“Judge Kingsley, you listen to me! I have never seen those men face to face, but I have heard of them. I have heard of their tricks. I know how they operate. I know a good many of their lurking-places. I have made it my business to know!” I noted that he was still suspicious, and I put my face close to his and lied with all the fervor that was in me. I needed his confidence, I say. “I did work as a detective until the dirty mess of crooks made me sick of the job. I can help you in this thing! Depend on me! I’m going to help!”
“I have about given up belief in everything!”
“Give me your hand, sir, and promise me you’ll offer a good front to the world. Nobody must guess that you’re in difficulties. As for the noises my uncle is making, he has never said anything definite; he is merely making threats. Everybody knows about his grudge and folks don’t take much stock in him. If you keep a stiff upper lip nobody will guess.”
“But they all will know on the fifteenth of April.”
“If we can grab in ten thousand dollars before then—”
“Do you stand there, young man, and tell me you have the crazy idea that you can pull any of my money back from those scoundrels?”
“Yes, and more with it,” I returned, much more bold in my tone than I was in my heart. But when I knew that I had the “Peacock” Pratt gang identified—and probably had located Jeff Dawlin’s brother as the man who planted the fraud, posing as the son, his usual rôle, certain wild hopes and dizzy schemes went to whirling in my head.
“We ought to have three thousand in cash in a short time to—”
“A client—a widow is pressing me for money. It amounts to about that sum,” he said, dolefully.
“Does she suspect—”