We carried on the conversation for a while longer, till we came to a point where Mr. Payne, in giving me a description of some friends whom he had made since he came to New York, spoke of his friend "Collins" as a very "brilliant, dashing fellow," who was a nondescript for him, otherwise, in character. I was, of course, more interested at this point than at any other, which must have been manifest at once to young Payne. He told me of some of his and Collins' adventures. In all these I could clearly see the workings of the villain Blanchard, and I was several times on the point of uttering my full views to Mr. Payne, but I thought it an hour too early in our acquaintance to do so, and so delayed to do it.
Another day came. I was out all day away from the house, but not idle, for I managed to learn more of "Collins'" or Blanchard's proceedings for the last few months before, of his places of resort, etc.; but when I returned at evening, before Mr. Payne's usual hour for going abroad, I found him in great dejection; and having opportunity to converse with him, approached him, and was soon invited to his room. It was not long before our conversation took such shape that I was able to breathe to him some of my suspicions. Payne listened with surprise; but I drew Blanchard's modes of proceeding, his general character, etc., so accurately, that Payne became more than half convinced that "Collins" and Blanchard were one. In short, I got down into Payne's heart before our conversation concluded that evening. It was necessary for him to go forth again that night, or, I think, he would have held me in his room all night, reciting his adventures and running over his mistakes. I saw that he was utterly ruined, beyond all hope, unless I could manage to get out of the hands of his captors a large number of collaterals, which he had for the space of three months past left in their hands, as security for promissory notes to a large amount which he had given them, and to pay which he was looking to the sale of some property in Kentucky, and for some dividends on stock in a manufactory in Cincinnati, which, however, was itself pledged. These were debts of honor, as he, up to that moment, had regarded them, and must be paid, no matter if paying them more than bankrupted him. Indeed, he had played and lost far beyond the sum of his actual property, so desperate had he become in the matter; and the gamblers, his elegant friends, were willing to show their gentlemanly confidence in him, and trusted him more,—the well-bred scoundrels. But I pointed out to him the fact that he had (which was evident enough to me) been victimized by villains who never play an honorable game of hazard; indeed, who never play a game of hazard at all, since all is in their hands and under their perfect control. When he came to see this, and reflect upon each step, and saw how the thing had been done, and also that, as his memory, now excited, called all vividly before him, when he had lost heavily with the gang they had, without doubt, in every instance played a false game, the dark shades deepened in his face.
Mr. Payne became at first very serious, but at the close of our conversation I saw that his mind had become quite calm: he was very deliberate. The muscles about his mouth assumed a firmer expression. I could easily see that he was meditating some way of revenge on the scoundrels who would have gladly ruined him in all respects, as they had already done in some. Finally he said to me, "You seem to understand all about these villains. How came you to know them so well? Have you ever been victimized by them?"
"No, not victimized; but I came to learn these characters through my profession. Professional men are compelled to know more or less of them, and it has been my lot to be greatly interested; in fact, somewhat involved in a matter in which Blanchard, or, as you know him, 'Collins,' was the principal actor; and I'll say to you here, that it would give me the keenest pleasure to give you any aid in my power as against that wretch."
Mr. Payne's time for going out that evening had come, and I left the house at the same time with him, hoping that he would do something, or that something would occur on my walk with him, to further my projects. But we parted that evening with nothing done. But next day Payne came to me at my office in Wall Street about twelve o'clock. He was uneasy, and did not wish to sit down to talk, and asked me if I would walk with him. We sallied out up to Broadway, and along it; got to Courtlandt Street, when he said, "Somehow I feel a great inclination to go down to the water. Suppose we go over in the ferry to Jersey City."
ATLANTIC BEER GARDEN—PAYNE AND COLLINS' RENDEZVOUS.
Of course I was ready to humor him, for I well knew the agitated state of his mind; and down to the dock and over the river we went, and arriving in Jersey City, Payne having no special point of destination, we wandered the streets and talked. He told me his whole story over, as of the night before, and added to it many touching incidents. "Help me now, I beg you, if you can." I asked him if this gang dealt in counterfeit money at all, and found that he knew nothing about it. This was a relief, in one sense, to me, and a surprise in another; and I thought, "Perhaps I may be mistaken after all." But we planned, as the result of our day's conversation, that, as a first step, he should take "Collins" that evening into the "Atlantic Beer Garden," in the Bowery, to take beer (of which he said Collins was very fond, not drinking anything else intoxicating), to treat him, and I should come in carelessly, but unexpectedly, upon him. And he should present me at once to "Collins" as Mr. "Wilson," the name I had assumed on my legal card, but which I did not explain the reason for at that time to Mr. Payne.
That night I came upon the twain at the place proposed, where they were sitting at a table over pots of beer, and smoking, when I, darting in, called for a pot of beer; and seeing Payne, pushed up to his table, extending my hand. "Ah, here, eh? Mr. Payne; very glad to meet you?" "Take a seat with us," said he. "This is my friend, Mr. Collins, Mr. Wilson."
I looked into "Collins'" eyes; gave him a wink, as much as to say, "Mr. Payne thinks my name is Wilson; you know better; keep still." Of course "Collins" was as anxious that I should not call him Blanchard, as I was that he should address me as Wilson. "And," he said, "Mr. Wilson—I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wilson. Let's fill up, Mr. Payne," for their mugs were dry, "and invite Mr. Wilson to take what he likes with us." "Thank you, gentlemen, but here comes my beer. I'll wait for you to fill up again." I put "Collins" quite at ease, and we drank, and told stories, and sang a song or two. So well did Collins and I disguise the fact that we had ever heard of each other that Payne, as he afterwards told me, made up his mind soon that I had been utterly mistaken in the man.