CHAPTER XXIII
THE PLOT THAT FAILED
Despite the discovery by the bank officials that a plot was afloat to obtain the riches of their vault, and regardless of the fact that I had lost three of my trained men, I determined to push on to success. It was in vain that I more than half regretted my decision not to “turn off the trick” on a week-day morning, while Billy was on duty, inasmuch as he had offered to take every risk. “But,” I said to myself, “why wail over what can’t be undone? It’s up to you, George, to act.”
More than ever I needed success. My men were in jail, necessitating the engaging of others, and I wanted to obtain the Corn Exchange’s millions, knowing that I could, by a judicious handling of it, get them to freedom once more. I prided myself upon never leaving those associated with me in the lurch, when there was any way reasonable to assist them. I must keep my record good in this respect—my fellow-conspirators must be taken from jail. Therefore I continued to scheme, assisted loyally, as before, by my faithful Billy. One thing I was fully cognizant of, and that was, I must not be seen in the vicinity of the bank again by any one who might prove to be a meddler. I might not be so fortunate as to escape arrest a second time. To lose my liberty would entirely undo my careful plotting of months. Thinking how I must proceed next, my teeth came together with a click as I said: “Tom Davis, I’ve got to reckon with you. Where’ll my heaviest guns find you weakest?”
Well, I began to train the guns, and I soon found the most vulnerable spot in Tom’s armament of honesty. If I say it was through his pocket, I may be correct, but of that I’m not certain. He may have loved money, but I ascertained there was something he loved more than that, vastly—faro. He was simply infatuated with the game—not with the money he might win. The excitement of winning money was, by far, more pleasure to him than its possession. It hadn’t taken much shadowing to inform me that he would feed his craving at the gaming-table until every dollar he’d earned was gone, and then rise with a sigh because he hadn’t more to satisfy it. He would play at no other game. No other opportunity to place money in the balance could infatuate him. As the serpent possesses the power to charm the bird, so had faro the power to rob Tom Davis of his senses.
Well, I fired a hot shot at him, and it landed. Every one addicted to gambling can be reached with money in one way or another. Armed with this knowledge, I consulted with Detective Josh Taggart as to the possibility of winning Davis’s friendship by a monetary consideration. Taggart wouldn’t advise me at all, confessing he didn’t know how to handle him. Having ascertained how thoroughly Davis was wedded to faro, I, however, determined to fling final success on a turn of the card and take the long, long chance.
I knew that Peter Burns was friendly with Davis, so at an opportune time I, accompanied by him, went to the latter’s house. I say opportune time, for the reason that a day or two previously he’d played at his favorite game, and as a result wouldn’t for many days recover from his loss. To find my victim in a mood like this, it seemed to me, was fertile soil in which to sow the seeds of corruption. We called on Davis on South Broad Street on an afternoon, and I was introduced to him as Burns’s personal friend. I marked well how the day watchman’s eyes opened wide when they rested on me. If I had thought he wouldn’t recognize in me the man who escaped on that memorable Sunday morning, it would have been too late, but as I didn’t care, I quickly let him know that the recognition was mutual. Upon recovering from his astonishment, he said, none too cheerfully, “Seeing that you’ve come boldly to my house to see me, I’ll try to forget that we’ve met before.”
I replied that I was sorry we hadn’t met for the first time this day, and it was very generous on his part to thus consider me, adding, “I committed no overt act in being near the bank, and as my associates have both been jailed for presuming to commit that act, there wouldn’t be at this time any compensation to you for hauling me up.”
Several visits were made to Davis’s house, and we grew quite friendly. Once he expressed the dread that some one would learn the identity of Burns and myself, which might get him into serious difficulty with his employers. I assured him that we would be careful. More than once I broadly hinted that it was hard luck to be short of money, and sympathized with him or any one else who might be in that predicament when they needed it most. At the final visit we had an extremely warm conversation on the merits of my case. Finally, having decided that I could win Davis, I said: “All I ask of you is not to interfere with strangers you may see hanging about the Corn Exchange Bank. You’re not in its employ, and you’re not responsible; keep your eyes shut tight when you happen to pass through that neighborhood. In fact, don’t go there! You can find other streets with good sidewalks.”
“What you ask, I reasonably can do,” Davis replied, after some thought, “but I may lose a chance of catching the bird in the tree. The bank officials wouldn’t forget me then, I’m inclined to think.”
“Well, you haven’t got rich over interfering with my plans,” I said, “and it’s true you might get a stake if you caught that bird in the tree, but you haven’t got it yet. Now,” I went on, taking a big roll of greenbacks from my pocket, “you must know something about bird-catching when you play faro, and how mighty uncertain it is.”