"Certainly, Tim," said Captain Martin. "We'll give Smith a shake-down right here. I know him well. He is rich and will cough it all up when we put on the screws. You and your friend take seats. I'll have him here in a few minutes. Say, that's a lot of money, though—over five thousand dollars, you say?"
I handed Tescheron's exact figures to Captain Martin. We waited about twenty minutes, as I recollect, when a Potsdam giant from County Kildare, the site of extensive greenhouses for the raising of New York cops, brought in the trembling Smith. The startled little rascal looked at me, but did not appear to recognize me. He had been scared to a point I could see where he would give up his last cent for freedom.
"You're at the old game again, Smithy," said Captain Martin. "How much did you get out of Tescheron? I have the figures here; just look it up and tell me—see if we agree."
Smith did not dodge.
"About ten thousand dollars, Stuffer and all," he said.
Stuffer! Five thousand more than Tescheron had admitted to me!
"How much does the interest amount to at six per cent.? Just figure that up on all the payments, and put in Stuffer," directed Captain Martin, not in the least surprised at the admission of another five thousand.
"You'll square me against him?" asked Smith.
"Yes; you bring him here to-morrow, and I'll tell him—see?"
Captain Martin had never heard of Stuffer, but he played his meagre hand with a winning bluff. The boundary line between detectivism and poker is shadowy.