It was as though the note had never been written. It was delivered to Captain Irving by the faithful Wilkes, but nothing came of it. Wilkes was told not to bother Police Headquarters too much, for it might be dangerous.
Hopeless, abandoned, and beaten, when Macdonnell’s case came before the courts, it was none the less so; and presently he sailed away in the company of Scotland Yard officers, and in due time was tried, convicted, and sentenced to what is called a life term in England. He served his time, and is now back in America, in the West, a poor old man, who, some folks say to-day, is honest and trying to redeem the past. I hope so, for his sake.
And what became of the bonds stolen by Captain Jim Irving? Be sure they weren’t turned over to the Bank of England. Be certain, too, that when Macdonnell, in a spirit of revenge, at his trial told the court that the New York chief of detectives had eighty thousand dollars’ worth of the Bank of England’s property, Captain Irving, indignantly denying the accusation, said:—
“What! do the Englishmen believe the word of a crook? Humph, damnable of them, I say.”
Now the bonds, as I have stated, were divided between Irving and Farley. The former sold his share in a Jersey City “fence,” and the latter to Gleason and Roberts, the forgers, who sometimes dealt in crooked bonds. Irving and Farley received eighty-five per cent of the face value of the bonds. In view of the fact that they were gilt-edged, these coppers didn’t do badly. Indeed, it was a mighty profitable race at sea for Jim Irving and his faithful detective sergeant, Phil Farley, but it was an unfortunate meeting for George Macdonnell. I have talked many times with Captain Irving since that day, but I never heard him say a word to make me think that he had a twinge of conscience over his perfidious act.
CHAPTER XXV
SOME DETECTIVES I FOUND USEFUL
After the failure to capture the Corn Exchange Bank treasure, my Police Headquarters friends were exceedingly anxious that I try to even up accounts by obtaining the wealth of the United States sub-treasury vault in New York City. They contended that there were plenty of other banks in that city, at which I might take a hand, if the sub-treasury was too hard a nut to crack. I knew that it was, and said so, whereupon they insisted that I give it a trial.
“No, I will not,” I said; “it’s impossible to break through that wall of night watchmen employed by the Treasury Department.”
“Well, make a strike at the Bank of America,” said they.