Marsh smiled. The loss of his whiskers showed him to be a man of about forty, with a firm jaw, a keen blue eye, and a high forehead. “I wish to God I was dead,” he said. “When a man tries to live straight he gets snagged and is disgraced.”
The cab drew up at the big building on Mulberry Street, and the superintendent, pushing his prisoner before him, led the way to his private room. “Now, Marsh, you say you have been living straight. Prove it and I’ll release you.”
The man eyed his captor sullenly. “Not till I’ve seen a lawyer,” he said.
Walton touched an electric button. “Lock this man up,” he said to the officer who appeared. As Marsh was led away the chief pushed another button. “Bring me,” he said to the messenger, “Convictions, letter M, ’84.”
Hastily turning the pages, Walton read: “Marsh, John, alias Gentleman John, generally known as Chesterfield, because of his manners and politeness, born at Sodaville, Mich. All round crook; specialty, counterfeiting United States notes. One of the most dangerous men in his line. Convicted of counterfeiting and sentenced to Albany for five years in 1870; sent to Jackson, Mich., for three years for forgery in 1878; last conviction, Joliet, counterfeiting, 1884, five years. See page 756.” Turning to the page indicated, Walton read: “Escaped from Joliet and committed suicide.”
“So he didn’t commit suicide,” mused the chief. “Well, I always had my doubts about it. I have an idea he had a hand in this counterfeiting business, and if that’s so it’s a pretty good morning’s work—almost as good as finding the Marchburn woman. I had better let Brixton know about this; it may give him a pointer.”
A clerk brought in a telegram and handed it to the superintendent. Walton read:
“Sodaville, Mich., Jan. 24.—Can you mail me at once portrait of Chesterfield Marsh, escaped Joliet, and committed suicide about 1884?
“Richardson.”