"See here," exclaimed Mr. Harris, a junior member of the firm, interrupting me, and resting his face pensively for a half minute on his hand, the elbow of which was pressed upon the table at which we sat. "Ah, yes; I have it. You've hit the nail on the head. I remember noticing once, when Legate dined with me at Delmonico's, that the end, or about half, of his little finger of the left hand was gone. He doesn't show it much. I remember I looked a second time before I fully assured myself that what I first thought I discovered was so. He is as adroit about concealing that, as he is in his general proceedings." I felt great relief to learn so much, and bidding my employers good day, found myself, as speedily as I well could, on the way to St. Louis, taking my course up the river, and on viâ the New York Central Railroad. I suppose that it is the fact with every business man when travelling in the pursuit of his occupation, either as a merchant going to the big cities to buy goods, the speculator hunting out a good investment somewhere in real estate,—no matter what the business,—to be more or less occupied in thought regarding it. But no man has half or a tenth part so much occasion for constant weariness about his business as has the detective officer, whether he be in pursuit of an escaped villain, working up a civil case, searching for testimony in a given cause, or what not; for however deep his theories, or well laid his plans, some accident or incident, apparently trifling in itself, may occur to give him in a moment more light than he might otherwise obtain in a month's searching and study—a fact which is ever uppermost in my mind when in the pursuit of my calling, and I endeavor to turn everything possible to account. It so happened, that when along about Syracuse on the cars, I overheard some men, who were evidently enjoying each other's society greatly in the narration of stories and experiences, saying something about "home" and St. Louis; and I fancied they were, as proved to be the case, residents of that city; and I became consequently quite interested in them, hoping that something would occur on their way to allow me, without obtrusion, to make their acquaintance; for they were both men who apparently know "what is going on around them," and very possibly might know Legate, or something about him, which might serve me. Indeed, I half fancied that one of them might be Legate himself; for he would answer the description given me of that person as well as anybody I should be apt to find in a day's travel; and I was more than half confirmed in my suspicions, as you can readily surmise, when I discovered that the traveller was lacking the little finger, or nearly all of it, on the left hand! Of course, thus aroused, I became very watchful, and devised various plans of getting into the acquaintance of the gentlemen as soon as might be. But the cars rolled on and on, and no chance occurred to place myself in their immediate presence, although I walked up and down the aisle of the cars, occasionally lingering by this or that seat, and passing a word with the occupants; but somehow I could not get at the men in question in this or any other like way; but I kept myself as much as possible within hearing of their ludicrous, comical, or exciting stories, over which, at times, they laughed immoderately.
Eventually, as the cars were starting on from a station at which we stopped for a moment, there came on board a fine, brusque, jolly, but courtly-looking man, of that class who bear about them the unmistakable evidences of good breeding, frankness, and honor, and whose associates are never less than respectable people, and who, as he brushed down the aisle of the car in search of a seat, accosted the man upon whom in particular I had my eye,—
"Ah, Mr. Hendricks! I am very glad to meet you," extending his hand and giving him a cordial grasp and "shake" which assured me that the man Hendricks was a very different character from the Mr. Legate in search of whom I was making my journey; and so my "air castles," founded upon suspicion, came to the ground. I know not why, but I really felt a relief to find that it was not Legate, after all, notwithstanding it would have been a happy circumstance for me, had Mr. Hendricks really been he.
But I listened still to the St. Lousians' story-telling, which grew more and more loud as we moved on, in consequence, I suppose, of their occasional attention to a little flask of wine which each gentleman carried; but they did not become boisterous. Mr. Hendricks was narrating to his friend,—whose name by this time I had discovered to be Phelps,—what was evidently an intensely interesting story to the latter, when he, striking his hand very heavily upon his leg, exclaimed, "That Legate was one of the most accomplished villains—no softer word will do—that I ever heard of."
"Ah, ha!" I thought to myself, "now I am in the right company to get a clew to the fellow. But stop; he said "was," not is. I wonder if Legate is dead: perhaps he is; and I became quite fearful that he might be, and so my mission prove entirely fruitless. But I could see no chance to break in upon their conversation, here, or make their acquaintance. "That Legate," too, might also be another than the Charles Legate, whom I was seeking. What shall I do? and I pondered over the matter. Finally I made the bold resolution to interrupt the gentlemen at the first half-favorable opportunity, my seat being one back of theirs, on the other side of the car, and so near that I might do so quite readily. While talking of this man Legate, their conversation was, in the main, more subdued, and as if half confidential, than upon other topics, which made it the more difficult for me to interpolate a query, for I had by this time resolved upon my plan.
Presently I heard Mr. Hendricks say, "The last I heard of him, he'd gone to Mexico." I fancied this must relate to Legate, and began to think that my journey might indeed extend "over the two continents," according to my conditional orders on starting. Presently I heard the name Legate, and as Messrs. Hendricks and Phelps were at this time in the height of their jolly humor, I fancied they wouldn't mind the obtrusion. I stepped from my seat to theirs, and said, "Gentlemen, you'll pardon me, but I am somewhat interested in the genealogy of the Legate family both at the west and east; and just hearing you speak the name Legate, it occurred to me that perhaps I could get a new name to add to my list. Is it a gentleman of the western branch of whom you were speaking?"
"O, no, sir," replied Mr. Hendricks; "the man we were speaking of doesn't belong to the United States at all. He was (and is, if alive) a Canadian, who lived for a while at St. Louis. Are you a Legate, sir, or a relative of the family? allow me to ask."
"No, sir; simply a general genealogist. You know all men have their weaknesses: genealogical studies are among mine."
"I asked," said he, "because, if your name was Legate, you might have been offended, if I had told you that the Legate we were talking about wouldn't add any grace to your family list."
"Ah, ha! then I infer that he might have been at least a man of bad habits—perhaps a dishonest one."