses and contented himself with the consoling thought that, whereas he might have lost all, he had in fact lost only a part. It might well have been that had not The Tempter appeared in the person of his afternoon visitor, he would have remained in status quo for the rest of his natural life. In the sunny window of his musical store, surrounded by zitherns, auto-harps, dulcimers, psalteries, sackbuts, and other instrument's of melody, the advent of Nelson produced the effect of a sudden and unexpected discord. Felix distrusted him from the very first.
The "proposition" was simplicity itself. It appeared that Mr. Nelson was in the employ of the Western Union Telegraph Company, which had just opened a branch office for racing news at 27 East Twenty-second Street. This branch was under the superintendence of an old associate and intimate friend of Nelson's by the name of McPherson. Assuming that they could find some one with the requisite amount of cash, they could all make their everlasting fortunes by simply having McPherson withhold the news of some race from the pool rooms long enough to allow one of the others to place a large bet upon some horse which had in fact already won and was resting comfortably in the stable. Felix grasped the idea instantly. At the same time he had his suspicions of his visitor. It seemed peculiar that he, an inconspicuous citizen who had already lost $50,000 in gambling houses, should be selected as the recipient of such a momentous opportunity. Moreover, he knew very well that gentlemen in gambling houses were never introduced at all. He thought he detected the odor of a rodent. He naïvely inquired why, if all these things were so, Nelson and his friend were not already yet millionaires two or three times? The answer was at once forthcoming that they had been, but also had been robbed—unmercifully robbed, by one in whom they had had confidence and to whom they had entrusted their money.
"And now we are poor, penniless clerks!" sighed Nelson, "and if we should offer to make a big bet ourselves, the gamblers would be suspicious and probably refuse to place it."
"I think this looks like a schvindling game," said Felix shrewdly. So it did; so it was.
By and by Felix put on his hat and, escorted by Nelson, paid a visit to the "branch office" at 27 East Twenty-second Street. Where once solitude had reigned supreme and the spider had spun his web amid the fast-gathering dust, all was now tumultuous activity. Fifteen busy operators in eye shades and shirt sleeves took the news hot from the humming wires and clicked it off to the waiting pool rooms.
"Scarecrow wins by a neck!" cried one, "Blackbird second!"
"Make the odds 5 to 3," shouted a short, ill-favored man, who sat at a desk puffing a large black cigar. The place buzzed like a beehive and ticked like a clockmaker's. It had an atmosphere of breathless excitement all its own. Felix watched and marvelled, wondering if dreams came true.