The next morning Quincy arose early and was at Curtis Carter's office as soon as it was opened. Alice had signed an order for the delivery of the package to him and he presented it to Mr. Carter's clerk, to whom he was well known. The ponderous doors of the big safe were thrown open and the precious document was produced. When the clerk passed the package to him and took Alice's order therefor, Quincy noticed that a five-dollar bill was pinned to the envelope; a card was also attached to the bill, upon which was written: "This money belongs to Mr. Quincy Sawyer; he dropped it the last time he was in the office."
Quincy would not trust the package to his hand-bag, but placed it in an inside pocket of his coat, which he tightly buttoned. After leaving the lawyer's office he dropped into Grodjinski's, and purchased a box of fine cigars. He had the clerk tack one of his cards on the top of the box. On this he wrote:
"My Dear Curtis:—Keep the ashes for me; they make good tooth powder.
Quincy."
The box was then done up and addressed to Curtis Carter, Esq., the clerk promising to have it delivered at once.
Quincy had found a letter at his aunt's from Mr. Strout, asking him to buy a line of fancy groceries and confectionery for Christmas trade, and it was noon before he had attended to the matter to his complete satisfaction. A hasty lunch and he was once more on his way to New York, and during the trip his hand sought the inside pocket of his coat a score of times, that he might feel assured that the precious document was still there.
Arriving, Quincy proceeded at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Sir Stuart was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and his first question was, "Have you the papers?"
Quincy took the package from his pocket and placed it on the table before him, remarking as he did so, "It must not be opened until to-morrow morning, and then by the young lady herself."
The old man pushed the package away from him and turned a stern face toward Quincy. "I yield obedience," said he, "to your wife's command, but if one man or two stood now between me and my darling's child, I would have their lives, if they tried to keep her from my arms for one instant even."
After a little reflection he apologized for his vehement language, and sought his room to think, and hope, and wait—but not to sleep.