Now, had Chief Young been actuated by an earnest desire to do honest work for the people, or assist the bank officials, instead of fishing for gold to fill his pocket and that of General Spinola, he would have notified, as the next move in the case, the Westminster police of the arrests and of the fact that a large part of the stolen property had been recovered. I say that would have been the natural course for an honest official to pursue, but did he do that? Not John Young—he couldn’t see his duty in that light. Instead, he suddenly disappeared from headquarters. No one seemed to know where he had gone. In Mulberry Street it was guessed he’d hurried to the state capitol at Albany, to obtain extradition papers. This, however, was a mere conjecture. Two days later the mystery was cleared to a certain extent. Honest people were astonished, but those on the inside thought it quite the usual thing in John Young.
Upon leaving Police Headquarters, Young had travelled by the fastest trains to Maryland, and at the earliest moment was in Westminster, advising the New Windsor Bank officials that he’d captured, by his prowess, two of their bank’s looters, recovered a large part of the securities, and would soon have the railroad bonds. Naturally the bank officials were much relieved at the news; in fact were thrown into an ecstatic state, some of these directors, in their exuberance, being almost on the point of weeping out their tense feelings on the broad breast of the honest John Young. And their joy was not relegated to gloom when he assured them that he would have recovered the cash had not the robbers spent it. The bank, he said, must stand up nobly under this loss, and could afford to under the circumstances. They were fortunate, indeed, that the burglars selected New York City for a refuge, and that the astute chief of detectives was there to exercise his ingenuity. The bank officials wrung his hands and patted him on the shoulders. Such an officer of the law had never been known; his reward should be commensurate with the service he had rendered. They looked upon him as a veritable prophet, even their Moses, come to lead them, providentially, out of a vast wilderness of banking troubles; which in other words meant that they had been saved from going down deep into their personal pockets to reimburse their customers and stockholders.
Not many hours after Chief John’s advent in the New Windsor Bank, the halo began to fade from him. He looked a trifle less like the Moses he had appeared to be, the change being the result of Johnny’s broad hint at what he termed a “requisite reward” for his services. The bankers saw that he was no “cheap John” Young, and that his idea of a recompense was vastly in excess of what they had in mind to pay their deliverer from the wilderness of lost securities, railroad bonds, and ready cash. However unexpected this was to the honest Marylanders, it would not have caused any rustling among the consciences of his confidants at home. They knew John’s game, for some of them had hopelessly been in it. The board of directors, still regarding him as worthy of a good reward, and buoyed up by his atmospheric promises that he would recover the Union Pacific bonds beyond doubt, voted him twenty thousand dollars. Thus the object of Young’s visit to Westminster having been accomplished, he made more glowing promises to serve the Marylanders, hoped that the reward would be forthcoming soon, and hastened back to New York.
“Fetch the prisoners to my office,” was his instant command upon arriving at the Mulberry Street office, and forthwith Mark Shinburn and our sales agent were brought upstairs by Irving and Edsel.
There was in vogue in those days what was styled the “third degree,” but it didn’t mean more than a threat to really enforce the law. Subsequently, I am credibly informed, confessions were obtained from prisoners by the application of physical torture. When that system prevailed at 300 Mulberry Street the police were not so linked by crooked dealing with the criminal classes, therefore it is not my intention to discuss these immaterial things. What Captain Young wanted was the information Shinburn could give him of the Union Pacific bonds, and he was bound to obtain it if bulldozing would accomplish his end. However, he went about it in a cunning manner, and when Shinburn and his companion were arraigned, the atmosphere of the detective office seemed to be pregnant with peace and harmony. In his softest tones, Young intimated to Mark that it would best serve all concerned if the bonds were quietly turned over to him; that self-preservation was the vital fact to be first considered by all men; that it would be much better for Mark if he produced the bonds, even though it involved faithlessness to a confederate. To all this and more Shinburn maintained a calm demeanor.
“You’ll have to see my counsel, captain,” was his reply, pleasantly but firmly said. Finding his suave manner had no effect, Young shifted his attack, and became what he could be in an emergency,—a miserable oppressor of those under his power.
“Shinburn,” he said coldly, “you owe ten years to the state of New Hampshire for that Walpole Bank robbery, and I can send you there at the tap of this bell,” and he placed one of his forefingers on the silver button. Mark smiled at what was no news to him, though he felt anything but happy under the circumstances.
“Quite true, captain, but what are you going to do about it?” he asked.
“I could better tell if I knew where the Union Pacific bonds were,” Young answered. He was stern and insinuating at the same time. Shinburn hesitated a moment before proceeding, not because he didn’t know what he would eventually say and do, but liberty was a sweet thing, after all, and Young had hinted at releasing him if the bonds were forthcoming.
“See our counsel, cap,” he said. It irritated Young greatly.