"Tell me your story," said I. "But I don't suppose I can accomplish anything for you if Wilson, Baldwin, or Harry Hunt" (detectives of rare ability on his corps) "have failed."
"They have," said he, "signally; but I believe the matter can be worked out readily, though you will have to take your time at it. The case is this: There's a lot of blacklegs and counterfeiters, some of whom you know, whose den I want to find out. That's all. They are passing more or less counterfeit money these days. What I want is not to detect any one of these by himself, but to capture the whole of them in their den—gobble them all up at once, and break up their gang; and now I think I have a key to their hiding-place, which, if I can get anybody to work it well, will open in upon them."
"Well, give me the particulars, and your general instructions, and I'll try it."
"You know," said he, "that some of it may be desperate work, and that's one reason why I want you—steady hand, and cool head, and time enough, must succeed in this business. Here is a minute description of five of the gang. Look it over," pulling from his side pocket a paper. "There, you know this first one, Harry Le Beau. We dealt with him, you know, two years ago; and the next I guess you don't know. In fact, I reckon you don't know any of the rest."
I was studying over the personal descriptions; meanwhile the chief went talking on, I paying little heed further to what he was saying. Coming to the last on the list, "Mont Collins!"—"Mont Collins?"—I don't know the name, but the description just suits another person; rather, just suits the character himself, for I knew, of course, that "Collins" was one of any number of aliases. "This is a particular friend of mine," said I. "His name used to be Bill Blanchard, and—and—well," without saying any more, "I'll undertake the job; and, by Heavens!" said I, "I'll succeed," for I had been warming up out of my opium reverie from the instant my eye fell upon the description of "Collins," with an indignation and a hope of revengeful triumph over this villain, who had now taken a step in counterfeiting, or in passing counterfeit money, where I could, if successful, get him confined within the walls of a prison, and pay him for his vile iniquities.
"You have encountered this scoundrel before, it seems," said the chief, noticing the glow upon my face.
"No, not I; but a relative of mine. I can't tell you the story now. I'll follow him to the death. No stone shall remain unmoved in this business."
"I am glad you have a peculiar incentive, and I feel that you are sure to succeed; but I have not given you the key yet. May be it will serve you. Perhaps you can get a better one, and won't need to use it," said the chief.
"Give it me," said I, "by all means. A straw, even, might serve to point the way; and if the rest are as desperate and cunning as 'Collins,' I shall need all the help and advice possible to work up the job," said I.
So the chief went, on to say, "It is very evident that these fellows have an important victim in a young man, by the name of Lewellyn Payne, from Kentucky, who came to New York some months ago, reputed to be very rich, and had always at first about him money enough; but he has become reckless. He's a fine-looking fellow, of good address, and how he allowed such a vile gang to get hold of him, I don't see"—