'Oh, come, now,' said the incredulous official, 'I've hearn stories like that before. This ain't the first time swindlers has traveled in couples. Do you s'pose I don't know nothin'? 'Tan't no use; you've just got to come along to the station-house. Might as well go peaceably, 'cause you'll have to.'
'Charles, this is perfectly dreadful! Our wedding night in the station-house! Do send for somebody. Send for the landlord to explain it.'
The landlord was sent for, and came; the porters were sent for, and came; the waiters, and chambermaids, and bar-room loungers came, without being sent for, and filled the room and the adjoining hall,—some to laugh, some to say they wouldn't have believed it, but nearly all to exult that the unhappy pair had been 'found out.' No explanation could be given; and the upshot was, that, in spite of tears, threats, entreaties, rage, and expostulations, the unfortunate newly-married pair were taken in charge by the relentless policeman, and marched down stairs, en route for the police office.
And here let the curtain drop on the melancholy scene, while we follow the fortunes of black valise No. 2.
CHAPTER III.
When the train stopped at Camden, four gentlemen got off, and walked, arm-in-arm, rapidly and silently, up one of the by-streets, and struck off into a foot-path leading to a secluded grove outside the town. Of the first two, one was our military friend in a blue coat, apparently the leader of the party. Of the second two, one was a smiling, rosy little man, carrying a black valise. Their respective companions walked with hasty, irregular strides, were abstracted, and—apparently ill at ease.
The party stopped.
'This is the place,' said Captain Jones.
'Yes,' said Doctor Smith.