As we dogged him up Poydras street, across Tchoupatoulas and Camp, and into the great domed hostelry of St. Charles, he little dreamt that the spies of justice were treading so close upon his heels.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE DEPOSITIONS.
I was curious to know what would be the next step in the strategy of the New Orleans lawyer. I was not left long to speculate upon it.
"Now," he said, hurrying off once more in the direction of the levee, "I want a man willing to buy two hundred bales of cotton, without losing any time or making cavil as to price."
"You will not find such a man, I should think."
"I will! and in ten minutes' time, if I mistake not. Come and see!"
After passing two or three blocks in less than the time stipulated, my chaperone entered the door of a large warehouse-like building, on the front of which appeared, painted in large black letters, "CHEETHAM, Cotton-Broker."
I had just deciphered this lettering as Mr. Sawyer came out, bringing the cotton-broker along with him.