“I told you the reasons, my dear, and I hope you will be satisfied with them,” I answered, rather petulantly.
“Don’t be cross, Paley.”
“I’m not cross.”
But the fumes of the whiskey I had drank were nearly evaporated, and I did not feel right. I could not help dreading something which I tried to define. If Tom Flynn had suspected that something was going wrong with me, it was not impossible that Mr. Bristlebach, or Mr. Heavyside, had been equally penetrating in their observations. It was possible that, at this moment, the bank officers were engaged in examining my accounts and my cash. Any attempt to verify some of my entries must infallibly expose me.
Even without any suspicions of me, they might, in looking over my accounts, discover the altered figures, or the fictitious items. An accident might betray me. Perhaps the detectives were already on my track. Telegraphic dispatches to New York might place officers at the station in that city ready to arrest me when I arrived. If my deficit was exposed, it would be impossible for me to take a foreign-bound steamer. My photograph, or at least my description, would be in the hands of all the detectives.
All these reflections, all these fears and misgivings, are the penalty of crime. I was called to endure them, as thousands of others have been; and those who commit crimes must remember that these things are “nominated in the bond.” But no telegram preceded me; no detectives dogged my steps; and the bank had no suspicion that anything was wrong with me. We went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel on our arrival in the city.
I hastened down town after breakfast, engaged a state-room in the steamer which sailed at one o’clock, and procured a letter of credit on London for three thousand five hundred pounds, payable to Charles Gaspiller, whose signature I left to be forwarded to the banker. I then went to a barber, and had my beard, except the moustache, shaved off. When I entered the parlor of the hotel, Lilian did not at first recognize me. She was talking to a lady and gentleman—a young married couple—whose acquaintance we had made at breakfast. They intended to sail in the afternoon for Havana. The husband was about my size, and not unlike me. He wore only a moustache, and for this reason I had sacrificed my beard. If any detectives, after a few days, should be disposed to ascertain what had become of me, they would be as likely to follow him to Havana as me to Liverpool. It was well to be prudent and take advantage of circumstances.